She went straight to the shop, finding Karl alone for once. "You've got to help the Byatts," she told him. "I know what you did to them, and you've got to do something to make it right."

He looked amused. "And what exactly do you suggest?"

"Tell the police the stuff isn't theirs-"

"You're not suggesting I lay claim to several kilos of uncut heroin myself, are you? And why do you think the police would believe me, Angel? They have hard evidence in their hands connecting the Byatts to the drug sale- They're not going to give that up for some pie-in-the-sky story."

"Nina says you set them up."

"Well, she would, wouldn't she? She and Neil refuse to take responsibility for their own carelessness."

She stared at him, furious, unconvinced. "What if I tell the police what you've done?"

"Assuming they were stupid enough to arrest me on hearsay, it still wouldn't help the Byatts." His finger touched her under the chin. "But if they did arrest me, then where would you be? Have you thought about that, Angel?"

In that instant she knew that all her protest had been a sham- she could do nothing for her friends. She hated Karl, but she hated herself even more.

"What about their little boy?" she demanded. "What will happen to Evan?"

Karl shook his head, as if disappointed in her lack of understanding. "I really don't think that's any of my concern, do you?"

Bryony rolled over and squinted at the red glow of the clock once more, then turned on her back with a sigh. Monday morning, and New Year's Eve to boot. But there was no point getting up until the central heating switched itself on at six, and she had a half-hour to go.

Beside her, Duchess lay on her back as well, her paws twitching as she ran in some tantalizing doggy dream.

What had she come to, Bryony wondered, a woman approaching thirty whose only bed companion was a large and hairy dog?

That thought, however, led her to Marc, and that was a subject too distressing for the predawn hours. Much better to think about her brief career as a murder suspect, she told herself with an attempt at humor. Superintendent Kincaid's smarmy, schoolboy sergeant had made her sound like a harpy as well as a killer- and what was even worse, she had felt inexplicably guilty. Now, even though her family had, of course, confirmed her story, she had to live with the memory of her furious, stammering humiliation as the policeman questioned her.

She knew Gavin had burned those sodding photos in the toilet, the bastard. Nor, she found, did she have any trouble believing that Gavin had been blackmailing- or attempting to blackmail- Dawn. But she could not bring herself to imagine that Gavin had killed Dawn- She couldn't go on getting up and going in to work with him, if she did.

The hot water from the boiler grumbled and clanked its way into the radiator; a moment later she heard the coffeemaker click on. No, of course Gavin hadn't killed Dawn, she thought as she threw back the covers. There simply must be some other explanation.

An hour later, somewhat fortified by a hot shower and coffee, she reached in her coat pocket for her keys and found nothing. After digging deeper with no success, she turned her coat upside down and shook it. She hadn't locked the flat this morning when she'd taken Duchess out, but she had certainly let herself in with her keys last night- had she just put them somewhere else?

Her panic mounted as she tried every likely spot in the flat. It wasn't so much her inability to lock the flat that worried her. Duchess had a big bark, and if anyone was brave enough to ignore the dog, there wasn't much to steal.

But without her keys, she wouldn't be able to get into the surgery, and that was essential. The thought of having to ring Gavin and ask him to drive over from Willesden with his own set gave her renewed energy for her search.

It was only when she been through the flat a third time that she remembered the spare keys in her kitchen drawer. A thorough turning out of the drawer, however, revealed no keys. Bryony sat down, completely baffled, and it was from that angle she saw a metallic gleam under the edge of Duchess's dog bed. Duchess watched her as she retrieved the keys, her tail innocently wagging.

"You haven't turned into a magpie, have you, girl?" Bryony said, hugging the dog in relief. The keys must have fallen from her pocket and got kicked or batted across the floor. Duchess had been known to play football occasionally with small objects.

But what had happened to the keys from the kitchen drawer? She could think of no explanation for their disappearance at all.

She knew her day was not improving when she arrived at the surgery and found Gemma James waiting for her, with Geordie. Gemma was the last person she wanted to see at the moment.

"Bryony, I'm sorry to show up so early without an appointment, but there's something wrong with Geordie's eye."

The dog cocked his head at Bryony, wagging his tail, and she could see that his left eye was indeed inflamed. "Well, let's get him inside, shall we?" she said, unlocking the door and switching on the lights. "Take him in Room One. I'll be there as soon as I find his chart."

"I feel like a mum with a new baby," Gemma said as Bryony came into the exam room. "I'd no idea whether or not it was serious, or what I should do, and I have to go to work this morning."

Bryony softened a little. "Don't worry. It's usually better to panic than ignore- just like with kids."

"Bryony…" Gemma fidgeted with the dog's lead, and Bryony saw that she looked tired and strained. "Geordie's not the only reason I came. I owe you an apology for what-"

"You were just doing your job. I understand."

"No. It wasn't my call, even though I understood Superintendent Kincaid's point. But I never doubted anything you told me."

"Not even the photos?"

"Especially not the photos. And the fact that Mr. Farley must have destroyed them when he knew we might search the surgery makes me very uneasy."

"Yeah, me, too," Bryony admitted. "But he's not coming in today, so that's something. After the morning I've had, I don't think I could deal with Gavin's sulking and bullying- or gloating because he thinks he's put something over on the police. That's the worst."

"What happened to you this morning? I noticed you were late."

"I lost my keys and had a major panic," Bryony explained as she lifted Geordie up on the table. "I found them again, but after the burglary here, having my keys turn up missing gave me a fright. What if I'd left them in the surgery door, or dropped them on the pavement for anyone to find?" To her horror, she felt her eyes smart with tears.

"Let's get your temperature, Geordie," she said briskly, turning away and reaching for the thermometer. "Has he shown any unusual symptoms, besides the eye? He's eating and drinking normally?"

"Yes, but now that you mention it, he did seem a bit dozy yesterday."

"His temperature is a little elevated. That would account for it. Now, let's see that eye."

After a thorough examination of the dog's eyes, ears and mouth, Bryony said, "He's got a slight infection, but it's only the one eye. Cockers are prone to this sort of thing, because their eyes are large and exposed. If they get a bit of foreign matter lodged under the lid, the eye gets irritated and bacteria can get a start.