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struck me—the press, of course! Rachel was a journalist herself and what better place for her to start than within her own profession. She would definitely have had friends in the community, especially here in Goa. It was a fact that reporters often knew much more than they were allowed to write about.
    And I knew just the person to call.
    His name was Writwik (yes, with a “W”) and he was head of the local bureau of a major national newspaper. I had met him two years ago at a friend’s place and initially found him insufferably opinionated. I suppose it came with the territory, knowing more about pretty much everything than us common folk. But he grew on me through the evening, and I began to enjoy his acerbic wit. He also had these piercing eyes which I found very sexy.
    We ended up in bed together that night. I’m not usually so easy and he was married so I suppose the excessive wine can be blamed. It remained a one-night stand, though we continued to be in touch.
    ‘Hello, Sara.’ Writwik sounded more relaxed than usual. He was generally immersed in work all the time.
    We exchanged some pleasantries but I quickly got to the point. ‘I need to pick your brains about something important.’
    ‘Certainly, but I’m sure you’ve read enough novels to know that the nasty character from the press only reveals his crucial information over a drink, or three.’ He paused. ‘And it just so happens that I’m quite free this evening.’
    I looked at my watch. ‘All right, how about you come over to my place? There’s a new bottle of eighteen-year-old Laphroaig I’ve been waiting to open.’ I never drank whisky until Jai had gotten me hooked on to the peaty single malts from Islay.
    ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’ I hoped he didn’t think this was going to be a date or something.
    His face fell when Neel opened the door. I stifled a smile and made the introductions. We went up to the sea-facing balcony on the first floor, where I pulled out three chairs and switched on a wicker lamp, throwing a tangled pattern of shadows on the floor. It seemed to be an apt setting for the discussion at hand.
    I opened the conversation without preamble. ‘Writwik, how much do you know about the Anna Grishin murder?’
    ‘Are you kidding me?’ He looked mildly annoyed. ‘It’s the biggest story we’ve had in Goa for a while. Of course, I know everything about it. What the hell do you mean?’
    I glanced at Neel but he looked away. ‘Let me explain.’ As concisely as possible, I told him about Rachel.
    Writwik listened intently. ‘That’s very interesting. You’re saying your friend makes her own enquiries into the Grishin case and then dies suddenly. The police call it a suicide but you think she may have been murdered.’ He seemed to be speaking to himself. I guess his journalistic nose was sniffing a new angle in the story.
    ‘And this Zoe was Anna’s lover? I didn’t know that, by the way.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘Do you know why Rachel was interested in this particular case?’
    Neel replied, ‘No, we don’t. Otherwise Sara would have told you, wouldn’t she?’
    I glared at him. He was behaving strangely, wearing a sullen expression and hardly speaking at all. I don’t know if it had anything to do with my telling him about having slept with Writwik. Neel had always been a bit of a prude about casual sex. Or was he just jealous?
    I quickly added, ‘This whole thing has been a shock to us, Writwik. First Rachel’s sudden death and then all these strange circumstances leading up to it.’
    Writwik nodded at me, ignoring Neel. He took a slow sip of the light amber whisky and raised his glass. ‘This is superb stuff, Sara.’
    I smiled briefly. He continued, ‘From what you tell me, I can think of only two reasons why Rachel might have been interested in Anna Grishin’s murder. One, she may have come across a brand new lead, unknown to either the police or the media, and was following up on it in an