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once-over; he could give me an estimate.'
        'Sir
. . .'
        'It's
kind of urgent. What about tomorrow? I'll be passing your place around
lunchtime. I could just jump up and down at his window and he could give me the
thumbs-up or the thumbs—'
        'Sir!
Dr Yeschenkov is not even working tomorrow.'
        'Well
you would say—'
        'Sir,
he'll be playing golf and under strict instructions not to be—'
        'Well
maybe I'll run into him at the club
        'Oh. You're
a member at Malone too, sir?'
        'Absolutely.'
        I was
playing her like a glass harp.
        'Well
that's different. And he does actually do a special rate for fellow members.
It's a wonderful club, isn't it, sir? Play there myself, very active ladies'
membership. What's your handicap?'
        'Calipers,'
I said, and hung up.
        I'd
wrung the information out of her like a hamster in a mangle. Now I could seek
out Dr Yes at the golf club and quiz him about Arabella's mysterious
disappearance without having to enter his lair or pay that frankly ridiculous
fee for a consultation.
        The
phone rang and I said, 'Hello, No Alibis, Murder is Our Business.'
        And
the same woman's voice said, 'I'm sorry, we seemed to get cut off. What were
you saying about calipers? And you're from No Alibis? I love that shop!'
    ----
        

Chapter 7
        
        Let
me explain why I took Pearl, for that was her name, for coffee. First of all,
in chatting to her on the phone I realised that although she claimed to be a
crime fiction aficionado, she was all at sea when it came to her actual choice
of books. She needed help, she needed guidance. For God's sake, she was still
reading Patterson! It is my primary function in this difficult world to steer
those who are hopelessly lost towards the light. I am a beacon. A saviour of
souls. But I'm not a literary snob, not even for my chosen genre. Yes, of
course there are heavyweights out there who are very good, but I'm just as much
a champion of pulp fiction or dark and witty noir or even grandmotherly cosies,
as long as they don't feature animals who actually physically contribute to the
solving, of a case. It's my job to match the right book to the right reader.
Also, and perhaps more importantly, she was
        Dr
Yeschenkov's gatekeeper, and in meeting her and engaging her in friendly chat I
would surely gain an insight not only into him, but also into the circumstances
surrounding the disappearance of the lovely Arabella. I had played her once, I
would play her again.
        She
was warm and friendly and fascinated on the phone, and in retrospect, I have to
admit, I was a little flattered. Our conversation was continually interrupted,
however, by her having to answer calls on her switchboard. In response I also
disappeared several times, pretending that I had to deal with a customer.
        She
said, 'It's lovely talking to you, but impossible!'
        'I
know,' I said. 'Sorry, a bit hectic here too.' Thankfully she couldn't actually
see or hear the tumble- weed. 'Do you know what I should do? I should pick out
some books for you. Take a look at them, no obligation to buy.' She laughed. I
was so good at this. 'Why don't you pop in at lunch time?'
        'I'd
love to - but I only get half an hour and that's barely enough for coffee and a
sandwich. Actually, I usually go to that Starbucks just near you.'
        'Well
tell you what, I could pop across with them.'
        'Really?
Would you do that? That would be marvellous.'
        I was pretty marvellous. 'How will I recognise you?' I asked.
        'Don't
worry,' she said, I’ll recognise you. You'll be carrying books. About one?'
        'About
one.'
        'Marvellous.
It's a date.'
        I
have to admit, I got a little glow inside when she said that, although
obviously she meant nothing by it.
        I
was, I suppose, at a slight disadvantage, because I had no idea what she looked
like.