He'd been given his meals by Wilson, but the man couldn't bear to be in his presence for more than a few minutes. Not that it really mattered, not that any of this really mattered. The important work was still yet to be done; he felt that, knew it somehow. He knew what some of it should be, too, while other parts were still hidden. Just like his ragged and torn memory, some bits perfect, others barely more than fuzzy blurs.

As day passed to night and dawn broke again, he explored the confines of his cell more fully, discovering a spider's web in the bottom corner. There was no sign of the spider itself, but there was the carcass of one of its victims caught there on the fine gossamer strands. He felt exactly like that fly, stranded here. Trapped with no means of escape.

When Wilson next came in to bring him breakfast, he asked if there was any word yet from Dr. Preston. He also asked when he would be released and whether they were intent on charging him with anything.

Wilson could answer neither.

So he had to be patient. Wait until it all started to fall into place.

~

"It still doesn't prove anything," Robbins said as he gripped the phone tighter, bringing his other hand up and almost wringing the plastic.

"No it doesn't. But the man in your cells and Matthew Daley definitely had the same blood type," Beth told him down the line.

"Along with how many other millions?"

"Granted. But here's the thing: I noticed yesterday that the man you're holding has a birthmark on the top of his left leg."

"So? The autopsy reports don't mention anything about a birthmark," Robbins snapped.

"That's because the thigh was a bloody mess, Steve. But according to Matthew Daley's local practice, he didhave a birthmark on the upper part of his leg."

"All right, so they've both got birthmarks."

"Same blood type, same birthmarks, same height, hair color, eye color..." Beth continued.

"All right, all right," Robbins said. "But they can't be the same person. What're we talking here, twins?"

"I think Mr. and Mrs. Daley would have noticed if there was a baby missing at the birth," said Beth.

"A fluke, a look-alike?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Steve. None of this makes any sense to me. Not really."

Again he wondered just what had spooked her in the cell yesterday.

"But there were certain... anomalies in the blood itself," she said after a pause.

"How do you mean? Drugs?"

"No, he was clean, like I said. It's just that his white blood cell count is incredibly high... and his humor immunity is quite outstanding."

He swapped the phone to his other ear. "In English, Beth."

"There are an inordinate amount of antibodies in his system. Triggered by what, I don't know. Some exogenous antigen I can't identify."

"I do believe I said English."

"Simply put, it means he's extremely resistant to infection."

"Okay," Robbins said slowly.

"And there's something else."

Robbins sighed. "Do I have to ask, or were you planning on telling me eventually?"

"Matthew Daley had type two diabetes, but there's no sign of that now in this blood."

"Then it can'tbe him."

"You'd think so, and yet... Steve, we really need to do some more tests."

"Look, Beth, I'm not really interested if he's the scientific discovery of the century. The bottom line is, I have someone in custody and I don't know what to charge him with... if anything. Trespass, possibly. But there aren't any laws against looking like someone who's died. Give me something to go on."

He could almost hear her mind ticking over. "The case is still open, right?"

"Technically yes. They never caught who did this to Matthew Daley."

"Then get a decent DNA sample. The people who were handling all this back then weren't exactly CSI material. Exhume the body, Steven."

Robbins asked her to repeat what she'd just said in case he'd misheard it. He hadn't.

"Jesus... we can't do that, Beth. The mother would go ballistic, and as for the church... Valentine says that the local priest hasn't left Mrs. Daley's side since this happened."

"Get a court order."

"By tomorrow? You know how many strings I'd have to pull?"

Becky tutted. "You're telling me you can't? From what I hear Croft would've been able to manage it."

He ground his teeth. "It'd be professional suicide."

"And the career always comes first, doesn't it?" said Beth.

Robbins exhaled another deep breath. "The shit's really going to hit the fan."

"It's the only way to be sure."

"About what?"

She didn't answer that one, but he knew the answer anyway. He placed the 'phone in the crook of his neck, took a packet of indigestion tablets out of his pocket, and tapped a couple into his palm.

"I'll see what I can do," he said, tipping the tablets into his mouth.

"One more thing," said Beth before she hung up.

"Yeah?"

"I want to be there."

"What?"

"I want to be there when they open the coffin up."

"You?"

"Don't sound so shocked. You're the one that brought me into this, Steve."

"Okay," Robbins promised her. Then he looked up at the ceiling, wondering just what he was about to set in motion.

Chapter Six

The morning was an overcast one.

As the group waited around the grave they resembled the mourners from the funeral that had been held there seven years ago. Except these people had only come to know about Matthew Daley's life in the last forty-eight hours or so. They hadn't watched him grow up, hadn't loved him or grieved over his passing. They were here for one reason only: the truth.

Bethany Preston had arrived early, as soon as she'd been given the call. Robbins told her that it hadn't been easy, but they'd been granted express permission to exhume----in spite of Father Lilley's protests. Lilley had been particularly vocal when the teams of police and forensics experts arrived at Westmoor. Said it would be a sacrilege in the eyes of the Lord. Valentine had to hold him back from the scene, while Robbins tried to explain their position.

"I'm really sorry, Father, but this has to be done."

"Heathens, all of you. 'Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping!' Psalm Six, Verse Eight," shouted Lilley, shaking his fist. When that didn't work, he tried another tack. "My father was a Captain in the army. He died in the war. Died so that our freedoms should be upheld."

"We need to give Mrs. Daley peace of mind. There might be evidence in that grave which could help in the investigation----"

"Investigation!" Lilley spat. "You couldn't find the person who killed him the first time, what makes you think you will now? Leave the poor boy in peace, I'm begging you."

"And what about Mrs. Daley's peace of mind?" asked Robbins.

Lilley squinted with one eye. "This is about the man who came to her house, isn't it?"

"It might help to settle things," replied Robbins, deflecting the question.

"In the name of the Lord our God, man, she doesn't need things 'settling.' She knows already, knows that man cannotbe her son. The peace of mind you're talking about will only be shattered by this."