Yet with disaster snapping at her heels Liz could only chip away at the stone and hope to find the truth waiting inside like a sculpture. She sighed and started again.

'So you left London about six on Sat.u.r.day morning in order to be at Payne's house for nine o'clock. Yes?'

'Yes,' said David Shapiro leadenly.

188.

'But your last job was on the Thursday, and you can't think of anyone who could put you in the city after the fire at the corner shop on the Friday night.'

'No.'

'Friends, neighbours, clients? n.o.body phoned you at home?'

'No.'

'At any event you were in Castlemere on Monday night when the warehouse burned down, and on Tuesday night when the timberyard was torched just metres from where you were sleeping.'

'Yes.'

'But you deny causing any of these fires.'

'Yes.'

'Can you see how I might have a problem believing that?'

He didn't bother to answer that, even to shrug.

'You seem to be interested in fire.'

'Most photographers will follow a fire engine.'

'Most news photographers,' Liz said pointedly. 'But you're not a news photographer, are you? But you want to be. When you have the portfolio.' No answer. 'You got some good shots at the timberyard.'

He didn't rise to the bait, only gave her a cynic smile and said, 'Thank you.'

She changed tack. 'Were you going to the opening of the Castle Mall this evening?'

His eyes were disdainful. 'Not my scene, Inspector.'

'The Courier will want some pictures.'

'Of course they will. They've got advertisers to keep happy. That's why they'll have their own man there.' It was the longest reply he'd given since they began.

'So you're not interested.'

He grinned with sudden vivid ferocity. 'Only if it catches fire.'

She kept her gaze level. 'Have you some reason to think it might?'

189.

For the first time since he realized he was here to talk about himself not Payne he seemed shaken. 'Are you kidding?'

Liz shook her head. 'Not even slightly. David, I'm terrified that several thousand people are going to cram in there, to see the bands and the fireworks and the celebrities, and maybe even look at the shops, and while their kids are running about the concourse and their old mums are tripping people up with their walking-sticks somebody's going to stage an entertainment of his own. I've no proof. All I've got's a gut feeling. But I know -in here I know' -she tapped between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s -'that that's the next target.

'David, if it's you, please, please say so. It can't do you any harm now. You're not leaving here until I know one way or the other, so if it is you that started these fires there's no chance of you burning the Mall. Help me now and I'll help you as best I can. And if it isn't you, convince me. Then I can stop wasting my time and concentrate on protecting those people. Three hours from now the place will be packed. If it burns down because you put the pleasure of giving me a hard time over the safety of all those people, the consequences will be as much your fault as if you set the fire.'

She thought from his face that she'd got to him. But all he said was, 'Not legally.'

'Stuff legally!' she spat, her patience snapping. 'I'm talking about people's lives! About people burning to death. Trapped in a panicking crowd and burning to death.'

Whatever his shortcomings, David Shapiro was not an unfeeling man. The image hit him in the belly like a fist: Liz saw the Shockwaves flicker through his eyes. There was a movement there as of something crumbling; then all at once he was naked before her, a scared twenty- three-year-old out of his depth, not waving but drowning. Without the armour of his brittle anger to defend him he was vulnerable: a young man lacking the experience to 190.

deal with the situation in which he found himself, accused of monstrous things and not knowing how to refute them.

He understood what she was saying: that standing on his right to silence could cost lives. He understood what that meant: heaving bodies jamming the exits, screams choking as the air grew too hot to breathe, those in front crushed into an impenetrable barrier confining those behind till they burned. For a second he tasted the hot smoke and the barbecue smell. The little colour he had drained away. His eyes closed.

'I don't know what you want me to say.' His voice was thin. 'I've told you, it wasn't me. I didn't do these things. Yes, I could have done -except the first, I was still in London -but I didn't. You want me to prove it? I can't. How many people could? Maybe you -you have colleagues, I expect you have a family, you're in the town where you live, maybe you could produce witnesses to vouch for your whereabouts at all the material times. But I live alone, and for the most part I work alone, and there are millions of people in London who wouldn't remember me two minutes after I left them. 'I have a flat in an old house, right? My nearest neighbour is a deaf old lady who puts notes through my door when she needs a box of matches or a bottle of milk. She doesn't knock on the door because she thinks I'm always out. I'm not, I'm there half the day, I have my darkroom there, but the woman on the other side of my wall thinks I'm out. There are two other flats in the house but one of them's empty and the other changes from week to week. I don't know the name of the man there now, and anyway he'll probably have gone when I get back. My local shop's a supermarket, and I don't drink enough to be a regular in the pub.

'Do you understand? If I die in my bed one night n.o.body'll miss me. I'll lie there decomposing till the old lady writes a note to the council complaining about the smell.

'What more can I say? I've told you the truth. You 191.

If) don't believe me. What do you want me to do about that?

If I change my story and confess, you won't believe it after tonight, and by then you'll have a razed building and a lot of dead and injured people. So what do you want from me? I should cross my heart and hope to die?

You've got it. Any oath you want me to take, I'll take it.

But I can't make you believe me.'

She might have believed him. She could have accepted that he couldn't prove his alibi for the first fire, and that while he was in town for the later two so were fifty thousand other people. She could have accepted professional interest as an explanation for his presence at the scenes of two crimes. But she hit real difficulties when she tried to get round what Mary McKenna told her about the fire at Castle High.

She took a deep breath to steady her jangling nerves, caught and held his eyes. She said quietly, Tell me that what you did in your last term at school here was a one- off. That it was a stupid teenage prank. That you only did it to see if you could, and the results scared the wits out of you so you never tried it again. Tell me that and I just might believe you.'

His eyes, which were unexpectedly blue, the only colour in the chiaroscuro frame of his pale face and dark hair, were both wild and bewildered. His voice wavered between exasperation and a plaint. 'What prank? I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know what you want.'

It was like playing a fish: watching him thrash, drawing him closer, giving him enough line that it didn't break, not giving him so much that he could dart away and hide in the tangled weeds of invention. Liz was close to the truth now: she could feel it, this was where it lurked, if she could keep him here she would have it.

'The fire in the chemistry lab,' she said. 'I know about it, I've talked to Ms McKenna.'

'And she said that was me?' His voice cracked.

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'David, she knew! OK, she couldn't prove it, but she knew it was you. Your dad knew it was you. That's what's been wrong between you, isn't it? -that he knew what you'd done, and he didn't shop you, but he's never forgiven you for putting him in that position. That's the truth of the matter, isn't it?'

'No, G.o.d d.a.m.n it, it's not!' He came halfway to his feet, leaning over the table, his white face shouting into hers. Scobie, who was sitting in on the interview, made a move towards him but Liz flicked her hand at him, waving him back almost contemptuously. David Shapiro wasn't going to hit her, and if he tried she was more than his match. He frightened her no more than a child in a tantrum. 'You've got it all wrong. That wasn't me--'

Liz pushed him away from her firmly enough that he landed with a thump back in his chair. 'This is absurd. If you're going to deny things that half the town knows you did, how can I believe a word you say?' She stood up abruptly. 'Scobie, get the Chief. Let's at least get this bit of nonsense sorted out. If we could stop arguing over the patently true, maybe we could make a bit of progress on something that matters. Though I have to tell you, David,' she added as Scobie left the room, 'I'm about as convinced as I need to be that while I keep you here the Mall is safe.'

Scobie hadn't far to go to find Chief Inspector Shapiro: they all but collided as he left the room. 'Inspector Graham would like your a.s.sistance, sir.'

'About time too.' Shapiro gave the door a perfunctory rap and walked in.

Liz hadn't expected to have to comb the building but she was nettled that he'd been waiting outside the door. She gave him a tight little smile. 'Frank, we could use a bit of help here. I want to talk about the incident at the school in his last term there but David seems to have forgotten about it.'

Shapiro looked at his inspector. He looked at his son.

193.

He even looked at Scobie, which people tended not to do unless they were all out of options. He pushed his fists deep into his pockets. 'What incident?'

Liz felt her eyes rounding as her gaze turned into a stare. She waited, a little breathlessly, for him to explain but he didn't. She thought, My G.o.d, Donovan's right! He's covered it up, and even now he's going to try and bluff it out.

They were all watching her with interest, waiting to see what she'd do now. When the time came that somebody had to say something she blinked her smarting eyes and said, with rigid self-control, 'The fire. In the chemistry lab. That Ms McKenna told you was probably David's handiwork.'

Shapiro met her gaze without flinching. 'Ms McKenna never told me any such thing.'

'Well, she says she did.'

'If that's what she says, she's lying.'

'Why on earth would she?'

'I can't imagine.'

It was a stand-off. There was no room left for it to be a misunderstanding: somebody was lying to her, and it was either Mary McKenna who seemed to have no possible reason or Frank Shapiro who had a reason but on whose honesty she would have staked her pension. She winced at that. Before this week she'd have staked her life.

David started to say, 'You don't understand--' But n.o.body present was interested in his opinion for the moment. His father snapped, 'Shut up, David,' without taking his eyes off Liz, and Liz said coldly, also without looking at him, 'You had your chance to talk, now leave it to the grownups.'

She'd faced down a lot of hard, vicious n.en in her time. Most were criminals, some were just nasty b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, a few were colleagues. She'd dealt with them all, and if she didn't exactly enjoy a confrontation the way men often did experience had taught her two things: that the other 194.

guy would blink first, and that she wouldn't lose any sleep afterwards.

Going eyeball to eyeball with a man she cared about was something different. She didn't want to do it, not in front of his son and one of their constables. If there'd been a way out she'd have taken it. But the issue was just too d.a.m.ned important; and her self-respect was important too. She hadn't created this situation, Shapiro had. Any fallout would be his responsibility.

She said, 'Shall I send for the file? Or do you remember now that there was a fire at Castle High about six years ago and you were the investigating officer?'

'I remember the fire,' said Shapiro. 'But I didn't investigate it. I wasn't even in the country at the time. Neither was David.'

She blinked then. 'What?'

'That was the year we went to Israel. The last family holiday we had. That photo on my desk? That was taken then. I know it was that fortnight because it wasn't a resounding success, and when we got back I said I wasn't going on any more holidays, I'd have had more fun poking through the ashes at Castle High. And David said he felt the same way.'

Liz was confused. 'If you didn't head the investigation, who did? Ms McKenna said--' Then she remembered exactly what Ms McKenna had said and her jaw fell. Her voice was a shocked whisper. 'Jesus, Frank, I think I've been rather stupid. She said, my chief. Not my chief inspector -my chief.'

'If memory serves me right,' said Shapiro carefully, 'and I think it does though we'd better check the file, Mr Taylor handled that one personally.'

'That's what I was trying to tell you,' said David, finally getting a word in edgeways. 'It was an open secret in school, who was supposed to have torched the lab. Robin Taylor. The word was he only got away with it because of who his father was.

195.

'I denied it, of course,' he added, his tone icy, his eyes smoking. 'I said it didn't work like that, being a copper's son. I said the law of England may presume innocence until it proves guilt but coppers presume their kids are c.r.a.p unless they can prove otherwise. I said any copper who thought his kid had done that not only wouldn't cover up for him, he'd want his own name on the charge sheet.'

196.

As soon as Shapiro came into his office Superintendent Taylor knew something had happened. There was a stillness about him, even as he moved, and no expression on the broad face, but his eyes were sombre and perceptive. Until he'd heard what Taylor had to say he wanted to keep his feelings to himself. But his eyes betrayed him. When the Superintendent saw compa.s.sion there he knew what it was that Shapiro had found out.

But he was a cautious man, and the possibility that he was wrong made him circ.u.mspect. He matched Shapiro cool for cool, and within the natural boundary of his whiskers guarded his expression as carefully. He said evenly, 'What can I do for you, Frank?'

It is difficult to condense important issues into a few sentences. Sometimes the only choice is between saying everything and saying almost nothing. With time more pressing than ever, a full unburdening of souls would have to wait. 'Where's Robin?'

It was in fact a superbly concise and effective summary that told Taylor all he needed to know. There was only one reason for Shapiro to have asked that now. Despite all Taylor's efforts to frustrate him he had somehow stumbled on to the truth. No, that was unfair: a detective didn't put together a catalogue of successes like Shapiro's by floundering around until good fortune tripped him up. He said, 'At home.'

'Are you sure?'

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H1!.

'Quite sure. My brother's with him.'

Shapiro sat down, subsiding into the chair like an airship settling. Compared with the trim figure opposite, the perfection of his grooming testament to a rigorous self- discipline, the Detective Chief Inspector looked old and weary and sad. 'Do you want to tell me about it or shall I get someone down from HQ?'

Taylor gave a small pained smile. 'Of course I'll tell you about it, Frank. You're a fundamental part of it.'

Shapiro frowned. 'I don't understand.'

'You will.'

Liz took Donovan and Scobie to Superintendent Taylor's house on Cambridge Road. She didn't know how much trouble she was likely to have with his son the pyro maniac. Quite possibly none: there are compulsive personalities who are perfectly decent people outside the ambit of their particular obsession. If Robin Taylor was one it would be an easy arrest and he'd probably make a full admission as soon as he was asked. The whys and wherefores could wait, but Liz wanted confirmation that the crowds attending Castle Mall would be safe. When she had that she would relax for the first time in a week.

With twenty-four hours to go to the wedding the household was in chaos. A group of men -too many of them, to Liz's eye, with too little idea of what they were doing -were trying to erect a striped marquee on the lawn. The door was answered by the bride-to-be, fetchingly attired in jeans and a veil, who directed her to the kitchen and reminded her that a small vegetarian selection was required as well.

Liz tried not to smile. 'I'm not here to do the buffet.' She introduced herself. 'It's Robin I want to see.'

Alison Taylor may not have known that her twin brother was pursuing an active career as an arsonist but she knew there was a problem. Instead of shouting for him or telling Liz where to look she said quietly, 'I'll fetch my mother.'

198.

Liz waited in the hall, Scobie on the doorstep, and Donovan prowled off round the side of the house. He didn't say anything and Liz didn't ask but he was covering the rear exit. The back lane, where the skip was parked in which Ted Burton dumped his empty oil can, ran along the foot of the gardens.

There were a handful of social functions each year when police spouses were rolled out, at which Mrs Taylor was a gracious hostess and to which Liz had to drag Brian, complaining, in a dinner-jacket that did nothing for him. So they knew one another at least casually, and it seemed significant to Liz that Mrs Taylor, coming down the stairs with an armful of silk flowers, quietly addressed her not by name but by her t.i.tle.

'I believe Robin is in the garden, Inspector. My brother-in-law is with him.'

Nor was that the non sequitur it sounded. The Taylors knew what they were dealing with: it was second nature to them always to know where their son was and who was watching him. To an extent that made them accomplices. It would be difficult to plead ignorance of his activities when such measures had been deemed a necessary part of family life. That, plus the fact that she was dealing with the personal affairs of her superintendent, made Liz choose her words carefully. 'Is that Major Taylor's ... role?'