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the possibility of trying to clear Jackie's name. It's not too late for an appeal if we can dig up some fresh evidence. I'm not asking you to make any decision now--I realise this has been rather a traumatic evening. But I'd appreciate it if you'd call me tomorrow when you've had time to think it over." Claire fished in the inevitable filofax and produced a card. "My home and my business numbers are both there."
    Lindsay stared numbly at the card lying on the table. She couldn't remember the last time she'd encountered someone with Claire's thick-skinned audacity. Her nerve was breathtaking, a sharp contrast to the way Lindsay herself was feeling. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. Coming home was supposed to feel good. But she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so bad.

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3

    Lindsay sat staring at the cigarette in her hand, watching the smoke spiral up to join the thick layer that hung below the ceiling in the crowded bar of the Tron Theatre. The noisy chatter of the literary wing of Glasgow's renaissance could not distract her from the bleakness that filled her. She was shaken from her reverie by Sophie's return from the bar with two spritzers, condensation already dripping down the glasses. "Drink up, doctor's orders," Sophie said sympathetically as she sat down.
    "Thanks," Lindsay muttered. "Sorry to spoil your evening."
    "Don't be daft," Sophie replied. "I haven't seen a cabaret as good as that since last year's Edinburgh Festival. I'd forgotten what a drama queen you can be. I'll be dining out on it for months." In spite of herself, Lindsay smiled. "So, what are you going to do about it?" Sophie added.
    "About Cordelia or about Jackie?"
    "Both."
    Lindsay sighed. "There doesn't seem to be a whole lot I can do about Cordelia, does there? She's got herself a class act to cuddle up to. Much more her speed than a toerag like me, don't you think?"
    "More fool Cordelia, then," said Sophie consolingly. Privately, she thought Lindsay's reaction to Cordelia's new relationship was completely unreasonable, but she was too fond of her to say so yet. There would be plenty of time to thrash it out when Lindsay was feeling less raw. She tried to take her mind off the debacle in Soutar Johnnie's, saying, "But what about Jackie?"
    Lindsay shrugged. "I don't know. The fact that I've managed to dig out the truth a couple of times in the past doesn't mean I'm some kind of private eye. You know, Sophie, I can't seem to take it in that Alison's dead. I mean, when I was having my own little fling with her, God knows I felt like strangling her often enough; but the difference between feeling like that and actually doing it... I can't imagine what makes that possible. I suppose I feel like I've got a score to settle on Alison's account, never mind Jackie. But I'm in such a mess about myself and my future that I don't know how much use I'd be."
    Sophie ran a hand through her curly hair, a gesture Lindsay recognised from the days when the brown hadn't been streaked with grey. "I know what you mean," she said with feeling. "But you're not committed to anything else right now, are you? And in spite of the way you've been putting yourself down ever since you saw Claire and Cordelia together, you've got a pretty good track record when it comes to discovering things that the police have missed or ignored. And there is one other aspect of it you might not have considered. If you can get Jackie released, it might well be enough to drive a wedge between Cordelia and Claire. That would at least give you the chance to find out if the two of you have still got a future together."
    Before Lindsay could reply, a booming Liverpool accent rang across the room. "Bloody skinflint, Hartley. Where's the bottle? I suppose we'll have to buy our own drinks?"
    Lindsay swung round in her seat to see Helen Christie waving from the bar, her unmistakable mane of carrot-red hair glinting under the lights. Behind her, paying for a carafe of wine, was