MacIntyre reached across and stopped the tape.

'Sounds like a lie, don't you think, Doctor?'

'Very probably. Prevarication, certainly. Do you think this other person was fostered with Griffiths? How fascinating!'

'Did he ever mention any names of friends or family?'

'Never. I'm sure. It was something I noticed about him. He would talk quite freely, if with no show of emotion, but it never once sounded personal. Sometimes he would go back over old ground but his descriptions and statements were always identical. He never once contradicted himself.'

'Did he ever talk about what happened to his foster parents?'

Batchelor's eyes sparkled.

'Oh yes! That was a most fascinating interview. You must hear it. Let me change the tape.'

More fussing in the filing cabinet and with the machine, and then the doctor could be heard speaking.

'Tell me more about your foster parents. Were you fond of them?'

'Fond? Sort of. They were nice.'

'How did they die?'

'I've told you before, I don't want to talk about that.'

'I think it would be good for you to do so, Wayne. Even a simple comment will really help you.'

(Pause) 'What do you want to know?'

'What would you like to tell me?'

'Don't know. I've never talked about this.'

'How old were you?'

'Seventeen. It was on my birthday...'

'Go on.'

'My mother had baked a cake. We finished tea at six thirty. It was dark outside. The house was in the country, by a lake, not far from a wood. Very quiet. My mother decided to take the dog for a walk even though it was snowing. She put on her big tweed coat and took the torch with her.

'When she hadn't returned by quarter past seven Dad started to worry. At half past, he decided to go and look for her. He put his cap on and took a torch. When he opened the door to go out, the dog ran in. It had its lead on and was sort of yipping.

'My father became very agitated. He pulled on his Wellingtons, black ones with the tops rolled over and picked up the lead. He tried to take the dog out with him but it wouldn't budge. So he went alone. Mother's footprints were clear in the snow and he followed them. I never saw either of them again.'

'What happened?'

'She fell through the ice on the lake and drowned. It was a very cold winter so I imagine they thought it would be solid but it wasn't. Father went to find her and fell in too. That was it.'

The tape stopped. There was silence in the room. Batchelor was first to speak.

'Poor little blighter. No love or family life for years, then a decent home, and that happens. Absolutely terrible.'

'Maybe,' said Fenwick. Something in the tone of his voice made them turn and stare at him, 'except that Griffiths' date of birth on file is the 1st August. Not a lot of ice and snow at that time of year.'

MacIntyre shared Fenwick's car on the way back into London. The flyover was jammed solid so they listened to the borrowed tapes of Griffiths' interviews as they crawled forward, trying to distinguish lies from truth. As they inched into west London Fenwick asked MacIntyre to play a section of one of the tapes again.

'I started going out with girls when I was at senior school but I didn't date seriously until work. Very often I didn't particularly like the girl, they were so stupid some of them, but it was the accepted thing to do and the s.e.x was good.'

'Did you find it easy to get dates?'

'Oh yes, particularly with the prettier ones. They were so used to the boys being all over them, which was something I never did, so I was a challenge to them.'

Fenwick glanced at MacIntyre. 'What's your immediate reaction to that?'

'Arrogant p.r.i.c.k.'

'I agree, but what else?'

'It sounds a little rehea.r.s.ed, slightly artificial? What are you getting at?'

'Remember the profiler's report. They described Griffiths' crimes as the work of someone who was not socially confident, poorly adjusted, unlikely to have normal relationships.'

'Yes but they also said he probably lived with an elderly parent and that was clearly wrong.'

'Bear with me. The report also said that killer B was far better adapted, and we know he's smooth-tongued enough to be invited back to his victims' homes. I think Griffiths is using his words, not his own.'

'Possible.'

'They might have met at work, perhaps even in the children's home, and formed a bond.'

MacIntyre stared at Fenwick in silence. The scrutiny made him self-conscious. After a considerable pause during which they actually managed to hit thirty miles an hour, MacIntyre said.

'You're an interesting copper, aren't you. I bet if anyone said to you that you were intuitive you'd argue against it as a matter of principle but I think you are, exactly that.'

'Some people just call it lucky.' Fenwick smiled, trying to turn the conversation into a joke.

'Maybe, I'm a great believer in intuition myself. My father was a superintendent in the Highlands. He believed in his gut, said he got more convictions that way than any other.'

'Well, you said yourself that Griffiths sounded artificial on that tape. How did you know that?'

'Years of practice.' MacIntyre laughed. 'OK, so maybe we all have an ability to interpret beyond fact but I still think yours is more than that.'

Fenwick shrugged. The car accelerated across an amber light as the traffic of the metropolis closed around them.

MacIntyre handled the team briefing with authority, mentioning the possibility of a link with Griffiths with cautions that it was only one theory. He wasn't a tall man, but he had presence that suggested leadership and toughness. While he was in discussion with the NCS, he said, he rea.s.sured them that the investigation was still all theirs.

'DCI Andrew Fenwick here was responsible for identifying a potential link between Lucinda's killer and other crimes and has played an important part in the investigation to date. I am placing him in charge of a small team that's going to focus on past crimes with similar MOs. Brown and Knots, you are to be attached to the Chief Inspector.'

Fenwick's habitual poker face meant that there was no show of surprise at his welcome responsibilities. The two officers who were going to work with him introduced themselves and he explained that he wanted one in London as an anchor and the other would travel with him to Telford the next morning where Griffiths had gone to school. Knots volunteered to go. Brown didn't argue. He gave them Tasmin's file to read while he went for a walk in the fume-laden London air.

PART THREE.

GINNY AND AMELIA.

Why was it that upon this beautiful feminine tissue, sensitive as gossamer, and practically blank as snow as yet, there should have been traced such a coa.r.s.e pattern as it was doomed to receive.

THOMAS HARDY.

A man keeps another person's secret better than his own; a woman on the contrary, keeps her own secrets better than others.

JEAN DE LA BRYERE.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

He was on his own again. At first light he'd left Wendy asleep and returned to the cottage on his motorbike. He avoided driving a car unless it was an absolute necessity, although he never once linked this aversion to his past. To do so would have been to admit the possibility of a weakness and he had never done that.

His mood was sombre. Imagine leaving her alive! Even though he'd fantasised on the cliff top about her regaining consciousness as the sea rose around her, only to drown in the claustrophobic blackness of the cave, he had thought her dead. It was all Griffiths' fault. To create stronger grounds for his appeal he had decided to work outdoors. It should have been easy but he'd found it strangely difficult. There were too many areas of uncertainty outside. What if somebody had walked by? It was different in their homes where he was completely in control and could take as long as he liked. That was the other problem. It had to be quick. No sooner had he started to enjoy himself than he'd had to stop. But everything might still have been all right if he hadn't lost his knife.

Fortunately he hadn't told Griffiths about the girl in Wales so the mistake remained his secret. His frustration mixed with a black mood that he couldn't shake off and the anger grew. With anger came a release of power and energy. He could feel it building now. A decision needed to be made. Did he try and copy Griffiths' clumsy style once more or go back to his own ways?

In the cottage he paced the sitting room, slashing the air with his hand as if it held the lost knife. When the idea came to him he smiled at its genius. His best solutions were always the most simple. He needed to look younger so the moustache he'd started to cultivate would have to go. It didn't matter. He could grow a plausible beard in a week. The side burns had been coached longer but he razored them away. He showered vigorously, using a tough exfoliant to remove surface skin and loose body hair. There was always a risk that it wouldn't be enough but he'd been successful so far and his confidence in the technique had grown.

Now to the last details: he chose his contact lenses colour and clothes, not too expensive this time. He wasn't in London now and the style that had enabled him to blend in there would make him stand out back here, but he needed to look fashionable a pair of light chinos and a black T-shirt would do. His shoes needed to be strong, good quality for walking as he would not be taking his bike where he was going, but he had a thick-soled pair that would also pa.s.s as a fashion statement. Finally he took a wig of short dreadlocks from a cupboard and found his diamond ear stud to complete the effect.

The excitement was building. It made his eyes sparkle and brought a smile to his face. He snorted a line to keep the high then left the house. The air held an electricity that tasted like blood at the back of his throat. The hairs on his arms rose and the back of his neck tingled as he walked briskly along the footpath. He knew then that this was going to be a very special night.

Dana, Rachel and Virginia (Ginny to her friends but never to her family) were regretting their decision to visit Shrewsbury instead of staying in Telford as they usually did on a Friday night. They'd tried all the bars and discos they knew in a vain attempt to connect with whatever might be happening, only to conclude each time that it must be happening elsewhere. Low on adrenaline, make-up fading, they started to argue as they left the final bar on their list and walked out into the drizzle.

Under cover at a nearby bus stop they argued about what to do next. Dana was in favour of taking the train to Telford. Rachel thought that the bus would be quicker. Ginny kept quiet. She felt as if she had a cold coming. When the others couldn't agree she suggested that they went back to Dana's house and watched late night Buffy with a gla.s.s of wine and a take-away but Dana and Rachel were having none of that.

The night was still promising as far as they were concerned and they weren't bound by Ginny's curfew. They were still enjoying their first year of legal drinking and didn't see why they should waste that at home, away from the boys. The girls finally agreed that the train back to Telford offered more pick-up opportunity and set off towards the station. Dana and Rachel strode ahead under an over-sized golf umbrella. Ginny followed, lagging further behind with each step. She huddled beneath a pink polka dot, see-through plastic umbrella. It belonged to her younger sister but had been the only one she could find before leaving home in a hurry.

Neither Dana nor Rachel was wearing a coat and Ginny figured that Dana had to be cold with that bare midriff, even if her new stud did catch the light. Rachel always looked good no matter what she wore but it was irritating the way her hair stayed sleek and shiny even in the rain.

At the station they discovered that they had just missed a train and would have to wait half an hour for the next one. There was a bar nearby to which they retreated to wait. Ginny ordered Hooch but when it arrived the chilled sweet liquid made her shiver and she set it to one side. She huddled into her raincoat feeling poorly but trying to look bright, attractive and interested in their mindless chatter. Two men in their twenties came over and bought them all a drink, raising their eyebrows when she changed her order to whisky.

Dana and Rachel started to have a great time. One of the blokes definitely fancied Rachel and the other seemed prepared to take an interest in Dana. As the half-hour wore on, then pa.s.sed, Ginny felt herself increasingly pushed to the edge of the group. She sneezed a couple of times but didn't even warrant a 'bless you', let alone any sympathy. When the others stood up to go back into Shrewsbury, suddenly a foursome with a convenient car, she decided that joining them just wasn't worth it. Dana and Rachel were briefly guilty enough to make a pa.s.sing attempt to persuade her but accepted her third negative with a 'suit yourself' and left Ginny to decide how to get home.

She had missed the previous train and there was over half an hour to wait for the final service. The barman was calling last orders as she checked how much money she had left 47.52p more than enough for a taxi even at this time of night. She had three numbers in her bag, carried at her dad's insistence.

There was a queue for the payphone by the loos and by the time her turn came around there was only a handful of other people still in the pub. The first taxi firm's number was constantly engaged. The second quoted her a thirty-minute wait and the third explained that all their drivers were booked or sick with flu. She was re-dialling the second number as the barman tapped her on the shoulder.

'Come on, love, time to go.'

She didn't protest. At the station she dialled the second taxi firm again. It was engaged and she started to shiver, really cold now. She thought of the words of the last dispatcher. Perhaps she had the flu. If she couldn't find a taxi to take her home before midnight she decided that she'd call her dad. It was what she really wanted to do but they'd had a row that morning about her reluctance to go to university and she didn't want to behave in a way that suggested any weakness.

The phone booth was full of cards for taxi firms. She picked one at random and her call was answered straight away. They could have a cab to her within twenty-five minutes. The dispatcher sounded a friendly woman. 'If you're unlucky, it'll be my husband. Just don't complain about the suspension his or the car's,' she chuckled at her own joke with a smoker's throaty laugh.

Ginny's spirits lifted. Twenty-five minutes was nothing and it was almost dry under the awning. She sneezed twice.

'Bless you! Are you all right? You shouldn't be out alone on a night like this.'

It was a nice voice, sympathetic and cultured. Ginny softened her dismissive shrug with a superficial smile.

'I'm serious. Are you going to get home OK? Do you have enough money for a taxi? Sorry for asking but you remind me of my younger sister and I'd hate to think of her out on a night like this. I can order you a taxi if you like, my pleasure. I would never forgive myself if a pretty woman like you caught a chill because I'd abandoned her in the rain.'

Ginny looked at him for the first time and smiled properly. He was tall with lovely green eyes, broad shoulders and crazy hair. But he was a stranger and he was a man. Ever since she had been a little girl she had never spoken to strange men. It was one of the reasons she tagged along with Dana and Rachel. They had no such inhibitions.

'I have a taxi booked, thank you.'

He frowned but it disappeared quickly.

'Then I bet you have a bit of a wait. Can I buy you a coffee?'

The idea was tempting. A hot drink in attractive company was better than waiting outside in the damp. What harm could there be in a coffee?

The station buffet was closed but there was an Italian-looking place (that is the awning was red, white and green) over the road and they went in there. He told her his name was Graham and left her at a table near the door whilst he went in search of a waiter. If she twisted her head she could see the taxi rank and she started to relax.

Graham was gone for some time. He returned eventually looking triumphant with two large cups of thick cappuccino.

'Success! And I managed to persuade him to give us these as well.' He pulled two packets of Amaretti biscuits from his pocket and handed her the pink-wrapped one.

'Thank you.' She wasn't hungry but it felt rude to decline. He watched as she unwrapped the paper and started to nibble the sugary nodules from the top of the macaroon.