*Are we nearly there?' I asked.

*Not much further,' Joe said, but I noticed that he sped up, and the hawthorn turned into a blur through the side windows. Then the glint of the Ribble appeared ahead, just a grey shimmer against the green of the backdrop, the colour broken by the black and white of cows. I scanned the landscape, looking for a sign that we had reached the right place.

Then I saw it. *There,' I said.

Joe slowed down quickly. *What is it?'

*We just passed a track,' I said. *There was a Mini parked by a gate. A green one.'

Joe slammed his car into reverse and backed up at top speed to a gnarled old five-bar propped between stone gateposts.

I climbed quickly out of Joe's car. *He's still here.'

*And our time is running out,' Joe said, and joined me as I scrambled over the gate.

I ran with Joe, my fear growing. I had seen one dead body-Hazel, Claude's work. What would I find down there? But I couldn't think of that. I had to keep going.

The ripple of the river got louder as we got closer, the rain drumming on the surface and the wet grass squeaked underfoot as I ran. My trousers became wet and slapped hard against my shins. The thin strip of grey turned into a wider stretch of water, but then the river bank came to me abruptly after I jumped over an old tree root. I dropped down a few feet and landed heavily on shingle, the water just a few inches from my toes. Joe landed next to me and we both looked around and tried to get our bearings. Mike Dobson had said that the fisherman's shelter was where the river trickled over the low bed on the shallow part of the bend, but the rain had made the river rise, and so there were only slight ripples to give the site away. I looked along the bank, left and right, and then I saw it.

*There it is,' I said, pointing to a small, open-fronted stone structure in the shadow of the trees that hung over the water.

We raced quickly towards it, our feet crunching loud on the shingle that bordered the river. As we got closer, the place looked empty, and I thought we'd guessed wrong. I was expecting three people to be in there. The front was open to the elements, and there were small windows at the side, like an ornate stone bus stop. Then I saw some feet sticking out, battered old suede shoes, brown and muddy, and light-coloured trousers. My heartbeat quickened. As he came fully into view, I saw it was Claude, fat and drunk, a bottle of supermarket whisky in his lap.

*Claude,' I said. *Where is she? Where's Laura?'

He looked up, and then waved the bottle of whisky at me.

*Miss McGanity?' he said, his voice slurring. *Susie told me that she was a real lovely. She was right.'

*Where is Susie?'

He laughed and shook his head, and then wagged his finger at me. *You don't care about Susie,' he said. *It's Laura you want.'

*So where is she?'

Claude sniggered to himself. *She's having a lie down,' he said, and then he looked up at me. *More of a long sleep.'

My stomach turned over and my lip trembled. I tried to stay calm, but I wanted to run forward and grip him, shake the truth out of him.

*This was your last gamble, wasn't it, Claude?' I said.

*Go on, superstar, what do you mean?'

*Just that. You're a gambler, have been all of your life. Cards. Casinos. But sometimes you get to the shit or bust play, don't you, Claude, when all of your chips are down, and it's this play or no play?'

Claude shook his head. *I'm still not with you.'

*Mike Dobson,' I said.

Claude looked at Joe Kinsella, and then back to me, before he paid attention to his whisky and then took a deep breath.

*Coward to the end,' Claude said.

*What do you mean, coward?' Joe said.

Claude jammed the bottle into the ground and then tried to stand up, but he stumbled drunkenly in the soft soil and sat back down again.

*Dobson was supposed to keep his mouth shut,' I said, looking at Joe. *Claude knew he would be arrested, and he would have his trial, and he was going to give the jurors the chance to play detective, twelve little Miss Marples, all wondering whether there was a different theory, and Claude would give it to them. Michael Dobson, spurned lover, couldn't stand the thought of Nancy staying in her marriage.'

Joe looked at Claude. *Good plan, Claude. Dobson could never give evidence, because it would mean implicating himself, and no one could force him, because witnesses aren't obliged to incriminate themselves. If you're helping out the court, the system will stop you saying anything to put yourself in the shit.'

Claude laughed. *Good old British justice. It still has a sense of fair play.'

*And you had him sunk twice over, didn't you?' I said. *Because what if he tried to bluff his way out of it and deny any knowledge of Nancy? That's where Hazel would sink him, isn't it, Claude?'

*Hazel?'

*The young woman you killed the other night, just to make it worse for Dobson.'

*Hazel?' he said, and then smiled. *I didn't know her name.' He waved his hand dismissively. *She's been rescued from her life.'

*That wasn't your choice to make, Claude,' Joe said.

*Oh, do be quiet, both of you,' Claude said, his voice getting angrier. *Don't you get it? You should be happy now. You've got the big man, the feather in your cap,' and he banged his hand against his chest before he jammed his bottle into the soil. *Doesn't anyone give decent legal advice any more?'

*What do you mean?' I asked, kneeling down to his level.

He crooked his finger towards me. *Because, hotshot,' he whispered at me, *the first rule in the police station is that you don't admit to anything.'

*Maybe some people can't live with the guilt,' I said. *Leaving a woman to stew in her own blood and piss, trapped underground. That doesn't sit easy with some people.'

Claude looked away.

*And how did you know Dobson had talked?' Joe asked.

I turned to Joe. *Alan Lake,' I said. *Chief Inspector Roach got Dobson to talk and let Lake know. Alan Lake made sure that Claude knew all about it, because he needed Claude to run again.'

Joe looked confused. *Why?'

*Alan Lake and Roach are Claude's landlords. They helped him because Claude knew Lake's worst secret, and Roach was just cashing in. If Claude came out of hiding, they were both in trouble, so they made sure that Claude knew Dobson was talking, that his gamble had failed, to make him go on the run again.'

Joe looked surprised, his eyes wide.

*Have I got it right so far, Claude?' I asked.

He waved me away and took a sip of his whisky.

*So you gambled on Dobson's silence, the perfect red herring,' Joe said, *because you took Dobson for some local small-fry who would be scared of the consequences.' Joe stepped closer to Claude. *But Dobson has something you don't have, and that's balls, Claude, and a conscience. What he let you do has haunted him for over twenty years. He couldn't stay quiet once he got the chance to talk.'

Claude started a sarcastic hand clap, but stopped when Joe looked down at him and said, *What were you hoping for? To come home and stake a claim in your inheritance, your father on his deathbed, happy at the return of his innocent son?'

Claude twitched slightly, and then he shrugged and took another pull out of the bottle. *How did you know about the inheritance?' he said eventually.

I watched Claude, remembering what Lake had said.

*If they can get you declared dead,' Joe said, *your share would go to them.' Joe smiled. *They sound as greedy as you.'

*Father believed in the law,' Claude said. *You would have to convict me to convince him of anything.'

Joe knelt down, so that he was next to me, his breaths hot in my ear.

*It was a plant,' Joe said, every word uttered slowly.

Claude looked confused for a moment. *What do you mean, a plant?'

*The story about your father,' Joe said. *He is ill, that's all true, but he isn't in dispute with your sisters. He contacted the police. He did it quietly, so no one would know. A word in the Chief Constable's ear, and so it gets delegated to me. But your father knows you, Claude. He knows what a shallow little man you really are, how only money would bring you out of hiding. He knows that his death could make you rich, if you got a share of the pot, and so he agreed that the press could publish his illness, padded with the news that your sisters were trying to get you declared dead so that they could take your slice.'

Claude's cheeks had gone pale behind the beard.

*It was all bullshit,' Joe said. *You're already written out of your father's will. He knows you killed Nancy, and you are an ulcer on the family name. Your sisters were dragged down by you-they were only ever your sisters, not people in their own right. Bad news, Claude, you were never going to get anything, though you didn't know that.' Joe straightened. *So this is it, Claude. You should have stuck with the cards you had, because the house didn't even have a hand. You couldn't resist though, and I knew that. Once a gambler, always a gambler. That's how it works. You couldn't resist one final turn of the cards, and you came up with twenty-two.'

*You're lying,' Claude said.

Joe smiled. *Am I? Secrets had been kept for more than twenty years. Mike Dobson wasn't going to say anything about Nancy until you forced him. Nancy hadn't told anyone else about the affair. We looked at her private life and we came up with virtually nothing. Mike Dobson was nothing to her. He was a stop-gap, a time-filler and, worse than that, Claude, Nancy was carrying your child.'

Claude took a deep breath and wiped his hand across his forehead. He looked down. *My child?'

Joe nodded. *You heard it right, Claude. Nancy was carrying your child, not his. All you had to do back then was work it out together. You were sleeping around. Nancy was sleeping around. You took the wrong choice. One whack across the back of her head and you ended her life, and ruined yours. And Dobson's, and all those people who loved Nancy.'

A tear left Claude's eye and tracked through the mud to rest on his beard.

*Tell me this,' Joe said. *Why couldn't you resist? You could have kept on running. Why wait until money came into the picture?'

Claude looked at Joe, and then across to me. He wiped his eye and his shoulders slumped. *I am sick of running,' he said quietly, and then tugged at his coat, threadbare around the elbows. *Sick of living like this. We can all have regrets.'

*You've got self-pity, Claude,' Joe said. *There is a difference. If you had regrets, you would say you were sorry.'

*How did you know I was alive?' Claude said.

*We didn't,' Joe said. *It was a bluff. And you bought it.'

*So where is Laura?' I said.

Claude looked at me for a few seconds, and then looked down. *I said it before, that silence should be observed when under interrogation.'

*Claude! Tell me. Save another life.'

Claude sighed. *Too late,' he said, and took a swig from his whisky bottle.

I stepped forward and gripped his collar. *What do you mean, too late?'

Claude didn't respond.

*Tell me!'

Claude shook his head and then held out his hands. *Cuff me.'

I looked at Joe. I could taste bile, my stomach churning as my mind filled with images of Laura, of where she might be.

*Claude, please, tell me where Laura is,' I pleaded.

Claude lowered his hands, and then he smiled. *Maybe there is time for one more turn of the cards,' he said.

*What do you mean?' Joe said.

*I go to my car. You give me your radios, your car keys, and your phone,' and he pointed at Joe. *You let me drive away. I might even go in your car. I'll call Jack and tell him where he can find Laura and Susie.' He waved his phone. *But I ring just the once. If the phone is engaged because you're calling your station, you'll miss the call.'

*That's ridiculous,' Joe said. *We can't just let you go again.'

*Then it's your gamble that you'll find them in time,' Claude said.

*What do you mean in time?' I asked.

*Like it sounds,' Claude replied. *Think about a life,' he said to Joe, *not the feather in your cap.'

*It's not about my ego,' Joe said.

*So let me go.'

Joe looked at me, and I looked back at Claude. Joe held out his phone to Claude.

*You will ring us?' Joe said.

*My word is my bond,' Claude said, and reached out with his hand to take the phone from Joe, but then Joe grabbed his wrist and threw him to the floor. He dragged him out of the shelter and pulled him towards the river.

*Deal's off,' Joe said.

*Joe!' I shouted. *What are you doing?'

*Sit there,' Joe said to Claude, and then he turned back to me. *Dig.'

*What do you mean?'

*Where Claude was sitting,' Joe said. *The soil was too soft after days of sunshine. And his hands when he reached out for my phone were black with dirt, ingrained into the skin.' Joe turned back towards Claude. *If he wanted to run, he'd have done so before we came here. He hasn't run because he doesn't know where to go. This was his old courting stop, this fishing shelter.'

Claude hung his head.

I went to my knees and began to scrabble at the soil. It was loose in my hands. There were tears streaming down my face, my lips in a grimace. *Don't be in there, Laura,' I said, and then I thrust my hands deeper into the dirt, throwing it back like a dog digging out a bone.