"Peachy me, mate." Cheeky sod. Hearing his voice had thrown her just a tad.

"Could've fooled me."

She bit back a cheap jibe. Had he got a point? Was stroppy her second nature these days? And she wasn't seeing it like she refused to acknowledge her mum's hurt? "Sorry, Oz. How you doing?"

"You wanted to pick my brain?" She gave a wry smile, imagining anatomical features she'd rather poke around. Either way, the conversational opening was missed Oz was all business.

"Yeah." Feet tucked under, she reached for her gla.s.s. Keeping her voice down, she told him about Fareeda. How she'd turned up on the doorstep bruised and battered refusing to say who'd inflicted the injuries, how the Saleem family had no idea where she was and how Fareeda had no intention of returning home. "Found a predictor kit in her bedroom drawer as well."

"Found?"

She sniffed. "Sumi and me thought she was missing one night."

"And you thought you'd find her in a drawer?"

Bev sniffed. "Yeah, well. If I hadn't had a nose round we'd be none the wiser, would we?" If the girl wouldn't reveal who'd beaten her up she wasn't going to say who'd knocked her up.

Sounded like he was scratching his eyebrow. "And you can't get her to name names?"

"Can't get her to do diddly, mate." She talked him through some of the tacks tried and failed.

"Want me to have a go?"

"Nah. I'm of a mind to pay the Saleems a visit, have a quiet word with her dad. Say the college has reported her missing or something? What you reckon?" She'd no problem with treading on people's toes, she needed Oz to point a way through the cultural minefield.

"You fancy the father for this?" he asked.

"Wouldn't be surprised." Car door slammed in the street, next door's dog was having a fit.

"Where's the evidence?"

"Got me there." Intuition, bad vibes, fear in a girl's eyes when her father's mentioned? Not enough to convince a custody sergeant let alone the Crown Prosecution Service.

"'Kay, here's how I see it." She pictured those beautiful eyes, stunning cheek bones, perfect mouth. Concentrate, dumbo. "She's old enough to leave home." Oz's first vision. "She's not pointing the finger, she's not even made a police report. Go in there on gut instinct and your feet won't touch the floor."

"The girl's face is broken, Oz!" Loud. Accusatory. She strained her ears, thought he'd cut the connection, though that was normally her forte. When she'd called time on the relationship, Oz had tossed the emotional ball into her court that's why there'd been no play.

"I'll try and come up in the next day or so." How wrong could a girl be? He'd been working on ways to get here not keep his distance. She'd question later why there was a shiver in her spine. Even so, it could be a wasted journey.

"She'll not talk to you, mate." Sodding dog was still going ballistic.

"No. And the Saleems won't talk to you." White, female, cop ticked all the wrong boxes. Bev narrowed her eyes; was Oz...? "Saying you'll go round there?"

"Yeah. Cos if I don't you'll go barging in anyway. All guns blazing knowing you."

"I'll come with you, then." There was a smile in her voice. "Always fancied riding shotgun."

"Thought it was me who always played Tonto?"

And what did that make her?

"I'll hang fire till I see you." It wasn't her best line and the smile had faded anyway. Blinking, she bit her lip. "Catch you later."

Yapping dog. Shut the f.u.c.k up. b.l.o.o.d.y animal was worse than a burglar alarm. Hands jammed in coat pockets, the dark-haired man walked straight past the house. He knew she was in there; itched to take her out now. Patience, man. When he acted she'd get no warning not even a neighbour's mad mutt. She'd lied through her teeth, used him, made him look a complete r.e.t.a.r.d. No one treated him like that. No one. b.i.t.c.h wouldn't even give him her number. He'd had to nick her mobile. And he'd been so generous with his gifts. A sly smile tugged his lips. He hoped he hadn't hidden the timer too well.

Timing as they say is all.

FRIDAY.

26.

Highgate, first thing, place was buzzing. Rumours of a break were running round like petrol-fuelled wildfire. Bev had picked up a whisper in the corridor when she'd b.u.mped into Powell on the way to her office. The DI wasn't privy to the detail, only Byford and the operator who'd first listened to the recording knew the full story. She'd just had time to fit in a quick call to Interflora. The biggest bunch of flowers this side of Kew Gardens should soon be winging its way to her mum. The card would read: Down payment for lunch. See you Sunday.

Now, Bev and the rest of the squad waited breath-bated to be brought up to speed. Air in the briefing room was electric, not a spare edge-of-seat in the house. Rife speculation ended abruptly when Byford flung open the door, he started shooting soon as he walked in.

"We may have a witness." Reaching the front, he turned hand held high to silence the whoops. "A caller claims he saw the perp leaving Libby Redwood's house." May? Claims? Clearly the jury was still out. Bev sat back, crossed her legs: she'd spotted a tape in the guv's other hand. Maybe the best was yet to come. Readying the player, Byford told the squad the message had been left less than an hour ago on a confidential police hotline. "Listen up." Like a pin dropping on velvet wouldn't be deafening.

The killer you lot are after? Male voice. Scottish accent? Nasal as if he had a heavy cold.

I seen him last night coming out of that posh gaff in Kings Heath. He was wearing that clown mask like on the telly, at first any road. At first? Bev leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin in hands.

Here's the thing: I wanna know if there's a reward like, or anything? Or anything: barbed wire round the grasping b.a.s.t.a.r.d's b.o.l.l.o.c.ks for a start.

Gra.s.sing ain't safe is it? I reckon I deserve a bit o' danger money, like."

Sotto voce snort from Bev. Stony glare from the guv.

Think it over. When I see something about a reward on the news I'll get back.

"Guy's a joker," Bev spouted before Byford hit pause. "The accent's all over the shop. The cold's prob'ly faked. There's not a word on there he couldn't have picked up from the press. No name, no number, nothing."

"Finished?" The guv traced an eyebrow with a finger. "Obviously, there are holes."

"Holes? It's a moth eaten sieve." She sat back, foot circling. "Traced the call yet?"

"Phone box. City centre."

She hooted. "Quelle surprise."

Mac interrupted the exchange. "What we doing about it, guv?"

"Bernie's working on a news release."

"There is no reward though?" Carol Pemberton seeking confirmation.

"A carefully-worded news release." Byford gave a thin smile. "We'll hint there's money on the table without going into details."

"Have that in common with the loser, then," Bev sneered. "Big fat fact deficit."

"Do you have a better idea, sergeant?"

Surly, she folded her arms. "Working on it."

"Well, until you do, stop the pops. I'm not a complete idiot. If it's a hoax, I'll do everything I can to make d.a.m.n sure he's done for wasting police time." Glancing round, he spotted the DI leaning against the wall. "Take over here, will you, Mike. I need to see what Bernie's come up with." Byford paused in front of her on the way out. "The guy could be on the level, Bev. Ignoring the call's a risk I'm not prepared to take. And I'm the one calling the shots."

Bang bleeding bang.

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.d's gone to the cops, Dee." A panicky Sam not exactly beating about the bush on the pay-as-you-go. He sounded more gutted than when they'd heard the Redwood woman had choked. The death was a mistake, unfortunate; Diana hoped it would be the last. She flicked the TV remote. "I know. I've just watched the news." Regional lunchtime bulletin, full of street crime and traffic jams, the Sandman had been top story.

"G.o.d, Dee, how can you stay so calm?" She pictured him flushed, sweating, tearing at his hair.

"One of us has to, Sammy." Languidly, she unfolded herself from the settee, crossed the drawing room to the sideboard where Alex kept his booze. "And anyway what exactly have they got?"

"Only a f.u.c.king witness." He'd not listened carefully, not read between the lines.

"Our friend has given them jack-s.h.i.t." Pouring Smirnoff into a tall gla.s.s, she was a touch smug to see the hand was steady. "That's why they need him to come forward again."

"You can't know that, Dee." There'd be that tiny frown between his eyes. Shame he wasn't alongside so she could stroke it away.

"Think about it." She sipped the vodka. "If the police had a name, Sammy, would we be having this conversation?" That was a great comfort, he was virtually whimpering. "Cool it, Sam."

"But he was there, Dee! He saw me. It's all right for you."

"Can't you see he's tightening the screw?" Maybe she'd thought about it longer or Sam was nowhere near sharp as she'd thought. She hoped that wasn't going to become a problem. As to the broadcast, far as Diana was concerned the plod had been duped into delivering a subtle personal message from the blackmailer. "That c.r.a.p on the news was a veiled threat."

"Veiled? Thank G.o.d it wasn't pointed."

She rolled her eyes. "There wasn't even a vague description, Sam. Our friend's on a power trip. He wants us running scared. He's saying he'll shoot his mouth off so we pay up."

"Is the cash ready?"

"Sure, I went to the hole-in-the-wall this morning." She stifled a sigh. "What do you think, Sam? I can't just whistle up half a million. Getting hold of that sort of money takes time."

"We haven't got time, Dee. He wants it within forty-eight hours."

"What?" Chipped ice. Why had Sam kept her out of the loop? The gla.s.s was empty, she topped it up, took a slug. A shaft of weak sunlight fell across Alex's portrait on the wall. Diana raised a mock toast, turned her back.

"He called just before I rang you." There was more, she heard it in the voice. "He still wants you to make the drop." She swallowed. Thank G.o.d for that. Less chance of it being c.o.c.ked up.

"No problem."

"There is. He's tightening the screw all right he claims he's holding Charlotte."

The gla.s.s almost slipped from her fingers; grabbing it she tightened her grip, took swing and hurled it at the wall. Shattered fragments glistened where they lay like a sprinkling of ice.

Evie Jamieson's Arran cardigan was b.u.t.toned to the neck, the ancient radiator blasted out heat, still the PA shivered. Someone walking over her grave, she told herself. Picking up Alex's photograph from her desk, she gazed at the face of the man she'd loved for nineteen years. "Is someone trampling over yours, darling?" The murmur emerged through barely parted thin dry lips. The endearment wouldn't have escaped when Masters still drew breath.

It wasn't the first time Evie had asked the question in the last day or so. The young detective's visit had unsettled her in more ways than one. DS Morriss had raised however obliquely the spectre of foul play. Like everyone else, Evie had believed that Alex died when a burglary went wrong, a simple though tragic case of being in the worst place at the worst time. That could still be so, of course. But what if it was premeditated? Evie had posed the question directly, but Morriss hadn't given a straight answer. She tapped a thigh with testy fingers. What did 'exploring every avenue' mean exactly?

Sighing, she took a key from a Snoopy penholder, walked across the office to a grey metal filing cabinet. Knees creaked as she squatted, then fumbling with clumsy fingers released a brown envelope taped to the underside of a drawer. Only she, Alex and one other person knew its contents. Evie fancied she could almost hear the bomb ticking.

Rising unsteadily, she had to lean against the wall for support, clutching the package to her breast. What should she do? Alex had sworn her to secrecy. She could still hear his wonderful voice in her head: not until the time's right, Evie, not until the time's right. Now he was dead and the time would never be right. And she could be so wrong. She screwed her eyes tight. Releasing the contents would destroy reputations, sully memories. But would Alex rest in peace if she let sleeping dogs lie? Sleeping dogs? One such sprang to mind immediately: Diana Masters. Evie barked a mirthless laugh, mouth twisted in contempt. She loathed the woman. Diana had never been good enough for Alex, and, who knew... if the b.i.t.c.h hadn't come along?

Torn, fighting tears, she carried the package to her desk. Once more her hand went to Alex's photograph. Her lips had kissed his a thousand times through the gla.s.s. Life and death separated them now, and she didn't know what to do. Her glance fell on a card near the phone. DS Morriss had left it, telling her to call if anything came to mind. Narrowing her eyes, Evie reached for it now, ran it between her fingers, tapped it against her teeth, then tore it into tiny pieces.

Hands behind her head, eyes closed, Bev was as horizontal as it gets when you're in a swivel chair using a desk as a footstool. KitKat wrappers and empty c.o.ke cans littered the surface, a handful of M&Ms had escaped to the floor. The caffeine and sugar kick had fuelled a marathon afternoon session: she'd phone-bashed for China, written a stack of reports, reviewed about a third of the inquiry's statements, re-examined every Magpie item in the exhibits office. Evening now and wheat and chaff whirled in her brain, grey cells trying to sift and sort a cerebral dust storm. The missing link was in there somewhere.

"This you 'working on it', boss?" Actually, it sounded like the missing link had just lumbered in. She'd been waiting for Mac to show. At the late brief, Powell had tasked them with following a tip-off. Hopefully it would be a piece of p.i.s.s. The first weekend off in a while beckoned; Oz just might put in an appearance and on Sunday her mum was getting out the fatted calf well, pig. Still reclining, Bev opened a mock resigned eye. "Don't you ever...?" Sod it, no point. She knew he never knocked. "This is me thinking, mate. It's heady stuff."

"Thoughts racing, eh?"

"Flat out. You should try it sometime." Stifling a yawn, she swung her legs down, cut him a glance as she shucked into her coat. "Won the pools or something?"

He spread empty palms, industrial strength beam still in place. "A guy can't smile round here these days?"

"'Gainst the law, mate." She grinned. "Come on, Mr Happy, give."

"You'll take the p.i.s.s." His bottom lip jutted.

"Prob'ly."

"I've met this woman." Gazing down, he toed the carpet with a desert boot. "She makes me feel like a kid again."

"Shoot, mate, how old is she?" Her lip twitched as Mac's mouth tightened.

"I knew it..."

"Genuinely happy for you, Mac." She grabbed her bag, headed for the door. "You'll make someone a wonderful wife."

"So'd you."

She froze, spun round hackles rising. "See that, mate." Pointing to the floor. "That's a line. And you've just crossed it." Diva or what? Even to her ears it sounded OTT.

"Get over it, Bev." Casual, matter of fact, but his eyes were intense. She knew the Morriss ring fence wasn't what he had in mind. He'd been there the night of the stabbing, seen the Black Widow's fatal lunge. Mac was telling her to move on from that. Like she didn't want to? Blue eyes blazing she was about to give him a mouthful then paused. The pram was currently out of toys. "I'm trying, Mac." Her lips attempted a smile.

"Very." He winked as he pa.s.sed her to get the door. "Come on, boss."

"Be a waste of time, mate." They fell into step as they walked the corridor. An anonymous caller had left a name and address on one of the squad room's hotlines. Liam Small from Newtown was allegedly a dead ringer for the e-fit released yesterday. Anonymous caller said it all: probably some loser trying to st.i.tch up a guy who'd nicked his girlfriend. "Trouble with this job," Bev moaned. "Most of the punters who ring in haven't got a clue."

Diana Masters was slightly tipsy. A liquid diet was all she could face at the moment. Frantic and furious, her gut was churning, mind racing. The nausea would pa.s.s, she was sure of that. In the same way she knew she'd stop drinking before losing control. Diana had never been drunk in her life. Sipping the vodka, she rolled it round her tongue. If ever she needed a clear head, now was it.