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392 pages, Hardcover
First published September 16, 2021
What sort of business though? Diamonds? Murder? Perhaps a bit of both? That would be nice.














“I am learning that it is important to stop sometimes, and just have a drink and a gossip with friends, even as corpses start to pile up around you. Which they have been doing a lot recently.
It's a balancing act, of course, but, by and large, the corpses will still be there in the morning, and you mustn't let it spoil your Domino's.”
“Yes, you never know when you might need pictures of corpses,' agrees Bogdan.
———
“I’ll also need you to drive me to meet an international money launderer today, if you’re free?”
“I can be free for that,” says Bogdan.
———
“Wonderful. Now what was I doing, dear?”
“Playing chess with Bogdan.”
“Oh, good. He made me scrambled eggs. And he gave Ron cocaine. What a champ. I’ll get back to him. I’ll leave you to your murdered spies.”
** Oh, and if you watched a wonderfully cast Netflix adaptation of the first book, I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I rage at the movie — Justice for Bogdan! (I can have Ron help me picket whomever adapted that plot).
“Elizabeth looks down at her friendship bracelet. A very ugly thing that means the world to her. Elizabeth’s life has been one of classmates and cousins, of professors, of colleagues, and of husbands. She has always found friends harder. What did friends want from you? What did they expect you to do? Her great brain hadn’t worked it out.”
———
“It was love, of course, but it was also friendship. Stephen was the first person she had ever met who refused to take her seriously.”
“Why diet at eighty-two?” says Joyce. “What’s a sausage roll going to do to you? Kill you? Well, join the queue.”
———
“You’d trust him if you met him. He’s a peculiar fellow, quite evil, but solid. It is hard to find evil people who are also reliable. As you know.”
———
“There are grenades somewhere. For the life of him he can’t remember where they are buried, but he knows they are in a safe location, and he has written it down somewhere. Under the Venetian gazebo? On reflection, he can’t even remember whose grenades they were, or why he had agreed to bury them, but that comes with age.”
"Joanna solved the mystery of my private messages. She went into my account and searched all of them for me. She told me that if I didn't want to be sent an endless tide of photographs of men's genitals, I should really change my username. Needless to say, I haven't changed it.”
“Well, thinks Chris. Sitting at a concrete table with two friends, a pigeon enjoying a McDonald’s, and being in love. That was something to protect, wasn’t it?”