'What will Smith do now? You're our resident expert on the man.'

Fenwick resented the responsibility that MacIntyre had shifted effortlessly onto him. He was wearing the monkey on his back again and it made him angry.

'How should I know? I've been focusing on his past, confirming his ident.i.ty. My only certainty is that he wants to kill Nightingale. Find her and we'll find him.'

'Don't you think you're a bit obsessed with this?'

'I was obsessed with finding Smith. That hasn't done us any harm. Humour me.'

He walked away before his temper gained the upper hand. There was a track, bone white in the moonlight and he followed it, rehearsing smart remarks in his mind, oblivious to his surroundings. When it reached the margins of the lake he stopped in surprise. The water lay flat and dead. It looked unwholesome and he shivered. He felt very alone out here as if demons with slimy black tentacles were waiting to drag him down into its depths.

The lights of a helicopter swept a distant hill and he realised that a lone man by the lake might set up an unhelpful search so he started back. Cave and MacIntyre were waiting for him.

'There you are! Where have you been?'

'Thinking.' It wasn't true but he thought 'sulking' an unnecessary admission.

'And?' Was MacIntyre deliberately goading him?

'OK. Here are our priorities: match the prints on the knife to those here...'

'Already in hand.' Cave waved a list in his hand.

'Confirm the bite marks on Ginny are the same as on Tasmin and Lucinda.'

'The forensic team in London are treating it as top priority, we should hear tomorrow morning.'

'Look for tracks around here. What sort of vehicle did he drive?' Cave was nodding but had not yet added anything to his own notes.

'Find Wendy Smith. She could lead us to him. And keep up the watch on the address Griffiths has been writing to.'

'Is there much point?' MacIntyre didn't bother to hide his doubts. 'Surely Smith's self-directed. The letters from Griffiths mean nothing to him.'

'Perhaps, but they were a.s.sociates and he went to the trouble to establish contact. I think it's worth it. And we should complete the work on the tapes from Griffiths' trial, see if we have a clear shot of him. We can add that to the e-fit that I imagine you've already circulated nationwide.' MacIntyre nodded. 'One final thing. There's a lake down there, walking distance. It might be worth dredging for the murder weapon.'

This time Cave did make a note but Fenwick saw that it went way down a very long list.

It was gone four by the time they reached the smart hotel where they had reservations. Fenwick was still wide awake but he told himself that it made sense to grab a few hours sleep. He showered and lay in bed naked, trying to ignore the first chirps of the morning chorus beyond his window.

Flashes of the past few days kept appearing like a disjointed slideshow in front of the darkness of his closed eyelids. Ginny's house, Ginny dead, the shattered window. Red drops of blood became the pinheads on Robyn's map. The holiday home, warm and lived in, still smelling of Smith, blood from his last kill discarded to wash later. He thought of Nightingale, the last time he had seen her, pale faced, stressed out, too thin. And he remembered Claire's bombsh.e.l.l. Guilt for driving Nightingale away added to the remorse he felt for Ginny's death. No matter what MacIntyre or Cave said, he felt responsible. Of the senior officers involved in the case, he was the only one who had known that Killer B would return. He should have stayed behind to protect her. If Nightingale died too... He stopped the thought, unable to contemplate such failure.

At some point he must have drifted asleep because his alarm woke him at seven. He took another shower, feeling dreadful and left a message at Harlden for the Superintendent to call him as soon as he arrived. A full English breakfast and coffee went some way to revive him. By the time he met MacIntyre he had stopped feeling like an old man.

In the car on the way to meet Cave, they both checked their messaging services. There was nothing from Knotty so Fenwick left an urgent message for him.

'We're going back at the cottage. Thought you'd want to see it in daylight.' MacIntyre gave him another of his weird looks. 'Is there something bothering you?'

Fenwick was becoming increasingly irritated by the man's att.i.tude. He shook his head and opened his window to allow fresh air into the car.

At Smith's house SOCO were still at work, able to move more quickly in daylight. A cheque book stub had been found, Cave had already organised a stop on the account and had asked the bank to tell him immediately of any attempted withdrawals.

Fenwick went outside. A team of officers was searching the grounds in an increasingly large circle, some working down towards the lake, others uphill to a thick set of trees that marked the start of a wood. Areas close by the cottage had been taped off and white-coated scene-of-crime technicians were working on them. He flashed his warrant card.

'What have you got?'

'Signs of a scuffle there and over here. It made us look closer and we found this.' The man held up an unimpressive cotton bud. One tip was pink.

'Blood?'

'Yes. There's a fair bit of it.'

Fenwick went to find Cave.

'They've found traces of blood outside. There's a possibility the blood on the shirt may not be Ginny's.'

'We know.'

'If it's not hers, why would he risk a kill so close to home?'

'It's probably an animal's. Remember the reports Robyn dug out?'

Fenwick shook his head.

'Why go back to schoolboy stuff when he was already planning to kill Ginny?'

'There's no point speculating. The results will be through later today.'

'But...'

MacIntyre, who had been sitting quietly observing them, stood up and put a hand on Fenwick's arm.

'Got a minute?'

They went outside.

'Why are you so concerned about the shirt?'

'It may not be Ginny's blood. Supposing someone disturbed him here and he killed them?'

'I can't see him knocking off a stray pa.s.ser-by.'

'What about Wendy or her dad?'

'Fred Smith is alive and well, though very unamused. Cave has brought him in for questioning on suspicion of blackmail. We'll never prove that now but we might just rattle Wendy's address out of him.'

'Then who...?'

'Or what. Leave it, Andrew. Cave has it covered. He has all the resources he needs and we must go. I'm better placed to coordinate a nationwide search in London.'

He went back inside and Fenwick called Quinlan again. When he couldn't be found he asked for Cooper and was kept waiting for longer than he appreciated. He couldn't keep the impatience from his voice when the Sergeant eventually picked up the receiver.

'Sorry to keep you waiting. I was in a briefing and...'

'Listen, we know who Griffiths' partner was.' He explained the basics to Cooper quickly, not giving him a chance to ask questions. 'The point is that he'll be after Nightingale next. How has the work gone in tracing her?'

There was an embarra.s.sed silence.

'Cooper?' His tone rose in warning.

'It's Inspector Blite, sir. The Superintendent gave it to him and he says it's a low priority, that it's one of your obsessions.'

'One of my obsessions?'

'I mean...well, the point is I started work on it but I haven't had a moment to get back to it. There's been thefts and vandalism up at the golf club and the Mayor's car was stolen...'

'We're talking about a woman's life here! Put me through to Quinlan. I insist on speaking to him right now.'

'No! It'll cause a terrible stink. Leave it with me. I promise I'll do something today. Blite's away all morning so I'll have a chance.'

Fenwick paused. He was so angry that he was burning to have a go about Blite to Superintendent Quinlan but Cooper was right. He was far away, out of mind, and Blite would simply say that the investigation was progressing.

'Very well. I'll call again later but for G.o.d's sake, don't let me down.'

As they drove south, clouds appeared to greet them. The heat turned muggy and he wound the widow down, turning his face to the air like a dog. They stopped after two hours for something to eat. Despite his fifth coffee of the day, Fenwick started to feel groggy as soon as he'd eaten but MacIntyre was wide-awake and curious.

He quizzed Fenwick in detail, asking why he had been so insistent about digging into every aspect of Smith's past. Why had he visited the old family home? Why had he set Robyn to work on old cases and why those cases? Fenwick found it exhausting. To stop MacIntyre talking he said with more exasperation than he would have liked: 'Look I don't know why I was keen to find his home, nor why I think his parents are more likely to be dead than to have done a runner. It's logical, isn't it, to want to find out everything you can about a suspect? I just go back farther and in deeper, that's all.'

When they stopped to allow the driver a comfort break, he rounded on MacIntyre, too tired to hide his irritation.

'I don't mind scrutiny, curiosity is fine, but I get the sense there's something about me that makes you uncomfortable. Why don't you just come out with it. The cross-examination and deep looks are getting on my nerves.'

If he had thought MacIntyre would be angry, he was wrong. The Superintendent just laughed.

'My, aren't we a sensitive soul! The truth is that you are a seriously weird detective. No wonder Harper-Brown can't stand you.'

Fenwick opened his mouth, in protest or in shock that the detail of his relationship with the ACC was common gossip, he wasn't sure.

'Don't get on your high horse. You've got to watch that pomposity, Andrew, it's your least appealing feature. Listen, I've worked with all sorts in London and in Scotland before I came down here but you're like no one I've worked with before.

'You're logical, irritatingly so, yet on the other hand, you are intuitive. You keep a complex investigative strategy in your head as if it was a game of cards, but you insist on the most detailed investigations of tangential aspects of a case. And Professor Ball described you as a "rare empathetic conduit" don't frown they're her words, not mine. Whether you like it or not, you are different. You combine intellect and intuition. That's unusual, and it's also disconcerting, particularly when you don't even bother to hide it. Most smart people know enough not to appear too clever. You don't even bother to try.'

Fenwick did what he always did when he was lost for words, shrugged non-commitally. He made a show of looking for a bottle of water then concentrated on opening the complicated, sportsman-friendly top. MacIntyre wasn't fooled.

'Ask yourself: why are you still a chief inspector? I'm your age and I'm a superintendent, and it's not necessarily because I'm better than you are. Why has it never happened for you?'

Another shrug.

'It just never came along.'

He looked around, keen for the driver to return.

'I don't buy it. That suggests a lack of ambition that isn't credible.'

Fenwick took a deep breath and tried to control his tone.

'At the time I should have been thinking about my career, other things stood in the way.'

'You mean your wife's illness. Yes, I read about that in your file. Reason enough at the time perhaps but not now. There's got to be more to it.'

Fenwick could feel a vein pulse in his jaw. Perhaps the man was being deliberately provocative but he wasn't in the mood to be goaded. Yes, he had a temper. Yes, he had made it clear on more than one occasion that the ACC was an idiot, but those days were behind him. He told himself that he had learnt discretion. The last thing he was going to do was prove himself wrong to this nosy p.r.i.c.k.

MacIntyre's phone rang allowing him to avoid further conversation. The driver returned and no more was said as they drove on. He slept.

In his dream he watched as Ginny ran her bath and slid beneath the bubbles. He was trapped outside the bathroom window but he could see everything. The scene changed. He was behind Smith as he crept up the stairs. Fenwick tried to hold him back but Smith shrugged him off as if he were of no more substance than a ghost.

Ginny was towelling herself dry. He could see her even though the door was almost closed. When she turned and saw Smith her mouth opened in a silent scream but she didn't try to escape. Instead she picked up something that he couldn't see and advanced towards him. She was the predator, smiling now. Smith turned to run. Ginny threw herself on top of him. Her hand with its invisible weapon rose and fell, inflicting terrible wounds on the man beneath her. An arc of warm blood spurted out, splattering a thick, cherry-red spray over Fenwick's face and neck. He swiped at it in a sudden panic and woke up.

Another summer shower was sweeping across the sky. Raindrops from the open window dripped onto his face. He closed it, feeling shaken and disorientated. MacIntyre was still on the phone. The dream had disturbed him. As he stared at the water droplets on the gla.s.s he tried to sort through the images for meaning but it alluded him.

He pulled the scene of crime photographs from his briefcase, feeling nauseous at the lurch and roll of the car. There were so many images. He sifted through them until a close-up of Ginny's hand gripped tight around a shard of gla.s.s held his attention. The broken edges had cut into her palm and along the inside of her knuckles but she held it tight despite the agony of the grip.

Blood had run down beyond her wrist. The shard was thick with it. Fenwick looked at the picture again and his head cleared. Unexpected tears filled his eyes and he blinked them away. She had fought back, this tough little eighteen-year-old. She had kicked and scratched and screamed. And she had stabbed him. That wasn't her blood staining the gla.s.s she had used as a dagger. It was his. She had wounded him! The thought filled him with primeval glee, sending a jolt through his exhausted body. He looked up. MacIntyre was staring at him, phone forgotten. His habitual look of amused curiosity had been replaced with something else. Was it concern? No. It was expectation.

'You've found something in those pictures.' It wasn't a question.

'Look at this.' He handed him the photograph of Ginny's right hand. 'That's his blood, not hers. It was her weapon. She stabbed him with it. Why else is the blood so thick on the edges away from her hand?'

MacIntyre took the picture from him again.

'There was so much blood in that room. It could have come from anywhere.'

'I don't think so. In the wider shots you can see clearly that a pattern of blood goes up and away from her hand.'

MacIntyre nodded slowly.

'It's possible. Why are you so convinced?'

Fenwick was not about to share his dream with him.

'It's easily tested. SOCO will have kept the fragments numbered and bagged. See if all the blood matches hers.'

MacIntyre called in the new information. They were at Watford when the phone rang. A motorbike had been found hidden in the woods. In the panniers were clothes, a laptop, hair dye, other toiletries and a pair of shoes. The fingerprints matched Smith's. The theory was that he had been planning to return to collect it but the rapid discovery of the girl's body and the manhunt that followed had forced him to change his plans.

'Oh, and Cave says could you ask Knotty where he parked the car he borrowed yesterday. They can't find it and need it back.'

The first tremor of unease for Knotty ran through Fenwick. He rang every number he could think of without success. The Constable hadn't been seen in London, his mobile didn't answer and his home number went through to an answering machine. Robyn had no idea where he'd gone but gave him the telephone numbers of people he'd seen before setting off back to London.

'Problem?' MacIntyre raised a quizzical eyebrow.