Banks caught his glance and interpreted the signals. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Over a pint?’

Hatchley beamed. ‘Well, if you insist…’

TWO

‘Susan, love, could I have a word?’

‘Of course.’

Susan and Marcia were sitting in the Crooked Billet with the entire cast of Twelfth Night after rehearsal. It had gone badly, and those who weren’t busy arguing were drowning their depression in drink. James didn’t seem too concerned, Susan thought, watching him listen patiently to Malvolio’s complaints about the final scene. But he was used to it; he’d directed plays before. She shifted along the bench to let Marcia Cunningham sit beside her. ‘What is it?’

Marcia looked puzzled. ‘I’m not sure. It’s nothing really. At least I don’t think it is. But it’s very odd.’

‘Police business?’

‘Well, it might have something to do with the break-in. You did say to mention anything that came up.’

‘Go on.’

‘But that’s just it, you see, love. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘Marcia,’ Susan said, ‘why don’t you just tell me? Get it off your chest.’

Marcia frowned. ‘It’s hard to explain. You’d probably think I was just being silly if I told you. Can’t you pop around and have a look for yourself? I don’t live far away.’

‘What, now?’

‘Whenever you can spare the time, love.’ Marcia looked at her watch. ‘I’ll have to be off in a few minutes, anyway.’

Susan recognized a deadline when she heard one. Now she was with CID she was never really off duty. She wouldn’t get anywhere if she put personal pleasure before the job, however fruitless the trek to Marcia’s might seem. And the vandalism was her case. A success so early in her CID career would look good. What could she do but agree? As Marcia couldn’t be induced to say any more, Susan would have to put James off and go with her. It wouldn’t take long, Marcia had assured her, so she wouldn’t have to cancel their dinner date, just postpone it for half an hour or so. James would understand. He certainly had plenty to occupy himself with in her absence.

‘All right,’ Susan said. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘Thanks, love. It might be a waste of time but well, wait till you see.’

Susan told James she had to nip out for a while and would be back in half an hour or so, then she buttoned up her winter coat and left with Marcia. They walked northeast along York Road, past the excavated pre-Roman site, where the little burial mounds and hut foundations looked eerie under their carapace of moonlit ice.

‘It’s just down here.’ Marcia led Susan down a sloping street of pre-war semis opposite the site. Though the house itself was small, it had gardens at both front and back and a fine view of the river and the Green from the kitchen window. The furniture looked dated and worn, and swaths of material lay scattered here and there, along with stacks of patterns and magazines, in the untidy living room. Marcia didn’t apologize for the mess. Her sense of disorder, Susan realized, didn’t stop at the way she dressed.

On the mantelpiece above the electric fire stood a framed photograph of Marcia’s late husband, a handsome man, posing on the seafront at some holiday resort with a pipe in his mouth. Marcia switched on the fire. Susan took off her coat and knelt by the reddening element, rubbing her hands. She could smell dust burning as it heated up.

‘Sorry it’s so cold,’ Marcia said. ‘We wanted central heating, but since my Frank died I just haven’t been able to afford it.’

‘I don’t have it either,’ Susan said. ‘I always do this when I get home.’ She stood up and turned. ‘What is it you’ve got to show me?’

Marcia dragged a large box into the centre of the room. ‘It’s this. Remember I told you yesterday I was patching up some of the damage those hooligans did to the costumes?’

Susan nodded.

‘Well, I have. Look.’ She held up a long pearl gown with shoulder straps and plunging neckline.

Susan looked closely. ‘But surely…?’

‘Cut to shreds, it was,’ Marcia said. ‘Look.’ She pointed out the faint lines of stitching. ‘Of course, you’d never get away with wearing it for a banquet at the Ritz, but it’ll do for a stage performance. Even the nobs in the front row wouldn’t be able to see how it had been sewn back together.’

‘You’re a genius, Marcia,’ Susan exclaimed, touching the fabric. ‘You should have been a surgeon.’

Marcia shrugged. ‘Can’t stand the sight of blood. Anyway, it was just like doing a jigsaw puzzle really.’ And she showed Susan more dresses and gowns she had resurrected from the box of snipped-up originals. That so untidy a person should be able to bring such order out of chaos astonished Susan.

‘You didn’t bring me here just to praise you, did you?’ she said finally. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I told James I’d be back in half an hour.’

‘Sorry, love,’ Marcia said. ‘Just got carried away, that’s all. Forgot how impatient young love is.’

Susan blushed. ‘Marcia! The point.’

‘Yes, well.’ Marcia reached into the box and took out a simple burgundy dress. ‘This is the point. I worked on this one all afternoon.’ She held it up, and Susan could see that the sleeves had been cut off up to elbow-level and a large patch of the front, around the breasts, was also missing.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Haven’t you finished?’

‘I’ve done all I could, love. That’s the point. This is it. All there was.’

‘I still don’t understand.’

‘And you a copper, too. It’s simple. I managed to sort out the bits and pieces of the other dresses here and patch them together, as you’ve seen.’

Susan nodded.

‘But when it came to this one, I couldn’t find all the pieces. Some of them’ve plain disappeared.’

‘Disappeared?’

‘Wake up, lass. Yes, disappeared. I’ve looked everywhere. Even back at the centre to see if they’d fallen on the floor or something. Not a trace.’

‘But it doesn’t make any sense,’ Susan said slowly. ‘Who on earth would want to steal pieces of a ruined dress?’

‘My point exactly,’ Marcia said. ‘That’s why I asked you to come here and see it for yourself. Who would do such a thing? And why?’

‘There has to be a simple explanation.’

Marcia nodded. ‘Yes. But what is it? Your lot didn’t take any for analysis or whatever, did they?’

Susan shook her head. ‘No. They must have dropped out somewhere. Maybe when you were bringing the box home.’

‘I looked everywhere. I’m telling you, love, if there’d been pieces I would’ve found them.’

Susan couldn’t help but feel disappointed. It was hardly an important discovery – certainly not one that would lead to the identity of the vandals – but Marcia was right in that it was mystifying. It was slightly disturbing, too. When Susan picked up the dress and held it in front of her, she shivered as if someone had just walked over her grave. It looked as if the arms had been deliberately cut off rather than torn, and two circles of fabric around the breasts had been snipped out in a similar way. Shaking her head, Susan folded the dress and handed it back to Marcia.