The Diamond Hotel was closer to the university than Duty Bank, so it was Jasper we visited first. By the time we arrived, it was mid-morning, and the electro-tape had been moved so it was circling the front desk only. A PRB was standing guard there, and a different receptionist was hovering nervously next to it. Ironically, an outdated poster advertising a part-time position was pinned to the wall behind her.

She told us that Jasper was in his penthouse, so we rode the lift up to the top floor. Brady the housekeeper was standing outside the penthouse door in much the same manner as the PRB downstairs. He examined us disapprovingly with his golden eyes. "Jasper's having a meeting. He'll be out in a minute."

I leaned against the door, listening. I could make out one muffled voice.

"Who's he with?" Alex asked.

"The other staff. It's about..." He lowered his voice. "Kristina."

The voice stopped. Others filled its place. Then someone thumped towards the door.

I stepped back just in time to avoid being run over. A group of smartly-dressed staff hurried past us and entered the lift. Jasper appeared in the doorway behind them.

"Just raising morale," he said. "Do come in. Thank you, Brady."

We followed Jasper into the penthouse, and Brady followed us. He sat on a leather sofa and lit a cigarette. It seemed openly defiant, surely a breach of the hotel rules -- and surely a major risk to Jasper, too, when every wall of his office was hidden behind dark bookcases. They held real, old-fashioned books, not flimsy hover-backs, most of them hardback editions without their dust jackets. The block colours of their covers were faded, and the tops of their pages were yellow. No one needed to tell me that they were from the surface, or that they were worth a fortune.

The whole room was like a library: dim, muted, cosy. Jasper retreated behind his desk and turned on a lamp, even though it was still early in the day. He clasped his hands together on the solid oak and sat back.

"You were expecting us," I said cautiously.

"Oh, yes." Jasper picked up his tablet and tapped it. "See?"

We stood behind him and looked at the Xplora article on screen. Updates on The Diamond Murder (Clyde Edwards).

Alex and I were pictured at the top of the page, showing our warrant cards to the guards outside the gates of Bright Light University. The caption read: A dark past? Leading investigators on The Diamond murder inquiry enter Bright Light University, where Kristina Nixon graduated in 2176. The photo was credited as Clyde's own. I glared at it, wondering how I'd managed not to notice him lurking.

Jasper closed the article and put his tablet into sleep mode. He turned his chair to face us. "That journalist's already been here to nose around. When I saw the picture, I realised you were looking into Kristina's university days and that you'd want to speak with me again. However, I must say that I don't see how it links to her murder."

"Everything about Kristina is important to the inquiry," I said. "So, am I right in thinking that you were friends with her while you were at university?"

"That's correct. Friends from the first year."

"And the other members of your friendship group," Alex said. "They were her boyfriend, Zed Croft; her future husband and your cousin, Ronan Lewis; and her best friend, Ripley Lewis. Ripley was also your cousin."

Jasper winced. "Ah, yes...Ripley. I'm sure you found out what happened to her."

"Were you aware that she was suicidal before she died?" I asked.

"No," he replied hoarsely.

"Were you aware of the diary she kept? The research she conducted into various methods?"

"Not at the time, no."

"Kristina and Zed were both with her when she died," Alex said. "Some people speculated that Kristina pushed her off the roof."

I looked at him, surprised he'd mentioned it. Brady took a deep drag of his cigarette and glanced at Jasper with some concern.

"Oh, Zed played the field." Jasper sat back in his chair, returning our gazes levelly. "And Kristina knew it."

"Do you believe she killed your cousin?"

"No!" Jasper's face changed like a thunderclap, grief and anger twisting his features. "No. Why would I have employed her if I believed that? We were all devastated afterwards, and we drifted apart. But when Kristina applied for a job here, I thought I ought to take her under my wing."

"She must have come here straight after her divorce."

"Yes. In her last weeks with Ronan, she left her old job under some twisted notion that she was going to come into some money and live comfortably."

I tucked my hands in my pockets. "Sounds like she wasn't expecting the divorce."

"I suppose." Jasper slid his ashtray towards Brady, sensing that the housekeeper was about to use it. "She never really spoke of the split."

He glanced at Brady for confirmation, and they shared a deep look. Brady shrugged in agreement.

I looked at Alex and shrugged, too.

***

"Kristina's divorce with Ronan is looking a bit strange," I said as we left The Diamond. "She thought she was going to come into some money, but then the opposite thing -- "

My earpiece buzzed. I stopped in my tracks and tapped it twice. "Rames speaking."

"Amber, this is Dixon. There's been a shooting at Duty Bank."

I blinked. "What?"

"PRBs have been dispatched, but if you're nearby..."

"Of course...we'll go." I ended the call and grabbed Alex's hand without thinking. "Quickly!"

There was a tram stop at the end of the road, and we reached it just as one skidded to a halt. I spent a minute relaying Dixon's words to Alex on board, and then we were off again and running for someone else's life.

When we reached the bank, we stumbled to a stop in front of the facial recognition scanner. I drew my pistol and rapped on the screen. "Police! Let us in."

The doors flew open, and Mary's voice came over the intercom. "Inspector, I need help!"

"We're coming!" I said.

We stared into the lobby, our guns raised. The centre of the gleaming room was deserted. Even the robot behind the desk had gone.

"You check the right," I whispered to Alex. "I'll check the left."

I crouched down so that my head and chest wouldn't be level with the barrel of any gun that was waiting for us. Then I peered around the doors into the left-hand side of the lobby.

Nothing.

I pulled back. "Alex?"

"Clear."

We stood up and entered the lobby. I raised my gun again and turned around on the spot, checking above us. Still nothing. There was not a scream, not a whisper, not a drop of blood.

I raised my voice. "Mary?"

The door opposite us flew open. Mary was standing there, tears running down her cheeks. "In here!"

Alex strode across the lobby. "The shooter -- "

"Gone."

We lowered our pistols and entered her office. Zed was lying in front of the desk, holding a cloth to his chest. Blood dribbled over his fingers. He coughed, and more frothed at the corner of his mouth. "I-Inspector..."

I dropped to my knees beside him. "Mary, he doesn't have the strength to apply pressure. Hold it on yourself."

She did as I'd instructed. I pulled my jumper off and slid it under her hands, aiding the blood-soaked cloth.

Now what?

Most gunshot wounds to the chest are sucking chest wounds, Cassia had once told me. Air is entering the wound but not leaving it, which will eventually cause a lung to collapse.

The most obvious symptom was what the condition had been named after. I leaned closer to him and listened.

The wound was making a sucking noise.

"Mary, get his shirt open," I said. "Alex, we need tape and something plastic. Zed, can you, uh, feel an exit wound?"

His eyelids fluttered. He didn't reply.

I gingerly lifted one shoulder to look at his back, praying he didn't have a spinal cord injury. There was no wound on the other side.

"Okay, good," I said. "One wound."

Alex crouched beside me with some duct tape he'd swiped from the desk. Mary ripped Zed's shirt open and applied pressure to his chest again with my jumper.

I took the tape from Alex. "Plastic?"

He handed me an empty bio-plastic food bag.

"Mary, stop the pressure," I said.

She lifted the jumper up. I slapped the plastic bag over the wound and taped it down on three sides, leaving the bottom open. The idea was that with each exhale, the air already in his chest would be pushed out through the wound, and with each inhale the plastic would -- hopefully -- flatten against his skin and stop air from coming in again.

"Alex, check his pulse," I said. "Mary, apply pressure again."

"No pulse." Alex's fingers were on Zed's wrist. He bent over and listened carefully. "No breathing."

"Fuck! Mary, reduce pressure so his chest can move."

Mary loosened her hold on the jumper. We all stared at Zed, waiting to see the rise and fall of his chest. It stayed still.

"Keep monitoring his pulse." I started doing chest compressions.

Noise erupted outside. Boots thumped into the lobby.

"In here!" Mary yelled.

"Still no pulse," Alex said. "Amber, I think he's -- "

The door flew open, and a crowd of people tumbled in. Paramedics swarmed around us. Mary was the first to get out of their way, and then Alex and I were pushed back.

They examined Zed. They took over the CPR. They tried to intubate him.

Ten minutes later, they declared him dead.