She bent over and spoke confidentially in Wesley's ear. 'Have you provided a sample for us, Mr Peterson?'

Wesley, recalling how he had recently experienced one of the most embarra.s.sing moments of his life, swallowed hard and nodded. The nurse went away.

The couple sat in silence, not knowing what to say. The blonde on the reception desk asked if they'd like another coffee. They both said yes. At least it would give them something to do with their hands while they were waiting to see Dr Downey. It was the waiting that was the worst part.

After what seemed to Wesley like an age, the nurse reappeared and led them through carpeted corridors to Dr Downey's office.

There was money in private medicine, thought Wesley, as his eyes took in his surroundings: Dr Downey's office was worthy of housing the chief constable himself. The desk was dark and vast, expensively inset with tooled leather. The leather chairs moulded themselves to the body as one sat looking at the tasteful watercolours on the soft green walls all originals. Pam found herself wishing that school staffrooms were as luxuriously appointed.

Dr Downey shook hands, smiling in welcome. He could afford his affability.

'Mr Peterson.' He turned to Wesley, still smiling. 'I've had one of my colleagues look at your sample under the microscope and I'm pleased to tell you that everything appears to be normal. We do have to investigate the possibility of the male partner's infertility as well, you understand. If the sperm count is low, we have a problem.'

Wesley nodded and wished that the medical profession wouldn't keep underestimating their patients' ability to read medical textbooks. Pam had probably read the lot and pa.s.sed the salient information on to him. He just wanted to know the test results. 'So where do we go from here, Doctor? What's the next step?' He thought he'd better stop Dr Downey in his tracks before he went on to explain about the birds and the bees. 'Will you want to perform a laparoscopy?'

Dr Downey, who had been about to launch into an explanation of the fertilisation of the human egg, sat back in his deep leather swivel chair and looked at Wesley. Perhaps he had underestimated the man. 'Yes. That's the next step. I usually like my ladies to stay in overnight, Mrs Peterson. We'll do our best to make you comfortable so you shouldn't find it too traumatic' He smiled rea.s.suringly. 'Do you know about the procedure and what we'll be looking for?'

'She reads about nothing else.'

Pam, self-conscious, gave her husband a look that said shut up and don't embarra.s.s me.

'Let me a.s.sure you, Pamela may I call you Pamela? that we'll do our very best here at the Morbay Clinic to sort out any problems you may have. Many common conditions are easy to treat and we do have a full range of services here. You're in the best hands.' He smiled charmingly.

Wesley didn't see the smile, or Pamela's eyes shining hopefully. He saw only a diminishing bank account.

As they left the clinic Pam linked her arm through Wesley's. 'I feel much better after talking to him,' she said. 'I might even come out for a drink tonight if I've not got too much preparation to do for school. Neil'll think I'm avoiding him.'

Wesley kissed her cheek absent-mindedly. He knew he should be grateful to Dr Downey, even though he didn't like the man.

The hara.s.sed young woman at the benefit office had pointed out to PC Johnson that Christopher was a popular name and it was impossible to trace anything if he didn't provide a surname; besides, there was no record of anyone at the address given claiming benefit. It would be on the computer, and the computer never lied. Johnson nodded, thanked her and left. Who was he to argue with a computer?

Gerry Heffernan took the news philosophically. Chris could be anywhere. But the child? That added a new dimension to the investigation. Somewhere along the way either Sharon or Chris had acquired a child; not a baby but a young child. And according to the neighbour the child looked like Chris. The inspector sighed; in these days of unconventional families, the child could easily be Chris's from a past relationship. There was one advantage: a man with a child should be easier to track down than a man on his own. Heffernan comforted himself with this thought.

Sharon's family too seemed conspicuously absent from the scene. n.o.body at work knew anything about the secretary's background, although Phil, the boss, thought she'd mentioned once that she was an only child, that her parents were dead and that she'd been brought up by her grandmother. n.o.body knew about her friends either; perhaps she hadn't any. Heffernan felt a wave of sadness that someone so young should pa.s.s from this earthly existence so unmourned. It was almost as though the dead girl had no life or personality of her own.

His thoughts were disturbed by a knock on the door. Wesley had returned.

'Come in, Wes. How did it go?'

He saw that the sergeant was smiling.

Rachel felt sorry for the female staff of the Devonshire District Building Society. They had to wear a uniform, whereas she had earned the right to abandon hers when she joined the CID.

Most of the staff had changed since Sharon worked there, but she found two women who remembered her.

The first recalled her but had had little to do with her, but the second, a middle-aged lady named Dot who sported gigantic earrings and lethal stiletto heels, remembered her well. She had sat beside her in the back office.

'She was a nice girl. Quiet but always ready for a laugh, if you know what I mean.' Rachel sensed there'd be no shutting Dot up once she got going. 'She had this boyfriend, thought the world of him. I think he was a bit of a Svengali. She'd do whatever he wanted poor girl. She never had a family. Maybe that's why she clung to him. Who's to say? I tried to tell her but they won't be told, will they? I mean, I know that men aren't worth it and I told her to think more of herself, but would she listen? Would she heck.'

Rachel nodded sympathetically. 'Can you tell me anything about the boyfriend? Or about any other friends or family she might have mentioned?' She sensed she would have to work hard to keep Dot on the right track.

'Well, his name was Chris, I remember that much. I never saw him but she talked about him a lot. It was obvious she was smitten. She said he had money worries but she never said what he did for a living.'

'So he was in debt, do you think?'

'That's what money worries usually means. You don't worry if you have too much of it, do you? I remember her saying she'd gone with him to the races at Newton Abbot. Maybe he gambled. But that's just a guess.'

'Did she have any particular friends that you know of?'

Dot pursed her lips, biting back her disapproval. 'Gave them all up, didn't she. Chris didn't like her having her own friends. She said as much. Poor girl.'

'What about when she left? What happened? Did she say why she was leaving?'

'No. She didn't give a reason just handed in her notice.'

'She never confided in you?'

'No. But I had my suspicions.'

'Suspicions? What about?'

'When you see a girl throwing up in the loo in the mornings and putting on weight you don't have to be in the CID to put two and two together.' She looked at Rachel and winked.

'You mean she was pregnant?'

'I'd stake my pension on it. Such as it is in this place.'

'How long did Sharon work here?'

'About three years.'

'So she'd have been ent.i.tled to maternity pay and maternity leave if she'd stayed. So why did she leave? She wasn't signed off sick, was she?'

'No. She definitely handed in her notice. She showed me the letter, asked me if it was all right, but she never said anything about having a baby. I mean, in this day and age n.o.body'd worry that she wasn't married, and usually once girls here find out they're pregnant there's no stopping them talking about it.'

'And did you ever see her again after she left? Did she ever come in to visit... show off the baby?'

'Never saw her again. No, I tell a lie, I did see her in the street about a year later. But she didn't see me.'

'On her own?'

'Yes. Near the b.u.t.terwalk one lunch-time.'

Rachel nodded. 'Did she say where she was living?'

'She didn't say much about her domestic arrangements. But I reckon this boyfriend had her under his thumb all night.'

Rachel thanked Dot, who reluctantly returned to the routine of the day. A visit from the police had been a welcome respite from the tyranny of the computer screen.

When Rachel stepped out into the High Street, she began to walk towards the police station. Then, at the b.u.t.terwalk, she suddenly remembered what had been bothering her about Sharon's flat in Morbay.

Chapter 19.

Last night my wife was awake and did ask me what business was so pressing that it kept me from my bed until this late hour. I lied to her and did claim to be counting the goods in my warehouse and making ready for our ships' return.

Jennet doth always keep a modest demeanour before her. She can suspect nothing. I am sunk deep in my sin and want nothing more than to lie in Jennet's fair arms. I know not what to do and I cannot call upon the Lord for guidance.

Extract from the journal of John Banized,

20 June 1623

Wesley put the phone down and walked into Heffernan's office.

'I've just been in touch with a mate of mine at the Met, sir. He's going to St Catherine's House to look up births, see if we can find out anything about this baby Sharon was supposed to have. He'll let me know if he comes up with anything. I've been in touch with all the local adoption agencies too drawn a blank.'

The inspector breathed deeply and played with his ballpoint pen. After a long pause he spoke. 'Don't you find all this a bit strange, Wes? I could understand if we were living fifty years ago when having a baby out of wedlock was a big disgrace. Girls got sent away to aunts at the seaside so that n.o.body'd know it'd all be swept under the rug. But today everyone's doing it film stars, the lot. It's no great scandal any more. I don't know if I agree with how things have gone, Wes, maybe the pendulum's swung too far, but there we are, that's the way things stand.'

Wesley nodded. 'Maybe there was a reason for her hiding it. Maybe this Chris was married.'

'Maybe. But from what we've heard of him, he didn't act married. I suppose his wife might have held the purse-strings and he didn't want to go so far as leaving her. In which case I'm surprised he didn't persuade Sharon to have an abortion.'

'Perhaps it was against her beliefs... or maybe she did. We've not talked to anyone who actually saw her heavily pregnant, have we? I've got Rachel checking all the maternity hospitals in the area, see if she comes up with anything. The child he was seen with in Morbay could have been his by his wife or even another woman.'

'It's all ifs and buts, isn't it, Wes? What have we got? This Sharon, according to her landlady and her workmates, was a good little virgin until she falls into the clutches of the evil Chris; she gets pregnant and hides the fact; gives up her job and doesn't get another till after the baby's born... or maybe till after she gets over an abortion. She then disappears from her flat and her job and shacks up with Chris and some child he's picked up on the way; then she gets herself murdered on a cliff top by person or persons unknown. It must make sense, but let's face it, until we come up with this Chris character, we're a bit scuppered.'

'There's one interesting thing, sir. I've just been on to the bank. The amount that's usually paid into Sharon's account, the two hundred pounds ... it's not been paid this month.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning that whoever was paying it in knew she was dead on the twentieth of September. It was always paid in on or around the twentieth of the month. With the mix-up in identification, only the killer could have known she was dead then.'

Heffernan sat back and looked up at his sergeant in admiration. 'Good thinking, Wesley. I think you've got something there.'

'I'll do some checking, sir.'

'You do that.'

A few phone calls later, Wesley returned to Heffernan's office with the results ofhis investigations. Results that Wesley found puzzling to say the least.

They were interrupted by Rachel's return. She gave an obligatory knock on the inspector's door and burst in; she obviously had something to say. Wesley and Heffernan looked at her expectantly.

'I've checked the maternity hospitals. No record of Sharon having a baby at the time in question. She might have used a different name; there's no way of knowing.'

Heffernan sighed.

Rachel obviously had something else to report.

'And I've just remembered, sir. I knew there was something wrong when I wentto Sharon's flat in Morbay. It was a furnished flat and the woman who owned her old flat said that it was unfurnished. What happened to her furniture? If she left it there it might mean she left in a hurry. Why?'

Her colleagues stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying.

Wesley spoke. 'She could have put the furniture in storage. Get someone to contactall the local firms.'

'I'd like to go over to Queenswear again. See if she left anything interesting behind.' Rachel looked determined.

'It's worth a try,' said the inspector. 'You two get over there.' He looked at Wesley. 'What were you going to tell me before Rachel came in?'

'It's interesting, sir. Those monthly payments into Sharon's bank account... they were made in cash through various branches in the north-west, mainly the Manchester area.'

Heffernan sighed. 'This is all getting very odd, Wes; very odd indeed.'

Stan Jenkins's heart beat faster as he approached Hedgerow Cottage. Was it nerves? Blood pressure? He didn't know. All he knew was that he didn't want to be there.

The WPC who was driving the car looked at him, sensing how he felt. 'We're here, sir.'

There was no need to tell him; he knew. Hedgerow Cottage had become as familiar as his own house. But whereas his home conjured up thoughts of evenings by the television and dull domestic security, the thought of Hedgerow Cottage brought with it the mental demons of despair and hopelessness. He didn't want to see Elaine Berrisford; didn't want to look into her eyes.

He had expected her to be alone. But the door was opened by a man; her husband. Stan had met him only a few times before, although of course he'd spoken to him often on the phone; he had had to return to work, had a business to run. He shook hands with him solemnly.

'My wife's gone to bed, Inspector.' Alan Berrisford looked tired. 'Is there any news?'

Stan suddenly hated himself for not being able to supply balm to this couple's suffering. 'I'm very sorry. We've followed up a few sightings but they've all come to nothing, I'm afraid.'

Alan Berrisford poured himself a whisky. He offered one to Stan, who refused in the best traditions of the police force. Berrisford was a good-looking man in his mid-thirties; about five foot ten, he had dark hair, blue eyes, a charming smile and an easy manner. Elaine Berrisford must once have considered herself a lucky woman.

'My wife tried to go back to work, you know. She teaches in further education. But she found she could only stick it one day. Couldn't concentrate, couldn't keep her mind on it. I tried to tell her not to come back here but she insisted.'

Stan nodded. He understood. 'Is there anything you need? Would you like me to arrange for a WPC to stay?'

'No, thank you, Inspector. You've been very kind. I'm going to have to go back up north soon. I really can't stay too long. Business, you understand. I'll try and persuade my wife to come back with me. I think it's unhealthy for her being here, where it happened.'

'Quite, sir. We're doing our best, you know. G.o.d willing, we'll find him.' Stan tried to make himself sound convincing.