The open s.p.a.ce of the Village Green was a cauldron, flames shooting into the five-sided lantern above. The roar beat at his ears, incandescence seared his eyes. When he remembered to breathe again the hot wind caught in his throat like raw spirit.

Then there was the smoke. Great black coils of the stuff climbed on the backs of the flames to leap in writhing fury against the ceiling; denied escape, they turned over in a madness of frustration and flung out all ways from the fire that sp.a.w.ned them. On the way down from the ceiling black smoke met plumes of white steam and the two coiled together like lovers, or predator and prey.

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And the hot wind smelled of everything that had burned in that great burning building: acrid chemical smells and sweet pungent smells, and oily ones, and others so foul they scourged the eyes and thickened the tongue and it didn't take an expert to know there were lethal toxins in the dense c.o.c.ktail.

Watching it, listening to it, even smelling it filled him with a kind of wonder. The power of it beat down on him, awesome and terrible; yet at the same time he was somehow part of that power, revelling in it. He was in a place few men had ventured, few dared go, and there was a thrill of pride in that which was fundamental to him. What he had done, what he was doing now, helped define what he was. Combat pilots, trapeze artists, bull fighters, deep-sea divers: he danced with them on the filamentary wire over the pit, only the lightness of his feet and the steadiness of his nerve between him and the agony of destruction. No wonder people didn't understand him. What he was made no sense, except to others who chose to defy death as a way of life.

Men like Robin Taylor, he thought then. Men who let the power and the beauty enter their souls and drive them mad. A fear stirred in him that was not the fear of the flames. Is that where I'm going? My inevitable end, when the addiction takes over and I can't do without the thing that's going to kill me? Thus far he had believed himself here by choice, that the risks he took were calculated and purposeful and, even if it wasn't always apparent, he controlled his own actions and to a great extent his own destiny. But what if he was wrong? What if it was the compulsion controlling him all along?

A hand closed on his wrist and he started guiltily, reaching for the camera. It was his touchstone, his pa.s.sport to an arcane world he could not have travelled without it; yet this close to the best pictures of his life it hung neglected on his chest, a mere decoration, like tinsel medals on a carnival general. His fingers fumbled with it while his brain reeled with insight like a slap.

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Liz said flatly, 'You're not going any further. He's gone, David. You can't save him. I'm d.a.m.ned if I'll let you go too.' Her voice rasped with the fumes and she had to shout over the bellow of the flames. Even so there was an audible tremor running through it.

David shook his head. 'No. This is as far as I go.' His voice was ambivalent, as if he were conducting some other conversation, not the one with her.

She sensed a hidden agenda; but whatever the question, the answer seemed to bring him back to her. For a moment, before she found the grit to hurry after him, she'd thought he would keep on walking past the end of the corridor, walk into the flames as if he believed himself invulnerable, vanish into the blinding light and never emerge. But that danger had pa.s.sed, even if she didn't know quite how. Relief left her absurdly light-headed for someone in a burning building.

She cleared her throat. 'What about your pictures?'

His hands manipulated the settings automatically. He had the camera halfway to his face; then he lowered it again. 'I've got everything I need. Let's get out while we can.' He smiled at her, and in the glow of the flames his face was a little drawn and smudged with smoke but free of the pa.s.sion that had driven him, as if he'd found catharsis in the very heart of the flames. There was even a little self-mocking irony in his eyes. Liz thought, He's back. Wherever it is he's been, he's back. She nodded and cast a last glance into the inferno before leaving.

That was when they saw him. Simultaneously: if only Liz had spotted the figure through the flames she would have said nothing until they were outside and she could tell the firemen. But David saw him too, and they traded a quick glance that confirmed neither had imagined it.

'Oh, s.h.i.t,' said David wearily.

Liz fisted her hand in his sleeve. 'This is not your problem. You shouldn't even be here. Just across the hall there are men with the equipment and the know-how to get him out.'

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'And they don't know where he is, and we do,' said David. 'By the time we tell them he'll be somewhere else, or he'll be dead.'

'He started this!' she cried. 'He's not worth risking your life for.'

David looked straight at her and smiled again. 'A minute ago I was going to walk in there for the sake of some photographs. I'm not going to walk away and let a man burn.'

'If you can find your way in, he can find his way out!'

He explained it carefully, as if she were a simpleton. 'Inspector, he's not responsible. Not for what he's done, and not for his actions now. He can't be punished, he needs looking after; and right here and now I'm the only one who can do it.'

Liz nodded slowly. 'Your father's right about you. He said you always had more guts than you knew what to do with.'

'Did he?' David mulled that over as if it surprised him. Then he shook himself. 'Oh well, this won't bath no babies. Wish me luck?'

'I can do better than that,' she said, pointing. 'Look.'

'Where?' He followed her finger, turning away.

Behind his back Liz swung the half-brick in her left hand, gritting her teeth because she despised violence but this time, in these precise circ.u.mstances, she knew the half-brick would serve where any amount of well-honed argument would not.

The horrid sound of a fistful of masonry colliding with a man's skull made her wince. But it had the desired effect. For an instant she thought she hadn't hit him hard enough, he only staggered slightly and began to turn back to her, his hands going to his head, his face shocked. Then as she watched, ready to do it again if need be, his eyes rolled up, his knees sagged and he slid bonelessly to the floor.

Liz stood over him, more protective than triumphant, 244.

for a moment while she waited for her heart to steady. She looked into the fire dancing at the end of the corridor. She said to herself, aloud, 'I suppose the proper thing to do is get in there, find the idiot boy who started this and haul him out before allowing a single feminine tear to drop into my lilac-scented handkerchief.' The flames leapt and roared encouragement.

She turned her back on them. 'b.u.g.g.e.r that.' Bending, she took one of David Shapiro's slack hands in her own and dragged him towards the open air; and if, as she reached the door, with the blood pounding in her ears and the sweat of effort on her brow, she heard the thunder of the flames split for a few seconds by the screams of a live thing in mortal torment, she gave no outward sign of it.

Shapiro went in the ambulance, cradling his son's b.l.o.o.d.y head in his lap, tears in the seams of his cheeks. Beyond a three-line explanation of the facts Liz had not discussed with him what happened. There would be time later to review all that had been done and judge in the light of the outcome which of their decisions and actions had been the right ones. If he was unhappy with her actions she'd find out then.

In her own mind she was sure she'd done the only thing possible. If Shapiro didn't know that already he would by the time David's head was st.i.tched and his concussion fading, and he'd had s.p.a.ce to reflect on the other ways this could have ended.

He hadn't wanted to leave the scene with the emergency still in progress but Liz insisted. 'Silcott needs no advice from you on how to bring a fire under control. There's no chance now of making someone amenable. Uniform have the crowd in hand, and anything else that comes up I'll deal with. Go with him, Frank, be there when he wakes up. For once, put your duty second.' So he'd gone.

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There remained Superintendent Taylor. His actions too awaited judgement on another day; but the man was not in any conventional sense a criminal and there was no chance of him turning fugitive. Liz knew that if she did nothing he would remain at the Mall for as long as he thought there was anything to wait for; then he'd return to his office and prepare for a smooth handover of the power he had abused.

Before that she wanted to see him, to express her sympathy and put certain things on record. If she didn't do it now there mightn't be another opportunity.

She found him sitting in the back of a squad car parked by the main entrance, watching the continuing activities of the firefighters with the hopeless calm of someone for whom the worst has already happened. She stood beside him and waited until he noticed her.

'Inspector Graham?'

'Yes, sir.' Probably he didn't warrant that any more, but it cost her nothing to say it.

He smiled. He looked terribly weary. Liz didn't know if he'd been told what she'd heard but she thought he knew he was waiting for a body to be recovered. His face and the slump of his erect figure held no hope for Robin's survival. He had already embarked on his grieving; and if there was bound up in it a kind of peace Liz could understand that too. He'd done all in his power for the unquiet spirit that was his son, and it was no wonder if regret at what had happened was tempered by relief at a lifting of the burden. He still had his own problems to work through, and penalties to pay, but there must be some comfort in knowing that nothing like this would happen again.

'I owe so many apologies,' he said softly.

Liz spread a helpless hand. It was dirty and smeared with David Shapiro's blood: she put it quickly behind her back. 'Don't we all?'

He caught her eye. 'Liz, no. You have nothing to regret.'

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She hoped he meant that. 'I want to tell you why I acted as I did. Made the decisions I did. I don't want you thinking ...'

She was finding it harder than she'd expected. She heard herself rambling, took a deep breath and started again, saying what she wanted to in the plainest words she could frame. 'I didn't stop David from attempting a rescue because he was Mr Shapiro's son and Robin was yours. I didn't do it because Robin started the fire. I did it because I believed one dead boy was better than two.'

James Taylor nodded slowly. 'I've done terrible things in the course of this. I've betrayed the trust vested in me. I've betrayed my colleagues. I've permitted an injustice I could have put a stop to. I've lied, cheated and abused my position, and I'm ashamed of it all. I can't honestly say I regret it, because in the same circ.u.mstances I don't know that I'd do any different, but I wouldn't like you to think I found it easy.

'With all that,' he went on, watching her expression, 'I only did one stupid thing. I thought that if I got Frank Shapiro out of the way I could cover up Robin's activities. Inspector Graham, you're ent.i.tled to feel deeply offended that I put you in charge of an investigation specifically because I believed you'd fail. If it's any comfort to you, if I had this to do again I wouldn't waste my time getting Frank out of my way if it meant dealing with you instead.'

She managed a sad smile. 'I'm sorry things didn't work out better.'

'Yes. Thanks.' He looked away to the flames still visible inside the Mall and sighed. 'I suppose all I can hope for now is that this can be tidied up without anyone else getting hurt.' His eyes came back to her. 'Donovan was injured, wasn't he?'

'Not badly,' said Liz. She was about to mention the woman who'd shielded him but stopped in time. Taylor would hear about that soon enough, there was nothing to gain by adding to his grief now. 'He was already getting 247.

stroppy before they took him away in the ambulance.'

For a moment she said nothing more. She was wondering how much authority she had and who she'd have to answer to for exceeding it. She decided there probably wasn't a rule to cover the situation.

She said, 'I don't know if there's any point you staying here. There's Mrs Taylor and your daughter to consider: I imagine it'd be easier for them to hear about Robin from you than from me or anyone else. Why don't you go home? When people need to talk to you I'll know where to send them.'

Taylor looked at the burning building again. She was right: there was nothing to wait for. 'Yes, thank you, I'll do that.' He looked round vaguely, like a man lost. 'My car--?'

'I'll have someone take you,' Liz said quickly. Any time now he'd have to face a new reality with none of the privileges of the old, but she wouldn't let even a disgraced superintendent wander round looking for a way to get home.

'You're very kind,' he said. He smiled. 'I won't be the only one who noticed your effectiveness in these last few days. I hope it'll be recognized officially. I hope your entire department will get some acknowledgement for the job it did. G.o.d knows I made it hard enough for you. I wish I'd outwitted you, but I'm proud of the fact that I couldn't.'

He nodded towards the building. 'The people who were in there owe their lives to you. It's going to be a financial disaster, but it would've been a major human tragedy as well except for your insistence that this was the next target. If you hadn't begun the evacuation when you did, Lord knows how many would have died. When the mud starts flying, if any of it comes your way remember that. Your good judgement saved countless lives.'

Liz appreciated that profoundly. For almost the first time in their acquaintance she glimpsed what it was about 248.

James Taylor that had made people think he was superintendent material. She regretted not seeing it sooner, or in happier circ.u.mstances. But perhaps it was the nature of the man, to shine in defeat. Nothing in his professional life, she thought wryly, became him like the leaving of it.

When there was nothing more she could do at the Mall she returned to Queen's Street. There was already a list on Shapiro's desk of calls to be returned. After she'd rung Brian she made a start on them, beginning with the a.s.sistant Chief Constable.

Halfway down the list she took a breather, leaving the phone off the hook for a minute while she leaned back in Shapiro's chair and closed her eyes. When she opened them again Shapiro was standing in the doorway, silently watching her.

Liz started and went to vacate his desk, but he waved her back. 'Stay there, it suits you.'

She couldn't discern his meaning from his tone. He had no quarrel with her, but perhaps he was too punch-drunk to know that. 'How's David?'

'He'll be all right. He woke up, then he went back to sleep. They're keeping him in tonight but the doctor said he can come home tomorrow.'

'And Donovan?'

'Much the same.'

She waited for him to say something else but he didn't. She set her jaw. She'd rather have left this until tomorrow when they were both a bit less sh.e.l.l-shocked, but if he was nursing a grudge it would be better to get it out in the open. 'Frank, I hope you understand--'

He didn't let her finish. He came forward quickly, took the chair across the desk from hers, leaned forward over his elbows on the scuffed surface. 'Liz, I'm sorry, I'm still firing on three cylinders. Understand? I understand that I owe you more than I can ever repay.

'I'll never forget that you believed in me enough to ignore a direct order from a superior officer. By the book 249.

you were wrong: it didn't matter how well you knew me, you should have obeyed orders even if you disagreed with them. But I can't tell you how it feels to know your colleagues have that kind of faith in you. You gave me back my self-respect.

'And tonight you gave me back my son, and I've no words to say what that means to me except that it's more than the other.' For a moment he said nothing more. It was only when she looked up tentatively that she saw he was struggling with tears in his throat. She smiled and reached out for his hand.

'I didn't even know he was missing until the paramedics called me over,' he said. 'When I saw him lying there with the blood pouring out of his head, and you said you'd done that--! Liz, I don't know what I thought but for a moment I wanted to kill you. Afterwards, I was so ashamed. You'd put your whole future on the line because you believed in me, and I couldn't take it on trust that you wouldn't have done that without good reason.'

'There wasn't any other way,' she said softly, still holding his hand. 'I couldn't think of any other way. He'd have gone inside, even knowing what was waiting for him. If we'd struggled he'd have got away from me and gone in anyway. I had to stop him, and the brick was all I had.'

'He owes you his life,' said Shapiro. 'I owe you his life. Do you want to know something really funny?' She nodded. Taylor's terrible crime, which was putting his love for his son ahead of his duty: I'd have done it too. I never knew that till today. But I would. If David had been sick and desperate, I'd have done whatever I had to do to help him. If it'd come to a straight choice between David and Trevor Foot, the poor sod would still be in prison.'

Liz shook her head. 'Thank G.o.d we'll never know, but I think you'd have found a way out. There aren't too many either/or situations and that wasn't one of them. Taylor didn't leave Foot in gaol to save Robin, he did it 250.

to have a hold over you. When he hid that photograph Robin was safe in his clinic in Switzerland. We're ent.i.tled to wonder how long he'd have held on to it, or what else he'd have used it for, if the boy had stayed there.'

Shapiro blinked. 'So it wasn't Robin's condition that was responsible for this nightmare, it was my relationship with Taylor? I felt badly enough about putting Foot in jail for somebody else's crime. I don't feel much better to think he'd have been out twelve months ago except that my superintendent considered me too clever by half.'

'He knew he couldn't bully you or bribe you,' Liz said. 'He knew if he ever needed you off his back he'd have to frame you. On mature reflection, I could consider that a compliment.'

Shapiro thought about it. Slowly the creased face relaxed into a grin. He looked about the office, vaguely, as if it looked different from this side of the desk. When his eye found the filing cabinet he got up and came back with a bottle and two gla.s.ses. 'Strong liquor is the bane of the detecting cla.s.ses,' he p.r.o.nounced solemnly. 'In order to appreciate what a bane it is, you have to be thoroughly conversant with it.'

'I trust I know my duty,' she replied stiffly.

'L'chaim' said Shapiro.

Liz knew another toast. She lifted her gla.s.s, made a game stab at a kind of border raider's accent that her Cotswold vocal cords were never designed for. Fortunately, Shapiro's Jewish ears couldn't tell the difference.

'Here's tae us, wha's like us?' she enquired. 'Gey few, and they're a' deid.'

'Perhaps that's just as well,' murmured Shapiro.

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