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said. “First question. Accident or intent?”
    â€œAccident,” I said instantly.
    â€œWhy are you so sure?” Bill asked.
    I took a sip of coffee while I worked out the reasons I’d been so certain. “OK,” I said. “First, there are too many imponderables for it to be intentional. If someone was deliberately trying to set up Richard, or me, they wouldn’t have bothered with the trade plates. They’d just have left it sitting there with its own plates, so obvious that he couldn’t have missed it. Why bother with all of that when they could have planted the drugs in either of our cars at any time?”
    Shelley nodded and said, “The thing that strikes me is that it’s an awful lot of drugs to plant. Surely they could have achieved the same result with a lot less crack than two kilos. I don’t know much about big-time drug dealers, but I can’t believe they’d waste drugs they could make money out of just to set somebody up.”
    â€œBesides,” I added, “why in God’s name would anyone want to frame Richard? I know I sometimes feel like murdering him, but I’m a special case. Not even his ex-wife would want him to spend the next twenty years inside, never mind be willing to splash out—what, two hundred grand?”
    Bill nodded. “Near enough,” he said.
    â€œWell, even she wouldn’t spend that kind of dosh just to get her own back on him, always supposing he paid her enough maintenance for her to afford it. It’s not as if he’s an investigative journalist. The only people who take offense at what he writes are record company executives, and if any of them got their hands on two kilos of crack it would be up their noses, not in the boot of Richard’s car.” My voice wobbled and I ran out of steam suddenly. I kept coming up against the horrible realization that this wasn’t just another case. My life was going to be irrevocably affected by whatever I did over the next few days.

    Thankfully, Bill didn’t notice. I don’t think I could have handled any more sympathy right then. “OK. Accident. Synchronicity. What are the leads?”
    â€œWhy does somebody always have to ask the one question you don’t have the answer to?” I said shakily.
    â€œHas his solicitor got anything from the police yet?” Bill asked. “Who’s looking after him, by the way?”
    â€œHe’s got Ruth. If the cops have got anything themselves yet, they’ve not passed it on. But she asked me to call her this afternoon.” I stirred the froth into the remains of my coffee and watched it change color.
    â€œSo what have we got to go at?”
    â€œNot a lot,” I admitted. “Frankly, Bill, there aren’t enough leads on this to keep one person busy, never mind the two of us.”
    â€œWhat were you planning on doing?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know anybody on the Drugs Squad well enough to pick their brains. So that leaves Della.”
    Bill nodded. “She’ll be as keen to help as me and Shelley.”
    â€œShe should be,” I agreed. Not only did Detective Chief Inspector Della Prentice owe me a substantial professional favor in return for criminals translated into prisoners, over the past few months, she’d also moved into that small group of women I count as friends. If I couldn’t rely on her support, I’d better send my judgment back to the manufacturer for a major service. “The only other thing I can think of is cruising the city center tonight looking for another serious motor with trade plates on it.”
    â€œThe logic presumably being that if they’ve lost the car they were counting on, they’ll need another one?” Bill asked. “Even though the drugs have gone?”
    â€œIt’s all I’ve got. I’m hoping that our man will be out and about, trying to find out who’s got a parcel of