Mrs Doland glared at her and shambled back out.

Stacy stared down at the stale roll. 'I'm not some marine grave robber if that's what you're thinking,' she said more quietly.

There was a colder glint in the Doctor's eyes. 'So why are you snaffling trophies from those buried at sea?'

'And how is that your business?'

'You'd be surprised by what my business encompa.s.ses,' the Doctor remarked, as he began b.u.t.tering a piece of burnt toast. 'I frequently am.'

She shrugged. 'All right. I'm looking for evidence.'

'Evidence of what?' He took a bite.

'Murder.'

The Doctor's eyes widened and he grinned with b.u.t.tery lips. 'How thrilling! Whose?'

'I... I don't know for sure.' She sighed. 'And there's a lot of sea out there.'

He took a swig of orange juice. 'Sounds like your search may be fruitless,' he said, plonking down his gla.s.s with a grimace. 'Much like this stuff. Whole story, please.'

'Got time on your hands, huh?'

'Amongst other things, yes.'

'I don't know...' Stacy bit her lip. 'I'm not exactly hanging out for someone else to call me crazy.'

'Don't worry. After this breakfast anything will seem palatable.'

So she told him. She hadn't spoken out loud about it for some time; she'd grown too wary of the incredulous looks, the whispers behind her back, the sympathetic smiles. But the Doctor just folded his arms and let her speak.

'I'm a psychologist and care worker, attached to the correctional facility at Applegate, NY. Mainly I deal with youth offenders. But one day a guy in his forties snuck on to my list of cases. A real charmer. And an ex-con.'

'What was his crime?'

'Robbery with violence... They tried to pin murder on him too three cases, but they couldn't make it stick in court. He knocked off rich people's joints and took every jewel they owned. Had a thing for diamonds.'

'Really.' The Doctor's tone was mild, but Stacy saw the way his eyes had lit up a fraction.

'He'd served his time, and got out. Travelled for a while then, he said, spent time over here in England. But he came back and he came to me...' Stacy shrugged. 'Got himself referred, specially, I don't know why. I just wish to G.o.d he never had, you know?' She gave a hollow laugh. 'Now I think I'm never going to have him out of my head.'

'Go on,' said the Doctor softly.

'He said... He said he was a murderer.'

'He was confessing to those three cases?'

'I thought so at first, once I'd done some checking up and found out his background. But no. He claimed he'd murdered, or arranged for the murder, of twenty people in the last three years. He gave me a list of his victims and the date each of them died. He told me how he placed a coin in the mouth of each of them when he was through. His mark of respect, he called it.'

'A coin in the mouth?' The Doctor nodded slowly. 'An ancient Greek custom. The dead were buried with a coin in the mouth payment to ensure Charon the ferryman would take their souls across the River Styx to Hades.'

'You read a lot,' said Stacy wryly.

'Of late, I feel I may have read too much. Do carry on.'

'He... He showed me pictures of the bodies.' She stared the Doctor right in the eye. 'Videos, in some cases, of what had been done to them.'

'He confessed?' The Doctor frowned. 'He wanted to be put back inside?'

'It was a kind of confession, I guess. But he didn't seem to blame himself, he blamed those he was killing. Said they were doing it to themselves and he was just the instrument. Well, it's a cla.s.sic deflection, a textbook abdication of responsibility, freedom from guilt.' She paused. 'Almost textbook.'

'Go on.'

Stacy took a deep breath. 'All the people he claimed were murdered were still alive.'

'A delusion, then.'

'I saw the photos...' She shuddered.

'Could they have been fakes?'

'And the tapes. I showed them to experts. There were protracted scenes of violence and mutilation... I don't think anyone was convinced they were watching special effects. They may have been able to suspend their disbelief but they sure couldn't hold on to their stomachs.'

'But if the apparent victims were all alive...'

'All of them. Never heard of their nemesis, and all entirely unharmed.'

The Doctor leaned back in his chair. 'So how do you explain it?'

'I've been told by a hundred well-respected shrinks and doctors that I should let the whole thing go, that it's all just some hoax this guy is playing.' She could feel herself trembling, checked her watch to see when she could pop her next downer. 'You might say I'm crazy, Doctor, but I believe he has killed or arranged the deaths of all these people. All right, not really really them, 'cause they're still alive. But maybe it's their identical twins they never knew they had, or maybe he made the victims up to resemble these people or something...' them, 'cause they're still alive. But maybe it's their identical twins they never knew they had, or maybe he made the victims up to resemble these people or something...'

'Or something,' the Doctor agreed, looking thoughtful.

Mrs Doland timed her entrance well, crashing in and making them both jump. She placed the muesli, a carton of milk, and a strawberry supermarket-brand yoghurt down in front of Stacy. 'No Greek,' she said. 'If you don't want strawberry you can have fruits of the forest.'

'Strawberry's good,' she a.s.sured Mrs Doland, suddenly grateful for a solid, brutal dose of mundane reality. But once the greying woman left the room, the atmosphere seemed to darken once more.

'So you're convinced,' said the Doctor, 'that people have died.'

'Uh-huh. But, hey, weirdly enough, no one wants to know. I tried to have the guy sectioned as being delusional, although I don't believe he's truly insane for a moment. Even so, it looked like I was making progress and so he skipped town. I thought that was it, all done. That he was out of my life. That True Mysteries True Mysteries would run a feature on it in ten years' time and I'd be telling all this to a camera just like I'm telling it to you.' would run a feature on it in ten years' time and I'd be telling all this to a camera just like I'm telling it to you.'

The Doctor rocked back in his chair. 'So your killer, whose victims live on, came here?'

'I received a letter postmarked London, England, six months ago. Names of more victims. More pictures.' She paused. 'And a coin. An old sovereign.'

'Getting c.o.c.ky,' said the Doctor darkly.

'He referred to the sea in this area Newhaven, Eastbourne, Hastings as his "killing ground". And he wrote on one card, "Someday you'll see".' She shivered. 'I thought if I could find some evidence, maybe another coin, anything anything... If I could find him him...' She stared glumly down at the dusty bowl of pellets. 'Doctor, whatever he's doing, he's still doing it. And I don't know why he's chosen me to tell it all to but I can't just ignore it. I can't.'

'Don't worry. We won't,' said the Doctor.

She looked up at him, warily. 'We?'

'Your killer's name. Is it Daniel Basalt?'

She jumped up from her chair in shock, upset the table, sent milk and muesli all over the Doctor, who yelped in surprise.

'Oh my G.o.d, I am so sorry,' she said, fl.u.s.tered, looking round for a serviette.

'Is it?' asked the Doctor quite calmly, wiping milk from his eye.

'Yes,' said Stacy.

'I know of him. His activities are bothering me, too. We have to find out what's going on.'

Mrs Doland burst into the room and stared in horror at the crime scene.

'Don't worry,' the Doctor said soothingly. 'The bread roll didn't hit any vital organs. I'm fine.'

'You're out on your ear,' roared Mrs Doland. 'Both of you!'

Stacy stood and stared. 'Why?'

'For coming in at all hours, dripping all over the carpets! For having food fights!' She pointed accusingly at the Doctor. 'For bringing in students students!'

Suddenly the Doctor started giggling.

'I'd better go pack, then,' Stacy murmured, struggling to keep a straight face herself. But as the Doctor dissolved in laughter she couldn't contain her own.

She packed quickly, barely believing the relief she felt after trailing through so many edgy months. The Doctor wasn't humouring her. He actually believed her.

She stuffed the ragged bundle of postcards into the very bottom of the bag, gripped by a renewed determination.

The Doctor was waiting outside for her in the quiet street, no trace of his previous levity about the hard lines of his face. 'I know a place you can lodge for a while,' he said, 'somewhere near to my own centre of investigations. But our business here isn't finished yet.' He glanced down disdainfully at her two overstuffed suitcases. 'Tell your landlady you'll collect your luggage later.'

'Who are you?' Stacy asked. 'Really?'

'I can tell you what I am. I'm worried.' He grinned. 'Very worried.'

'Why did you really come looking for me today, before you knew about any of this?' She scowled. 'And skip the cute answers, OK?'

'Would you believe coincidence?' He pulled a face. 'I wouldn't. There's no such thing as chance encounters.' He blew out the same deep, heart-rending sigh as he had last night.

'Was that sigh for Matthew Arnold's mermaiden with the screwy eyes again?'

'No, that was for you,' he said. 'I did recognise you last night. I'd seen your picture... in a book.'

Thirteen.

En lieu oblique Chloe has a good memory. And as she walks off after Basalt, she remembers the day when everything fell into place. Long, long ago now. A day she's relived so many times.

She, Erasmus and Jamais were wandering the stony road that wound through the outskirts of St Raphael.

'I hope he'll be happier here,' she said, looking back to the beautiful villa at the base of the vineyard. 'Happier than he was.'

'It's a beautiful place,' said Erasmus. 'Our chosen one will get on very well here. You know he will.'

It was a warm day in early May, 1830. Fireflies danced in the myrtle hedges. The fruit trees, thick with foliage, were surrendering their last, faded blossoms. Jamais was amusing himself by placing his black paws only on the narrow patches of ground free of olive blooms. It was like he was dancing a jig, and he pranced all the more energetically once he'd seen her grinning with delight at his antics.

They wandered into town, trying to decide where next to go.

'Paris!' Chloe said brightly.

Erasmus frowned. 'We were there only a year past.'

'A different Paris,' said Chloe. 'Like the one we took Charles the Sixth to.'

Erasmus smiled. 'All right. Once we've rested here a day or two.'

Chloe nodded, quite content, and tousled Jamais's ear. He gave up his dance to lean in against her, feet trailing through the fallen flowers.

They soon encountered some maids, washing white sheets in the stream. Chloe watched them a while.

'It's funny, isn't it?' she murmured. 'The way people move to the flow of the streams and the rivers.'

'How do you mean?' Erasmus asked.

'The water picks a path for itself without anybody's help, or anybody's care,' she said dreamily. 'People accept that they're governed by it, moved by it. Water is life. It is life carving a strange path for itself.'

Erasmus thought on this a while. 'You're saying that time is like the streams and rivers.'

Chloe nodded with a self-conscious smile. The thought was her own, not one she had borrowed from a book. 'But we can see the same river a million ways. We can see each curve and stretch, each tiny difference. Take people from one river to another.' She smiled. 'n.o.body in the universe can do what we're doing, can they?'

'We're only ferrymen,' Erasmus told her. 'As Charon ferried the dead into Hades.'

'I know. But that's just a story.'

Erasmus considered this view. 'It's a good one, though.'

Chloe smiled at him and nodded. 'Erasmus...' She paused, her attention taken by some trailing flowers, long cl.u.s.ters of yellow and white. 'Hades was split into three, wasn't it? The heroes go to the Elysium fields.' She tapped the flowers. 'The ordinary people go to the shadowlands, the fields of Asphodel. And the evil ones go to Tartarus, to be punished in fire forever.' She bit her lip. 'But where will we go, Erasmus, when we die?'

Erasmus looked unhappy. 'It's just a story.'