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had been the satisfaction of spiting Ellen. Even now that thought was enough to make the Sapphire burn more warmly in his stomach.
    But in fact, he’d since realized, there might be more to gain than that. If the deal came off, his percentage might keep the creditors at bay a bit longer. Optimism inspired an attempt at a jaunty smile in the mirror. There might still be life in the old devil yet. He ran a brush through his hair, collected his raincoat, and flipped off the lights, and when the doorman tipped his cap to him, Harry saluted in return and set off home whistling.
     
    Like Doug Cullen, Melody Talbot left Duncan and Gemma’s house on foot. She, however, had not far to go, and had been glad to walk in the rain-freshened air. Pulling her coat a bit tighter, she’d detoured around St. John’s Gardens, taking Lansdowne Walk instead. Although she’d never admit it to anyone else, since the Arrowood murders she hadn’t liked walking down St. John’s alone at night.
    At Ladbroke Grove she’d cut over a street and entered the station, ostensibly to collect some of her things, but in truth she’d just needed a dose of familiarity. But the building echoed emptily, and few of thefaces on the Saturday-night rota were familiar. She rummaged in her desk, to save face, then went out again into Ladbroke Road, the clack of her footsteps loud on the pavement.
    The dressy shoes felt artificial, just as she had felt all evening. What had she been thinking, to put herself in such a situation, with superior officers and that nosey parker Doug Cullen to boot?
    She’d been flattered to be asked. But it had been much too dangerous, the temptation too great, the revelatory stakes much too high.
    Her footsteps finally slowed as she neared her flat. She had never invited anyone there, not even Gemma. It was one of her hard-and-fast rules, and although her address was available in her personnel file, so far no one had had the temerity, or possibly the interest, to show up on her doorstep.
    The second thought saddened her, and as she entered her building and took the lift to her top-floor flat, she felt more regret than her usual relief.
    What had she got herself into, leading this double life? It had been the rebellion, the gamble of it, in the beginning, the pleasure of flaunting her father’s disapproval, but she hadn’t realized how much she would come to love the job, or just how lonely and isolated her secrecy would make her.
    Was she overly paranoid, refusing to invite anyone to her home? The flat, in an updated 1930s mansion block, had been her bargain with her father, his concern for her safety set against her desire for anonymity. But she’d made sure the place was small enough, and sparsely furnished enough, that she could get by with saying it was only a let, and that she’d got a good deal. Admitting that she owned the place was a different matter entirely.
    Lowly police constables did not buy flats in Notting Hill. Not unless they had money and influence, both things she’d worked hard at denying since childhood.
    But things would never be the same if she were found out. Oh, they couldn’t fire her outright, that would cause a scandal greaterthan her presence. But she would be quietly pulled from the more sensitive jobs, and there would be no possibility of promotion, not even to some isolated hamlet in Outer Mongolia. There would be jeers and whispers in the canteen, conversations that would stop when she entered the room, and she would never again be one of the mates.
    The lift stopped and Melody stood for a moment, blinking in the light of the corridor, before taking the last few steps to her door.
    The flat looked just as neat and tidy as she had left it, radio on, Classic FM playing quietly in the background for company. Not neat and tidy, she corrected herself. Sterile.
    For once, she kicked off her shoes haphazardly and tossed her coat over the arm of the sofa. Barefoot, she padded to the corner bay window that