I, Spy? (Sophie Green Mysteries, No. 1) (Sophie Green Mystery)

ago. Not many landlords are that… Well, I was going to say cruel, but what I’m really looking for is efficient .
    Luke knocked on the door. Ana didn’t answer right away, and I turned to him and said, “What if she’s out?”
    “She’ll be in. She’s got family coming in this evening.”
    “Who are we going to be?”
    “Plainclothes. CID. Whoever you want. A warrant card’s a warrant card.”
    I supposed it was.
    Ana looked awful when she opened the door. Her clothes had chocolate stains on them, her face was puffy and spotty and her hair was greasy. She looked nothing like the gorgeous girl who gave people information in her sexy Spanish accent.
    “Ms. Rodriguez?” Luke said, and his voice was kind of soft. He showed her his warrant card and I started searching for mine, but she’d already opened the door to let us in.
    “You want to know about Chris?”
    “Actually, we want to know about you.”
    She looked up tearfully. “What, you think I did it?”
    “No!” I said before Luke had even opened his mouth. “We don’t think that at all. We just need to talk to you.”
    She nodded and led the way through to the living room, where the curtains were closed and the carpet was covered with tissues and a film was frozen on the screen. The box for it— Abre Los Ojos —was sprawled open on the floor. Ana zapped the TV off and looked up at us. “Would you like some coffee?”
    Luke shook his head and I, reluctantly because I did want some, shook mine too.
    “We don’t want to put you to any trouble. You’re probably aware, Ms. Rodriguez, that the BAA cameras saw you making your way down to the undercroft early on Tuesday morning.”
    Ana started blinking and sniffing, but she nodded. She sat down and we followed. I was horribly aware of how close to Luke I was sitting.
    “Could you please tell us what time?” Luke was asking Ana.
    She shrugged. “About four a.m.?”
    “You don’t know precisely?”
    She shook her head.
    Luke nodded and asked gently, “Could you tell me why?”
    She started crying again. It was awful.
    “It’s okay,” I said, and I sounded pretty professional. “Take your time.”
    Luke glanced at me, and I couldn’t read his expression.
    “I know we shouldn’t,” Ana said, “but we were going for…we were going for…”
    It was too painful. “Was it a romantic liaison?” I asked.
    She looked slightly puzzled over “liaison”, but she nodded. “Romantic, yes. It was my idea. Is all my fault!”
    She started sobbing and she looked so miserable I got up and went over to her and put my arm around her. She clutched at me and wailed into my shoulder, “There is reasons why you not supposed to go down there. I kill him, is all my fault!”
    I looked up at Luke. He looked uncomfortable.
    “Could you maybe go and get her a glass of water?” I said, and he leapt up.
    “Look, Ana,” I said, no Ms. Rodriguez for me, “it’s not your fault. You just wanted to do something exciting with your boyfriend.” She was still crying, but not as hard. I went on, “Was it all secret?”
    She raised her face to me. “You mean me and Chris? No one at the airport knew we were together. We were just—” she waved her hand, “—flatmates. No, house mates. You know.”
    “How long have you been living here?” I asked as Luke came back in with the water. I gave it to Ana.
    “Two years. Since I came here.”
    “How long have you and Chris been together?”
    She started sniffing again. “A year. No one knows. His family don’t like me…”
    I nodded. Racism in Britain is alive and well. And it wasn’t like Ana comes from somewhere far off, with strange customs and strict ideals. She was Spanish. They were only an hour ahead of us. But you still see it a lot at the airport, this sort of generalisation. A lot of the foreign nationals have trouble finding places to stay. People think they’re untrustworthy.
    “I’m sorry,” Ana apologised, brushing at the wet patch on my leather coat. “I can’t stop crying. All day, I cry. Everything makes me cry.”
    “It’s okay,” I said, stroking her back. “Cry all you want. You’ve been through a lot.”
    I felt so awful for her, I really did. I mean, the closest I’ve come to personal loss is when my grandmother died, but I never really was what you might call close to her. She was just this distant old lady, and it sure as hell hadn’t affected me like this.
    “Ms. Rodriguez,” Luke interrupted. “I’m sorry to