Free Booked for Murder by Val McDermid

her own independent production company, it was clear she hadn’t forgotten how she’d started in the business.
    Lindsay dumped her case on the floor, not even bothering to open it, and headed back downstairs. There had to be a phone somewhere. She tracked it by the flashing light on the answering machine. A glance at her watch told her it would be just after eight in the morning in San Francisco. She didn’t even have to feel guilty about calling too early. On the third ring, a voice said, “Hello?”
    Foiled in her hope that he’d identify himself, Lindsay blundered on regardless. “Hi,” she said cheerfully. “It’s Lindsay here. Sophie’s partner?”
    â€œOh, hello,” said the precise voice she remembered from phone calls she’d answered previously. “How are you?”
    â€œI’m fine. And you? Settling in okay?”
    â€œWell . . . Everything was going splendidly and then I had some rather terrible news about . . . well, about our flat and the woman we swapped with.”
    â€œI heard about that,” Lindsay said sympathetically. “That’s actually why I was ringing, Brian.” Brian! It had suddenly come to her in midsentence. Brian Steinberg, married to an anthropologist called Miriam.
Grinning with relief, Lindsay said, “I know this probably sounds a bit weird, Brian, but did you happen to leave a spare set of keys with anybody when you left?”
    â€œKeys?” he echoed.
    â€œYeah, for the flat.” When in doubt, gabble. It was a lesson Lindsay had learned from Helen years ago, and she’d just had the refresher course. “The thing is, Penny’s girlfriend, Meredith, is in a bit of a state, as you can imagine, and I’m over here in England with her trying to get things sorted out. You know what it’s like, all the bureaucracy. Anyway, I’m just trying to sort out the practical stuff, and Penny’s agent is desperate to get hold of the manuscript of Penny’s last book, and it’s stuck on the hard disk of her computer, which of course is in the flat, and the police are being really difficult about letting anyone in, so I thought if I could get the keys and just nip in and out . . . I mean, you know me, you know I wouldn’t be doing anything I shouldn’t be doing . . .”
    â€œI don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “If the police don’t want you to go in . . .”
    â€œThere’s no reason for us not to go into the flat. It’s not as if the police have any objections, it’s just that they’re being really awkward about fixing up a time when we can go and sort it out. I don’t have to tell you about bureaucracy, you’re dealing with American academia.”
    â€œYeah,” he said, with feeling. “Oh, I suppose it’ll be okay. I can’t see any real problem, and the police have had days now to do whatever it is they have to do. I left a spare set with Miriam’s sister. She lives up in Hampstead.” Brian gave Lindsay the address and promised to phone his sister-in-law right away to warn her Lindsay was on her way.
    What felt like a lifetime later, Lindsay emerged from the rancid stuffiness of the tube into sunlight at Highbury Corner. Even though it was laden with traffic fumes, the air was still fresh enough to rouse her from the virtually catatonic state she’d reached underground thanks to the combination of heat, jet lag, lack of oxygen and lack of proper sleep. She hoped her exhaustion wouldn’t make her miss anything in the flat. Probably it could have waited till the following day, but Lindsay had never liked leaving till tomorrow what could be thrashed out today. Besides, this was a good time to make an unauthorized entry. At the end of the working day, all sorts of people
were going in and out of buildings where they didn’t necessarily live.
    To guard against her potential for carelessness, she