Nick pulled out a chair and sat on it, watching her. "He'll probably try to bring a counterprosecution, anyway, Maggie. It's his best defense against anything you might say." He paused. "But if you let him get in first, then you'll be handing him the advantage. Is that what you want?"

"No, of course it isn't, but Bertie was out of control. He sank his teeth into the stupid idiot's arm, and I couldn't get him off for love or money." Angrily, she turned a ferocious glare on her dog, then stabbed her knife into a tomato and splattered seeds all over the chopping board. "I had to thrash him in the end to make him release his hold, and I won't be able to deny it if Steve takes me to court."

"Who attacked first, Bertie or Steve?"

"Me, probably. I was screaming abuse at Steve, so he lashed out at me, then the next thing I knew Bertie was hanging off his arm like a great hairy leech." Unexpectedly, she laughed. "Actually, in retrospect, it's quite funny. I thought they were dancing until red saliva came out of Bertie's mouth. I just couldn't understand what Harding thought he was playing at. First he appears out of nowhere, then he runs at Stinger, then he slaps me and starts dancing with my dog. I felt as if I was in a madhouse."

"Why do you think he slapped you?"

She smiled uncomfortably. "Presumably because I made him angry. I called him a pervert."

"That's no excuse for slapping you. Verbal abuse does not constitute an assault, Maggie."

"Then maybe it should."

"The man hit you," he remarked curiously. "Why are you making excuses for him?"

"Because, thinking back, I was incredibly rude. I certainly called him a creep and a bastard, and I said you'd crucify him if you knew he was there. It's your fault, really. I wouldn't have been so frightened if you hadn't come and questioned me about him yesterday. You planted the idea that he was dangerous."

"Mea culpa," he said mildly.

"You know what I mean."

He acknowledged the point gravely. "What else did you say?"

"Nothing. I just screamed at him like a fishwife because he gave me such a shock. The trouble is, he was shocked, too, so we both sort of lashed out without thinking ... he in his way ... me in mine."

"There's no excuse for physical violence."

"Isn't there?" she asked dryly. "You excused mine earlier."

"True," he admitted, rubbing his cheek reminiscently. "But if I'd retaliated, Maggie, you'd still be unconscious."

"Meaning what? That men are expected to show more responsibility than women?" She glanced at him with a half-smile. "I don't know whether to accuse you of being patronizing or ignorant."

"Ignorant every time," he said. "I know nothing about women except that very few of them could land me a knock-out blow." His eyes smiled at her. "But I know damn well that I could flatten any of them. Which is why-unlike Steve Harding-I wouldn't dream of raising my hand against one."

"Yes, but you're so wise and so middle-aged, Nick," she said crossly, "and he isn't. In any case, I don't even remember the way it happened. It was all over so quickly. I expect that sounds pathetic, but I've realized I'm not much good as a witness."

"It just makes you normal," he said. "Very few people have accurate recall."

"Well, the truth is I think he wanted to try and catch Stinger before he bolted and only hit out when I called him a pervert." Her shoulders sagged despondently as if the brandy-courage in her blood had suddenly evaporated. "I'm sorry to disappoint you. I used to see everything so straightforwardly before I got taken to the cleaners by Martin, but now I can't make up my mind about anything. I'd have insisted on a prosecution like a shot this morning, but now I realize I'd die if anything happened to Bertie. I love the stupid animal to distraction, and I absolutely refuse to sacrifice him on a point of principle. He's worth a slap from a toe-rag any day. Goddammit, he's faithful. All right, he visits you from time to time, but he always comes home to love me at night."

"Okay."

There was a short silence.

"Is that all you're going to say?"

"Yes."

She eyed him with suspicion. "You're a policeman. Why aren't you arguing with me?"

"Because you're intelligent enough to make your own decisions, and nothing I can say will change your mind."

"That's absolutely right." She slapped some butter on a piece of sliced bread and waited for him to say something else. When he didn't, she grew nervous. "Are you still going to question Steve?" she demanded.

"Of course. That's my job. Helicopter rescues don't come cheap, and someone has to account for why this morning's was necessary. Harding was admitted to hospital with dog bites, so I have a responsibility to establish whether the attack on him was provoked or unprovoked. One of you was assaulted this morning, and I have to try and find out which. If you're lucky, he'll be feeling as guilty as you are and there'll be a stalemate. If you're unlucky, I'll be back this evening requesting a statement from you in answer to his assertion that you had no control over your dog."

"That's blackmail."

He shook his head. "As far as I'm concerned, you and Steven Harding have equal rights under the law. If he says Bertie made an unprovoked attack on him, I will investigate the allegation, and if I think he's right I'll submit my findings to the Crown Prosecution Service and suggest they prosecute you. I may not like him, Maggie, but if I think he's telling the truth I will support him. That's what society pays me for, irrespective of personal feeling and irrespective of how it may affect the people involved."

She turned around, back against the worktop. "I had no idea you were such a cold fucking bastard."

He was unrepentant. "And I had no idea you thought you ranked above anyone else. You'll get no favors from me, not where the law's concerned."

"Will you favor me if I give you a statement?"

"No, I'll be as fair to you as I am to Harding, but my advice is that you'll gain an advantage by getting your statement in first."

She whipped the knife off the chopping board and waved it under his nose. "Then you'd bloody well better be right," she said fiercely, "or I'll take your testicles off-personally-and laugh while I'm doing it. I love my dog."

"So do I," Ingram assured her, putting a finger on the hilt of the knife and moving it gently to one side. "The difference is I don't encourage him to slobber all over me in order to prove it."

"I've sealed the garage for the moment," Galbraith told Carpenter over the phone, "but you'll have to sort out priorities with Customs and Excise. We need a scene-of-crime team down here pronto, but if you want a hard charge on which to hold Steven Harding, then C and E can probably deliver for you. My guess is he's been ferrying illegal immigrants in wholesale and dropping them off along the south coast ... Yes, it would certainly explain the fingerprint evidence in the saloon area. No, no sign of the stolen Fastrigger outboard..." He felt the young man beside him stir, and he glanced at him with a distracted smile. "Yes, I'm bringing Tony Bridges in now. He's agreed to make a new statement ... Yes, very cooperative. William? ... No, it doesn't eliminate him any more than it eliminates Steve ... Mmm, back to square one, I'm afraid." He tucked the telephone into his breast pocket and wondered why he'd never thought of taking up acting himself.

At the other end, Superintendent Carpenter looked at his receiver in surprise for a moment before cutting the line. He hadn't a clue what John Galbraith had been talking about.

Although he hadn't been aware of it, Steven Harding had been under observation by a woman detective constable from the moment he was admitted to the hospital. She sat out of sight in the Sister's office, making sure he stayed put, but he appeared in no hurry to leave. He flirted constantly with the nurses, and much to the WPC's irritation, the nurses reciprocated. She spent the waiting hours pondering the naivete of women, and wondered how many of these selfsame nurses would argue vehemently that they hadn't given him any encouragement if and when he decided to rape them. In other words, what constituted encouragement? Something a woman would describe as innocent flirting? Or something a man would call a definite come-on?

It was with some relief that she handed over responsibility to PC Ingram in the corridor outside. "The Sister's discharging him at five, but the way things are going, I'm not sure he'll be leaving at all," she said ruefully. "He's got every nurse wound around his little finger, and he looks set for the duration. Frankly, if they turf him out of this bed, it wouldn't surprise me if he ends up in a nice warm one somewhere else. I can't see the attraction myself, but then I've never been too keen on wankers."

Ingram gave a muted laugh. "Hang around. Watch the fun. If he doesn't walk out of his own accord on the dot of five, I'll clap the irons on him in there."

"I'm game," she agreed cheerfully. "You never know, you might need a hand."

The video film was difficult to watch, not because of its content, which was as discreet as the Dartmouth sergeant had promised, but because the picture rose and fell with the movement of the Frenchman's boat. Nevertheless, his daughter had succeeded in capturing considerable footage of Harding in close detail. Carpenter, sitting behind his desk, played it through once, then used the remote to rewind to where Harding had first sat down on his rucksack. He held the image on pause and addressed the team of detectives crammed into his office. "What do you think he's doing there?"

"Releasing Godzilla?" said one of the men with a snigger.

"Signaling to someone?" said a woman.

Carpenter played back a few frames to follow, in reverse, the panning of the camera lens across the shadowy, out-of-focus glare of the white motor cruiser and the blurry bikini-clad figure lying facedown across the bow. "I agree," he said. "The only question is, who?"

"Nick Ingram listed the boats that were there that day," said another man. "They shouldn't be too difficult to track down."

"There was a Fairline Squadron with two teenage girls on board," said Carpenter, passing across the report from Bournemouth about the abandoned dinghy. "Gregory's Girl out of Poole. Start with that one. It's owned by a Poole businessman called Gregory Freemantle."

Ingram detached himself from the wall and blocked the corridor as Steven Harding, arm in sling, came through the door of the ward at 4:45. "Good afternoon, sir," he said politely. "I hope you're feeling better."

"Why would you care?"

Ingram smiled. "I'm always interested in anyone I help to rescue."

"Well, I'm not going to talk to you. You're the bastard who got them interested in my boat."

Ingram showed his warrant card. "I questioned you on Sunday. PC Ingram, Dorsetshire Constabulary."

Harding's eyes narrowed. "They say they can keep Crazy Daze for as long as is necessary but won't explain what gives them the right. I haven't done anything, so they can't charge me, but they can sure as hell steal my boat for no reason." His angry gaze raked Ingram. "What does 'as long as is necessary' mean, anyway?"

"There can be any number of reasons why it's deemed necessary to retain seized articles," explained the constable helpfully, if somewhat misleadingly. The rules surrounding retention were woolly in the extreme, and policemen had few qualms about smothering so-called evidence in mountains of paperwork to avoid having to return it. "In the case of Crazy Daze, it probably means they haven't finished the forensic examination, but once that's done you should be able to effect its release almost immediately."

"Bollocks to that! They're holding it in case I abscond to France."

Ingram shook his head. "You'd have to go a little farther than France, Steve," he murmured in mild correction. "Everyone's mighty cooperative in Europe these days." He stood aside and gestured down the corridor behind him. "Shall we go?"

Harding backed away from him. "Dream on. I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I'm afraid you must," said Ingram with apparent regret. "Miss Jenner's accused you of assault, which means I have to insist that you answer some questions. I would prefer it if you came voluntarily, but I will arrest you if necessary." He jerked his chin toward the corridor behind Harding. "That doesn't lead anywhere-I've already checked it out." He pointed toward a door at the end where a woman was consulting a notice board. "This is the only exit."

Harding began to ease his arm out of its sling, clearly fancying his chances in a sprint dash against this simple, forelock-tugging, 240-pound yokel in a uniform, but something changed his mind. Perhaps it was the fact that Ingram stood four inches taller than he did. Perhaps the woman by the door signaled that she was a detective. Perhaps he saw something in Ingram's lazy smile that persuaded him he might be making a mistake...

He gave an indifferent shrug. "What the hell! I've nothing else to do. But it's your precious Maggie you should be arresting. She stole my phone."

*23*

Secured in the passenger seat of the police Range Rover, where Ingram could keep an eye on him, Harding sat huddled in moody silence for most of the trip back to Swanage. Ingram made no attempt to talk to him. Once in a while their eyes met when the policeman was checking traffic to his left, but he felt none of the empathy for Harding that Galbraith had experienced on Crazy Daze. He saw only immaturity in the young man's face and despised him because of it. He was reminded of every juvenile delinquent he'd arrested down the years, not one of whom had had the experience or the wisdom to understand the inevitability of consequence. They saw it in terms of retribution and justice and whether they would do "time," never in terms of the slow destruction of their lives.

It was as they drove through the little town of Corfe Castle, with its ruined medieval ramparts commanding a gap in the Purbeck chalk ridge, that Harding broke the silence. "If you hadn't jumped to conclusions on Sunday," he said in a reasonable tone of voice, "none of this would have happened."

"None of what?"

"Everything. My arrest. This." He touched a hand to his sling. "I shouldn't be here. I had a part lined up in London. It could have been my breakthrough."

"The only reason you're here is because you attacked Miss Jenner this morning," Ingram pointed out. "What have the events of Sunday got to do with that?"

"She wouldn't know me from Adam but for Kate's murder."

"That's true."

"And you won't believe I didn't have anything to do with that-none of you will-but it's not fair," Harding complained with a sudden surge of bitterness. "It's just a bloody awful coincidence, like the coincidence of bumping into Maggie this morning. Do you think I'd have shown myself to her if I'd known she was there?"

"Why not?" The car sped up as they exited the thirty-mile speed limit.

He turned a morose stare on Ingram's profile. "Have you any idea what it's like to have your movements monitored by the police? You've got my car, my boat. I'm supposed to stay at an address you've chosen for me. It's like being in prison without the walls. I'm being treated like a criminal when I haven't done anything, but if I lose my temper because some stupid woman treats me like Jack the Ripper I get accused of assault."

Ingram kept his eyes on the road ahead. "You hit her. Don't you think she had a right to treat you like Jack the Ripper?"

"Only because she wouldn't stop screaming." He gnawed at his fingernails. "I guess you told her I was a rapist, so of course she believed you. That's what got me riled. She was fine with me on Sunday, then today..." He fell silent.

"Did you know she might be there?"

"Of course not. How could I?"

"She rides that gully most mornings. It's one of the few places she can give her horses a good gallop. Anyone who knows her could have told you that. It's also one of the few places with easy access to the beach from the coastal path."

"I didn't know."

"Then why are you so surprised she was scared of you? She'd have been scared of any man who appeared out of nowhere on a deserted headland when she wasn't expecting it."

"She wouldn't have been scared of you."

"I'm a policeman. She trusts me."

"She trusted me," said Harding, "until you told her I was a rapist."

It was the same point Maggie had made, and Ingram conceded it was a fair one-to himself if not to Harding. It was the grossest injustice to destroy an innocent person's reputation, however it was done, and while neither he nor Galbraith had said that the young man was a rapist, the implication had been clear enough. They continued for a while in silence. The road to Swanage led southeast along the spine of Purbeck, and the distant sea showed intermittently between folds of pastureland. The sun was warm on Ingram's arm and neck, but Harding, sitting in shade on the left-hand side of the car, hunched tighter into himself as if he was cold and stared sightlessly out of the window. He seemed lost in lethargy, and Ingram wondered if he was still trying to concoct some sort of defense or whether the events of the morning had finally taken their toll.

"That dog of hers should be shot," he said suddenly.

Still concocting a defense then, thought Ingram, while wondering why it had taken him so long to get around to it. "Miss Jenner claims he was only trying to protect her," he said mildly.

"It bloody savaged me."

"You shouldn't have hit her."

Harding gave a long sigh. "I didn't mean to," he admitted as if realizing that continued argument would be a waste of time. "I probably wouldn't have done it if she hadn't called me a pervert. The last person who did that was my father, and I flattened him for it."

"Why did he call you a pervert?"

"Because he's old-fashioned, and I told him I'd done a porno shoot to make money." The young man balled his hands into fists. "I wish people would just keep their noses out of my business. It gets on my tits the way everyone keeps lecturing me about the way I live my life."

Ingram shook his head in irritation. "There's no such thing as a free lunch, Steve."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Live now, pay later. What goes around, comes around. No one promised you a rose garden."

Harding turned to stare out of the passenger window, offering a cold shoulder to what he clearly felt was a patronizing police attitude. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Ingram smiled slightly. "I know you don't." He glanced sideways. "What were you doing on Emmetts Hill this morning?"

"Just walking."

There was a moment's silence before Ingram gave a snort of laughter. "Is that the best you can do?"

"It's the truth," he said.