Her sergeant checked her watch and then said, *Frankie Cass?'

*Why do you say that?' Laura said.

*He was asking to see you before. If you go down to the cells, make it quick.'

Laura was confused as she left the briefing room. Why would Frankie Cass ask for her? How did he know anything about her? Frankie would have to wait a few minutes though. She had somewhere else to go first.

Laura weaved her way through the atrium to get to the floor above. When she arrived at the burglary team's office, no one looked up. She was just another woman in a uniform, so she rapped hard on the door frame, in no mood to be ignored.

They were all men, young and cocky, dressed in jeans and polo shirts. The one nearest to her, small and thin, with a dark crewcut and a neck ravaged by a shaving rash, raised his eyebrows. *What can I do for you?'

*I was burgled this morning,' she said. *Crime Scenes are coming out later, but I want to know whether you know of anyone targeting rural properties.'

He looked around the room, just to check if anyone had any ideas, then he shook his head. *Forget Crime Scenes today. They'll be with the murder all day.' When Laura turned away, frustrated, he shouted after her, *And we haven't heard of anyone targeting rural houses. Not small-fry anyway.' When Laura turned back, he added, *No offence. The rural houses that get done over tend to be the big ones, targeted by the big guns from Manchester or Liverpool, looking for the safe stuffed with jewels. You know how it is with the rest. They live near the burglar, just because it means they don't have to walk as far with the stuff. Did they take your car?'

Laura shook her head.

*Was anything taken?'

*Just some papers my partner was working on.'

He held his hands out in apology. *Then it doesn't sound like you were burgled. Most houses that get burgled now get done for the car keys. Everything else is either too cheap for the risk or too heavy to carry-but your car?' And he laughed. *Even gets them home.'

*Okay, thanks for your help,' Laura said sarcastically.

As she walked along the landing, she realised why there was the lack of interest. An unsolved crime looks bad, and so it's easier to say that it isn't a crime at all.

Laura checked her watch. She had time to see Frankie Cass, to find out what he wanted.

She made her way to the stairs and down to the cell complex, two corridors of windowless box rooms that stretched away from the custody desk.

The custody suite was accessed through two sets of large locked doors, like an air lock, usually occupied by bored-looking solicitors' clerks waiting for their turn in the interview room. Her swipe card took her through, and she saw that the custody area was quiet. It was centred around a high desk made from polished wood, two custody sergeants behind it, responsible for a corridor of cells each. When it was busy, it seemed like it needed to be bigger, with sullen prisoners jostling the desk as their solicitors did their best to get their paperwork completed, flanked by the investigating officers, and with a holding cell next to the entrance overflowing with new arrivals. But when it was quiet, it was somewhere for the sergeants and civilian jailers to talk away the day, their eyes on the clock to make sure they didn't miss a review or spot-check.

Laura's eyes went straight to the custody list on the wall behind the desk, seven names written in green on a whiteboard, bold and clear so that any officer could check the board to see whether any of their own suspects were in easy reach. Most criminals either stop completely or keep getting caught. Not many got better at it.

As Laura looked at the board, she saw that Frankie was still in a cell, his name top of the list, writ large. One of the custody sergeants glanced up from his screen and then folded his arms.

Custody sergeants were a strange breed, responsible for the prisoners in the cells, not catching criminals, and so they acted more like border guards, paying close attention to who came through. Laura sensed that she was trespassing.

*He's asking for me,' she said, jabbing her finger towards Frankie's name.

*Not for much longer,' he said. *Frankie Cass is going home in a few minutes.'

*But why?'

*Because Kinsella didn't pull his finger out soon enough, or pass it on.'

*Joe got dragged into the murder last night,' Laura said.

The sergeant pointed at the clock behind him. *It doesn't stop that from ticking. Cass has stewed in there all night, and so he's going home.'

*Just let me see what he wants.'

The sergeant pursed his lips and seemed to think for a few seconds, though Laura sensed that he was just exercising his power, that he had already made his decision. *Through the hatch, and make it quick.' He pointed. *Number six.'

Laura peeled away from the desk and walked down the corridor. She felt the air become oppressive as the people within sweated out the drugs and the booze, the stink of dirty humanity seeping out from under the solid metal doors. As she got to cell number six, she lifted the metal bar that kept the hatch in place and let it drop down so that she could put her face through.

She took a deep breath as the smell of the cell hit her. It was too warm-it was always that way, to stop prisoners needing blankets, so they had one less thing to wrap around their necks-and so she got the full strength of Frankie's smell: warm feet and dirty clothes. He was curled up on a plastic mattress on a raised platform, the wall tiled white, with an aluminium toilet in the corner. There was no seat or paper.

*Frankie, I'm Laura McGanity,' she said. *You asked for me.'

He didn't move or give any hint that he knew she was there. He just stared at the wall opposite, his hands clamped between his legs, as if he was trying to knot himself up.

*Is it about the night Mrs Gilbert died?' she said.

He stirred slightly at that.

*Who was there?' she asked.

Laura thought he was going to stay silent, but he turned his head slowly towards her.

*I'm sorry,' he said.

*For what?'

*For taking pictures.'

Laura was surprised at that. *Pictures?'

He nodded. *I took some pictures of you. I'm sorry.'

Laura was shocked. Then she remembered the noise in the house, the sensation of being watched, the noises outside, and tried to control her anger.

*That was you that night, wasn't it, Frankie?' she said. *You came to my home.'

His gaze dropped. *I'm sorry.'

Laura thought about slamming the hatch closed, trying not to think about what pictures might have been taken. Or, more importantly, who might have seen them.

*Just tell me about the night Nancy Gilbert died,' she said, cajoling, trying to keep a lid on her temper.

*She told me not to tell the police.'

*Your mother?'

Frankie nodded.

*But time has passed now,' Laura said, *and the man who killed Nancy still hasn't been caught. You liked her, didn't you, Frankie?'

He nodded and blushed.

*So help us find out who killed her.'

*I don't know who killed her.'

*But you told Jack that two people were there.'

He thought for a few seconds, and then he said, *She told me not to tell the police.' He turned over to face the wall.

Laura sighed with frustration and closed the hatch, the clang echoing in the corridor. Someone in the cell next door began to kick at the door and shout for their solicitor. Laura thumped it back and walked back to the custody desk.

The sergeant barely looked at her as she left. Back in the atrium, she glanced upwards to the top floor. Joe Kinsella was there again, leaning against the rail and watching the growing crowd downstairs. Then Laura saw the stream of blonde hair behind him. Rachel had done well to make it in so early. Frankie couldn't have been the person to break in, which made the list of suspects very short. The burglary team might be right, that no one had broken in. Maybe the thief had been in the house all along. And if that was Rachel's game, Laura knew that she would have to play by her own rules.

Then she heard a voice behind her.

*PC McGanity?'

Laura turned around and saw a tall man with a broad chest and deep tan, his shirt crisp and white, his decorated pips marking out his rank. Chief Inspector.

*Sir?'

*We need to talk,' he said, and he directed Laura towards one of the rooms on the first floor.

Chapter Forty-Nine.

Mike Dobson smiled as he lay back in his bed and looked out of his window, the curtains open, the sky blue, broken only by the occasional wisp of cloud. It felt like it had been a long time coming, this feeling of contentment, of belonging. It was another sunny day, but he hadn't heard the knocking, or been disturbed by the feeling of someone watching him, just at the edge of his vision. Mary was cleaning downstairs, as always.

He checked his watch. He had an hour before his first appointment. He could take some time to enjoy the morning.

He looked at the ceiling, noticing that the paint looked faded, perhaps in need of a touch-up. He thought of how often he had looked at the ceiling with Mary alongside him. Years, he knew that. He knew that Mary was proud of their house, from the way that she cleaned it constantly. It was tidy, contemporary, her imprint on the world.

No, it was more than that. It was their home. He should do more to make it feel that way.

His thoughts were interrupted by the roar of the vacuum cleaner. He would make it right by Mary.

Laura was shown into the Chief Inspector's office. It had the same view as most of the rooms in the station, a balcony and then a drop into the atrium below, but his office had been lined with oak panelling along one wall, with water-colours of Pendle Hill hung on it, and a red leather chair dominated one corner. There seemed to be a hush here that wasn't present anywhere else, and Laura's stomach fluttered with nerves as she sat down.

He smiled, his teeth bright white against the depth of his summer tan. Capped, would be Laura's guess.

*I'm Chief Inspector Roach,' he said, his voice calm, reassuring.

Laura's mind raced as she tried to recall where she had heard the name before, and then it came to her. Paul Roach. He had found Nancy Gilbert. She reddened. She knew what the talk was going to be about: Claude Gilbert. Or, more likely, Jack's story about Claude.

She smiled and said nothing.

*Has your boyfriend mentioned me?' he said.

*Jack?'

*Have you got more than one boyfriend, McGanity?' he said, a growl to his voice. When Laura flushed, he said, *Defendants who lie in court do that, meet a direct question with one of their own. Gives them thinking time. Don't try it with me.'

*I'm sorry, sir,' she said, flustered. *I'm just confused, that's all.' Laura looked the Chief Inspector in the eye. *We have an understanding. I tell him nothing. He tells me nothing.' When he raised his eyebrows, she elaborated. *It can't be any other way, not in this job.'

He nodded for a few seconds, and then said, *He's looking for Claude Gilbert. He came to see me the other day.'

Laura thought about Joe Kinsella and his admonishment that no one else was to know why he was in Blackley, that there were leaks higher up. So she said nothing.

*If he thinks he's found Claude, you must come to see me,' Roach said.

*Why is that?' she asked, her eyes filled with innocence.

*I found Nancy Gilbert,' he said. *I'd like to complete the story.'

Laura thought that there ought to be a *we' in the story, that he hadn't been alone, but it wasn't the time to pick fault.

*I will, sir.'

He watched her for a few seconds, and then he nodded his head, as if that was enough to dismiss her.

As she stood to go, he said, *Don't let me find out that you've been holding out on me. You didn't look surprised when I said Claude Gilbert's name.'

Laura gave a respectful nod and then left the office. Back on the balcony, the hush of Roach's office replaced by the hubbub of the atrium below, she closed her eyes. She could hear laughter and, as she opened her eyes and looked down, she saw something being handed round, sheets of paper, a picture on them. Thomas was trying to take them from people, but they were being passed between tables faster than he could keep up.

He must have sensed that she was there because he looked up and stopped what he was doing. The people around him looked up in turn and then went quiet, the laughter in the atrium dying down into an embarrassed hush.

Laura turned and went quickly down the stairs. Rushing into the atrium, she grabbed one of the pictures and felt her cheeks flush: it was her, getting changed in her house, naked.

Laura looked around, her jaw set, tears of anger in her eyes, but no one met her gaze.

*I tried to get them all,' Thomas said.

Laura looked up and saw Rachel Mason looking down at her, a smile on her face. Rachel gave Laura a nod and then stepped back out of sight.

*We need to get down to the murder scene,' she said to Thomas. But as she turned and walked away, aware of the murmurs growing behind her, Laura knew there was somewhere else she had to go first.

Chapter Fifty.