There were two other offices on this level. One unoccupied and the other bearing a stencilled sign that read 'MIDNIGH T RECORDS'. So far I hadn't seen anyone go in or out, but maybe that figured. Toilet at the end of the hall with washbasin and tap. Pretty basic. Some clients like it, thinking that low overheads mean low fees; others take fright. Louise Kramer wouldn't have taken fright in Pamplona running the bulls. She plonked her backpack down on the floor and sat in the clients' chair. My coffee maker was emitting the croak it does when the brew is ready.

'Is that drinkable?' she said.

'Usually. Want some?'

I fixed her a mug with long-life milk and no sugar, like mine, and watched her try it. The spiked hair of last night was flattened down and she wore jeans and a V-necked, long-sleeved cotton top, sneakers. All business. The earrings and necklace had gone, of course, but her makeup was carefully applied and she was bright-eyed, close to hyper.

'That's good, thanks. I live on this stuff. You?'

I shrugged. 'Plus alcohol, adrenalin, carbohydrates.'

'I did some quick research on you, Mr Hardy, and I'm puzzled by your presence at that party.'

'I told you, I was filling in for a friend.'

'Mmm, I wonder if I believe that.'

'Look, Ms Kramer-' I waved the card I'd put on my desk to get the phone number-'I'm pleased to see you looking so up, but I'm puzzled by your presence here. How's the arm, by the way?'

She touched her upper arm. 'Bloody sore, but it would've been worse if you hadn't stepped in. That bastard Thomas grips like a bolt cutter.'

I drank some more coffee, not knowing how to play this. 'You talk as if you know him.'