*Like what?'

*That it was repossessed by the bank when the mortgage didn't get paid.'

*Do you get many people coming round to take a look?'

*We did a couple of years ago, for the twentieth anniversary, but it's been quiet since then.'

*What about his family? Are they ever in touch?'

*There was somebody once,' she said. *He said he was Claude Gilbert's father.'

*The judge?' I said, surprised.

*That's what he said. He was a nice old man, seemed sad about it all, and not just for Claude. He just wanted to pay his respects.'

*How long ago was this?'

Mrs Kydd thought for a few seconds, and then she said, *Springtime last year. And he brought that.' She pointed to a single rose bush, kept trimmed and neat. *He asked us if we could plant it there, where Nancy was found, as a tribute.'

I looked at her, and then back at the flower bed. *It's just a patch of dirt,' I said, and then looked at Mrs Kydd. *It seems strange that it looks so ordinary.'

*I've thought the same thing a few times, when I've been able to snatch a quiet moment in the garden,' she replied. *That's why he wanted the rose bush there, as a marker, so we don't forget what happened here.'

I thanked her for her time and strolled through the garden to make my way back to my car. I stopped a few times to take pictures, trying to show how ordinary it looked, but when I got back onto the street, I looked back towards the house, gripped by the sensation that I was being watched. I couldn't see anyone, but I sensed it, from the gentle shiver at the back of my neck to the way the hairs stood up on my arms.

I climbed into my car, wary now.

Chapter Ten.

Thomas and Laura walked through the town centre in a slow, rolling police stroll, past the old wooden shop fronts and then the glass windows of the chain stores on the precinct, fast-food wrappers overflowing from rubbish bins. Laura felt self-conscious in her uniform, still getting used to the feel of it again after the years spent in plainclothes. Both of them were in short sleeves, but they were warm in their stab vests, their belts heavy with equipment, the radio squawking constantly on their chests. She could feel her backside straining against her black trousers, the cut doing little to flatter her figure.

Thomas seemed quiet, and his body language defensive, as if he was wary of the first spot of action.

*You okay?' Laura asked.

*Just looking around, observing,' Thomas said, his voice quiet, and then he gave a laugh, the first time Laura had heard it. *It's easier at the training centre, because you're expected to get it wrong, just so you can be told how to get it right, but this is it, right now,' and he pointed at the floor. *I'm not here to get it wrong though.'

Laura smiled. *Don't be hard on yourself before you start. We all make mistakes. Just be courteous to people, be firm with those who deserve it, and don't tell lies. It's better to say sorry than tell a lie. And for the rest of it? Just use common sense and follow your instincts. That's all the job is about.'

Thomas nodded and looked down.

They walked for a few minutes in silence, until Laura asked, *Are you enjoying the job so far?'

Thomas looked up. *What, do you mean today?'

*Just generally,' Laura said. *When you walked into the briefing room, how did you feel?'

Thomas blushed, his cheeks pink behind only a hint of stubble. *Honestly?' he said, and then he laughed again. *Scared rigid. Maybe tomorrow will feel different.'

*It will,' Laura said. *Every day feels different. That's what's great about the job.'

Before either of them could say anything else, they heard a shout. Laura looked up and saw a young man twenty yards away in a green polo shirt, the uniform of one of the music chain stores, trying to hold on to a gaunt man in a scruffy blue puffa coat, his eyes encircled by black shadows, his cheeks pale and sweaty, a games console under one arm.

Laura started running, Thomas a step behind. Then the man pulled away, the sight of the sprinting uniforms giving him the push to make a break. The games console fell to the floor as he ran.

Laura's equipment jangled against her hips, her breaths loud in her ear, the adrenalin of the pursuit pushing her on. She could hear a couple of cheers from some college kids, and then she was panting: her detective years hadn't involved many foot-chases, and motherhood had made her heavier than when she had last worn the uniform. As the thief went around a corner and into one of the open car parks, Laura guessed that it would turn out to be his day. Her chest began to ache, her throat dry, sweat across her forehead, and her legs slowed. She stopped running and reached for her radio, sucking in air as she tried to make her voice fit for broadcast.

Then Thomas ran past her.

Laura took a large breath and jogged after him. As she rounded the corner, Thomas came into view, but Laura saw that he had stopped, and the thief was heading out of the other side of the car park. Laura came to a halt next to Thomas and tried to get her breath back, her chest pumping hard in her shirt.

*What happened?' Laura asked, gasping.

Thomas looked down, and Laura saw that he was taking deep breaths too, fear in his eyes.

*What's wrong?' she said.

*He pulled a needle out of his pocket,' he said, between breaths. *He shouted he would give me AIDS.' He looked at Laura. *I'm sorry. I bottled it.' He gave a large heave of his shoulders and then kicked at the gravel. *My first test and I got scared.'

Laura put her hand on his shoulder, turning him away from the shoppers who were watching them. *And you'll bottle it again,' she whispered. *You'll just care less about it. Next time, just keep running and hit him as hard as you can with your baton, but remember that you may struggle to get a second shot in.'

Thomas nodded, and then turned back the way they had just come. *Let's go back to the shop, see if they've got it on video.'

Laura nodded and smiled. *Okay, we'll do that,' she said, and decided that she liked Thomas.

Frankie ducked behind the gatepost, just to check that the road was clear, and then he crept out. He wasn't dressed properly, in jogging bottoms and a crumpled old T-shirt, his slippers making slapping noises on the tarmac as he shuffled across the road. He had to slow down as he reached the driveway of the rest home, the gravel hurting his feet through the soft soles.

The doors to the rest home opened automatically, so he went inside and looked around anxiously, worried about who he would see, wanting to avoid the big boss. Then he saw someone he recognised wandering through one of the rooms. *Mrs Kydd?' he shouted. He shuffled towards her. *Mrs Kydd?'

She stopped and then turned slowly towards him. He noticed her uniform looked tight, stretched across her chest so that it pushed her breasts into a tired-looking cleavage.

*Hello, Frankie,' she said. *What do you want?'

*Was he a reporter?' Frankie asked.

*Were you watching again?'

*I heard the car, that's all, and so I watched him,' he said. *What's the big deal? Why can't you tell me?'

She put her hands on her hips.

*I saw him taking pictures,' Frankie persisted. *What did he want? Was it about Claude Gilbert? What did he say?'

*Slow down, Frankie,' she said, her voice raised. *Yes, he was a reporter, okay, and he's writing a story about Nancy.'

*Does he think Claude killed her?'

*He didn't tell me what he thought,' she said. *He just wanted to see where she died.'

Frankie looked at her chest again until she folded her arms, aware of his gaze.

*He needs to speak to me,' he said. *Did you tell him about me?'

She shook her head. *No, I didn't. Please go, Frankie.'

*If he calls again, tell him to come to my house,' he said, but then he flinched when he felt her hand on his arm.

*Are you all right, Frankie?' she asked. *Are you eating okay? You look poorly again.'

*I'm fine,' he said.

*You need to look after yourself, Frankie. If your mother could see you now, she would be worried about you.'

Frankie looked away.

*Hey, I'm sorry,' she said. *I didn't mean to upset you. He said he was called Jack Garrett. He sounded local. If you think he might want your help, call him. He might be interested in what you've got to say.'

Frankie didn't respond.

*You've got to look after yourself though, before you go chasing him,' she said. *Eat properly. Get some sleep.'

*I'm fine,' he said, and he turned and walked out of the rest home, shuffling quickly along the drive, ignoring the pain in his feet from the sharp stones. He could sense Mrs Kydd watching him, even after the automatic doors had swished shut.

Chapter Eleven.

I checked my notepad and looked at the scribbles I had made after Susie had gone. I had written down Maybury and Sharpe as Susie's old law firm. If Bill Hunter was right, that Claude Gilbert had ended up as fish food in the English Channel, the story would end up being about Susie and another Claude Gilbert hoax.

The firm's name was well known to me. I had devoured the court reports in the local paper when I was a child, those short paragraphs of shame the only part I found interesting, and the names of the defending solicitors always stayed with me: Harry Parsons, Jon Halpern, Danny Platt-crafty lawyers who managed to find new ways to repackage remorse and excuses for their clients. Maybury and Sharpe had been one of the main players, but Susie Bingham had been talking of a time two decades earlier, and the shrinking of legal aid had seen the firm splinter into its different departments, the ambulance chasers not wanting to be weighed down by the criminal work. The new offshoot was now known simply as Sharpes, staffed by enthusiastic young clerks and a couple of ageing solicitors, who huffed and puffed their way around the Magistrates' Court like relics from a lost era. I just hoped that someone there remembered her.

The office front suited the firm, old-style, with frosted windows and gold leaf lettering; no neon sign at Sharpes. When I walked in, I saw that the reception area was quiet, just one client waiting, his face bearing the familiar look of heroin addiction: high cheekbones, blackened teeth and prickles of sweat on his lip. The receptionist was a young Pakistani girl, her hair sleek and long, and when she smiled at me, her eyes were bright jewels in the office gloom.

*I want to have a word with Mr Halpern or Mr Platt,' I said.

She reached for the phone. *Are you due in court?' she asked, her voice quiet, almost a mumble, just the smallest trace of the Peshwar in her Lancashire accent.

*No, I'm the court reporter, Jack Garrett. I need some help with a story, and it involves this firm.'

She considered me for a moment, and then picked up the phone and spoke to someone, her words barely audible. She pointed to the room next to reception. *Wait in there,' she said.

The waiting client didn't pay me any attention as I went into a small square room, with just enough room for a desk and chairs on either side. I could hear a whispered conversation through the door, and then it was opened briskly as Danny Platt walked in. His hair was long and unkempt, but the grey patches that broke up its darkness gave away his age as over fifty. His face bore the scars of long hours, with lines etched deep around the eyes, and the bulge of his stomach strained against the buttons of his creased blue shirt. He looked unkempt, like legal aid work was getting tougher.

*Mr Garrett,' he boomed, as if he was delighted to see me. He was eating a sandwich though, and it was obvious that I had disturbed him. *Between sittings, so make it quick,' he said, holding up his lunch. *What can I do for you? A quote you didn't get?'

As he sat down, he took a bite from his sandwich. Mayonnaise collected at the corners of his mouth.

*Do you remember Susie Bingham?' I asked. He looked quizzically at me as he searched his memory, skimming through all the thieves and prostitutes he had helped over the years. *She used to work for Maybury and Sharpe, about twenty years ago,' I added, to help him out.

I saw the beginnings of a smile.

*You remember her?' I asked.

He nodded, grinning now. *Very attractive woman,' he said, and he chuckled. *Great figure. It was hard to stop the eyes from following her legs upwards, if you know what I mean. Why do you ask?'

*She came to me with a story, and I'm checking her out first, just to see whether I can believe her.'

Danny put his sandwich down and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. *Is it about this firm?' he asked, his smile fading.

I shook my head. *No. You don't even need to be mentioned.'

He relaxed and took another bite of the sandwich. *She was a real good-time girl,' he said, chuckling again, exposing the food in his mouth. *Big fan of the chambers parties, so I remember, and the police ones. Always guaranteed to end up with someone.' He leant forward, as if he was worried someone might overhear. *She was familiar with most of the young bar, if you get my drift,' he said, and gave his nose a theatrical tap. *She was pretty generous with the police, just for the rough and ready thrill, but she liked the rich boys best, particularly the younger ones. It was the accents, I think.' He gave a small laugh. *There was a Christmas party once at the court, and some rumour went round that she'd fucked one young barrister in a judge's chair. It got plenty of giggles around the court, and she didn't mind at first, but the judges weren't happy. When it looked like the young man was in trouble, she stuck up for him, told everyone it had never happened.'

*Maybe it didn't.'

*It happened, no worries there,' he said, but his jokey smile came across as sleazy.

I made some notes. It might fit into the story, if there ever was one. *Did you trust her?' I asked.

*Oh yes, totally,' Danny said. *A good clerk, so I remember. Left to work in a bigger firm, although I think she regretted it because they only used her for prison visits, just a flash of a leg, and she was better than that. The clients liked her and she took decent trial notes.' Then he drifted away for a moment, enjoying some distant memory, before he said, *I think we almost, you know, just once, at an office party, but I was married, and so I backed off.' He sighed at the memory. *She left not long after, but let me tell you something: I regretted it at times-saying no, I mean. She was an attractive woman, and the memory would be nice.' When I raised my eyebrows, he said, *I don't mean to put the woman down. She was no kid, but she was enjoying herself. What's wrong with that?'

*What about Claude Gilbert?' I asked. *Do you know if she ever had a relationship with him?'

Danny Platt's eyes widened at the mention of Gilbert's name. *Why are you asking about Claude Gilbert?'

*I just remembered that he was around at the same time,' I said, trying to hide the reason for my visit. *He was a good-time boy. It's not inconceivable that they got it together.'

*So it's a Claude Gilbert story,' he grinned, revealing the bread squashed into his teeth. *I was wondering what story there was in Susie.'

I decided not to deny it as he thought about his answer.

*It's possible,' he said. *He did a lot of work for us, and so will have known Susie well. Claude lived in Blackley, and so he would come here for conferences, to save us the journey to his chambers. The clients liked that, and he had a way with the clients.'

*I've been told he was arrogant.'

*It depends who you ask,' Danny said. *There are different types of barristers. There are the diligent ones, those who prepare everything; but most of those wouldn't interest even their wives, let alone a jury. Then there are the charmers, those with the smile, the swagger, can play the jury, get them on their side. Claude had a bit of that but, most of all, he just got on with the punters.'

*So what was his secret?'