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‘I don't understand,' Marie said.

Marie thought she could detect a note of amusement in the younger woman's eyes. ‘Because he was a copper,' Lizzie said. ‘You must have worked out that Andy's business wasn't all legit.'

‘I'd assumed that. It was why he took me on. Because I had a bit of experience in that direction.'

There was an expression in Lizzie's eyes that Marie couldn't read. ‘Thing was, Andy was a crap businessman. He had the contacts, and he had the blarney. He knew how to pick up good deals and some of the time he knew how to sell them on. He just didn't know how to make money in the process. Or how to hold on to any money he did make.'

‘Can't say that entirely surprises me, either,' Marie said. ‘I wondered how well the business was doing.'

‘Better than you might think,' Lizzie said. ‘That was my job, you see. Keeping tab on the finances.'

Marie was already feeling disconcerted. This was a different Lizzie, not just from the distraught young woman she'd comforted the day before, but also from the confused and self-effacing person she'd first met in McGrath's offices. ‘Your job?'

‘Yeah. Don't get me wrong. I was grateful for the admin help you were going to give us. But most of that side of things was already under control.' Lizzie allowed herself a full smile. ‘I didn't entirely tell you the truth about my work experience either. I did a business studies degree and qualified as an accountant. I don't claim to be Bill Gates, but I can read a balance sheet.'

Marie shook her head, trying to reconcile this information with the impression she'd had of Lizzie until this morning. Maybe Marie had been guilty of sexist and ageist stereotyping herself, assuming that an attractive young secretary's most important physical asset wouldn't be her brain. But it was more than that. Lizzie had gone out of her way, even when they'd been talking the previous day, to give the impression that she hadn't contributed anything to the business beyond making McGrath his morning coffee.

‘I didn't get the impression that McGrath had his filing under control,' Marie commented.

Lizzie laughed. ‘Andy didn't know how to file his nails. Didn't worry me too much. I removed anything that was important and made sure it was stored safely. The stuff you were going through needed sorting, but most of it was – well, just rubbish really. We liked to give the impression that everything was a bit of a shambles. Helpful in all kinds of ways. Revenue didn't suspect that Andy was living above his means. Competition tended to underestimate his operation. And it was useful for me to play the dim little secretary. Used to find out stuff without anyone even noticing I was there half the time. Amazing how gullible people are – well, men are – when they see a short skirt. They assume you haven't a clue what they're talking about.' She smiled again, this time with a discernible touch of fondness. ‘And Andy never wanted to believe that it was me keeping the business afloat. He liked to play the big businessman, and I was happy to let him.'

‘What about your dad?' Marie asked. ‘Where does he fit into all this?'

Lizzie hesitated for a moment. ‘What I told you was more or less true. He and mum were at loggerheads. She didn't want him anywhere near her or me. But he wasn't that bad. At least not to me. He helped fund my degree course and gave me money from time to time when I needed it. Not that I told mum that. He knew that Andy was struggling so, when I needed a job, he suggested to Andy that I might be able to help out. So I came and – well, it worked out.' Her smile changed in tone. ‘And it's not dead yet, you know. The business is still there. I've got a shareholding – it was something my dad fixed up – and, as far as I know, Andy's left the rest to me. He had no one else.'

As Lizzie spoke, Marie wondered again about the burning of McGrath's office. The police might have a different view once they'd discovered the ownership structure of the business. She wondered whether Keith Welsby had had any shareholding, but she thought it unlikely. Welsby wouldn't leave those kinds of ends dangling. She couldn't envisage Lizzie as a killer, or even as an arsonist. But until the last few minutes she hadn't envisaged her as an accountant either. ‘You think you can keep the business going?'

‘I don't have Andy's sales skills or network. I'd be more interested in building up the legit side of the business.'

Marie decided to chance her arm. ‘And what about Jeff Kerridge? Where did he fit into all this?'

Lizzie stared at her for a moment, and then laughed again. ‘Interesting question. What makes you ask that?'

‘I keep my ear to the ground. I heard Andy had some dealings with Kerridge.'

There was an expression of amusement on Lizzie's face. ‘Yeah. Andy had dealings with Kerridge. You might say he was part of Kerridge's team. Not an intimate member, exactly. But close enough. Kerridge put a lot of business Andy's way.'

‘And was your dad a member of Kerridge's team, too?' Marie asked, and immediately knew she'd opened her mouth once too often.

The amusement on Lizzie's face was unconcealed by now. ‘Another interesting question. Why are you so interested in my dad, Maggie Yates?'

Suddenly, it was crystal clear to Marie. Lizzie knew. She knew who Marie was. She knew why Marie had been sent to work with McGrath. She'd known all along. Christ knew how she'd found out. But she'd known. Marie had no doubt of it.

‘I'm listening to your story,' Marie said. ‘And wondering why you're telling me it. Why now?'

‘Because we live in interesting times, Maggie Yates. Andy McGrath was killed when someone torched his offices. I have an intruder trying to break into my flat. Have you been disturbed at all?'

Marie thought she'd kept her face expressionless. But she could see immediately that Lizzie had read her thoughts. ‘Well, that's interesting again. If all these incidents are connected, why would they be interested in you? You'd only just joined the company.'

‘You've lost me, Lizzie,' Marie said, aware of the coldness in her voice. ‘Doesn't sound as if you're in great need for my support. Maybe I'd better be going.' She made a move to leave the table.

Lizzie remained motionless. ‘I can see how you might feel you've been misled. But my lying's quite small beer compared with yours. Isn't it, Marie?'

Marie had already decided that Lizzie must know her real identity, so the use of her real name shouldn't have come as a shock. But it did, as if a mask had just been physically torn from Marie's face.

She lowered herself back on to the chair. ‘Okay, Elizabeth Rose. You tell me what this is all about.'

Lizzie nodded. ‘I assumed you'd be thorough. You know who I am. Who my father is.'

‘And you've known who I am. All the time?'

‘No. Andy was a bit suspicious at first. You'd been recommended as someone who might be right to help out in the business. Your lot had put the word about in the right places, so that by the time it reached Andy, it sounded legit enough. Almost sounded too good to be true, so we did a bit of digging. But everything checked out. It was only with the fire that I began to get really suspicious. It all seemed too much of a coincidence. You turn up, and everything goes to hell in a handcart. Yesterday, when you were here, I managed to get a photo of you on my phone without you noticing. Sent it off to a few people to see if your face rang any bells. And it rang one.'

Marie could think of only one explanation, improbable as it seemed. ‘Your father? They wouldn't let him anywhere near a mobile. And I thought he was in no state to recognise anybody?'

‘He's making something of a recovery. Has been for a while. Better than he's letting on, but not over keen to stand trial any time soon. They've got him on bed watch in hospital with a couple of prison officers. But you must know how my dad can twist people round his little finger. They're pretty lax with him because they think he's incapable anyway, the state he's in. I've got a number to contact him so I texted over your picture and he knew you straight away. I was gobsmacked. I thought there was something dodgy about you, but I never had you down as a cop.' She paused. ‘Though why the hell you were wasting your time on a two-bit operation like ours is beyond me. Who did you think we were? The bloody Kray Twins?'

‘Good question,' Marie agreed. ‘Short answer is I haven't a clue. Made no sense to me from the start. I thought there must be more to the business than met the eye.'

‘There is,' Lizzie said. ‘Or was. But not that much more. Nothing that merits the attentions of a full-time undercover cop, I'd have thought.'

‘Except that Andy McGrath had links with Jeff Kerridge. Like your dad.'

‘That's history. Kerridge is dead. Even his wife's dead.'

‘She is now. There's another coincidence. We keep stumbling across them. Just how close was Andy McGrath to Jeff Kerridge?'

She felt rather than heard the movement behind her. ‘Close enough,' the voice said.

She turned slowly, her throat dry. He was standing in the kitchen doorway, with at least the decency to look mildly embarrassed. ‘Sorry,' he shrugged. ‘Must be a bit of a surprise.'

‘Just a bit,' she said. ‘You're looking remarkably well. For a dead man.'

Andy McGrath made his way slowly into the kitchen and lowered himself on to the chair next to Marie. He was limping and there were bruises on the side of his face. Not in the best of nick, you might say. But not bad for someone who'd supposedly been burned to death a day or so earlier. ‘A bit of a misunderstanding.' He began to cough suddenly, retching violently. Lizzie quickly filled a glass with water from the sink. McGrath swallowed most of it in one gulp, but it was a few more minutes before he was able to speak.

‘Smoke,' he croaked. ‘Got into my throat. Getting better but still left me hoarse.'

‘I don't know what game you're both playing. But you've lost me.' Marie fixed her gaze on McGrath. ‘Is this some sort of scam?'

McGrath shook his head. ‘It wasn't me in the office. The police assumed it probably was, because no one could track me down. They'll have worked out by now that it isn't.' He took another sip of the water. ‘But it was meant to be me in there. I'd had a text, earlier in the evening, supposedly from one of our customers. Said he'd got a bit of a crisis on. Could I meet him at the office, help sort things out.'

‘You're accustomed to late night business meetings?'

‘Depends on the business. This was the kind of customer who prefers to work outside office hours, if you get my drift. My guess was he'd screwed up some deal – not delivered what he'd promised – and was looking for me to come up with the goods. It happens. Sometimes I'm on the other side of the counter. Never does any harm to do the odd favour.'

‘So you went back to the office?'

‘Sat around for half an hour, twiddling my proverbials. No bugger turned up. Got fed up waiting, decided I was being messed about, so called it a night. I was heading out when somebody jumped me. Hit me over the head with something big and heavy. Probably blacked out for a few minutes. Next thing I know I'm being dragged back into the office, and I can smell gas. Lots of fucking gas. We got a couple of heaters in there. Whoever it was had turned on the gas and was waiting for it to fill the room.' He suddenly stopped, as if he'd only just registered the significance of what he was describing. ‘Jesus. I was on the floor, half conscious, trying to work out what the fuck was happening. Took me a few minutes, but then I looked up and saw this bastard standing near the door, waiting there with a box of fucking matches.'

It was clear that Lizzie had already heard McGrath's account, but the equanimity she'd displayed minutes earlier seemed to have deserted her. She was looking much more like the anguished Lizzie of the previous day.

‘You don't knock me down easily,' McGrath went on. ‘I thought, fuck this, and launched myself at him. Took him by surprise, but I was a bit too slow. Heard this
whoomph
behind me as he threw a lit match into the room, and then I was on him. I could hear the papers on the desk catching fire. There was another Calor gas cylinder in there that would go up if the fire took hold. I wasn't thinking straight, and this bastard was fighting back as hard as I was. He caught me on the side of the face with something – not sure what – but then I was back on to him. I was battering him with my fists, trying to force him back into the room. Then he slipped and caught his head on the corner of the desk. Really nasty blow. There was another almighty bang – maybe the cylinder going up. I didn't stay to find out. Just legged it out, jumped in my car and got away as fast as I bloody could. I thought the whole place was going up.'

‘So who was the body? The guy who jumped you?'

‘I'm assuming so. If he was out cold, he wouldn't have had any chance. There was already enough smoke in there to catch my throat. Chances are he wouldn't have come round.'

‘So who was he?'

‘Christ knows. I didn't get to see his face. He jumped me from behind, and everything's a blur after that. But there was nothing that rang any bells.'

Marie made her way over to the window. Outside, she could see the mundane backstreet on which the apartment block was situated. Just a row of dull Edwardian terraces. Workman's cottages, they'd have been originally. Probably they'd been the same on this side of the road until someone had demolished them to build this modern edifice. The housing you'd find in any semi-industrial town or city across England. A mundane world, which she was sharing with someone who'd returned from the dead, armed with some half-arsed story that just might be true. She turned back into the room. ‘So why didn't you go to the police, Andy? Let them know you'd not been fried to a crisp.'