The child looked round.

'We've had some tests done, Mr Manners. DNA. It seems you're the kid's dad after all.'

'I told you.' Triumphantly.

'He does look like the missing kid, though. I was looking at a picture of him just before.' He paused. 'But the hair's wrong, isn't it? You can really change people's looks with hair, can't you? I mean, Jonathon Berrisford's hair was quite short. Daniel's is long. Jonathon was blond. Daniel's dark, isn't he, Mr Manners?'

Chris nodded warily. This was getting uncomfortable.

'I had another test done. The officer who took the samples also snipped off a little bit of Daniel's hair. You don't usually use hair dye on a kid of that age, do you, Mr Manners?'

Chris hugged the child to him.

'h.e.l.lo, Jonathon. Do you like it here?'

The child nodded and grinned at the funny policeman who looked like a great big bear. Then he put his arms around Chris's neck and clung on.

'So what happened, Chris? Are you going to tell us here or at the station?'

'How much do you know?' he said quietly, stroking his son's hair.

'Quite a bit. We know about your debts and how you paid them. About Mrs Hughes ...'

'That cow ... she treated us like s.h.i.t. Like b.l.o.o.d.y animals, breeding for her precious daughter-in-law. People who've got money treat people who haven't like b.l.o.o.d.y s.h.i.t.'

'Leave the politics out of it, Chris. What happened?'

'Sharon was to have this baby, for this rich couple. She went to this posh clinic. They gave her this syringe thing with the man's sperm, told her what to do, but she didn't. She had some b.l.o.o.d.y pride. The kid was conceived in the usual way. I was the dad. Right?' Heffernan nodded. He suspected it had been Chris's pride rather than Sharon's that had dictated this arrangement. 'Anyway, she had the kid and everything was fine. She got paid and it saw off my debts, got the bookies off my back. I told her we could always have more kids when the time was right. She'd forget all about this one.'

'So what went wrong?'

'It was all fine while she was carrying this kid for that b.l.o.o.d.y doctor's rich friends. She was examined every week, had every test going. But once it had been born, Sharon had done her bit, she was no use any more. Just treated like a b.l.o.o.d.y farm animal. He never even examined her after the kid was born.' The child swung down off his father's knee and returned to his coloured bricks on the floor. 'She got an infection. She didn't know for ages, just had a few pains and that. They lasted so long she thought it was normal. We decided to try for a kid of our own but nothing happened. Turned out the infection had b.u.g.g.e.red up her insides, she couldn't have any more.'

Rachel, who had been in the background listening, squatted down and began to build a tower for the boy. He grinned at her and added some bricks.

'So you decided to get your child back?' Heffernan spoke softly, sympathetically.

'Yeah. I borrowed this mate's car and me and Sharon watched the cottage till we got the chance. He's a great kid, Inspector. We were dead happy. It was like he knew we were his real mum and dad. We had to dye his hair 'cause there were pictures of him everywhere. He was dead good when we did it. It was sort of a game to him.' He paused. 'I was always drifting, gambling, but when I had the kid to look after, and Sharon, it was different. We'd not lived together before: I'd had to work away a lot, stay in digs and all that. But we got on well, the three of us. Sharon's mum and dad were killed and she'd not had a family before. It was all working out so well. And my mum knew. She helped out, looking after Danny and that. I don't think we did anything wrong.'

He looked at Heffernan. There were tears starting to appear in his eyes.

'Are you still in debt, Chris?'

'I've got my weaknesses. I'd always bet on anything, even when I was a kid. I tried to give it up when we got Danny back, but when Sharon went ...'

'What happened to Sharon?'

'I don't know. That's the honest truth. I just thought she'd been attacked by some maniac. She was going on about making everything right, sorting things out with the Berrisfords. I'd rung them to say Danny was okay but she said she wanted to make everything right, legal. I told her not to be so daft. They might ask for the money back and there was no way ...'

'So you killed her to stop her ...'

'No. I didn't b.l.o.o.d.y kill her. You can get that right out of your heads. I didn't kill her. I was with those mates up in Tavistock. I did a job up there. You've checked already. Danny had gone to his gran's for a few days. She wanted to see him. Sharon was on her own in the flat. Why should I want to kill her? Danny needed a mum.'

'So you were away and you don't know whether she set up some sort of meeting with the Berrisfords?'

'I told her not to, to leave well alone. But I suppose she might have done it off her own bat. She did have this thing about letting them down and trying to make it okay.'

'Which one was she in touch with? Mr Berrisford? Mrs Berrisford? Mrs Hughes? Who would she contact?'

'I've no idea. As far as I know she didn't contact any of them. I just said she might have done. Danny can stay with me, can't he? I don't know what I'd do without him now.' He reached down and stroked the child's hair.

Gerry Heffernan was going soft, just like Stan. There was nothing more he would have liked at that moment than to say yes to Chris's question. The man clearly loved his son, unconventional though the arrangement was.

'We'll have to ask you to come down to the station, make a statement.' Chris nodded, resigned. 'You can bring Daniel, or leave him with your friends if you'd prefer. It shouldn't take long. You'll get straight home afterwards.'

Chris went over to Donna and Sludge's caravan to ask if they could look after the child for an hour or so, then they went straight back to Tradmouth. When he got back to the station, Heffernan had an important question to ask Stan Jenkins. He practically ran up to Stan's office, probably not advisable for a man of his age and build. He didn't bother with any greeting. He just had one thing to ask.

'Was Alan Berrisford down here at the time of the murder?'

'Do you know, Gerry, now I think of it, I believe he was. He went back up north the day after. Why? Do you think ...'

Wesley was going through statements when Chris Manners was brought in. Rachel came and told him about the latest developments.

'So you reckon he's in the clear?' he asked.

'All his alibis check out. He's a gambler and a bit of a villain on a minor scale but that doesn't mean he killed Sharon. The boss thinks it'd be worth checking the Berrisfords' alibis. They would have felt strongly enough about what had happened to do something about it.'

'What's happening now?'

'He's making a statement about the clinic and how him and Sharon got the kid back. By the way, did you know Alan Berrisford's got a conviction for GBH? I've looked up the file. Vicious knife attack outside a pub in Morbay when he was about twenty. Lay in wait for this other bloke, apparently quarrel over a girl. Got four months.'

Wesley raised his eyebrows. 'Is he down here at the moment?'

'No. Back up north.'

Wesley didn't fancy another trip to Manchester.

'Rachel, do you remember anyone called Boscople? I'm sure I've heard the name somewhere but ...'

Rachel shook her head. 'Name seems familiar. Ask the boss.' She turned to go but hesitated at the door. 'It does ring a bell. I think it's one of the people we interviewed when Sharon's body was found. But don't take my word for it.'

When she left, Wesley dug deeper into his files. Then he found it. PC Johnson had interviewed a Bill Boscople, one of the workers on Cissy Hutchins's farm, to see if he'd seen anything suspicious which he hadn't, as he'd been working in another part of the farm at the time. The interview, confirming nothing, had been recorded and forgotten. There was a note on the file that said Boscople had also been interviewed because he was working in the fields near by at the time of Jonathon Berrisford's disappearance. There was an address, presumably a tied cottage at Hutchins Farm. Wesley wrote it down.

'Come on, Wes, we're off up north again. You drive.'

Wesley had hoped to see Neil with Bill Boscople's address, maybe even follow it up himself, but duty came first. This time they might even make an arrest, judging by what the inspector had said.

Gerry Heffernan sat in the pa.s.senger seat. There was a suppressed energy about him, an air of excitement.

'Will you get a chance to see your daughter while we're up there, sir?'

'Shouldn't think so. She'll be much too busy. Anyway, I reckon it'll be an interview, quick arrest and back down the M5. Won't have much time for socialising.'

'Do you think Berrisford did it?'

'He's a man capable of violence. This stupid girl, a girl who he'd paid well to provide a service, had just deprived him of his son and heir. He's got no alibi. He knows the area round the footpath well. I should say he's the prime suspect, wouldn't you?'

'Yes, I suppose he is. Nearly there, sir.'

With the help of the A to Z, they located the main road out of Wilmslow without too much difficulty. The Berrisfords' house was larger than anything Wesley would have aspired to. A substantial Edwardian detached with a sweeping drive, it smelled of wealth and good taste.

The front door, glossy with flawless red paint, was opened by a young woman with a ponytail who introduced herself as the cleaner. Mr Berrisford was at work as far as she knew. Wesley braced himself for a drive into Manchester.

It wasn't so bad out of rush hour. Gerry Heffernan looked out of the window as the scene outside changed from leafy suburbs to redbrick urban landscape to run-down districts to busy city centre. At last, after driving around for ten minutes, they found somewhere to park.

Berrisford and Brady, Wine Merchants was in the better part of town, near the business quarter, set amongst exclusive shops with exclusive prices. The two officers stepped through the etched gla.s.s door into a scene from a more elegant age. Discretion was the watchword here. The interior of dark polished wood had few bottles on display, and those there were looked alarmingly expensive. This wasn't the average high street off-licence. The customers here were connoisseurs and didn't mind paying for their indulgences.

'Not somewhere you'd buy a litre of Spanish plonk on a Sat.u.r.day night,' Heffernan whispered to Wesley softly, in case the superior gentleman with distinguished grey hair and a bow tie, who stood expectantly behind the mahogany counter, heard and disapproved.

'May I help you, gentlemen? Perhaps I might interest you in a Cote du Rhone that we had delivered yesterday. I must say it's an excellent year. I really can recommend ...'

Heffernan showed his warrant card and the sales talk stopped abruptly. 'We're looking for Alan Berrisford. Am I correct in thinking he works here?'

'Er, yes. He's my partner. I'm Geoffrey Brady. Alan's in the back. He deals mainly with the mail order side of the business. If you'd like to follow me, gentlemen.'

Brady led them through well-stocked storerooms. Rows of bottles gleamed on racks. Light wooden boxes, stamped with the names of vineyards even the inspector had heard of, were piled up against the walls.

'I hope it's not bad news, Inspector. It's terrible about Alan's little boy, it really is.'

Heffernan and Wesley were giving nothing away. Geoffrey Brady, denied information, knocked on a plain office door and announced them. Heffernan thanked him and waited for him to return to his post before stepping into Alan Berrisford' lair.

Berrisford was there at the desk, bent over a pile of invoices. He looked at his visitors apprehensively.

'Mr Berrisford, where were you on September the seventeenth?'

Alan Berrisford, with trembling hands, reached for his diary. 'I was down at the cottage, with my wife. Why?'

'Alan Berrisford, I'm arresting you for the murder of Sharon Carteret.'

Wesley looked at Berrisford' defiant face as the inspector gabbled the required words. It would be an interesting journey home. He hoped there would be no hold-ups on the motorway.

Chapter 27.

All was well until my wife did discover Jennet holding Thomas in her arms. I had ordered that she have no dealings with the child and my wife was rightly angry.

No one suspects that the child is not my wife's. We did put it abroad that Jennet was delivered of a dead child as a consequence of her sin. I did offer Jennet more money but she did refuse it and did return that which I had already given her. I did order her from the house but she would not go without her child.

My wife is distraught. I must needs remedy the situation.

Extract from the journal of John Banized.

29 March 1624.

Whatever Elaine Berrisford might have done, Stan Jenkins thought she had the right to know that little Jonathon was safe and happy. He had sat with her too many times and watched her suffer. He felt he couldn't just abandon the woman.

'So how do you feel, Elaine? You know if there's anything I can do ...'

'Thank you. You've been so good, you really have.' She sipped her tea absent-mindedly. 'Can I see Alan?'

'Not at the moment, I'm afraid. They're still questioning him. I'm really sorry how things have turned out.'

'At least Jonathon's all right.'

'Yes. I've seen him and he's fine. You do realise that Sharon's boyfriend was his real father, don't you?' He spoke gently; he was on delicate ground. 'Sharon deceived you. She didn't stick to her side of the bargain.'

Elaine nodded. 'Does it mean he might be able to keep him?'

'I really don't know much about these things but I suppose there's a chance. I can't tell you about the legal position because I just don't know it. But Jonathon's happy and Social Services say he's all right where he is for the time being.'

Elaine twisted her handkerchief in her hands. 'I just want him back. That's all I ever wanted.'

'I know, Elaine, I know.'

'You say he's okay? Where's he living? What kind of place?'

Stan hesitated. There couldn't be any harm in putting the woman's mind at rest. After all, she'd been through enough.

'He's not exactly living in luxury but he's happy enough. He's got lots of other kids to play with on the site. I know it doesn't look very clean or conventional but then we mustn't judge ...'

'Where is it? What site?'

He might as well tell her, he'd given enough away already. 'The travellers' site at Neston. It's not as bad as it sounds, honestly, and there are lots of children ...'

Elaine stood up. 'I'm feeling rather tired, Stan. Thank you for coming. You'll let me know when I can see Alan?'

'Of course.' Stan rose and put his half-full cup of tea on the coffee table.