Wishing he had thought to buy something to read, Thompson drifted into a kind of sleep, induced by the gentle, quiet motion of the train. He could not help thinking about Joanna Robertson, her face haunted him, her penetrating blue eyes, bewitching, beguiling.....

            The Sharringford incident had come to a head for him when he had interviewed John Robertson, her husband, who he recalled had intended leaving her, taking the son, Danny, with him. But Danny had not been at school that day, because the bus had not turned up. The mist and the fire had sprung up around the village, trapping those people. Robertson had come from the school, hoping to find Danny at home with his mother. Only it was not possible to enter the village. There was a police cordon around it, some of the road was flooded when the river burst its banks, and the fire was raging. Impenetrable.

            Thompson allowed his mind to take him along the steps he had taken that day. He had seen the gap, yes, and had entered the village, finding the body of the newsagent and the fireman who had volunteered to make the first attempt to go in. Then he walked up the road to the Manor House, which was in the centre of the village.

            There he had found Alison Farmer.

            She had confirmed his theory, that the others were trapped in the village because her husband had been investigating them and she had managed to isolate them for her own dark purposes.

            He started to remember things, about the people.....hazy recollections, about rapists and murderers.....he had been rescued the following morning, and they were dead, four of them, Frank Hartford, Adam and Katy Cartwright, Lucy Walker.....two had survived, Danny Robertson and his mother.

            Ken Hargreaves had driven Thompson out of the village past the Robertson house. He had called on her, found her safe and well, with her son, and reunited with her husband.

            Why she had escaped he had no idea. He remembered stopping to talk to Danny, and she had come out of the house.

            'You had some trouble here last night, I understand?'

'Yes. There was a fire. A few people were trapped in the village.  We were lucky.'

'Your husband was trying to get to you. He was concerned about you.'

'John? John's here now. Did you want to see him?'

But he was planning to leave you. He was planning to take Danny away from you. What happened?

            'No, I just wanted to make sure you were all right.'

He started to walk away. There was nothing more to say. Plenty to think about, but nothing more to say for the time being. One day he would come back and talk to John Robertson, ask him how he felt now about being married to a mass-murderess, whether or not he felt she should be arrested and tried for what she had done. For now, maybe she had received all the punishment she could stand.

            Married to a mass-murderess.....

Of course! How could he be so stupid!

            Joanna Robertson had been a child murderer. Ken Hargreaves had unearthed the evidence against her from two previous incidents, in which it appeared that collusion between her and some high-ranking police officers had taken place in order to pervert the course of justice.

            They had confronted John Robertson with the evidence they had. At first he had denied all knowledge of her activities, but Thompson had gradually worn him down and he had eventually confirmed everything.

            Alison Farmer had also confirmed it, and she had assumed that the punishment she and her husband had arranged for Joanna Robertson and her fellow-murderers would take care of everything, all of them, in one fell swoop.

            But somehow, Joanna, she had survived. And had somehow managed to make them forget everything.

            'John?  John's here now. Did you want to see him?'

The look in her eyes when he called on her the morning after the fire......the haunted look of a woman who knows her time of freedom is nearly up. The look of relief on her face when she realised that the policeman could remember nothing, absolutely nothing of Hartford, the Cartwrights, Lucy Walker, and herself.

            She had had the same look the first time he called on her to ask about Kim Catchpole. As the interview progressed, so she relaxed.

            She was obviously worried that Thompson would somehow remember about her.....she had needed to satisfy herself that there was nothing written down, no report that Thompson could have written about her while he was in the Manor House with Alison Farmer. Somehow she had managwed to get something on Ken Hargreaves, otherwise he would have remembered everything.

            Mass-murderer....

Satanist.

Abductor and murderer of children for Satanic rites, in an insane quest for evil power....

            Ken had told Thompson that Mark Hegan had been caught searching the Manor House. He had been working for Joanna Robertson. He had been searching the Manor House for anything about her and her past when Vanessa Farmer had arrived to take up residence. Forced to abandon his search, he had arranged for someone else to do it while he escorted her around the town market. Then when that failed to turn anything up, he took a chance on her being asleep, let himself in with a key he had retained for the purpose, and she and Alex Hegan had caught him red-handed.

            It may have had nothing to do with the Kim Catchpole murder, but it answered a lot of questions about Joanna Robertson and Hegan.

            It was a good theory.

            And, of course, Kim Catchpole had been staying with the Robertsons.

            And that was another thing. Thompson found it not a little strange that both Kerry Macklin and Joanna Robertson had assumed that Kim was with the other. Neither had bothered to check.

            Was there a connection?

            Was there a thread, somewhere?

The train stopped at Watlington, the last station before King's Lynn. Thompson took the photograph wallet from his inside pocket and opened it.  In it, courtesy of Ken Hargreaves, were photographs of all the main players in the Kim Catchpole case.

            Kim Catchpole, sixteen years old. 

            High school student.

            On her way to stay with Kerry Macklin.

            Kerry Macklin.

            Sixteen years old.

            High school student.

            Involved with Peter Bellamy.

            What had been the name of the boy she had told him Kim was seeing? Ken Hargreaves had checked him out. He was away, out of the picture. Not a suspect.

            Kieron Macklin.

            Kerry's father.

            Could have travelled back from London to throw Bellamy out of the house.

            But why? On the off-chance? He could not have known that Peter Bellamy was going to be there. He thought that Kim Catchpole was going to be there. Company for Kerry for a few days while he and his wife attended their conference in London.

            Why decide on the spur of the moment to rush back from London?  Had there been a phone call? Had someone tipped him off that Kim was not there but Peter Bellamy was? 

           He held Macklin's photograph in his hand, studying it longer than the others. He had checked with the hotel. No telephone calls had been put through to the Macklin's suite during their stay. If he had known about Peter Bellamy he had not found out by means of a telephone call.

            Thompson was satisfied that Macklin could have made the trip.

            But he could not think of a motive.

            Next photograph, Vera Macklin.

            Nothing about her that made him suspicious.

            Sheila Catchpole.

            Hadn't met her, but supposed that Keene and Moore, or even maybe Wilson himself had had to face the unpleasant duty of informing her and her husband of Kerry's murder.

            Mrs Lawrence had been so sure, so sure.....

            Final photograph, Charles Catchpole.

            Nothing sinister about him.

            Reminded him of someone, though, someone he had seen recently.

            Thompson put the photographs away and closed his eyes. Five more minutes and he would be getting off the train at King's Lynn. Not a wasted day, by any means. He now had the evidence he needed to prove that Macklin could have made the return journey without anybody noticing he was gone. All the hotel staff were able to say was that he had gone out early Sunday evening, and had not been seen again until first thing Monday morning.

            reminds me of someone.....

            What reason could Macklin have for going home if he did not know that Bellamy was going to be there?

            Jealousy?

            Hardly.

           He didn't strike Thompson as being jealous of anyone having a relationship with his daughter. Possessive, yes, protective, certainly.  But that didn't mean he was jealous. Not the sort of man to be having an incestuous relationship with his daughter, surely? Thompson thought he was a fairly good judge of character and Macklin did not strike him as that sort of person at all.

            The train pulled into the station and Thompson walked through the red side gate, then turned back and went to the public telephone next to the Gents' washroom. He called Ken Hargreaves.

            'Ken, I'm at King's Lynn. Anything I should know?'

            'We've arrested Peter Bellamy for the murder of Clitheroe. He says he mistook him for Kieron Macklin. Followed him from the house, caught up with him at Quarles church and killed him.'

            'So he says Macklin was there, too?'

            'He does. We had a devil of a time convincing him that the man he murdered was not Macklin. I nearly took him round to show Macklin to him.'

            'And what was his reason for killing - Clitheroe?'

            'He says he saw them together.'

            'Who?'

            'Kerry and her Dad.'

            'What do you mean, together?'

            'In the bedroom. Macklin was having sex with his daughter.'

Thompson whistled.

            'So he says,' Ken finished.

            'Have you spoken to Macklin about it?'

            'Not yet. I told the lads you were checking out Macklin's alibi. They agreed to wait until you reported back. I hope I did the right thing?'

            'Yes, Ken, that's all right. Let me get this straight. Bellamy is saying that Macklin came back Tuesday night and threw him out of the house. He followed him to Quarles and killed him because he saw him having sex with Kerry.'

            'That's what he said, at least until we persuaded him that it was Clitheroe he killed, not Mack.'

            'Right. You can tell Keene and Moore that Mack did leave the hotel Tuesday evening and he could have made the journey back to King's Lynn.  He could have been at the house, found Bellamy there, thrown him out, done as Bellamy says, then got back to London before anyone missed him.'

            'So you think Bellamy is telling the truth?'

            'I wouldn't trust Bellamy farther than I could throw him. He's a junkie, Ken. He's unreliable. It may be the drugs making up this story about following Macklin.'

            'But if....'

Thompson's money at last ran out. He put in his final ten pence piece.

            'Ken, I'm going round to see Macklin now. Tell the others I'll call in at the station later this evening, if they want to hear what I have to say.  Oh, and ring Shirley for me, will you? Tell her I'm back and I'll be home in time for dinner. I haven't any more change.'

            He replaced the receiver and walked out to the car.

            The drive to the Macklins' house took twenty-five minutes. Macklin was not pleased to see him.

            'I think we should talk, Mr Macklin.'

            'Very well. Will it take long?'

            'That depends. Shall we go into the lounge?'

            'As you wish.'

Macklin poured himself a large whisky. He did not offer one to his visitor.

            'Mr Macklin, I've spent the day convincing myself that Mrs Lawrence could have been right about......'

            'Look, Thompson, I've already told you.....'

            '......you catching the train back home on Tuesday and throwing Peter Bellamy out of the house. The hotel staff say you left the hotel Tuesday evening......'

            'I went for a walk.'

            '......and were not seen again until Monday morning.'

            'I went for a walk!'

            'Furthermore, we have a statement from Peter Bellamy to the effect.....'

            'I am getting tired of this!'

            '......that he saw you having sex with your daughter.....'

            'This has gone far enough! I want you out of my house, now!'

Thompson did not move.

            'Would you like me to repeat what Bellamy said?'

            'I did not leave London, I did not come home, I did not throw anyone out of my house, I WENT FOR A WALK!'

            'But you did leave the hotel Tuesday evening?'

            'To go for a walk.'

            'Did you see anyone, talk to anyone?'

            'Yes. Yes, yes, yes!'

Macklin clutched his head with his hands. Thompson thought he saw tears in the man's eyes.

            'Tell me who it was?'

            'I can't.......Vera.......'

            'I need a name, and a telephone number. I don't believe that you did come home. I never have. I was simply convinced that it could have been done. Someone did. Someone came here, threw Bellamy out of the house, was followed by Bellamy and murdered by him.'

            'What?'

            'You want me to repeat.....'

            'No, I heard!'

            'So, is it possible that your daughter knew Donald Clitheroe?'

            'What are you talking about?'

            'Peter Bellamy says he saw you.....'     

            'Yes, yes!'

            'He says he followed you and murdered you. We know that the man he murdered was Donald Clitheroe.'

            'No, Kerry couldn't possibly know him.'          

            'How do you know that? Weren't you distantly related to any of his other victims?'

            'Polly? Polly Bartram? I don't know.....maybe.....one of Vera's cousins.....no, I don't see how she could have possibly known him, he's been in prison most of her life, hasn't he?'

            'It was just a thought. Bellamy was prepared to swear blind that he followed you and murdered you, and not Clitheroe. I just thought that you might look alike, he might not know you very well, it might have been Clitheroe here that night.....'

            Macklin shook his head.

            'No,' he said emphatically.

            'So. Who did you visit that night?'

Macklin looked Thompson squarely in the eye.

            'Does Vera have to know any of this?'

            'That's not for me to say.'

Macklin sighed.

            'Very well. I went to see a......friend. A lady friend. Vera doesn't know about her. I visit her whenever I'm in London. This time Vera was with me. I waited until she was asleep. She had been complaining of a headache. I visited her, stayed with her until about six o'clock. When I went back to the hotel I told Vera I had got up early to go for a walk.'

            'You can of course give me the name and telephone number of this lady?'

            Macklin wrote a name and a number on a piece of paper and handed it to Thompson.

            'You can ring her. She'll tell you. I did not leave London.'

            'I believe you. I never thought you did leave London. But I did think you were lying. I checked to see if it was possible to make the journey, and it was. I believe somebody made such a trip.'

            'Why? Why would someone come from London to kick Bellamy out of my house? Out of Kerry's bed?'

            'Your bed. They were in your bed.'

            'How do you know that?'

            'Because Bellamy says he climbed up the drainpipe and looked through the window. Your bedroom is the only one with a drainpipe outside.'

            'I see. But what makes you think whoever it was came from London?'

            'Because the train staff, the lad who serves the drink and snacks, says he saw someone that could have been you. I showed him your photograph and he said it wasn't you, but it could have been you if you had been in disguise.'

            'It still doesn't mean the person Bellamy saw came on that train, or any other train. The man on the train might have been perfectly innocent.'

            Thompson shook his head.

            'I don't think so. I think it was Charles Catchpole.'

            'Catchpole?'

            'Yes. I can't prove it, yet, but the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced it has to be him. He's the same build as you are, he has the same hair line, the same eyes. He could pass for you at a distance. Or Clitheroe.'

            And he reminds me of someone.

            'I suppose you're right. He is a distant cousin.'

Thompson groaned.

            'Is everyone in this related? You're saying you're related to Charles Catchpole?'

            'Yes.'

            'Not by marriage?'

            'No.'

            'Let's suppose it was Catchpole.....'

            'He's been touching Kerry! He's been messing about with my daughter!'

            Thompson laid a strong hand on Macklin's arm, restraining him.

            'You'd better let me deal with it,' he said quietly. 'And perhaps we ought to talk to Kerry first?'

            'I'll kill him!'

            'I know how you feel.....'

            'Do you? Is your daughter being laid by a man old enough to be her father? You do have a daughter the same age as Kerry, don't you? Good girl, is she? Not bringing boys home yet? How would you know?'

            Well that has to be down to you in no small measure, Thompson thought, but said nothing. How many parents know exactly what their children are up to at any given time? Precious few, he thought. If you bring your children up right, you let them out on trust at times of the day when you would really rather they were supervised. Some of them were attracted to people like Peter Bellamy, and then where were you?  Kieron Macklin had had no idea Kerry was carrying on with Peter Bellamy, let alone with Charles Catchpole. But who was he to criticise Macklin? For all he knew, Sally was out somewhere even now, with someone he and Shirley would not approve of. Only he was certain she would be at home, doing her homework.

            'Just let me talk to Kerry first, then I'll have a chat with Catchpole.  If it's true, if it was him that Bellamy saw, we'll deal with him.'

            'Oh yes!' Macklin said with a sneer, 'what will you do to him? Lock him up for a few months, get a psychiatrist's report on him, put a social worker on his case? Let him loose on the streets to do his dirty, evil little sordid job again?'

            'It isn't like that,' Thompson protested, but Macklin was in no mood to listen, and he sympathised. The system worked against the victim, almost every time.

            'Where is Kerry right now?' he asked quietly.

Macklin went to the door and called his wife. She appeared not to have heard anything they said.

            'Where's Kerry?'

            'She went to the Catchpoles, to pay her respects. She's been gone a few minutes.....she was walking....'

Thompson was out of the front door before they could move, leaving them open-mouthed. If he was right about Catchpole, he had to follow Kerry.