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if she’d realised earlier what was going on.
    â€˜Don’t talk about these calls to anyone outside your family,’ the advice continued, ‘not even to a best friend. In the majority of cases the caller knows either the person who takes the call or some member of the family. If the caller hears about your anxiety and concern, either directly or indirectly, this is encouragement to continue.’
    Loretta frowned, wondering again about Michael. Was he a friend of Toni’s, someone with a warped sense of humour who had decided, for reasons best known to himself, to play an unpleasant practical joke when an unknown woman answered her phone? According to what she had just read, it would be a mistake to tell Toni about the call but how else was she to rule out the possibility that he wasn’t a complete stranger? Loretta read on, discovered the existence of an Annoyance Call Bureau and was about to dial its number when she read that the service was available only between nine am and four pm, Monday to Friday. Michael had called between six and six-thirty, she wasn’t sure of the exact time, but Loretta was willing to bet that most nuisance calls were made even later, fuelled by alcohol or the loneliness of big city nights. What was the point of a helpline which wasn’t staffed at the very time it was needed? She speed-read to the end of the section, vainly hoping to find an out-of-hours number, and discovered instead that the detective had been telling the absolute truth. ‘Trained counsellors,’ the section ended oleaginously, ‘will always take an extra step to assist you further.’
    So they really did offer counselling, she thought, irritably closing the directory. Not a word about tracing the call, whichwas the most obvious way of solving the problem, yet surely New York had one of the most up-to-date telephone systems in the world? With computerised switchboards, finding out someone’s number must be easy, more or less instantaneous. Loretta picked up the phone, wishing she knew more about technical matters; she had had to ring the operator in Oxford to find out which kind of switchboard she was on, tone or pulse, when she bought a cordless phone and then, after a whole day without incoming calls, discovered that the unit wasn’t working because the cat had accidentally pulled the plug out of the wall.
    â€˜Hello, I don’t know if you can help me,’ she said when the operator answered, annoyed with herself for immediately sounding apologetic. ‘The thing is, I’ve had an obscene –’
    â€˜You want the Annoyance Call Bureau. Here, let me give you their number.’
    â€˜I’ve already got it, thanks, they’re closed till tomorrow. What I need to know is, how long does it take to trace a call? I mean, is it stored in the computer?’
    â€˜Sorry, ma’am, the helpline –’
    â€˜I
told
you, it’s closed.’ Suddenly Loretta lost her temper. ‘And what use is it, packing up at four or whatever, what if he rings back at midnight? What am I supposed to do, keep him talking till nine o’clock in the bloody morning? Don’t you realise I’m here on my own?’ She was panting, incoherent, and the operator said in an offended voice, ‘Keep it clean, ma’am, there’s no call for –’
    Loretta slammed the phone down and hugged her chest. She was more disturbed than she wanted to admit and all at once it seemed imperative that she get out of the flat; she hurried to Toni’s desk and flicked on the answering-machine, seized the spare keys from the coffee table and dropped them into her clutch bag. Honey was fast asleep, slumped against the front door, and Loretta stirred the dog’s flank none too gently with the toe of her shoe. ‘Come on,’ she said loudly, ‘are you going to let me out?’
    Honey opened her eyes, thumped her stumpy tail on the floorand heaved