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last.”
    “Ah! But I also told you the Lush show would be no-holds-barred, didn’t I?” observed Cordelia brightly, displaying staggering reverse logic.
    “However you want to spin it, Cordelia, the answer is still no. ”
    As I watched with a certain detached amusement, Flakk went through a bizarre routine that included hopping up and down for a bit, pulling pleading expressions, wringing her hands, puffing out her cheeks and staring at the ceiling.
    “Okay,” I sighed, “you’ve got my attention. What do you want me to do?”
    “Well,” said Cordelia excitedly, “we ran a competition!”
    “Oh yes?” I asked suspiciously, wondering whether it could be any more daft than her “win a mammoth” idea the week before. “What sort of competition?”
    “Well, we thought it would be a good idea if you met a few members of the public on a one-to-one basis.”
    “Did we? Now listen, Cordelia—”
    “Dilly, Thursday, since we’re pals.”
    She sensed my reticence and added:
    “Cords, then. Or Delia. How about Flakky? I used to be called Flik-flak at school. Can I call you Thurs?”
    “Cordelia!” I said in a harsher tone, before she ingratiated herself to death. “I’m not going to do this! You said the Lush interview would be the last, and it is.”
    I started to walk away, but when God was handing out insistence, Cordelia Flakk was right at the front of the queue.
    “Thursday, this hurts me really personally when you’re like this. It attacks me right—right—er—here.”
    She made a wild guess at where her heart might be and looked at me with a pained expression that she probably learnt off a springer spaniel.
    “I’ve got them waiting right here, now, in the canteen. It won’t take a moment, ten minutes tops. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. I’ve only asked two dozen journalists and news crews—the room will be practically empty.”
    I looked at my watch.
    “Ten minutes, 1 whoa!—Who’s that?”
    “Who’s what?”
    “Someone calling my name. Didn’t you hear it?”
    “No,” replied Cordelia, looking at me oddly.
    I tapped my ears and looked around to see if there was anyone close by. Apart from Cordelia, we were alone in the corridor. It had sounded so real it was disconcerting. 2
    “There it goes again!”
    “There goes what again?”
    “A man’s voice! Speaking here inside my head!”
    I pointed to my temple to demonstrate. Cordelia took a step backwards, her look turning to one of consternation.
    “Are you okay, Thursday? Can I call someone?”
    “Oh. No no, I’m fine. I just realized I—ah—left a receiver in my ear. It must be my partner; there’s a 12-14 or a 10-30 or . . . something numerological in progress. Tell your competition winners another time. Goodbye!”
    I dashed off down the corridor toward the Literary Detectives offices. There wasn’t a receiver, of course, but I wasn’t having Flakk tell the quacks I was hearing voices. 3 I stopped and looked around. The corridor was empty.
    “I can hear you,” I said, “but where are you?” 4
    “Her name’s Flakk. Works over at SpecOps PR.” 5
    “What is this? SpecOps Blind Date? What’s going on? ” 6
    “Case? What case? I haven’t done anything!” 7
    My indignation was real. For someone who had spent her life enforcing law and order, it seemed a grave injustice that I should be accused of something—especially something I knew nothing about.
    “For God’s sake, Snell, what is the charge?”
    “Are you okay, Next?”
    It was Commander Braxton Hicks. He had just turned the corner and was staring at me with curiosity.
    “Nothing, sir,” I said, thinking fast. “The SpecOps tensionologist said I should vocalize any stress regarding past experiences. Listen: ‘Get away from me, Hades, go!’ See? I feel better already.”
    “Oh!” said Hicks doubtfully. “Well, the quacks know best, I suppose. That Lush fellow’s interview was a cracker, don’t you think?”
    Thankfully he didn’t give me