I walked straight from Graham's office down to the basement, where the IT department lived.

Kevin Doyle was eating a bacon sandwich at his desk, surrounded by six screens. He was fifty, from Dublin, and had worked at Fletcher & Rowe longer than anyone except Graham. “Kevin,” I said. “The Hartley's file. Can you find out what happened to it?”

He put down his sandwich.

“I already got it back,” he said. “Yesterday afternoon. Took me ten minutes. It's sitting on your drive again.”

“I don't need it back. I need to know how it disappeared.”

Kevin looked at me for a long moment.

“Files don't just disappear, Becca,” he said. “Somebody makes them disappear. And our system writes down every single thing anybody does. Every file opened, every file moved, every file deleted. Who, when, and from which computer.”

“How long would it take to check?”

“I've got a lot on today.” He picked up his sandwich again. “Give me till Monday morning.” “Monday morning Graham's announcing the new Creative Director.”

Kevin raised his eyebrows.

“Is he now,” he said slowly. “Well. I'd better be quick, then.”