As to background information, progess had been made there as well. Although Yolanda the Psychic had been warned off stalking Jemima Hastings, Jemima Hastings hadn’t been the one to report her. That reporting had been done by Bella McHaggis

“McHaggis’s husband died at home, but there’s nothing suspicious associated with it,” Philip Hale reported. “His heart gave out while he was on the toilet. Yolanda’s daughter is dead. Starved herself slimming. Same age as Jemima.”

“Interesting,” Ardery said. “Anything else?”

Frazer Chaplin, born in Dublin, one of seven children, no record and no complaints. Shows up on time to the job, he reported.

“He has two jobs,” Isabelle told him.

Shows up on time to both of his jobs. He seems a bit too interested in money, but then, who isn’t? There’s something of a joke at Duke’s Hotel: him looking for a rich American-Brazilian-Canadian-Russian-Japanese-Chinese-anything to support him. Male or female. He doesn’t care. He’s a bloke with plans, according to the hotel manager, but no one faults him and he’s well liked. “One of those ‘That’s our lad Frazer’ types,” Hale said.

“Anything on Paolo di Fazio?” Isabelle asked.

It turned out that Paolo had an interesting background: born in Palermo, from which his family fled the Mafia. His sister had been married to a minor Mafioso there only to be beaten to death by him. The husband himself had been found hanged in his cell while awaiting trial, and no one thought it was a suicide.

As to the rest? Isabelle Ardery asked.

There was very little. Jayson Druther had an ASBO, apparently having to do with a relationship that went sour. But this was with a man, not a woman, for whatever good that piece of news could do them. Abbott Langer, on the other hand, was something of a puzzle. It was true that he was an Olympic ice skater turned coach and dog walker. It was completely bogus that he had ever been married, with children. He was fairly close to Yolanda the Psychic, apparently, but this didn’t seem to be a sinister connection, as it was looking more and more as if Yolanda the Psychic did as much trolling for surrogate children-adult or otherwise-as she did reading palms or getting in touch with the spirit world.

“We’ll want more on this marriage business,” Ardery noted. “He’s a real person of interest, then.”

Lynley slipped out of the meeting as the superintendent was giving further instructions having to do with confirming alibis and with the time of death, which was set between two o’clock and five o’clock. This should make it easy, she was saying. Most of these people have jobs. Someone saw something not quite right somewhere. Let’s find out who and what it is.

Lynley crossed over to Tower Block, and he made his way to the assistant commissioner’s office. Hillier’s secretary-in an uncharacteristic move-rose from her chair and came to greet him, her hand extended. Usually the soul of discretion when it came to things Hillier, Judi MacIntosh murmured, “Brilliant to see you, Inspector,” and added, “Don’t be fooled. He’s quite pleased about this.”

This was apparently Lynley’s return and he, naturally, was Sir David Hillier. The assistant commissioner, however, did not want to talk about Lynley’s return other than to say, “You’re looking fit. Good,” when Lynley entered his office. Then he got down to business. The business was, as Lynley suspected it might be, the permanent assignment of someone to the detective superintendent’s position, which was nearly nine months vacant.

Hillier broached the topic in his usual fashion, at an oblique angle. He said, “How’re you finding the job?” which, of course, Lynley might have taken any way he wished and which, of course, Hillier would use to steer the conversation any way he desired.

“Different and the same at once,” Lynley replied. “Everything’s a bit shaded with odd colours, sir.”

“She’s got a good mind, I daresay. She wouldn’t have climbed as fast as she’s climbed without that, would she.”

“Actually…” Lynley had been talking about returning to work with the world as he’d known it utterly transformed in an instant, on the street, at the hands of a child with a gun. He thought about making this point, but instead he said, “She’s clever and quick,” which seemed to him a good response, making a reply but saying little enough.

“How are the team responding to her?”

“They’re professionals.”

“John Stewart?”

“No matter who takes the job, there’ll be a period of adjustment, won’t there? John has his quirks, but he’s a good man.”

“I’m being pressed to name a permanent replacement for Malcolm Webberly,” Hillier said. “I tend to think Ardery’s a very good choice.”

Lynley nodded, but that was the extent of his response. He had an uneasy feeling where this was heading.

“Naming her will bring a lot of press.”

“Not necessarily a bad thing,” Lynley said. “I’d say the opposite, in fact. Promoting a female officer, indeed an officer from outside the Met…I can’t see how that could be interpreted as anything other than a positive move, fairly guaranteed to give the Met good press.” Which, he didn’t add, they rather badly needed. In recent years they’d faced charges of everything from institution-alised racism to gross incompetence and all points in between. A story in which there were no skeletons lurking in anyone’s closet would be a welcome one, no doubt about it.

“If it is a positive move,” Hillier noted. “Which brings me to the point.”

“Ah.”

Hillier shot him a look at that ah. He apparently decided to let it go. He said, “She’s good on paper, and she’s good from every verbal report about her. But you and I know there’s more than verbiage involved in being able to do this job well.”

“Yes. But weaknesses always come out eventually,” Lynley said. “Sooner or later.”

“They do. But the point is, I’m being asked to make this sooner, if you understand what I mean. And if I’m going to make it sooner, then I’m also going to make it right.”

“Understandable,” Lynley acknowledged.

“It seems she’s asked you to work with her.”

Lynley didn’t inquire as to how Hillier knew this. Hillier generally knew everything that was going on. He hadn’t got to his present position without developing an impressive system of snouts. “I’m not sure I’d call it ‘working with her,’” he said carefully. “She’s asked me to come on board and show her the ropes, to allow her to move more quickly into the job. She has her work cut out: not only new to London but new to the Met and having a murder case landing in her lap. If I can help her make a quick transition, I’m happy to.”

“So you’re getting to know her. Better than the rest, I daresay. That brings me to the point. I can’t put this delicately, so I’m not going to try: If you come across anything that gives you pause about her, I want to know what it is. And I do mean anything.”

“Actually, sir, I don’t think I’m the one to-”

“You’re exactly the one. You’ve been in the job, you don’t want the job, you’re working with her, and you’ve a very good eye for people. You and I have disagreed over the years-”

Which was putting it mildly, Lynley thought.

“-but I’d never deny that you’ve rarely been wrong about someone. You’ve a vested interest-we all have a vested interest-in this job going to someone good, to the best person out there, and you’re going to know if she’s that officer in very short order. What I’m asking you to do is to tell me. And, frankly, I’m going to need details because the last thing we need is a charge of sexism if she doesn’t get the job.”

“What is it exactly that you want me to do, sir?” If he was going to be asked to spy upon Isabelle Ardery, then the assistant commissioner, Lynley decided, was going to have to come out and say it. “Written reports? A regular briefing? Meetings like this?”

“I think you know.”