'Hallo, Kerry, got a moment?'

Without waiting for her reply he walked past her into the living room, took off his cap, and sat down.

'Your two monkeys have just left!' she said viciously.

'I know,' he smiled. 'I saw them leave. What did you tell them?'

'You should know. You sent them, didn't you?'

She sat opposite him and folded her arms to keep herself covered. Thompson leaned forward. No need for her to know that he was officially on sick leave.

'I want you to tell me,' he said softly.

'All right! But I'll tell you this, the tall one, the one with the dark hair? He touched me up. In the kitchen!'

Thompson's eyebrows raised.

'Yes?'

'Yes! Dirty sod he is! I'm going to bring charges!'

Thompson smiled.

'They didn’t call a WPC, then?'

'He wouldn't have been able to have a feel, then, would he?'

'Come on, Kerry. I know you better than this. You can take care of yourself. You wouldn't stand for any nonsense you didn't want. Now, did he touch you or not?'

She lowered her eyes. It was answer enough for Thompson.

'Right. Now we've sorted that out, why don't you tell me what was said.'

Reluctantly, partly because she wanted a third party to know the sort of questions the two London policemen had been asking, and partly because she knew and trusted Thompson, because he was local, she told him what had been said.

'And they didn't ask you anything else?'

'No.'

'How long was Kim going to stay with you?'

'My parents are due back this evening.'

'So they were happy for Kim to stay with you?'

'Why shouldn't they be?'

'You're very young to be left alone.'

'I suppose they thought the two of us together would be better than me on my own.'

'I guess so. Is there anything else you can tell me about Kim, Kerry? Was she acting normally the last time you saw her?'

'Yes. There was nothing unusual about her.'

'Were you planning on having boys here?'

The question caught her slightly off-guard.

'No. No, of course not!'

Thompson remembered what Sally had told him about Kim and Kerry. It would have been a golden opportunity for them, with both sets of parents away.

'So Bellamy wasn't here at all?' Peter Bellamy was a young man whom Kerry was often seen around with. Thompson had not needed anyone to tell him about Kerry’s association with Bellamy. He was constantly under surveillance for suspected drugs-related offences. He had been seen several times with Kerry Macklin.

Kerry coughed nervously. She was already aware that Thompson knew she did not smoke, and that the ashtray was full of cigarette ends. Peter Bellamy smoked. All day, every day. He knew that for a fact.

'No. He wasn't here,' she said.

'Could I have a glass of water, Kerry?'

'Of course.'

In the half a minute it took for her to fetch water, Thompson deftly slid one of the cigarette ends into an envelope taken from his pocket. He slid it back into his pocket and was certain she had noticed nothing.

'Thank you. You're sure no-one else was here with you?'

Kerry eyed him suspiciously.

'Why should there have been? Why are you questioning me? I haven't done anything!'

She began to cry. Thompson stood up.

'It could be important, that's all. You're only seventeen, Kerry. Don't grow up too soon.'

'There was no-one here!'

'Okay. I may need to talk to you again.'

'That's what the others said!' she said bitterly. 'I'm not going to get any peace now, am I? My parents are going to want to know all about it, and one of you three is going to tell them!'

'Nothing to tell, if you're telling the truth, Kerry.'

He walked to the door.

'If you think of anything. Anything you might have forgotten...... Look, will you be all right here on your own? Shall I get someone to come and sit with you?'

‘Am I in danger?’

‘I don’t think so.’

But he couldn’t be sure, could he?

'I know where to find you.'

'Good.'

Four

THOMPSON

Thompson drove on to Sharringford. The roads were still wet from the torrential rains. As he entered the village again, he noticed, not for the first time, how deserted it was when all of the occupants had left for work or school. He drove slowly past the disused school, ruminating briefly on the waste of the fine pre-war building, similar to the school he had himself attended in what others would call the dim and distant past.

Dim and distant past indeed!

He remembered his schooldays perfectly well, thank you very much. He remembered the outside toilets, the wooden desks and chairs, the huge jug of ink, the blackboard that, if you accidentally scraped your fingernail on it, made a sound that made you shiver. Nowadays they used white boards more often than not, and big coloured markers that gave off a pungent, chemical smell. He remembered his long khaki shorts, his sleeveless, home-knitted pullover, going home to his Grandmother's house on the bus because his mother and father were at work at the aircraft factory. That had been in Gloucestershire, though, nearly forty years ago. This was Norfolk, and times had changed a little since then, though not as much as in other parts of the country. Sometimes it seemed that Norfolk was stuck in some kind of time warp.

He was having a conversation with himself, not for the first time since Sharringford, and he pulled himself up short. He had actually used the words 'thank you very much' in this imaginary conversation, and that was what worried him most.... Sharringford Manor House loomed ahead of him. Inside, no doubt, Vanessa Lake – surely that wasn’t her real name! – would be unpacking, making herself at home. He wondered if he should perhaps stop and pay her a visit, but decided to press on to the Robertsons' house. With any luck the two London detectives would be following an entirely different lead. If they had any sense they would be out in the field looking for clues as to where Clitheroe had disappeared.

On his left, the parade of shops, a newsagent, a ladies' hairdresser, a fish and chip shop. Only the newsagent was open.

Thompson stopped the car and went inside.

'Maru, hallo,' he said to the tall Pakistani.

'Thompson,' beamed the newsagent. 'What’s bringing you here?'

Just like Peter Sellers, Thompson thought, and could not help but smile, the man's greeting was so friendly, so genuine. He always addressed him by his surname, and it always made him smile.

'Seen anyone suspicious?'

'Here? In Sharringford? You are joking, I think.'

'No, anyone at all you didn't recognise? During the past three or four days?'

Maru shook his head sadly.

'I do not think so, Thompson.'

'Never mind. You've got my number?'

Maru tapped the telephone and beamed another wide smile.

'Off my heart!' he said. Thompson smiled and turned to walk out of the shop. It had been on the tip of his tongue to say 'give my regards to your father', but at the last instant he remembered that Maru's father had been one of the victims of the Sharringford fire.

He walked back to the counter.

'Sorry about your father,' he said, hoping that the younger man would say something that might trigger off a reluctant memory.

'He was most unfortunate. On the one hand he was very lucky not to be burned by the fire, on the other hand, he was most unfortunate to suffer the heart attack,' Maru said.

It did not really help. Thompson left the shop and drove on past the Manor House to the small lane where the Robertsons' seven-bedroom house stood.

There was nothing parked on the gravel drive, so he left his car there and rang the doorbell.

Joanna Robertson had seen him drive in and answered the door almost as he took his hand from the doorbell.

She was so beautiful.

Dressed in a pair of navy ski pants and one of those long, multi-coloured sweaters, her blonde hair tumbling in a mass of waves way, way past her shoulders, her blue eyes sparkling with just a hint of mischief, she beckoned him in, wetting her lips with her tongue as he brushed past her.

'I didn't think I would be seeing you again quite so soon,' she said.

She stood in the living room doorway with her hands resting lightly on her hips. He knew she was flirting with him, and he smiled. He could put up with this kind of game till the cows came home. She really was so beautiful, so very beautiful.

'May I take up some more of your time, Mrs Robertson?' he asked politely.

'You're always welcome, Chief Inspector. And please, won't you call me Joanna?'

'Right.'

'And your first name is......?'

'Michael. Mike.'

'Some coffee, Mike?' she said.

'I'd love some. White. No sugar. Thanks. Were you having some anyway?'

'It is eleven o'clock. The traditional time for coffee, wouldn't you say?'

Thompson nodded. He shouldn't really be drinking coffee at all. Or tea, for that matter. He had read somewhere within the past few days that both coffee and tea actually removed fluids from the intestine, causing constipation and painful evacuation. Well, he suffered from both of those.....

Instead of sitting down he followed her into the kitchen.

'I've just come from Kerry Macklin,' he said.

'Oh?'

'You obviously don't know, then?'

'Know what?'

'About Kim?'

Joanna swung round quickly.

'What about her?'

'You'd better prepare yourself for a shock Mrs.....Joanna. Kim has been murdered.'

For the second time in as many hours he watched a woman's face drain of blood, and put out his arms to support her. She looked for all the world as though she was going to faint.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to blurt it out like that. It's just that when you opened the door all smiles, and offered to make coffee, I realised that nobody could have told you....here, let me help you back into the front room.....the coffee can wait. We need to talk.'

Joanna held her head, but pushed him away.

'I'm all right....let me be.....I'm all right. I'm not going to faint. I don't faint. Never have.' Always a first time, Thompson thought.

He remained by her until she sat down, then sat down himself. Was she acting? Overreacting?

'Do you have any brandy in the house?'

'There's some in that sideboard over there.....but I don't want any, it makes me feel sick. I'll be all right in a minute, I've just got to get my breath.....'

'Take deep breaths. I'm sorry, I should have prepared you.'

She looked up with a small smile.

'How do you do that? How do you prepare someone for an announcement like that? How did it happen? Where did it happen? Did she suffer?'

'Yes, I'm afraid she was raped. And strangled. There's no easy way to say it, I'm afraid, but I'm pretty sure she must have suffered a great deal. Whoever did it was out to prove something, I should say.'

'What?'

'That nothing was too gruesome for him. She was murdered on her way to Kerry's house, by the river, we think and dumped out at Elmham, near the cathedral.. She was found there yesterday morning.'

Joanna groaned.

'Poor kid. Have her parents been told yet?'

'We only found out today that she was staying with you. Well, last night, actually. My daughter rang Donna Howard. She told us that Kim was staying with you but had agreed to go to Kerry's for a few days so that she wouldn't be on her own while her parents were in London.'

'So they don't know, yet?'

'Unless they've been traced this morning, no. Would you happen to know where they might be?'

'They're at some conference somewhere in the West End. At least, that's what they went up for, then they were going to do the sightseeing bit, you know, have a break before coming back.'

'They didn't leave an address, a telephone number?'

'Only for emergencies.'

'I'd say this is an emergency, wouldn't you?'

Joanna nodded. She stood up uncertainly, and Thompson had to scramble to his feet to catch her, though he was not sure she was not overreacting a little. She seemed to cling to him for longer than was absolutely necessary, the soft contours of her upper body moulding themselves against his chest. He straightened up, breathing in her perfume.

'Thanks. I must be........dizzy. Over there, on the sideboard, in my handbag, could you get it for me, please?'

He fetched her handbag and she pulled out a piece of paper.

'That's the number for the conference. I think it finished at the weekend, but they may still be at the hotel, or they may be able to tell you where they've gone.'

'Thank you. May I use your phone?'

'Of course.'

She leaned back and closed her eyes. Thompson made the call to the hotel. She barely heard a word of his end of the conversation, and when he sat next to her on the settee, she seemed not to be interested.

'They moved on. They could be anywhere. We'll soon find them. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?'

She opened her big eyes and sat upright, putting her hand on his thigh to push herself up so that she was sitting upright. He was certain she was not wearing a bra. The things that go through your mind, he thought, smiling to himself.

She nodded.

'I need to hear about the arrangements for Kim staying with Kerry, and about Kim's last movements after she left you.'

'They'd been planning it for days. Kerry's Mum - I met her in town, suggested it in the first place. She said she and her husband were going to London for a few days - he's a lawyer - and the girls had said they might want to stay together so that Kerry wouldn't be on her own. Tuesday afternoon Kim came home and asked if it would be all right. She packed a few things in a carrier bag, you know, underclothes and things, and she left the house about six thirty. There isn't a lot more I can tell you.'

'You didn't think to telephone Kerry to make sure she got there safely? How was she going to get there? It's a couple of miles up the road, I'd say.'

'No, I'm sorry, I didn't 'phone. I had something on my mind. We left it that she would 'phone here if she was worried about anything. I should have 'phoned. I should have 'phoned.'

'Not your fault. How was she going to get there?'

'To Kerry's? She went on her bike.'

'Her bike?'

'Yes, a push bike. She goes everywhere on it. You haven't found her bike, then?'

'Not so far, no. Just Kim.'

'And do you have any idea who did it?'

'I believe it was a man called Donald Clitheroe. He was jailed for similar crimes thirteen years ago. He escaped from jail at the weekend.....'

Joanna's face had again gone very pale.

'Clitheroe.....Donald Clitheroe......'

'You know him?'

'I know him. He’s a sort of relative of mine. One of the girls he murdered.....she was my niece.'

Thompson frowned.

'Your niece?'

'Mary Bailey.'

'I know her name. I had no idea she was your niece.'

'How could you? We weren't living here then. We were abroad at the time, if I remember rightly. South Africa. We read about it in the papers. I'll tell you something else you probably don't know. Mary Bailey was Kerry Macklin’s second cousin. And she was also his second cousin, or something. Clitheroe’s.'

'A family affair,' muttered Thompson, and realised as soon as he had said it that most of these little details had been forgotten through the years. When a case was closed, you tended to forget the minutiae. There had been a period of immense relief following the trial and the sentencing, and then Thompson had started to concentrate on his career. Now that he came to think about it, he did remember some of the details. Like the fact that Clitheroe was related to more than one of his victims.

'Did Kim give you any trouble while she was staying with you?'

Joanna smiled weakly.

'No, she was no trouble. I don't know what they get up to at school, but she was well-behaved, no trouble at all.'

'She didn't go out at night? Hang about with anyone?'

'I didn't say that. I told her to be in by ten every night. Two nights last week she went out, but she was in at nine-thirty both nights. That's it really, apart from going to stay with Kerry. I've only had her for the past few days, and this week doesn't really count.....'

She started to sob, and Thompson could not help but put his arm round her shoulder to comfort her. Again she nestled against him, and he could feel her breath against his throat.

'Did she ever get to Kerry's?'

Thompson shook his head. He desperately wanted to disengage himself from her, but it would seem churlish, abrupt.

'No. Kerry assumed she wasn't coming, that she’d changed her mind.'

'I imagine she's pretty upset?'

'She certainly is. Her parents are due back this afternoon. Shall we have that coffee now?'

'I'll do it.'

This time, when she stood up, she seemed steadier. Thompson looked briefly round the room. On the sideboard were a number of framed photographs. He picked one up and studied it. It was a picture of John Robertson, her husband. He had met him briefly, outside Sharringford, while the fire was raging, and he was unable to get in to ascertain the whereabouts and the safety of his wife and son, Danny.

Where was John Robertson now, he wondered.

Joanna returned with two mugs of coffee. She was more composed, smiling, and seemed to have recovered from the sudden shock.

Thompson put down the photograph and took his coffee.

'Where is your husband?' he asked casually.

'At work.'

'Local?'

She shook her head.

'He goes down Monday morning and comes home Friday night. He works for British Aerospace, in Surrey.'

‘And Danny?'

'Danny's at school.'

Thompson nodded.

'He's growing into a big lad.'

'He's going to be very tall, I think.'

He sat down again. She deliberately sat next to him. Their thighs were touching. Nothing to get excited about, but there was definitely something going on in that beautiful head of hers.

'Tell me about Sharringford.'

'Officially?'

'Off the record. I don't think I'm ready to write a full report just yet.'

'There was a fire. Parts of the village were isolated and cut off. Some people got killed. I told you that yesterday. What more do you need to know?'

'There must have been more to it than that!'

'Not really. As far as I can gather, the people that were killed got together in one house and got trapped in it. There was very little left of that house. A lot of other houses were destroyed in the fire as well.'

'Who were they?'

'Their names? I'm not sure I can remember.....let me see, there was a girl from Simpson's farm, there was a young couple from down the road - that's it, I think. Oh, and the old man from the newsagent's.'

'He didn't die in the fire.'

'No. He had a heart attack.'

'But you can't remember any of their names?'

'Not really. Don't you people write these things down?'

'I was the officer in charge, for a while. But the superintendent took over. Somehow I got into the village, and somehow I broke my ankle. I don't remember much else.'

'Perhaps it's best that way?' she said gently, tapping his hand with hers.

He studied her for a moment, and he was certain that she was hiding something, there was something about her eyes that told him she knew more than she was letting on. He finished his coffee.

'I'd better be going.'

'You'll let me know if you catch him. And if you find Kim's parents?'

'Of course. By the way, if they happen to telephone, you'd better just tell them to come straight home. Better not tell them what's happened. Not yet. Leave that to me.' Even as he said it, he realised that it no longer applied. He was not handling this case. He was not even on active duty. It had just slipped out as though he was the officer in charge.

He went to the door.

'Thanks for the coffee.'

'You must come again,' she said softly. 'Next time I'll make you more welcome.'

Yes, I bet you will, Thompson thought, though he could not think why she would be interested in him.

'Next time I hope I won't be bringing bad news,' he said with a smile.

'So you will come again,' she said to herself as she shut the door. He did not see her go to the window, pick up the telephone and dial a number.