indsay popped the last mouthful of strawberry tart in her mouth and carefully mopped her lips with the paper napkin. The movement of her jaw while eating still gave her twinges of pain, but she'd never been able to resist strawberry tarts, and those she'd found in California just weren't the same. Sophie was watching her with an air of bemused affection. "I don't know how you can think about eating when the next thing on the agenda is burglary," she said.

"S'easy," Lindsay said, swallowing her mouthful of cake. "Besides, it's not burglary. No breaking, no intent to steal or rape or commit GBH on the premises. It's not even criminal trespass."

"You sure they haven't changed the law since you last covered the criminal courts?" Sophie said dubiously.

"They have changed the law. That's the current status. Which you would know if you actually read the Guardian Weekly instead of using it to put under Mutton's food bowl. That dog knows more about current British politics than you do." Suddenly, Lindsay leaned forward and pointed across the car park to the front door of Monarch Press. "Fuck! That's our man," she said, indicating Danny King, who had just left his office with a tall man in shirtsleeves and suit trousers who carried a square sample case in one hand and a briefcase in the other. Danny was empty-handed, dressed in baggy, cream-coloured trousers and a flowing dark blue long-sleeved shirt.

"The one who doesn't look like a sales rep?" Sophie asked.

"Got it in one. Oh, shit, they're headed this way!" Lindsay exclaimed, shrinking back from the window, as if that would render her invisible. For a taut moment, she was on the point of taking flight. Then the two men paused by a dark saloon.

"It's okay, they're only going to their car," Sophie said, relief spreading across her face. The man in the collar and tie dumped his bags in the boot, then climbed into the driving seat, while Danny strolled further down the car park and climbed behind the wheel of a silver Mercedes convertible.

"Nice wheels," Lindsay enthused as Danny shot out of his slot and headed for the exit. "Shame about how he paid for them."

"We don't know that for sure," Sophie said.

"We soon will." Lindsay checked her watch. "Nearly five now, and anybody left will be out like greased lightning now Danny's gone, and there's no one left to impress. I don't know about you, but I fancy another strawberry tart." Sophie pulled a face. "Hey," Lindsay said. "The night is young. My blood sugar needs all the help it can get. Like you said, it's a tough business, burglary."

Forty minutes later, they stood inside the reception area of Monarch Press. Lauren had hustled them through the front door faster than a Royal aide helping the boss escape the paparazzi.

Then she'd handed over a bunch of keys and a sheet of paper that provided Lindsay and Sophie with the instructions for setting the intruder alarms when they left, and Lauren's address so they could return the keys later.

"The list?" Lindsay demanded.

Lauren reached behind her desk and grabbed a scruffy sheet of A4 paper with a list of names. She thrust it at Sophie and, before they had a chance to ask her any more questions, was off.

The vertical blinds that lined the windows of the publishing house let in more than enough light for the two women to see where they were going and what they were doing. "His office is upstairs," Lindsay whispered, handing Sophie some latex gloves and wrestling her hands into her own pair.

"Why are we whispering?" Sophie hissed, efficiently covering her hands.

"Because burglars always whisper?" Lindsay said in her normal voice as she picked a way through the open-plan office to the stairs.

"I thought we weren't burglars."

"So sue me. I can't believe I'm doing this for the second time in the same week. Raiding offices, poking around in other people's data."

Sophie shrugged. "Synchronicity. You probably wouldn't have thought of this approach if you hadn't already been messing around with somebody else's computers. But let's face it, you dropped lucky with Guy and Stella. Do you really think we're going to find proof that Danny's running a ghost-jobs scam?" she said sceptically. "Shouldn't a sensible man have destroyed all the evidence after Penny confronted him?"

"Professional criminals are convinced they're smarter than the police. They know they're never going to get caught. So they hang on to all sorts of incriminating stuff. Besides, Danny King can't get rid of the evidence without explaining to the tax people why it is his company has suddenly shed half its editorial staff when on paper they're the ones generating his profits."

"Good point," Sophie acknowledged.

They emerged in a corridor at the top of the stairs. On the first floor at Monarch Press, democracy and openness yielded place to hierarchy and privacy - or secrecy, depending on where the observer was standing. Lindsay was in no doubt which word she'd have chosen.

They walked to the far end of the corridor and started working their way back toward the stairs. The end room was a boardroom that ran the full depth of the building, its centrepiece a vast antique oval table that must have used most of a mahogany tree. "There's always something, isn't there," Lindsay muttered. "All these supposedly radical, right-on companies, they always have an Achilles' heel of good old greedy capitalist materialism lurking somewhere. Now, why do I not believe that table's one of Danny's family heirlooms?"

"Because you're a twisted old cynic. Now come on, never mind the self-righteousness. We've got more important things to think about," Sophie said, chivvying Lindsay out of the doorway and toward the next office, whose door revealed it belonged to the Sales Director. Opposite that was the Marketing Director, then Publicity, opposite Accounts. Finally, they came to an office with no nameplate on its door. "I guess this is it," Sophie said, turning the door handle.

They stepped into a small office with a modern desk and the usual array of electronic equipment. A buttoned damask Victorian chaise-longue ran along one wall, beneath a framed photograph of Danny with a Jeroboam of champagne surrounded by his staff under a banner that announced "Monarch's Ten Year Reign." This was clearly a reception area that doubled as his secretary's office. A second door led off it at right angles to the corridor. Lindsay opened it to reveal another room that ran the full depth of the mews.

One end of the room was arranged as a meeting space, with four grey leather sofas surrounding a glass and polished-granite coffee table. At the other end, two desks sat in an L-shape. The one facing out into the room was empty. The other held a computer. Between them was a black steel shelving unit that contained TV, video, and a Bang and Olufson stereo that had probably cost as much as the average family car. A run of low-level black filing cabinets occupied the back wall below the window.

"Toss you for it," Lindsay said, fishing a coin out of the pocket of her baggies. "Call?"

Sophie groaned. "Whatever I say, I just know I'm going to end up with the filing cabinets. Heads."

Lindsay tossed the coin, caught it, slapped it on to the back of her left hand, and revealed it with a flourish. "Tails it is. I'll take the computer, you take the filing cabinets. Hang on, I'll get you a copy of the names on Lauren's list."

She disappeared back into the secretary's office, where, rather than wait for the photocopier to warm up, she slipped the sheet of paper through the fax machine. Giving the original to Sophie, she laid the flimsy fax paper on the desk next to her and switched on the computer.

"These are locked," Sophie said, rattling the first drawer fruitlessly.

"Try these," Lindsay said calmly, pulling a bunch of small keys out of the desk drawer to her right. "Arrogant little shit deserves to be burgled."

While Sophie searched for the correct key for the cabinet, Lindsay found her way around Monarch's computer software. It wasn't hard; they ran a network of PCs, an expanded version of systems Lindsay had worked on both in her university department and in small magazines where she'd contributed articles. It didn't take her long to find the personnel directory, where a database held files on all their employees. "Yes," she said softly, a sense of triumph surging through her.

"Got somewhere?" Sophie said, her voice muffled from kneeling on the floor with her head bent over a filing drawer.

"I think so. Look for personnel dossiers, see if they compare with what's in here." Now that she was faced with the answer she'd been desperately searching for, Lindsay was almost superstitiously reluctant to start checking the individual files of the men on Lauren's list. Instead, she typed in a search request for Baz's file. Just for comparison purposes, she told herself.

The file listed Baz's title - Editorial Director (Fiction) - her work station number - 026 - her salary, date of birth, home address and telephone number, the names and job titles of staff she was responsible for, her starting date with the company, and details of her pension fund contributions. Unable to resist, Lindsay called up Danny King's file. Publisher, work station 101, plus all the other details. What looked like an extremely expensive address in Holland Park. Plus a very healthy and generous pension. Now she had an idea what a file should look like, she typed in the first name on Lauren's list.

Paddy Brown was allegedly the Foreign Rights Acquisition Director at work station 201. He earned three times what Baz was paid, though he lived in what sounded like a block of flats in Bethnal Green. Like Danny, his pension arrangement looked well-cushioned. The picture was similar for Bill Candy, the Translation Rights Director (work station 202), Paul Edwards, the Senior Commissioning Director (work station 203), Brian Hedges, the Promotions Controller (work station 204), and the other names on the list.

"It's just like Penny laid out for us," Lindsay said. "Look, he's even put the equivalent of an extra floor on the building." Sophie stood up and looked over Lindsay's shoulder. "That's what she meant with that cryptic note about the tenth floor of a nine-storey building. All the ground-floor staff have work station beginning with zero, and everybody on the first floor begins with one. But all the shady staff's work stations begin with a two. That way, if there was ever a snap raid, all Danny King would have to say is that those members of staff work from home, or they have a roving commission or whatever."

Sophie slapped a pair of files on the desk "Compare these. Legitimate employee files have copies of all the correspondence from when they applied for a job and were interviewed and had their references called in. Ghost personnel just have a letter of appointment. Bit of a giveaway, isn't it?"

Although she was eager for evidence to support her case, Lindsay was determined not to jump to conclusions again. "I don't know..." she said. "Couldn't he just say he head hunted them?"

"I suppose so. That would save him having to forge letters and references. So does any of this actually prove anything?" Sophie asked.

"Taken on its own, none of it means much. But if we took this to the police, along with Penny's synopsis, plus Danny King coming forward at the last gasp to make a false statement about Meredith... well, it all adds up. It hangs together. This ghost-employment con couldn't stand up to any serious scrutiny, especially if he's supplementing it with a ghost publication scam. As soon as the cops start looking at it seriously, the whole house of cards is going to collapse."

"And this is what Penny uncovered," Sophie said dully.

"I think so. The phone calls made her suspicious, especially when she found out about Lauren's little list. My guess is that her main motive for getting into the computers here was to check out Baz's files, to see if there was any solid evidence for her suspicion that Baz was the one that Meredith had had her disastrous little fling with. But when she was actually faced with the prospect of uncovering the truth, she bottled it."

"So she took a look at the mystery men in Danny's files as a way of putting off what she knew she had to do," Sophie said. "That would be just like her. She hated unpleasantness. She'd have done anything she could think of to postpone actually having to face up to the proof that she'd been betrayed twice over."

Lindsay took a floppy disk out of her bag and slotted it into the computer, keying in instructions for it to copy the files in the personnel database. "I think that's the way it happened. She had a devious mind, did Penny. She'd have realized right away there was something seriously dodgy going on. Even if she didn't work it all out at the time, she learned enough to figure it out later."

Sophie turned back to the filing cabinets and started pulling out the files that corresponded to the list. For a few moments the only sound was the rattling of file drawers and the mechanical groans of the disk drive. Then Sophie said, "But how did Danny find out she knew what was going on?"

Lindsay took the floppy out of the drive and zipped it into the back pocket of her organiser. She shrugged. "I don't know for sure, but I think it went something like this. Penny, as Meredith found out to her cost, is a woman to whom honesty and integrity were paramount. The issue between her and Meredith splitting up wasn't infidelity, it was breach of trust. And Penny was ruthless, even though it cost her the woman she really loved. Agreed?"

"Oh, absolutely," Sophie said. "She wasn't a forgiving woman. She was absolute for truth, and it made her judgemental. It was the side of Penny I liked least. You think she confronted him with what she suspected?"

"I'd put money on it. Remember that curious incident the day before she died? When she came to Monarch supposedly for a meeting with Baz, only Baz was out having lunch with somebody else and Penny kicked off? It wasn't like Penny to stand on her dignity like that. I reckon she was engineering an opportunity to get Danny on his own. And knowing Penny, she probably laid it out for him over the starters." Lindsay slipped into a Californian accent. "I know what you're doing here, Danny Boy. I know about the ghost jobs. I know so much about it, I'm going to put it at the heart of my next novel. And then people will ask where I got the idea from. They'll especially wonder if I change publishers at around the same time. Time you cleaned up your act, pal. Exorcise the ghosts or lose me."

Sophie looked wide-eyed at Lindsay, rocked by the accuracy of her impersonation. "Jesus! You gave me gooseflesh!"

Lindsay slid out of the chair and gave Sophie a hug. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

Sophie smudged a kiss across the top of Lindsay's ear. "It was just a bit creepy. As if there aren't enough ghosts in here already," she added with a nervous laugh, brandishing the files she'd extracted. "We should photocopy these, so we can take them to the police, right?"

"Wrong."

The voice came from behind the door. Deep, tight, and angry. The two women swung round in time to see Danny King step out into the office. Lindsay's eyes swept over him, then swung irresistibly back to his right hand. Dull blue steel, just like in the movies. She didn't know what kind it was, but staring down the business end, the gun looked bigger than anything Clint Eastwood had ever relied on to make his day. The shock of it hurt her stomach and made her bladder burn. Years of journalism and messing with murder investigations had never taken her quite so close to her own mortality. It wasn't a place she liked. Instinctively, she moved closer to Sophie.

"Get away from each other," Danny said. His cold control was almost more frightening than the black hole of the gun barrel. Without even considering the alternative, Lindsay obeyed, moving away from Sophie at the same moment as Sophie separated herself with a sidestep. That left Sophie in the inside corner of the L of the desks, with Lindsay a foot beyond the empty executive expanse that had stood between her and Danny.

Lindsay forced her eyes away from the gun to look at Danny's face. His expression was set, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles bunched under his ears. His creamy pale skin was flushed along the cheekbones, like two badly-applied smears of a blusher designed for someone else's skin tones. His eyes glinted in the evening light like dark sapphires, hard and terrifying as the gun barrel. They carried about the same promise of compassion. "It's over, Danny," Lindsay said.

"I don't hear no fat lady singing," he grated contemptuously, his veneer of cultured civilisation stripped away to reveal a savage gangster bent on survival. "You're the ones that are over."

"Killing us doesn't solve anything. It's just two more bodies for the police to investigate. This racket of yours - how many lives is it worth? Sooner or later, the trail's going to lead back to your door," Lindsay said defiantly, praying her voice wouldn't crack or her bladder give up.

Danny made a sound like a dog coughing. Lindsay translated it as a harsh laugh. "What fucking planet are you on? Do you have any idea of the people you've been messing with? This is not some cosy fucking TV series where the villain folds up in a heap, and you get to be heroes. This is reality, and this is where you get to be dead."

"There are people who know we were coming here tonight," Sophie interjected, her voice low and calm. It didn't stop the sweat of fear running down Lindsay's armpits.

"I don't give a monkey's fuck if the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police knows you're here," Danny said, taking a couple of steps forward. "The people I deal with, I don't have to give a toss about stuff like that. You don't understand a fucking thing, do you? Just like your stupid fucking friend Penny. She thought she could threaten me and my operation with her Goody-Two-Shoes mentality. None of you have the faintest idea of how the world works." He ran his free hand over his sweating forehead. But the gun didn't even waver.

"How does the world work, Danny?" Sophie cut in, sounding as relaxed as a chat-show host asking him about his latest book.

"Money buys everything. Including love. And death. And it ain't love I'm offering tonight."