THE MURDERS OF MRS AUSTIN AND MRS BEALE : Extract

Judy looked round the designer reception area, where chauffeurs and the like waited, by the look of things. A table, with magazines. A little fountain, switched off for the night. Plants. Real or plastic? She peered at them, then realised that the ash on her practically unsmoked cigarette was dangerously close to falling all over the floor that looked suspiciously like real marble. There must be an ashtray. She looked round.

There was. A free-standing chromium ashtray, with a heavy metal base. She looked at Drake as she let her cigarette slip into its depths. He had gone pale again. 'Sit down,' she said.

'Sorry.'

'It's all right. Just take your time. I've got a lot to think about.' She sat back in the chair. 'All right,' she said quietly, after a few moments. 'We've got two lots of people upstairs who knew Mrs Austin. One was on the phone to the Austins, and the other was visiting them.'

Smoke curled up from the ashtray as she stood up again, and picked it up. The weight surprised her. 'It must have lead in the base,' she said, and understood how its fellow had made such a mess of Mrs Austin. 'Right,' she said, briskly, in grave danger of emulating Drake. 'Mrs Pearce knows we're here, so we can't just disappear again, I don't think. We'll proceed exactly as we meant to - don't ask anyone about the ashtray. OK?'

'Keep them off their guard?'

She smiled. 'I see you've had the lecture. But if someone left here with one of those things in order to kill Mrs Austin, there's nothing to be gained by letting them know we suspect that. And if the subject arises, I don't smoke.'

They used the lift. It deposited them quietly and went back down with a well-bred whine.

Knocking on the Beales' door, and ringing the Beales' bell proved just as ineffective as the Beales' entrance phone had.

Judy sighed, rather like the entrance door. 'They're out,' she said.

'Or avoiding us. If that camera comes on when you press the pad, then Beale would see us, wouldn't he?'

Judy nodded, and bent down. 'When in doubt,' she said, 'look through the-' The door swung open at her touch.

Rosemary Beale lay on the hall floor, the telephone receiver lying on her chest. Its cable was still tight round her neck.