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call from Alannah.
    Lavinia buzzed Zakahr. ‘She’s on her way from the boutique. They had an important client.’ She didn’t actually hear his response, because there was a loud ringing sound in her ears.
    When Alannah Dalton didn’t appear, and neither did Lavinia respond to his intercom buzzer, Zakahr marched out of his office, less than impressed, to find her once again head-down at her desk.
    â€˜I’m not asleep,’ Lavinia said without moving. ‘And I really am sorry.’ She had to tell him—well, not tell him everything, but she had to admit a bit of the truth—it was either that or get fired. ‘I’ve got some personal problems. I hardly had any sleep over the weekend, just worrying, and it was the same last night…’
    Now she did lift her head, and Zakahr rather hoped she’d put it down again. Her lips were white, her mascara was sliding down her cheeks, and he was now worried rather than weary. He was used to more staff, used to snapping his fingers and producing solutions, but in a situation of his own making there was no one.
    He went to the en suite bathroom, ran water onto a hand towel and brought it back to her. He wasn’t entirely convinced by her story, but she was clearly ill, so he took the towel, and she accepted it without thanks, buryingher face in it as Zakahr stood silent till finally she came up for air.
    â€˜I’ll be better tomorrow.’ Lavinia was insistent. ‘I’ll be back to normal.’
    â€˜I’ll get my driver to take you home—’ Zakahr started, but he halted as she winced. The thought of walking, of getting into a car, clearly had her dizzy all over again. ‘You need to rest…’
    He led her to what had actually been her old office, before Zakahr had insisted on the promotion, and she fell into the familiar cushions with relief. It had never been more blissful to lie down. But now that the world was back in focus embarrassment was seeping in.
    â€˜I’m really sorry.’ There was colour coming back to her face now, though her make-up was on the towel which she had pressed to her forehead. ‘I can explain.’
    â€˜Just rest for now,’ Zakahr said. Seeing that she was shivering, he did the right thing and took off his jacket and covered her. Then he pulled the blinds. By the time he had finished she was sound asleep.
    Zakahr rang down to Reception and had someone sent up to replace Lavinia for the rest of afternoon, while he carried on conducting staff interviews. Alannah Dalton was a right old misery, as Lavinia had said.
    He was a skilled interviewer, and he listened as the staff ranted and raved, and saved their own skin by blaming others.
    He learnt a lot.
    Confirmed a lot.
    The cracks in Kolovsky had started long before Ivan’s death—of course he pursued this, but on too manyoccasions his mind wandered to the woman asleep next door, no matter how many times he tried to halt it.
    â€˜Were there staff favourites?’ Zakahr asked them all.
    It was as simple as that.
    Of course he had to listen to a lot that did not interest him in order to get to the bit that did. It was common knowledge that Lavinia had been sleeping with Aleksi, and maybe Levander too, before him. Lavinia, he was repeatedly told, always kept in with the boss.
    Zakahr kept his face impassive as over and over this was reiterated, but he almost felt regret as he realised that the smile he was starting to like, the chatter, the jokes—everything that was Lavinia—wasn’t pleasing exclusively to him.
    In a break between interviews Zakahr walked into the darkened office and stared down at her for a full moment. With her face relaxed by sleep, her mouth minus the gloss, she looked younger, prettier—innocent, almost.
    Though clearly that wasn’t the case.
    He found her file and bundled it up with a few others, and then he settled back for a read.
    She had been hauled in