Mick reddened and looked, to Banks, dangerously near the end of his tether. But Jenny was the psychologist, and she seemed to have taken the initiative; it was up to Banks to follow. While Mick glared at Jenny, Banks picked up the cassette box from the table and tossed it out through the broken window.

There was a sudden clattering sound on the path and Mick turned to aim the gun toward the noise. Banks was close enough to jump him when the gun was pointing out of the window. But before Banks could make his move, Mick actually fired into the garden. The gun made a dull explosion and they both heard Mick scream. Slowly, he turned back toward the room, his face white, mouth and eyes wide open with shock and pain. The blood from his hand dripped onto the clean pine table.

Chapter SIXTEEN

I

As soon as Hatchley and Gristhorpe heard the shot and the scream, they dashed out of the trees toward the house. Inside, Jenny rushed to help Banks, who had already ripped off Mick's shirt-sleeve to apply as a tourniquet.

"It's a mess," he said, tying the knot, then he caught Jenny's eye. "You did well," he told her. "But for a minute I thought you were going to push him too far."

"Me, too. The idea was just to confuse him, then attract his attention. The kid was so stoned he didn't know what was happening. I'm glad you caught the signal."

When Banks heard the others reach the steps, he walked over to the window to tell them it was all clear. Inside the house after that it was chaos-several people asking different questions at the same time, orders being given to uniformed men, phone calls being made for the ambulance and Scene-of-Crime Squad-and throughout it all, nobody thought to turn off the stereo; Tosca was still singing: Nell'ora del dolore Perche, perchi, Signor, Perche me ne rimuneri cosi?

A still point for a moment at the center of all the frenetic activity, Banks took in the familiar words: "In this, my hour of grief and tribulation, Why Heavenly Father, Why hast thou forsaken me?"

"Good work, Alan," Gristhorpe said, snapping Banks out of the music. "All right?"

"Fine."

"You look a bit pale."

"I always do when I've been in close contact with guns."

Gristhorpe looked down at Mick. "If all guns reacted the way that one did, Alan, it might be a better world. I'm not a religious man, as you know-too much of that pernicious Yorkshire Methodism in my background- but maybe sometimes God is there when we need him."

Banks looked over at Jenny, who was telling a constable what had happened. "She was certainly there."

He went onto explain about Sandra and asked permission to go home and skip the formalities until later.

"Of course," Gristhorpe said. "You should have told me earlier. Are you sure she sounded all right?"

"A bit shook up, but in control. Richmond 's still with her."

"Off you go, then," Gristhorpe said, giving Banks a gentle push in the small of the back.

It was time to face Sandra.

As he walked to the door, he saw Jenny, neglected now, slumped on the sofa with her face in her hands. He looked around the room again-the cold night air coming in through the broken window, the blood on the table, the shards of glass on the floor.

"Jenny," he called softly, holding out his hand. "Come with me."

She did as she was asked, and on the way home Banks told her about Sandra's ordeal.

"Do you think it'll be all right?" she asked. "You know, me coming with you?"

"To tell you the truth, Jenny, I don't know what to expect. I couldn't leave you there, though. Don't worry, the superintendent will see that everything's taken care of."

Jenny shivered. "I don't think I could have stayed there. I'd have gone to a hotel. I still can. I shouldn't come with you."

"Don't be silly."

Banks drove on in silence.

Finally, they arrived at the house and hurried up the path. Sandra flung open the door. Banks winced as she ran toward him, but she threw her arms around him.

"Alan! Alan, thank God you're all right," she sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder.

He stroked her hair. "I'm all right, don't worry. Let's go inside. I could do with a drink."

Richmond stood up as they entered the living room. The young DC stroked his mustache and cleared his throat. Banks suddenly remembered that it was Richmond he had seen that night in The Oak. Jenny had been with him then and they must have seemed very close. God only knew what he was thinking!

"There, I told you," Richmond said to Sandra. "I told you he'd be all right." He turned to Banks and gave him a nod, as if to signify that all was well. The two of them walked together to the door. "I've taken your wife's statement, sir. It's all very clear what happened. He's the peeper, no doubt about it."

"How is he?"

"Don't know yet, sir. It didn't look serious to me. They took him to the hospital about half an hour ago. Will that be all, sir?"

Banks could tell that Richmond was anxious to leave, that being involved with his inspector in such a personal way was exceedingly uncomfortable for him. "Yes," he said. "You can go now. And Detective Richmond…"

"Yes, sir?"

"Thanks."

Richmond blushed and muttered something about it being nothing before he took off at a fair pace down the path.

Banks closed the door and noticed Jenny and Sandra looking at each other. He knew that Sandra would be embarrassed at showing so much emotion in front of a stranger.

"I'm sorry," he apologized wearily, running his hand over his close-cropped hair. "I didn't introduce you, did I?"

After the introduction, Sandra offered Jenny a chair.

Banks went straight to the drinks cabinet.

"Something a bit stronger than tea, I think. Scotch all round?"

"Yes, please." The two women nodded.

It was hard to know what to do to break the ice, Banks realized as he poured them all generous measures of Macallan single malt. Jenny could hardly say to Sandra, "I heard you had a terrible ordeal tonight, dear?" nor could Sandra answer, "Oh yes, absolutely dreadful. I thought I was going to be raped, then murdered. You didn't have such an easy time, yourself, I hear?" So they sipped scotch and said nothing for a while and Banks smoked a much-needed cigarette.

"Look, if you'd rather I went," Jenny said, "I'm feeling much better now."

"Nonsense," Sandra told her. "You can't go back there. You're staying here, with us. I'll make up the spare bed. Oh, Alan, it's nearly time to pick the children up from the meetings. Shall I go?"

"No," Banks said, putting his hand on her shoulder. "You've had enough for tonight. Let me go. It's only down the road."

"You'll tell them?"

"I'll tell them that we had a break-in and you caught a burglar. You'll be a real heroine in their eyes then."

"It'll be in the papers, won't it, later?"

"Probably. We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Will you two be all right?"

"Of course we will," Sandra said, smiling at Jenny. "We're a couple of heroes, didn't you just say so?"

"I thought it was heroines?"

Sandra shook her head. "Somehow, 'heroines' doesn't have the right ring to it. I think heroines are always victims. They're pale and wan and they make a lot of noise. More scotch, Jenny?"

Banks walked to the car. On the way back from the church hall, he told Brian and Tracy that they had a guest for the evening and that they were to behave themselves and go to bed as soon as they'd had their cocoa. There seemed no point in even mentioning what had happened.

Back at the house, they interrupted Sandra and Jenny deep in conversation, and Brian and Tracy were bursting with comments about their evening. Brian announced that he was sick to death of the Lifeboys and he was never going again. Banks helped get them ready for bed, took them upstairs and tucked them in; then, yawning, he walked back downstairs.