‘They had already rung me at Exeter as soon as Laura disappeared, you know. But I just thought she'd gone off with this bloke, the boyfriend, Simeon Holmes. It was bound to happen sooner or later, I thought. I intended to come back home, but only after Mum and Dad had got over the shock of finding out their daughter was a secret nympho.'

‘I see.'

‘I should have come back straightaway. Shouldn't I? Don't you think so?'

‘It's not for me to judge. Really –'

‘No, not for anybody to judge but me,' said Daniel bitterly. 'Sorry to have bothered you.’

He set off to walk down the drive, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans and his shoulders hunched angrily. Andrew watched him until the young man stopped a few yards away and turned back to shout in derision.

‘Don't just stand there, go on in! I'm sure you'll find my mother available!’

Andrew shook his head, bewildered, but went on up the steps to ring the bell. Charlotte Vernon answered the door, looking smart in a cashmere sweater and cream slacks. She stared at Andrew for a moment, then broke into astonished laughter that carried a hint of hysteria. 'You! What on earth are you doing here?’

Andrew flushed, pulling nervously at his tie. His forehead was creased in permanent anxiety. 'I'm sorry, Charlotte. I've got some papers that I need Graham to sign.'

‘Oh, really? Important papers?’

He waved a hand helplessly, hardly daring to look at her, conscious of the sweat running down inside his collar. He suddenly remembered the car keys in the urn outside, and wondered how he could mention them.

‘Lost for words?' said Charlotte. 'You'd better come in, I suppose. But it'll have to be quick.'

‘I'm sorry. Are you going out?'

‘We've got our big moment of fame.'

‘I beg your pardon?’

She stood close to him, touching his arm, widening her eyes instinctively as she enjoyed his embarrassment.

‘Graham and I are doing a television appeal. The police seem to think it will do some good.'

‘Oh, I see.’

Andrew clutched his document case closer to him, so that it covered his groin like a protective talisman. His eyes roved round the hallway, looking towards the doors as if hoping for rescue. He tried to sidle gradually towards where he knew Graham's office lay.

‘I'm sure Graham will be wonderful on TV, aren't you?'

‘Oh yes. He's very articulate.’

Articulate. That's good. Yes, he talks very well, doesn't he? Very convincing. But what do you think, Andrew?’

He found himself almost squashed against the wall, close to an antique inlaid cabinet he had always admired.

His hand slid across its lid as he groped for support, leaving a sweaty palm print on its polished surface.

About what happened to Laura, you mean?'

‘Yes — that, Andrew.'

‘They've taken Lee Sherratt in for questioning, haven't they?’

Charlotte laughed. It was a deep, throaty laugh, roughened with cigarette smoke and tinged with hysteria. Then she stopped laughing suddenly and tightened her grip on the sleeve of his jacket.

‘Is that the best you can do? Is that what you're relying on? It won't be enough, believe me.’

Andrew Milner felt her eyes leave his face and move away, staring over his shoulder. He turned his head and saw Graham Vernon watching from the door of his study, a sardonic smile on his face. Andrew became horribly aware of Charlotte's body pressed close against him, her breast squeezing into his arm, her pelvis thrust against his hip.

‘Did you want to see me, Andrew?' asked Graham. 'Or is Charlotte looking after you?’

*

Once in his own home, cleaned up and seated in his chair in the front room with his pipe, Harry looked much more approachable than he had among his friends. He had a copy of that morning's Buxton Advertiser on the table by his chair. On the front page was a colour picture of the well-dressing ceremony at Great Hucklow. This year the villagers had created a picture from flowers on the theme of the millennium — Two Thousand Years Since the Birth of Christ. According to the story, the team had worked through the night to finish the display for the opening ceremony.

‘It says here the police are assessing the result of forensic tests,' said Harry, tapping a story at the bottom of the page. 'And they expect to make an arrest soon. Is that right?'

‘I suppose it must be.'

‘Detective Chief Inspector Stewart Tailby, who is leading the enquiry, said: "I remain hopeful." Is that just a lot of rubbish, or what?'

‘I want to ask you about Saturday night,' said Cooper. 'Oh aye? Any particular Saturday?'

‘Last Saturday night. The night we believe Laura Vernon was killed.'

‘That Saturday. Well, let's see. It was warm.’

Cooper had read the transcript of the initial interview with Harry Dickinson, and he was determined not to let Harry divert him from his questions.

‘Tell me what you did that evening, Mr Dickinson.’

‘From when?'

‘Let's say, six o'clock.'

‘Took the dog for a walk,' said Harry straightaway. 'Six o'clock regular. Jess likes her routine. We go down the path on to the Baulk. Under the cliff on Raven's Side, that's her favourite spot.'

‘Do you always go there?’

Harry sucked on his pipe. 'Sometimes I vary it a bit. If I'm feeling a bit rebellious, like.'

‘But that night you walked towards Raven's Side?’

‘That's right.'

‘Go on then. What did you do while you were out?'

‘Do? Not much. The usual. Smoked a pipe. Let Jess off the lead for a run, and to do her business. Sat for a bit. Walked back.'

‘Who did you see while you were walking your dog?'

‘Oh, just the usual bunch of murderers,' said Harry.

By the old man's chair was a little mahogany cabinet, well polished and worn with age. On the upper level was a shelf with a pipe rack, a leather tobacco pouch and the other paraphernalia of a pipe smoker. Below it was the door of a small cupboard. A tin of black shoe polish, a cloth and a shoe brush stood on the floor in front of it. Cooper glanced at Harry's gleaming shoes and looked back up to meet his eyes again.

‘It was a serious question, Mr Dickinson.’

Ah, but you made an assumption. You assumed that I saw someone. Are you trying to trick me, or what? Because it won't work, I'll tell you that.'

‘No tricks, Mr Dickinson.’

Try silence, thought Cooper. The use of silence is a powerful tool. It puts the interviewee under pressure to speak. So he waited, expecting Harry to claim that he had seen no one. But Harry puffed at his pipe, staring into the distance, shifting to a more comfortable position on his chair. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the carriage clock. Outside, a van went by. The babble of the television came from the next room, where Gwen was watching a quiz show. Cooper started getting restless. Harry looked as content and self-contained as if he were still sitting on the Baulk with his dog at his feet, gazing at the outline of the Witches, thinking perfectly calm thoughts of his own.

‘Did you see anyone?' said Cooper at last.

‘Some hikers,' said Harry, 'now that you ask.’

‘Did they see you?'

‘I doubt it. They were down by the stream. Young folk, they were, larking about. The young ones don't notice much, do they?'

‘How long were you out?'

‘Half an hour, until I came back here. Gwen had my tea ready, and I fed Jess.’

And later in the evening?'

‘I went out again, to the Drover. About half past seven. I met Sam and Wilford, and we had a few pints. Lots of folk there know me. Ask Kenny Lee. That's what they call an alibi, isn't it?'

‘Did you go straight there?'

‘Why shouldn't I?'

‘You didn't take a long way round — via the Baulk, for instance?'

‘Why should I do that? I'd already been once.’