By the time she reached the Longmarket warren, the streets were crawling with tourists. Walking here, she’d done a lot of thinking about what had happened the night before. There were certainly enough maybe’s. Maybe she’d left a fingerprint on the wallet before dumping it. Maybe the police already had a lock on her for the killing. They’d certainly fingerprinted her enough times. Oddly, it wasn’t the uniformed police who worried her. It was the plainclothes stinkers hunting pickpockets and muggers among the crowds who did. Keeping her head down among the throng, she shuffled down the refuse-strewn back alley to the rear door of Manoj’s shop. She knocked once, then pulled at the doorknob and stuck her head around the side of the door.