Like many people Charlie had interviewed, Kerry didnt seem to realize that loading the how-long-behind-bars question with bias and hope would make zero difference to the answer.

"Murdering your wifes a big thing to do wrong, even if youve never previously been nabbed for illegal parking. If you care about Tims freedom, you could always tell me the truth. I know its hard, Kerry, but-"

"Would you like another cup of tea?"

"No, thanks." Two was more than enough. Charlies brain felt jumpy and swollen. "Ill have a gla.s.s of water," she said, sensing that Kerry would find it easier to talk if she had a practical task to occupy her at the same time. Easier, also, to avoid talking while fussing over a guest: the hospitality of desperation. Charlie waited until Kerry was at the sink with her back turned to say, "I wasnt expecting you to tell me the story of Francines death in the way that you did."

"What do you mean?"

"You told it from Tims point of view. You left yourself out."

"I thought you meant . . . I wasnt directly involved in Francines death, so I-"

"But you were in the house," Charlie raised her voice to be heard over the sound of the running cold tap and juddering pipes. "You were here the whole time, werent you?"

I wasnt directly involved. Was that a peculiar thing to say, or was Charlie reading too much into it?

The noise stopped abruptly as Kerry turned off the tap. She came back to the table with a large wet patch in the center of her shirt. So nervous that she cant fill two gla.s.ses with water without spilling nearly as much again. "Kerry, can I give you some advice? Thanks." Charlie rescued her drink from a shaking hand. "If youre committed to lying about Francines death, youre going to have to lie better. This is a murder case."

"I know that," Kerry said quietly. She sat sideways on her chair with her arm round its back, clinging on. With her other hand, she grabbed the soaked part of her shirt and held it in her clenched fist.

"Avoiding the questions you dont want to answer by offering cups of tea . . . its not going to fool anyone. Im sensing you want to help here, Kerry. Youre not the kind of person who obstructs a police investigation. Which is why youre doing everything you can to avoid having to tell outright lies, sitting on the fence so that you can kid yourself youre not doing anything wrong."

Charlie watched as the red blotches on Kerrys cheeks grew and changed shape. If only guilty hot flushes could be translated into words. Still, Charlie was encouraged by all the body language shed seen so far. This level of stress wasnt sustainable. Lying required stamina. Kerrys energy levels would at some point hit a dangerous low, worn down by the slow, insistent rattle of imaginary bars. Melodramatic, perhaps, but Charlie knew from countless witness interviews that this was how bad liars felt when they lied: as if theyd put the poor, victimized truth in a cage against its will. Good liars-like Charlie when she needed to be-were able to make their lies last because they didnt believe truth always had right on its side.

"Youll get a sore b.u.m if you stay on that fence for much longer," she told Kerry. "If I were you, Id jump off: one side or the other. Either tell me the real story, or work on your act. And make sure its airtight, because believe me, if it isnt, someone cleverer and closer to this case than I am will soon be along to blast a big hole in it."

Kerry said nothing. She was busy scrunching and unscrunching her shirt. Was she wondering if she could make the coherent lie option work for her? Charlies best chance was to deprive her of thinking time by piling on the questions.

"You were in better shape before Gaby turned up," she said. "What was it about Gabys arrival that threw you? Actually, it wasnt her arrival, was it? You gave her a saviors welcome when she first walked in. 'Thank G.o.d, you said."

"It was a figure of speech. I didnt mean . . . I meant I was glad she was here, thats all."

"No, it was more than that. You were relieved to see she was safe, was that it? Or you thought shed be able to keep you safe? Or Tim?"

"No."

"What can Gaby do to help Tim?"

"Youre twisting my words!" Kerry blinked away tears.

"Sorry. I dont mean to." Charlie was trying to pick out a middle path between going easy and applying too much pressure. "You know what it is? I forget that Im 'the police sometimes." She mimed quotation marks, taking care to keep her voice matter-of-fact and friendly. "Especially when Im not on duty, like today. But, generally, most of the time. In my head Im just a regular person like you, not some scary authority figure. Youve got all the power here, Kerry. You know and I dont, whatever the secret is. In my position, youd probably also feel frustrated and make wildly inaccurate guesses."

"You wouldnt understand!"

"Try me."

Kerry nodded. "Gaby loves Tim. As much as I do. She knows how special he is. Thats why I said, 'Thank G.o.d. Ive been having a rough time since Francine died. Ive been desperate for someone to talk to, someone wholl understand. Ive got Dan, but hes not coping well. I dont want to add to his worries. Gabys stronger. Than any of us, than all of us put together."

a.r.s.e still firmly on fence. Charlie felt a flash of impatience. She had no trouble believing that Kerry was keen to talk to someone who would understand, but understand what? Why it was so crucial to pretend that Tim Breary had murdered his wife, and protect the real murderer? Kerry was still stonewalling, except now she was doing it while appearing to cooperate, by making ambiguous statements that could be interpreted in a range of ways instead of by clamming up and refusing to answer.

And whose fault is that, if shes brushed up on her presentation? Who told her to lie better?

"Gaby made a few comments you didnt seem comfortable with," Charlie said. "Do you remember? I suppose you could hardly brief her, with me here. Thats why she mentioned what she wasnt supposed to mention, why you went from thanking G.o.d to tense as a tightrope walkers calf muscle in such a short s.p.a.ce of time."

Kerry shook her head: more automatic self-defense than a specific denial.

"She said that if Tim had wanted to kill Francine hed have done it years ago. Also that hed hated his and Francines house on . . . Heron Road, was it?"

"Heron Close."

"Why didnt you like Gaby mentioning those things?"

"Tims a private person," said Kerry. "Theres no reason for anyone to be discussing the details of his relationship with Francine."

"If I were desperate to preserve my privacy and keep all noses out of my marriage, the last thing Id do is make headlines by smothering my spouse," Charlie said. "Is that why Tims claiming he doesnt know why he did it, to avoid sharing things hed find too personal to talk about?"

"No," Kerry said flatly.

Charlie grinned as if none of it mattered. "Thats not a clever answer. You almost, but not quite, admitted that hes lying."

"Is that what you think Im doing-trying to be clever?"

Charlie leaned forward. "The opposite, actually. I think youre trying not to be clever in order to feel less guilty. Bare-minimum deceit, thats what youre aiming for. Know how many Brownie points its going to earn you? None. Not enjoying lying doesnt count as mitigation in a conspiracy to pervert the course of justice charge."

Kerry pulled her long hair taut as if it were an alarm cord, and made a noise that was easy enough to interpret: raw fear. Was this the first shed heard about how the law might be used against her if she kept up her pretense? Had Sam Kombothekra been too polite to mention it? Another reason why he ought to hand the job back to Charlie.

"Gaby doesnt share your concern for Tims privacy, clearly," she said. "Shes more interested in getting him out of prison. I think you underestimated her."

"Gabys brilliant," Kerry murmured. She stared at the door as if willing her friend to walk through it again.

"She seems pretty keen on uncovering the truth. Are you confident you can talk her into keeping quiet about whatever she finds out? I wouldnt be."

Kerry turned her stare on Charlie, making real eye contact for the first time. The intensity was alarming, invasive, as if her eyes were reaching inside for something that wasnt hers to take. Charlie fought the urge to look away. "My brains a pea compared to Gabys!" Kerry said fiercely. "Sos yours, so are most peoples. Whatever Gaby does, whatever she wants, I trust her absolutely."

"Right. But you dont trust yourself," Charlie deduced aloud. "Or Dan, or Tim-not in the way you trust Gaby. You didnt like her saying those things because-" She broke off. The idea was too complex to be easily put into words.

"I told you," said Kerry. "Tims a very private-"

"Yeah, I know. Sorry, that wasnt a question. My pea-brain was busy a.s.sembling the rest of what I was trying to say." Charlie grinned and made a cross-eyed face. Kerry didnt reciprocate the smile. "You want brilliant Gaby to take charge, tell you what to do for the best-is that it?"

Kerrys body went completely still, as if shed switched herself off.

"You werent comfortable with her mouthing off about Tim and Francine from a position of ignorance. Gaby wasnt here when Francine was murdered. Shes not one of the Dower House gang. At the moment, all she knows is the official version of events, and you couldnt tell her otherwise in front of me. Once shes up to speed, youll happily stand back and leave the planning and decision-making to her. Youre guessing shes going to feel differently about what she is and isnt willing to say in front of the police once shes heard the full story. Right? Or maybe youre not going to tell her, because youre too scared, but youre hoping shes brilliant enough to work it out on her own?"

"Can we take a break?" Kerry asked, her voice cracking on the last word.

"Anytime you like. This isnt an official interview. What about Lauren Cookson?"

Kerry looked up. "What about her?"

"She lives here, was here the day Francine died. She presumably has been briefed, yet she seems to have blurted out the truth in Germany yesterday: that Tim didnt do it." The longer she spent in this house, the more convinced Charlie was of Tims innocence. Hard as shed tried to come down on Sams side and prove that she wasnt unduly influenced by Simon, she couldnt shake the feeling that shed walked onto a carefully arranged stage set.

"How bad was Tim and Francines relationship? I know Francine had been out of action for a couple of years," Charlie qualified. "Im talking about before that."

Kerry chewed the inside of her lip. "Im not sure Francine thought it was bad at all. She arranged it exactly as she wanted it."

"Didnt she confide in you? Sam said she and Tim were your best friends, yours and Dans."

"Tim was our best friend. Is. Francine was his wife, so we pretended."

"To like her?"

Kerry nodded.

"Like me with my sisters fiance, the smug t.o.s.s.e.r," Charlie said. "Ive hated him from the first time we met, but when they got engaged I pretended to change my mind to make life easier for everyone."

"Did your sister believe you?" Kerry asked.

Charlie nodded. "Its her greatest talent: an ability to believe whatever will make her happy, however ridiculous." Seeing that Kerry looked interested, she added, "Its infuriating. You try to force her to confront something and she frowns and looks solemn for a bit, as if shes taking it seriously, and then its like she just forgets and reverts to her impenetrable jolly self. Hah! 'Impenetrable is so the wrong word. Shes currently involved with two men, her fiance and . . ." Charlie stopped herself in time. Gibbs and Kerrys paths were bound to cross soon if they hadnt already. "Sorry. Oversharing." And now Id be grateful if you could do the same.

"Pretending to like Francine wasnt enough," Kerry said slowly. She might have been practicing talking about this for the first time. "Dan and I had to pretend to be as close to her as we were to Tim. She demanded equal status, superior status. Not directly, but Tim made it clear what was expected: could we talk more to her than to him when they came round, ask her more questions, put her name before his on Christmas cards? Could I invite her for girls nights out, just the two of us, tell her things about my relationship with Dan-made-up things if necessary-and ask her not to tell Tim?"

"Dont tell me you agreed," said Charlie. "Thats crazy. No one would expect to be instantly as important to their boyfriends best mates as he was. That kind of thing takes time. Sometimes it never happens. Normally the original friend stays the closest, and if you break up, both parties get to keep the friends they brought to the table, pretty much, and lose the rest."

"Normally, yes," Kerry agreed. "Francine wasnt normal."

"This might be a stupid question, but why didnt you tell her to eff off?"

"It would have seemed unprovoked. She hardly ever said anything to us directly. It was usually Tim who asked us to pander to her in all these ludicrous ways. It was clear from the first time we saw them together that his plan was to placate her rather than stand up to her. He didnt want to lose me and Dan, we couldnt bear the thought of losing him . . ." Kerry shrugged. "It was obvious to all three of us that our lives would be easier if we toed Francines line. So we did."

"Did it start to feel natural after a while?" Charlie asked.

Kerry laughed. "Nothing about Francine felt natural, nothing within a hundred-mile radius of her. Ever. What made it easier was that we didnt have to pretend with Tim. He knew how we felt about her. He felt it too. Our connection with him was strengthened, if anything, by the need for secrecy. Believe me, Dans and my pretense was nothing compared with what Tim put himself through every day of his married life, trying to please someone whod find fault if you plonked her down in the middle of paradise. All Dan and I had to do was make sure not to do or say the wrong thing. Things, plural-there were so many of them."

"Such as?"

"Disagreeing with her. Mentioning any incident from the time before she came on the scene, when it was just the three of us. Oh-choosing the wrong restaurant, if Francines meal turned out to be in any way disappointing. Seriously," Kerry said in response to Charlies raised eyebrows. "We kept thinking we had a full list of all the faux pas to avoid and then wed find ourselves in a new situation, and make her angry in a way we hadnt foreseen-like when we went to the movies together for the first time, all four of us. We only did it once. Francine wouldnt go again after what happened, not even on her own with Tim." Kerry frowned. "I think she thought it was a waste of money when you could stay in and watch films on telly for free, but Tim was led to believe that hed spoiled the cinema for her forever with his thoughtlessness."

"What did he do?" Charlie asked.

Kerry appeared to have forgotten about her wish to protect Tims privacy. "None of us realized anything was wrong until we left the cinema," she said. "Francine wouldnt say a single word to any of us. She gave us a chance, she told Tim later. The length of the film, some cliched bank heist nonsense, I cant even remember its name-that was the window of opportunity she so generously allowed us to see the error of our ways, and wed missed it. Another black mark against us. We had to beg to be told, as always: "Please, Francine, enlighten us. Let us know what our sin was so that we can atone for it." Shed tell you eventually, in her tight-lipped, grudging way, or a message would come secondhand from Tim. Then you had to grovel until she felt like forgiving you."

"What was the cinema sin?" Charlie asked.

"Prepare to be disappointed," said Kerry. "The four of us sat side by side in a row: Dan and Tim in the middle, me and Francine on the two ends. None of us cared that Francine was at the end of the row. Thats it."

Charlie didnt understand.

"We should have made sure she sat in one of the two middle seats. According to her, thats what wed have done if we gave a d.a.m.n about her. We should have realized she might feel left out and made sure she got a seat that didnt reinforce her sense of isolation."

"That is f.u.c.king insane," said Charlie. She covered her mouth with her hand. "Sorry, but . . ."

"No need to apologize. That was Francine. Not insane-fully functional, held down a high-pressure job as a partner in a law firm until she had the stroke-just congenitally insecure and dissatisfied. Emotionally, she was like a two-year-old, required everyone to tie themselves in knots to make her feel better. Which she never did, and it was always our fault, mainly Tims. If he didnt cancel his plans when she had a headache to prove he cared, if he didnt spend an outrageous amount of money on her birthday present when shed specifically told him not to spend too much money . . ." Kerry sighed. "The cinema debacle wasnt even a standout incident. I wish it were. I could tell you hundreds of stories like that one."

"Why didnt Tim leave her?"

Kerry smiled sadly. "I could keep you here all day answering that question. He did leave eventually, after . . . later." She rubbed her mouth with her index and middle fingers. Shed been at ease, and now suddenly she wasnt.

Charlies inner antennae were twitching. "After" and "later" were not interchangeable. And now Kerry was looking at the door again and quickly looking away, as if shed been ordered to look anywhere but there. That could mean nothing, or it could mean many things. Charlie thought about Gaby Struthers sudden need to see Tim Brearys bedroom, and decided to risk jumping to the obvious conclusion. "Tim had an affair with Gaby, didnt he?" she said.

- Gibbs had nearly finished his first pint by the time Simon arrived at the Brown Cow. "Ill have another," he said, without making eye contact.

"You will if you go to the bar and give them some money."

Gibbs grinned but didnt look up. He was busy with his new favorite hobby: adding more bands to the red-elastic-band ball he was making. Hed started shortly after his twins were born. Asked why-which he was a lot, at first-he said, "Why not? The postman drops them all over the pavement. Its something to do." So was helping your wife look after two babies, Simon had heard many people point out. Gibbs was disciplined about refusing to be drawn. "Its something relaxing to do," he clarified occasionally, though more often he shrugged and said nothing. There had been speculation at work about how long Debbie was likely to put up with him, mutterings about the red-elastic-band ball being the least of her worries.

Simon doubted there was anyone working for Spilling Police who didnt know about Gibbs long-running affair with Charlies sister Olivia. Last year, Simon had told Proust, Sam and Sellers. Hed had to; Charlies diary, in which shed written angrily about Livs enduring fling, had found its way into a murder investigation. Simon felt guilty about the secret having spread further than CID, though Gibbs didnt seem to mind or to hold him responsible-him or anyone else. Recently, Simon had wondered if the leak could have been Gibbs himself.

"Another pint, yeah?" He pulled out his wallet. "When I get back from the bar, Ill need the attention youre giving that ball."

The room was too full; it always was at the Brown Cow. Simon hated packed pubs-packed anything. Silent, empty environments suited him better, whether they were pubs, restaurants, parks, friends homes. There was a place on the other side of town, the Pocket and Pound: an end terrace adjoining the Culver Valley Museum, and possibly the thinnest pub in England. For a narrow strip of ale-soaked dinginess, it didnt have too bad an atmosphere. Or rather, it was one Simon liked and could relate to: understated failure accepted but never remarked upon, the suspicion that success, never sought, would have disappointed-worlds away from the Brown Cows aura of manic hedonism.

Simon only ever went to the Pocket and Pound with Charlie. She thought it was possibly the worst pub in the world, and enjoyed going there for precisely that reason. "Its hilarious-much more fun than going to a good pub," shed said once. "In good pubs, I spend all evening watching you sulk. Here you feel at home, so youre in a good mood, and I get to sit and laugh at you and think, This is my husband. This is his favorite pub. This is where were spending our Sat.u.r.day night." Theyd both laughed at that.

"Know what Ive learned since I started this?" Gibbs held his red-elastic-band ball in the air. "How insecure people are. No onell talk to me if Ive got it in my hand-as if I cant listen and stretch rubber bands round a ball at the same time. It helps me to concentrate."

"Not when youre walking down the road, it doesnt," said Simon. "Looking behind you in case youve missed any, banging into bins."

"That happened once." Gibbs made a dismissive noise. "Not you too with the snippy comments. Looks like its me and my little red friend against the world."

"Big red friend." The ball was approaching obesity. Simon wondered how Liv felt about it. Did Gibbs put it to one side for her, but for no one else? Would he need it, and call it a friend, if Liv were marrying him and not Dom?

Very psychological, Waterhouse, Proust would have said.

Simon pulled the poem Tim Breary had given him out of his pocket. "Read this while I get the drinks in," he said. "Read it more than once."

Instead of holding the poem in front of his eyes as he once would have, Gibbs put down his ball and draped the paper over it so that he had to hunch over the table to read it. It looked like the preamble to a magicians trick.

Simon turned to go to the bar. Gibbs called him back. He held out the sheet of paper. "Forget it," he said. When Simon didnt immediately respond, Gibbs threw the poem at him. Simon tried to catch it but it float-fell out of reach, landed on the floor. He bent to pick it up.

"Forget what?" he said.

"Poem means f.u.c.k all to me. Theres no way. Whats it even saying?"

An extreme response to a neutral stimulus: interesting. Simon pocketed his wallet, sat down. "No way what? What do you think Im asking you?"

"I know what youre asking. Its not happening."