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a small, oval-shaped face which was wearing an angry frown and she seemed familiar.
    ‘You’re Tyrone Swift, are you?’ she asked nastily.
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘I thought you’re supposed to be a detective of some kind, not a leftover from the Boat Race.’
    ‘I’m a private detective for business; rowing is for pleasure.’ He spoke mildly, aware of sparks emanating in his direction.
    She propped the bike against his front wall rather more forcefully than was needed and came up close to him. The helmet added a menacing aspect to her grim look.
    ‘How dare you!’ she said. ‘How dare you get involved in implying that I’m some kind of nutter!’
    He was aware that the sweat inside his bodysuit was cooling and that he had spray on his face. He was also aware that Cedric was lurking inside the front door and that several passers-by were glancing at them.
    ‘I don’t know what you mean. Would you like to come into my office . . . ?’
    ‘No, I bloody wouldn’t! What I would like is for you to mind your own business and find someone to pay you who isn’t . . . perverse and twisted!’
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you?’
    ‘You’re not much of a detective if you don’t know that, are you?’
    Oh God, he thought, we might be standing here all morning at this rate. ‘Okay; I’m not much of a detective. So tell me who you are.’
    She gave a twisted smile. ‘I’m Rachel Breen. Got it now?’
    Ah! He looked at her again, ignoring the helmet and recalling the photo on his phone. ‘You’re Ed Boyce’s ex.’
    ‘Exactly, thank goodness. And he’s mine, the nasty little runt. He’s been spreading lies, saying I’m stalking him, making his life a misery and he’s got you running around backing him up.’
    ‘I don’t think you have been stalking him and I’ve told him so, but why has he lied about it?’
    ‘Because, dimwit, I want half my share of the stuff in the flat we own and my quarter of the flat’s value, but he doesn’t want to give it to me. We split up six months ago after I found him in bed with someone else and I’m no further on. I’m living in a crummy rented room without my favourite saucepans. I’ve phoned and emailed him but he keeps avoiding me and he’s dreamed up this idea that he’ll persuade people I’m a crank. He’s hoping that if he can embarrass me enough that I’ll settle for less than my share. Also, he’s a grandiose prat with more money than sense and a jumped-up view of his own importance. Will that do?’
    Swift dabbed his face with the towel round his neck. ‘You could wait until he’s out and get what you want.’
    ‘He’s changed the locks, of course. Bastard.’
    ‘Sounds as if you need a solicitor.’
    ‘Oh, thank you; I’d never have thought of that. I was attempting to do things the civilised way and save myself money but I do have a solicitor now. Ed will be sorry he started this, believe me. My solicitor says you need to back off and stop believing his lies.’
    ‘Well, I wish you luck if what you tell me is true. I’ve sent Ed my final bill so unless he gets himself another detective, you shouldn’t be bothered anymore.’
    She took a step back and sneered, reaching for her bike. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, getting involved in persecuting an innocent woman.’
    ‘I’ve hardly been persecuting you; this is the first time we’ve met.’
    She sat on her bike and adjusted her helmet. ‘Private detective; isn’t that a job for washed-up blokes who can’t find a better way of making a living?’
    Swift watched her cycle away. Ouch. Ed Boyce had better settle his bill promptly or Swift would engage in some persecution of his own. In the shower, he scrubbed himself vigorously, reflecting on errant husbands and self-aggrandising cranks.

CHAPTER 5
    As always, Swift slept badly the night before he met Ruth. He lay awake in the small hours, alternately wishing he could stumble across someone who would inspire