‘Never know what?’

‘What you might find.’ She looked down at the top of his head. ‘Why are you so interested, anyway, James?’

‘Just curiosity, that’s all. I suppose they must have had some reason for doing it. Maybe one of them cut himself and used it as a bandage. Another drink?’

Susan looked at her glass. ‘No thanks, I’d better not. Already she felt that warmth, tiredness and alcohol were making her let her guard down more than she cared to, and she certainly didn’t want to lose control.

‘Busy day at the nick tomorrow?’

Susan laughed. ‘Who knows?’

‘Excuse me while I get one.’

‘Of course.’

While he was gone, Susan listened to the music. She could have sworn she heard a cuckoo in one section, but doubted that anyone as serious as Beethoven would use such a frivolous gimmick.

‘Perhaps one of them was a fetishist,’ James suggested, after he had sat down at her feet again.

‘And liked to wear only little bits of women’s clothes? Don’t be silly, James. I don’t see why you have to keep harping on about it. It’s nothing.’

‘You’d be surprised the things people like to dress up in.’

‘Like you in that policeman’s uniform that day?’

‘That’s different. That was just a joke.’

‘I didn’t mean to suggest you were kinky or anything,’ Susan said. ‘But didn’t you tell me you were just a little bit shy of making a direct approach to a woman?’

‘Yes, well… Acting’s in my blood, I suppose. Hamming it up. Maybe there are deep-rooted psychological reasons. I don’t really know.’ He shrugged.

Susan laughed. ‘You’re always doing melodramatic things like that. Dressing up, arranging for that singer in Mario’s. A real practical joker, aren’t you?’

‘I told you,’ James said, a little irritably. ‘I’m just a bit insecure. It helps.’

‘Especially with women?’

‘Yes.’

As soon as Susan realized what she had said, a tiny shiver went up her spine. She could feel the chill, as palpable as the winter night outside, fall between them. James fell silent and Susan sipped at her brandy, thinking, and not liking what she thought: James’s penchant for play-acting and dressing up, the vandals’ denial of breaking into the community centre, James’s attraction to Caroline, the burgundy dress. No, it couldn’t be. Not possibly. It was too absurd. But her thoughts suddenly spanned two cases. It was like hot-wiring a car; the engine jumped to life. Now she could think of at least one good reason why the dress had been cut up the way it had.

Before long, she became aware of a slight tickle up the side of her leg. She looked down and saw that James was touching her, very gently. She shifted in her seat – not too abruptly, she hoped – and he stopped.

The music ended and Susan finished what little she had left in her glass. ‘I’d better be going,’ she said, sitting forward in her chair.

‘Don’t go just yet,’ James said. ‘It’s been such a wonderful evening. I don’t want it to end.’

Susan laughed. Didn’t he feel the same unease she did? Maybe not. Better for her that he didn’t. She must act naturally, then investigate her vague fears later from a more secure position. Surely, she would then discover how absurd they were. No doubt the beer and brandy had caused her imagination to run wild. It was most important now, though, that she make an early exit without letting James see that she entertained any suspicions at all.

‘Don’t be such a romantic.’ She laughed. ‘There’ll be plenty of other evenings.’

She tried to sit up, but he was on his knees, blocking her way.

‘James!’

‘What’s the harm in it?’ he said, leaning forward towards her.

He put his hands on her shoulders and she pushed them off. ‘If this is what a first night does to you…’ she said, trying for a light tone. But she couldn’t think of a way to end her sentence.

Finally, he moved aside and she managed to get to her feet. She felt as if she were treading on thin ice. Did he know what she was beginning to suspect? How could he? Was it obvious that she was humouring him and trying to get out fast? All she knew was that she had to stay cool and get out of here. Maybe then she would be able to dismiss her fears. But she couldn’t stay, not after the frightening images had started in her mind. Crazy or not, she had to talk seriously to Banks about James, no matter how difficult it might be to swallow her pride and her feelings.

‘Don’t sulk,’ she said, tousling his hair. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

‘Damn you!’ he said, jerking away from her touch. Anger flashed in his eyes. ‘What’s wrong with you? Don’t you think I’m man enough for you? You’re just like her, aren’t you?’

Susan felt as if she had been thrust under a cold shower. Every nerve-end tingled. She edged closer to the door. ‘Like who, James?’ she asked quietly.

He turned to face her, and she could see that he knew. It was too late. ‘You know damn well who I’m talking about, don’t you?’

‘I don’t even know what you’re talking about,’ Susan lied. Somehow, she thought, if she didn’t say the name, there was still a chance.

‘Don’t lie. You can’t fool me. I can tell. I can tell what you’re thinking. You’ve been toying with me, leading me on all this time, trying to get me to confess. It’s all been a game, hasn’t it?’ He moved quickly so that he was standing between Susan and the door.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what you mean. And move out of the way, please. I want to leave.’

Conran shook his head slowly. ‘You’re thinking about me and Caroline, aren’t you?’

There was no point pretending any longer. Susan looked at him and said, ‘You went to her, didn’t you? That night.’

‘It was an accident,’ Conran pleaded. ‘It was a ghastly accident.’

‘James, you’ve got to-’

‘No! That’s where you’re wrong. No, I don’t. It was all an accident. All that stupid bitch’s fault.’ And suddenly, he didn’t look like the James she knew any longer. Not at all like the James she knew and thought she trusted.

THREE

The four of them stood in Marcia Cunningham’s front room and looked at the remains of the dress.

‘Who would do something like that?’ Sandra asked.

‘That’s the point,’ Banks said. ‘No casual vandal would go to such trouble, at least not for any reason we can think of.’

‘But it must have happened then,’ Marcia said. ‘I’d have noticed if it had been done before. And certainly no one from the cast would have done it.’

‘I’m not saying it was done before,’ Banks said. ‘What I’m saying is that it’s possible vandals didn’t do this.’

‘Then who?’

‘Look at this.’ Banks passed the dress to Sandra, who studied the remains of its front. ‘Look at those spots.’

‘What are they? Paint?’

‘Could be. But I don’t think so. They’re hard to see because the dress is so dark. And we can’t be sure, not without forensic examination, but if I’m right…’

‘What are you getting, Alan?’ Sandra asked. ‘You’re not making much sense, you know.’

‘The last person entering Caroline Hartley’s house was a woman, according to all our witnesses. And Patsy Janowski said she saw a woman who walked funny at the end of the street. I thought it was because she might have been wearing high heels.’

‘But that’s stupid,’ Sandra said. ‘In that weather?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Are you suggesting that the killer wore this dress?’ Marcia asked. ‘I can’t believe it.’ She pointed at the dress. ‘And that’s… that’s blood!’

‘The way Caroline Hartley was stabbed,’ Banks said, ‘there was no way the murderer could have avoided blood stains. If she was wearing the dress, it would have been easy enough to put her raincoat on again and get away from the scene, get time to think. I don’t think the murder was planned, not right from the start. But then there was still a blood-stained dress to explain. Why not simply cut off the sleeves and the stained front, then stage a break-in and cut up the other dresses? That would raise much less suspicion than just doing away with the dress altogether. If our killer had done that, Marcia would have missed it and started to wonder what might have happened. But how could the killer know that Marcia would be so diligent as to try and sew them back together again?’