His child-like candour was disarming. Gradually she began to talk to him about herself. It was easy, he listened patiently, like an old friend. He had a lovely voice, with a trace of an accent she could not place, and an old-fashioned turn of phrase that Lucinda found appealing. The dried crustiness of her miserable day flaked away as their conversation flowed. When he was kind or complimentary she didn't push his remarks back in his face but accepted them as her due. Her defensiveness melted as she finished her third gla.s.s and they asked for another round.

'It sounds as if you've had an awful few weeks.' He looked at her with genuine sympathy and she found that she had tears in her eyes.

'Oh that's not the half of it.' She found her tongue a little difficult to manage but he didn't seem to notice. 'This restaurant is a blend of sci-fi and mystic. Star Wars meets King Arthur if you know what I mean.'

'Very retro,' he said and something in his tone made her frown. Was that sarcasm?

'Pardon?'

'I said, you don't say so.' There was a sudden tension in him. 'This is extraordinary. I can't believe that I just met you by chance. I was attracted to you as soon as I saw you, I admit, but I had no idea that the meeting would be so...relevant.'

The excitement in him was obvious and she felt slightly disconcerted. He made a visible effort to relax and smiled at her, his eyes sparkling, his teeth brilliant white.

'What do you mean?'

'Are you familiar with THE GAME?'

'Of course I am. Thousands of people play it. The inventors are multi-millionaires.'

'I wish,' he murmured, but ignored the question in her look. 'You've never played?'

'No, I'm not good at computer games.'

'That would explain why you haven't made the connection with your party. It's perfect. You should invite all the celebrity players of THE GAME and its creators they would attract headlines too. It's a perfect fit.'

Lucinda listened, entranced. His enthusiasm and ideas were exactly what she needed. As she finished her fourth gla.s.s of champagne her stomach rumbled loudly and she giggled in embarra.s.sment, hoping he hadn't heard. She wanted to keep him talking. If only she could persuade the producing company of THE GAME to back her party it would be a great advertis.e.m.e.nt for them she told herself her problems would be over.

'How come you know so much about THE GAME? Are you a star player?'

He stared at her and a light flickered deep in his eyes, like the sun catching the flanks of a tiger between thick trees.

'I am, yes, but I'm more than that.' He looked at her solemnly and raised his hand to cup her chin so gently that it was barely there. 'I'm one of the inventors of THE GAME. I still own the copyright.'

The smile of Lucinda's face was beatific.

'Your party sounds a perfect opportunity to promote THE GAME among a more upmarket audience. I know we've only just met but you don't have much time and I've always believed in capturing the moment. Could I take you to dinner? I know the perfect place. Quiet, not ostentatious.'

Lucinda didn't give the negative option a thought.

'I'd love to. Is it far?'

'No. Shall we?' He grinned at her boyishly and she wasn't sure whether the jelly in her knees was due to alcohol or her reaction to him. Outside he offered her his arm, just as her father did and she took it, leaning in to him.

'Lucinda means light. Were you born at dawn?'

'I have no idea.' She hiccoughed and almost tripped but he didn't seem to notice. She looked up at him, the perfect coquette. He stroked her cheek lightly, making her senses shiver in antic.i.p.ation of his next touch. They were walking easily through thinning crowds.

'So tell me, as you know so much about names, what does Edmund mean?'

He turned and gave her a flash of his eyes, then pulled her gently closer to the warmth of his body.

'Well,' he said, 'here is another coincidence. It is an old name and it means "happy protection". Which is exactly what I am going to be for you.'

Lucinda relaxed her weight into his supporting arm, feeling the cares of the week evaporate. She didn't believe in any particular G.o.d but as they turned away from the traffic into the quiet evening, she did offer thanks to whom- or whatever was responsible for her meeting Edmund. She was positive that her troubles of the day were about to disappear and, in a way, she was right.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

On Tuesday Fenwick received a call from the prison. Griffiths had sent a letter to Agnes and a copy had been made for him. Anne brought the fax into him and he asked her to read it out as he had forgotten his reading gla.s.ses. Halfway through she stopped and look at him, puzzled.

'This doesn't really make sense, does it? He keeps referring to some book, then he goes on about his h.e.l.lish life in prison and how he is working on his appeal. It hasn't faxed well. I'll call the prison for another copy.'

He was in a meeting with Superintendent Quinlan when they were interrupted with a message that the Metropolitan Police were anxious to speak to the Chief Inspector.

Quinlan raised his eyebrows at Fenwick who shook his head, baffled.

'I've no idea what they want. Do you mind if I take it?'

'Put them through, I'm as curious as you are.'

Quinlan switched the call to the speakerphone so that he could listen in.

'DCI Fenwick.'

'This is Superintendent MacIntyre. You placed a marker on the National Criminal Computer last Friday about a.s.saults involving amputated fingers.' Quinlan looked at him with exasperation and Fenwick shrugged in half apology. 'May I inquire why?'

Fenwick explained quickly, not just about Griffiths' attacks in Harden but also about the information he had secured from Telford and Birmingham.

'Why are you interested, sir?'

'There's been a murder on my patch. A young woman. Her index finger was removed. Her body was discovered today by a colleague worried that she hadn't turned up for work. I haven't received a confirmed time of death but it was at least forty-eight hours ago.'

'Tell me, is she in her twenties, dark-haired, slender, perhaps a student or professional woman?'

'Yes does that match your victims?'

'Exactly. And was she very badly beaten or mutilated before and after death?'

'Yes...' Fenwick heard the hesitation in the man's voice and had a flash of insight.

'Before we go further, I appreciate that you'll need to eliminate me from your inquiries. I can give you a statement and I have alibis for the weekend and for Friday.'

'Thank you. Ridiculous I know but it's just the timing.'

'I'd be the same in your position. I'll make the statement here and have it sent to you?'

'Perfect. Then we can talk fully.'

Fenwick broke the connection.

'Why on earth did you suggest a statement, Andrew? It's completely unnecessary.'

'If my interest had been noted at the time of the original enquiry I'd agree with you but I only entered it on Friday, perhaps hours before this woman was killed. Any coincidence like that has to be checked out. I'd do it, no matter if it caused offence.'

'Well hurry up and come back here before you call him. This could have major implications.'

He returned within fifteen minutes. Quinlan had cancelled his next meeting and was waiting impatiently. Fenwick laid out the bare facts of his work since Nightingale's flat had been broken into. Quinlan studied his tables comparing victims and MO for a long time. The expression on his face changed from irritation through anger to concern.

'So you are suggesting that Griffiths was involved in these earlier crimes?'

'Griffiths and/or someone else. There are two distinct methods here despite the amputation of the fingers, and Griffiths is nowhere near six foot.'

'Rape victims always over-estimate their attacker's height. And anyway, there's the matter of the letters we received linking all the crimes.'

'It might still be two men but working together. I know it's rare but it has happened.'

'Do you realise what you're implying? How could you charge off on this hair-brained line of enquiry without consulting me first?'

Fenwick knew that he was very exposed. He'd intended to share his work with Quinlan at an appropriate time but had wanted to digest the information first, to avoid jumping to conclusions on too little evidence. As he tried to explain this to Quinlan he was cut off abruptly.

'Never mind that now. Have you sent this to MacIntyre yet?'

'No, sir. I thought it required careful explanation.'

'd.a.m.n right it does. Have you had the courtesy to consult the original SIO?

'I've spoken to Inspector Blite,' Fenwick paused and sighed deeply, 'it was almost the first thing I did but he was pretty dismissive.'

'As he has every right to be. He identified the other cases but the connection was so shaky that we jointly agreed not to pursue it.'

Something in Quinlan's bl.u.s.tering tone, so different from his normally straightforward manner, put Fenwick on alert.

'Whose call did you say it was not to pursue the connections?'

'A joint one, Chief Inspector.'

Fenwick noted the warning, suddenly sympathetic.

'I would imagine that a step of that importance would have to be ratified from the very top, so we'll need to be sensitive to the ACC's position on this as well?'

Quinlan turned away in his large swivel chair and stared out of the window. As he waited for him to calm down, Fenwick worked through their dilemma. The ACC and Blite had always been tight, two of a kind, often an unhelpful alliance. Fenwick could imagine what had happened once Griffiths was in custody. Blite had made the same phone calls that he'd done but instead of digging deeper he'd had a quiet word with his mate, ACC Harper-Brown. There was a choice to be made: a quick aggressive prosecution of a multiple rapist who had been spreading fear in the county for months versus a drawn out enquiry based on superficial similarities in evidence. Blite would have had no guarantee of success, as the CPS was even refusing to support a prosecution for the murder and two of the rapes because of lack of evidence.

Quinlan had probably been involved but with his boss and SIO against the idea of a complicated extension of the enquiry he would have found it difficult to change their view. After a suitably contrite pause Fenwick spoke again.

'I have a suggestion if you'll hear me out.'

'Go on.' Quinlan kept his back to him.

'My idea's this. After Griffiths was safely locked up you decided that the vague similarities with other crimes outside the Division could be investigated during a quiet spell in Harlden. An intensive workload preparing the case for trial and the very tentative nature of the connection meant that this couldn't be initiated straight away but last week you asked me to reopen the file.'

'Why you and not Blite?'

'I had come to you asking for more work...'

Quinlan laughed dismissively. That would not be credible.

'All right, I came to you because I wanted more of a challenge. My detection rate for the last few months had been exceptional, you recognised that I was bored, in need of a more stimulating case and you gave me this...having checked first that Blite did not mind, which he didn't being newly back from sick leave and fully stretched.'

'Blite would need to corroborate the story.'

'What choice does he have? He's not exactly in a strong position, is he?'

'And the ACC?'

'Call him. Tell him that my work was only partially complete and you had been going to brief him at your next progress meeting when this murder happened.'

The Superintendent swung his chair back and raised weary eyes to meet Fenwick's.

'Very well. But I won't take credit for your own initiative. You pursued the connection and followed through without guidance from me and that's what I shall say. I'll call the ACC now. Talk to the Met along the same lines then revert to me. I want to know what they're going to do next.'

Fenwick was almost through the door when Quinlan called out to him.

'Were you really that bored?'

Directness and diplomacy struggled within Fenwick. Unusually, diplomacy won.

'I was on a winning streak, that's all.'

MacIntyre was relieved to hear from an alibied Fenwick and launched into a full description of the murder. Lucinda Hamilton was twenty-four and lived in Knightsbridge. She was the middle daughter of the chief executive of one of Britain's largest companies, a man who happened to be a personal friend of the Home Secretary. The case was being handled with utmost urgency.

Lucinda had been found dead in her flat at ten-twenty that morning by a female colleague. She'd been beaten, raped, strangled and stabbed, and her index finger taken. So far there were no physical traces of the killer. He had washed the body and spring-cleaned the flat. MacIntyre was hopeful that they might recover trace evidence from the waste pipes but Fenwick was unconvinced. In the Harlden attacks nothing was left to identify the perpetrator.

Fenwick sent through his a.n.a.lysis of the previous crimes and went to find Quinlan who had made his call to the ACC and was looking more relaxed.

'We are to volunteer to help the Met provided it doesn't take much resource. The ACC has agreed that you can act as Liaison Officer rather than DI Blite because of your experience of working with London.'

When MacIntyre called, Fenwick outlined the suggested West Suss.e.x contribution to his investigation, treading carefully and making it clear that they would be subordinate to his control in all matters relating to the Knightsbridge crime. He'd acquired tact during his secondment that tempered his typical bluntness but it was wasted. Harper-Brown had already contacted the Met and an edge in MacIntyre's tone warned him to proceed with care.

'I was proposing to spend the rest of today and tomorrow re-examining the cases here and re-interviewing the victims, if they're willing. I'll also make-up a dossier of photographs for you to compare with the injuries to Lucinda Hamilton.'

MacIntyre accepted the olive branch.