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‘Yes, Caroline Barnes's parents.'

‘We'll have this coffee and give Pearce time to get back before we leave. Meanwhile, take another look at the Lizzie Barton file; see if anything strikes you.'

Clara began leafing through. ‘I can see the relevance in what Mexican Pete told you. I mean, I can see how Lizzie being infected with the HIV virus might provide a motive for someone to kill her, especially if she'd passed on the infection. What I can't work out is how someone could have found out she was HIV positive. It's not the sort of thing you go bragging about over a pint. If it had been common knowledge, I'm certain someone from The Cock and Bottle would have mentioned it. If Lizzie didn't say anything and there was no evidence of the disease in her face, how did anybody find out? What exactly did Mexican Pete say?'

‘He was positive about it. Said Lizzie hadn't had the virus long and probably wasn't aware she was carrying it.'

‘Precisely my point. If Lizzie didn't know, how could anyone else find out?'

Mironova waited, expecting a response. When one didn't come she glanced at him and noticed he was wearing that same distant, abstracted expression she'd seen earlier. This time Clara refrained
from speaking. For a few minutes there was silence. ‘Of course,' Nash muttered, more to himself than to Mironova.

‘What is it?'

‘How do you find out if someone's HIV positive? How did Mexican Pete discover Lizzie Barton was infected, for instance?'

‘Well I assume he took a blood sample for testing.'

‘Exactly, he did a haematology test. But that was because he suspected she might be infected, presumably because the virus must have started to infect one or other of her internal organs. But you don't carry out a post-mortem on a living person; you have to rely on a blood test.'

‘I still don't see what you're driving at.'

‘Think of it this way. Why do you do a blood test? Who do you test?'

‘Normally I suppose if someone goes to their doctor and they can't identify the illness.'

‘What if they're perfectly healthy? You wouldn't take a blood test from a healthy person as a rule, would you?'

‘Not that I know of, but with the state of the NHS I wouldn't bet against it.'

Nash agreed, ‘Cynical but true. Think about it, Clara.'

‘Are you saying the only way someone could have found out that Lizzie had infected them is if they were ill themselves? Are we looking for someone who's ill?'

Nash smiled. ‘Not necessarily ill. Remember, I said there are circumstances when healthy people are tested as a matter of routine.'

‘I suppose they could be given a medical for insurance, or joining the forces, or if they were.…' Clara's voice tailed off.

‘Pregnant?'

Mironova nodded.

‘And of course we know someone who'd been intimate with Lizzie Barton during the period in question. Whose girlfriend is now pregnant and could well have been tested.'

‘You think Alec Jennings killed Lizzie Barton because she infected him with the virus?'

‘That's one possibility, but there's another. That it wasn't Jennings, but his girlfriend Cindy who stabbed Lizzie.'

‘You mean because Lizzie also passed the infection on to her?'

‘That's also a possibility. Depending on exactly when the infection was passed on, there's a third motive, an even more powerful one.' Nash pondered for a moment. ‘If the gynaecologist told Cindy that her baby would likely be born HIV positive, how much worse would that be? Remember, Jennings had no alibi? He was supposedly at home all day and the only one who could vouch for that was Cindy. Who just happened to be out shopping at the time Lizzie was stabbed. Or had she gone out to take her revenge on the woman who'd ruined her life. Ruined Alec's and worst of all condemned her baby to a dreadful fate. The barman at The Cock and Bottle said he saw someone running down the alley behind the pub. Someone dark-haired, wearing a brown bomber jacket. I'd be willing to bet Cindy has dark hair and owns a brown bomber jacket.'

‘Should we pull her in?'

‘Not yet. I want another word with our larcenous barman. Unless I'm mistaken, I think he's moved up from petty theft to blackmail.'

‘You think he recognized Cindy?'

‘I'm bloody sure he did.'

They were distracted by a knock on the office door. Viv stepped gingerly inside. ‘Sorry to disturb you both. I've got Bailey in an interview room as you requested, sir.'

‘Good, you can get back to your paperwork now. Don't forget, I want him sweating by the time we get back.'

‘Yes, sir.' Pearce turned and walked back through the CID room.

Nash continued. ‘Have you got the photos of Lee Machin's injuries?'

‘Yes, in his file. Why?' Mironova was baffled by the sudden switch in Nash's thought pattern.

‘I want them handy when we interview the barman. We'd better get off now. The one thing I don't want to do is create a bad impression with any of the relatives by turning up late.'

 

‘Caroline Barnes: known as Carrie to her friends and family.' Nash read the file contents aloud as Mironova drove them towards the West Riding. ‘A nineteen-year-old student at Leeds University. The
family lives at Colingford, near Skipton. Father works for a bank, transferred to Skipton branch as manager. Carrie disappeared after catching the train from Leeds at the end of the university term. Mother, a primary school teacher,' Nash thought for a second. ‘Hang on, what did Margaret Cummings do for a living, can you remember?'

‘She's retired, isn't she?'

‘She is now, but I thought she said something about “when I was teaching” or something like that.'

‘It'd be worth checking.'

Nash sat bolt upright, the sudden movement causing the seat belt to grip tightly across his chest. ‘Yes, by God, it would. I've just remembered something I read in Danielle Canvey's file. Both her parents were teachers. Danielle and Monique's mother was French. They met when their father took a school party to France on one of those exchange visits. Let's think about what we've got here. We know Caroline's mother was a teacher. We think Julie's mother was a teacher before she retired. And both Danielle's parents were teachers. I'm going to ring Pearce and get him to check the files on the rest.'

‘He's babysitting Roland Bailey at the moment,' Clara reminded him.

‘He can get a uniform to stand in. It's only going to take him ten minutes or so to look the information up.'

They were on the outskirts of Skipton when Pearce rang back. Nash listened for a while then said, ‘Okay, thanks for looking.' By the disappointed tone in his voice Mironova could tell the news wasn't encouraging. But Nash continued, ‘Just to be on the safe side, I'd like you to ring all the parents and check out the exact details. It may take a while but at the moment it's the only theory we've got. I'm not going to discount it without making doubly sure.'

‘Bad news?'

‘Not good,' Nash admitted. ‘Louise Harland's mother fits the profile, she's a teaching assistant, but Megan Forrest's mother is a cook, Anne Blatchford a cleaner and Joan Kelly a secretary.'

It was much later, as they were returning from Colingford following another depressing interview, when Pearce rang back. It
didn't need Nash's change of expression or his repeated ‘what?' to tell Mironova the news was momentous. The incomprehensible but excited squawk of Viv's voice on the mobile was enough.

Nash turned sideways. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news first?'

She glanced at him; he was smiling. The bad news couldn't be so terrible. ‘Give me the good news first then.'

‘The good news is Joan Kelly is a secretary. She's secretary of Helmsdale Secondary School. As for the others, Anne Blatchford doesn't work any longer but she used to have a part-time cleaning job at their local grammar school and Tracey Forrest works as a cook for North Riding Caterers. They supply chefs to all the schools in the area. That's it, Clara. That's our connection. One or both of the parents of all seven girls worked in or around schools.'

‘That's brilliant, Mike, but what was the bad news?'

‘Oh that,' Nash grimaced. ‘It took Viv a long time to weed out all that information. Whilst he was busy, Roland Bailey decided he'd had enough of either the interview room or our constable and slung his hook.'

‘Surely he can't do that?' Mironova protested.

‘He's within his rights. He wasn't in custody, hadn't been charged or cautioned. How many times have you told people they're free to leave whenever they want? The only difference is Bailey didn't wait to be told.'

They got back to the station to be greeted by Pearce. ‘I've got three messages for you, Mike.' Pearce's expression was guarded, as if he expected a rocket for Bailey having walked out. He started to apologize but Nash cut him short.

‘There's nothing you could have done about it, as Bailey wasn't under caution. Now, what are these messages?' In addition to the anticipated one from Tom Pratt there had been a call from SOCO and another from Monique Canvey.

He rang SOCO first. The chief forensics officer told him, ‘The DNA traces from the knife used in the Barton stabbing, we've checked them out on the PNC database but there's no match.'

‘I don't think that's going to be a problem, the good news is that you have a sample. I hope to be able to provide you with a couple more. One of which should give us a result.'

‘Okay, but don't forget it'll take three days for an infallible match,' the officer seemed aware he was talking to a rural outpost. ‘The first set of layers takes twenty-four hours minimum, by which time the match is no more than a possibility. Even at forty-eight hours the layer count yields no more than a probability. To be absolutely positive you need the full seventy-two hour profile.'

‘Thank you. I'll do my level best to bear that in mind,' Nash told him. The sarcastic inflexion was totally lost on the forensics officer.

Armed with this additional information Nash phoned Pratt. The Superintendent was more than pleased with developments. ‘It sounds as if you'll have the Barton murder wrapped up soon. That's excellent news. At least it'll stop the press hounding us on one issue. I agree about the Lee Machin case. If this kid was blackmailing
someone, he had it coming and I wouldn't waste too much time on him.'

‘Yes, although he did us one favour. He shot Bailey's alibi for last Friday night down in flames.'

‘You think Bailey's our man, then?'

‘If there's an innocent explanation, I'd love to hear it.'

‘I take your point. No further progress on the Sarah Kelly enquiry, I suppose?'

‘We've established a possible link and we're looking into it.' He gave Pratt the details. ‘I talked to three of the earlier victims' relatives. That was fairly harrowing. I've a load more to interview yet. I'm bracing myself for that.

‘In light of what you've told me, I'll call a halt to the searches. Sounds like a waste of resources. Keep me informed.'

Nash glanced at his watch; he'd just enough time to phone Monique Canvey before the estate agent's office closed.

‘I've finished writing my report, Inspector Nash, sir,' Monique told him, the mock submission in her voice making her sound like a probationary DC. ‘It's just a question of handing it in, sir.'

‘I'm just about finished here,' Nash told her, struggling not to laugh. ‘I could make it this evening if you're free? Where would you like to meet?'

There was a moment's hesitation. ‘This evening would be okay as long as you don't mind coming to my house. I don't go out at night.' She added by way of explanation, ‘Since the attack, I can't.'

‘I understand, what would be the best time?'

Again there was a slight pause before she replied. ‘If you were to come about 6.30 I could fix us something to eat. Then we could go through the list while we're eating. The distraction might prevent me getting upset. I'm not a bad cook, and it will take time to discuss everything.'

‘That's very kind, but I don't know if—'

‘You need the list, don't you?'

Nash decided not to knock her confidence. ‘If you're sure, then I'll see you later.'

 

Monique Canvey's house was a large Victorian villa, standing on a small side road, a house of distinctive character.

Nash sat at the table in the farmhouse-style kitchen talking to Monique as she put the finishing touches to their meal. ‘This house must take some following for someone who's out at work all day. Do you have any help?'

Monique shook her head. ‘None at all, but what I do have is plenty of free time.'

‘Even for the gardens?'

She nodded. ‘Even the gardening.'

Over dinner, conversation turned to the subject of his visit. Nash gained the impression of a solid family unit, with loving parents and devoted daughters, much like Sarah Kelly, Julie Cummings and Caroline Barnes. Here was another possible connection. Had the girls been picked because of their background as well as their looks?

‘It sounds the perfect family life,' he commented as they were finishing their meal.

She smiled, but absently, her thoughts far away. ‘I suppose it was perfect, although you never think of it as such. Later, when everything went wrong, it was too late. I stopped thinking about the past. Do you know how difficult it is to erase every childhood memory?'

Nash shook his head as she gestured to the paper containing her notes. ‘Well, that's what I tried to do, but obviously I didn't succeed. I may have buried them in my subconscious but they haven't gone away. I tried to live for the present, until you bullied me into this.'

‘Was that because of the attack?'

‘And because of what happened later. Don't tell me you haven't got the sordid details recorded on file for every constable to read?'

Nash sensed her anger. ‘Sorry, I'm not with you.'

‘I'm talking about what happened to Mother. Three years after Danny's disappearance Father died of a heart attack. He told me shortly before that he knew Danny was dead. Six weeks after his funeral, Mother waited until I'd gone to work, climbed into the bath and slit her wrists. I found her body. It was only later I realized she'd killed herself on their wedding anniversary.'

‘No, that isn't on file,' he was only stretching the truth slightly. The file had recorded only that Yvette Canvey had committed suicide. ‘So you've had to cope alone since then?'

‘Most of the time.' Her eyes were bright with some emotion Nash was unable to fathom until she delivered her bombshell. ‘Of course, Danny visits me regularly.'

She saw the shock in his face and misinterpreted the expression. ‘Don't you believe in such things?'

Nash recovered slightly. ‘It was the way you said it that surprised me.'

Monique smiled grimly. ‘Well, I didn't believe, so you can imagine what a shock it was. That's partly how I know she's dead. Everyone assumed it, apart from that berk of a so-called policeman in charge of the investigation. But I'm the only one who knows for sure.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Ghosts don't appear unless the person's dead.'

‘That's true, I suppose. Tell me, how alike were you and Danielle?'

‘Absolutely identical.' She smiled at some distant memory. ‘We used to have fun pretending to be each other. It made our teachers cross. They'd ask Danny a question and look at me or vice versa and the answer would come from the other side of the room.'

‘Did either of you have any distinguishing marks, anything to tell you apart?'

‘Yes, Danny had a birthmark just below her throat. It was a tiny, star-shaped mark. Mum and Dad used it to check which of us they were talking to. Why? You didn't suspect I was Danny and that they'd got things mixed up, did you?'

Nash smiled. ‘When you say you get visits from Danielle's ghost, how does that happen?'

‘Whenever I have a migraine attack Danny always appears during the lowest time. At times it made me wonder if I was losing my sanity.'

‘Hardly surprising when you think what you've been through.'

Monique sighed, ‘I hope you're able to find out the truth. Perhaps then I can contemplate a more normal life.'

‘The effect on you must have been really traumatic.'

‘Since the attack I've never been outside this house after dark. I even struck a deal at the office to work shorter hours during winter. Fortunately, business is quieter then. I've never been on a date,
never been to the cinema or theatre, to a dance even. You're the first visitor to this house in almost six years. I mean to actually come over the threshold. You're the first man to set foot inside since Mother died.'

‘One thing you learn in our job is that violent crime doesn't just affect the victims. It affects everyone around them. What's more, it continues to affect them for years afterwards.' Nash thought for a few moments before he continued. ‘I wonder if the effect is worse because Danielle was your twin?'

‘You're very perceptive. Danny and I did have a strong affinity. We experienced each other's emotions, pain, or happiness. That's not all, though. We knew we were one half of a whole, even when apart. Like the time I was in France and Danny was here, when she was in London and I was at home; we didn't feel we were alone. Can you understand that?' Nash nodded. ‘It's not easy to explain. The subconscious feeling that you were not only doing one thing but also something completely different.'

Monique paused and took a drink of water. Her eyes darkened with sadness. ‘That's the other reason I know Danny's dead. I was in a coma for six weeks. When I eventually came round, I felt completely alone. For the first time in my life I'd lost that companionship. It was from that moment I felt certain Danny had gone.'

‘Were you alike in personality?'

‘Pretty much, although Danny was bolder, more outgoing than I. She loved going to parties, clubbing, things like that. I preferred to curl up with a good book or listen to music. She loved sport as well, used to complain if I didn't have time for a game of tennis. She had several lovers too, whereas I'd only had one affair. One proper one, that is, if you know what I mean. That isn't likely to change. Not unless my lifestyle alters dramatically. Well, they say what you've never had you never miss.'

Nash was unable to resist asking, ‘Did she tell you about it, or did you know?'

‘When she'd made love, you mean? Oh yes, I tackled her about it. She just grinned and said “show me a book as exciting as that and I'll read it”, something like that.'

‘Suppose we manage to get this sorted out. Do you think you might be able to lead a less monastic existence?'

‘I don't know. I certainly hope so, but perhaps it's too late. The damage might be irreversible. What I'd really like to do is to sell this house.' She saw his shocked expression. ‘It's a lovely house and it would make a super family home, but it's wasted on me. It's become my prison, holds nothing but bad memories. I wish my parents hadn't bought it, wish we'd never moved here. At the time we were all in favour of the move but in hindsight it was a disaster.'

‘I assumed you'd lived here all your life.'

‘No, we used to live in Netherdale. We moved here when Danny and I were fifteen.'

‘Where would you go? If you were able to sell this house, I mean. Would you stay in the area?'

Monique shook her head. ‘I'd go to my other home,' she smiled at his look of surprise. ‘Did you know my mother was French?' Nash nodded. ‘My grand-mère left the family home to me. She died four years ago, since then my aunt and her husband have taken care of it. It's easy for them, as they live next door. They're often on at me to go live there.'

‘Why don't you, if you want it so badly?'

‘Partly because I'm scared, but mostly because I'd feel I was deserting Danny.'

 

Nash called in at Helmsdale police station on his way back home and left Monique's list on his desk. Pearce was still there, with some mildly disturbing news. ‘I went round to Bailey's house after he did a runner,' he told Nash. ‘It was all locked up, no sign of life. Could be he went straight home from here then scarpered. What do you want me to do?'

‘Not much we can do. It's not as if he's committed any crime that we know of. As far as the law's concerned, he's innocent until we can prove otherwise. All he's done is lie about his movements last Friday. If we start hounding him, we lay ourselves open to accusations of harassment. We'll have to wait until he surfaces. Check with Rushton's tomorrow morning, see if he turns up for work.'

‘Why would he do a runner, if he's nothing to hide?'

‘You're thinking like a copper, Viv. Plenty of innocent people are scared of the police, for all sorts of reasons. It doesn't necessarily mean they've committed a crime. When I was a DC, I went to
interview a witness to a street fight. He hid from me, and I'd to go back three times before I found him. It turned out he thought I'd come about an unpaid parking fine.'

Nash got to bed in reasonable time, swallowed his tablets and was hopeful for a good night's sleep. He thought about the evening he'd spent with Monique, and what she'd told him about herself and Danielle. He was still picturing the two girls when he fell asleep.

 

Something had changed again. Sarah was aware of it as soon as consciousness began to return. Something about her felt different. She felt vaguely nauseous. She opened her eyes. She was dressed again. She noticed this without it seeming in any way remarkable. Nor was she lying on the bed in the nursery. She looked round. The sudden head movement made the room swim for a moment. She waited and her eyes refocused. She felt relaxed, her limbs limp. As far as she could see, the room appeared to be a small breakfast kitchen and she was seated at the table. There was a place setting on the table directly in front of her. She realized she was hungry. She looked down. The clothing she had been put into was another strange set. A long-sleeved paisley-patterned blouse that was buttoned right up to the neck, and a fawn miniskirt. She swung her legs out in front of her and saw she was wearing white ankle socks and sandals. She frowned at the garments in bewilderment. She'd never worn anything like this.

‘Sassy dearest, you've woken up at long last. I've been waiting such a weary time for you to waken.' The same gently caressing voice disturbed her thoughts. She looked up and saw him smiling at her but something he'd said was wrong. What was it? Her name, surely that was wrong? What was it he'd called her? She frowned in a furious effort of concentration. Sassy, that was it, he'd called her Sassy. But Sassy wasn't her name, was it? She felt so confused. It was all too much, too tiring. She gave up the effort.