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possible to be a detective and work part-time. But the moment you stopped being a full-time employee, it was as good as writing an e-mail to the senior management team telling them you had no interest in ever being promoted above your current role.
    ‘I’ll be fine,’ Ellen said.
    ‘I know.’ Ger pointed to the paper. ‘This worries me, though. If Chloe’s telling the truth, then the attack on Friday night means he’s escalating. Makes me worry about what he’ll do next.’
    ‘Nothing,’ Ellen said. ‘Because we’ll stop him. Right?’
    ‘Right.’
    Ger didn’t look up from the newspaper and Ellen stood up, sensing she’d been dismissed. She was at the door, about to open it, when Ger spoke again.
    ‘Ellen, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.’
    ‘About what?’ Ellen asked, knowing too well what Ger was talking about.
    ‘The job,’ Ger said. ‘I couldn’t tell you when I called. I still had another round of interviews to get through after that. Of course, if I’d thought for a second I was even in with a chance, well, I’d definitely have said something.’
    ‘So why did you call?’ Ellen asked.
    She waited, hoping Ger would explain and things betweenthem could go back to the way they were before this morning’s announcement.
    ‘I wanted to speak to you,’ Ger said. ‘I was having a bad day and I wanted to hear a friendly voice. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’
    ‘I suppose not.’
    Ger smiled. ‘So I’m forgiven?’
    ‘Nothing to forgive.’
    She couldn’t wait to get out of there. Ger was still smiling and Ellen did her best to smile back. It wasn’t easy. She knew why Ger had phoned her. It had nothing to do with Ellen’s friendly voice (let’s face it, she didn’t have one) and all to do with pumping Ellen for information, getting the gossip on the team at Lewisham in advance of her interviews.
    Ger Cox had been using her. And that hurt more than Ellen was willing to admit. Even to herself.

Eight
    ‘That’s all done for you, love. Here are your new keys. Two sets there, so you’ve got a spare in case you need them. And those locks are strong. No one will get through them in a hurry.’
    Monica stood and stretched. She’d been sitting in the back garden with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and a magazine, relaxing while the locksmith changed the locks on the front and back doors.
    She took the keys from his outstretched hand and smiled. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am,’ she said. ‘It’s such a relief.’
    He smiled back. He was a good-looking guy. Dark hair and fantastic, greeny-blue eyes. Great shoulders, too. He most definitely worked out to get a body like that.
    ‘So,’ he said. ‘Who are you so keen to lock out? An ex, is it?’
    She flicked hair back from her face, maintaining eye contact with those greeny-blues.
    ‘Something like that,’ she murmured. ‘Girl like me, living alone. Can’t be too careful, can I?’
    ‘Suppose not,’ he said, face serious, like he wanted to show her how responsibly he took his job. ‘You’ll be safe as houses now. No one will be able to break through those babies.’
    ‘Except you, of course.’
    Christ, she thought, listen to yourself, Monica. Flirting with the guy who’s come to change the locks. Just how desperate are you?
    The locksmith started to say something else, but she cut him off.
    ‘I’ll get my cheque book,’ she said. ‘Then you can be on your way. Wait here.’
    She wrote out the cheque in the kitchen. Two hundred quid. Sickened her to have to throw money away like that. She glanced out the window into the back garden. The locksmith was still there, standing with his back to her, hands in the pockets of his jeans.
    The image stirred a memory. Summertime. The Greenwich Union beer garden. Carrying her drink outside. Coming out of the pub into the sudden brightness of the summer afternoon. Seeing him for the first time. He was leaning against the tree, eyes half-closed. Laid-back, relaxed. Like