He sat up in bed. He realized that he had seen the connection all along, and it had been nagging at him. Martin Rogers had caused a near riot on campus for vetoing a speech by a radical Muslim cleric. And Luigi Alessi had been at odds with the Muslim family next door. All three men had clashed with Muslims. And Evan could imagine that young men like those he had met today might well decide to take justice into their own hands.

He got up and paced the room. Bronwen stirred sleepily. "What time is it?"

"Only three thirty. Go back to sleep."

"What are you doing up then?"

"I think I've figured something out, Bron. Each of those murders had a Muslim connection. What if extremists, like those young men I met today, decided to take things into their own hands and mete out justice to people who had insulted them and their religion?"

She sat up too. "I suppose it's possible. Extremists put out a death sentence against Salmon Rushdie for insulting the prophet, didn't they?"

"Those boys were jumpy, Bron. Two of them obviously thought the third was mad for inviting me inside the house. Does that mean they have something to hide in there?"

"Then put your case to your boss in the morning. See what he says," Bronwen said. Then she added, "Luckily it's not up to you to give the order to do something so racially charged. If you're wrong, you'll never hear the end of it."

"I know. But are we going to sit back and do nothing because we want to be politically correct? Mr. Khan said he brought up his children to be proud of British justice. Now it's about time we let British justice take its course."

"Evan the orator." Bronwen smiled. "Now come back to bed. It's freezing and there's nothing you can do until morning."

In the morning Evan presented his thoughts to DI Bragg and suggested that Inspector Watkins be invited to join them. "I would never have made that kind of connection if it hadn't been for the missing Parkistani girl from my own village, the case that Watkins is currently working on," he said.

"I'm not saying I'm right," Evan said. "I'm just saying that this is a connection we can't overlook. When I talked to those boys yesterday, I distinctly got the feeling they had something to hide. I took it to be that they might know what happened to Jamila. But maybe we've stumbled onto something more."

"That's how most things seem to happen, by stumbling on things, isn't it?" For once Bragg's tone was almost friendly. "But if you're right this time, God knows how we'll ever be able to prove it, unless we recover the weapon with fingerprints on it."

Evan went down to the cafeteria to get a cup of coffee. His nerves were as tight as a watch spring. He realized if his suggestion was wrong, he'd probably be the scapegoat. He was onto something, he was sure. He sensed he'd finally got his link. Three prejudiced men, he thought. Three men who didn't care about offending other people, who thought that they were always right, who liked to get their own way. Martin Rogers made a fuss if his egg wasn't cooked the way he wanted it. Terry Owens made a fuss because there were no eggs for breakfast. Their characters-that was what they had in common. That much was indisputable.

He was just downing the last of his coffee when his mobile rang.

"Evan, can you talk right now?" It was Bronwen.

"If it's important. But I've got to get back to work in a second."

"It is important."

"Okay then. Go on."

"I want you to promise me something." She sounded breathless. "I want you to promise that if I tell you something, you will keep it a complete secret and won't repeat it to anyone."

"What is this, Bronwen? Some kind of game?"

"It's no game, Evan. It's deadly serious. It's something you really want to know."

"To do with my work? To do with Jamila?"

"Yes. Will you promise?"

"All right."

"You'll swear on the Bible?"

"Bronwen!" He was annoyed now.

"I can't tell you unless you swear."

"All right. I swear."

"I think I know where to find her."

"Where?"

"I can't tell you, but I can take you there. But on your own. The police can't know."

"Bronwen, I can't just leave and not tell them where I'm going."

"I'm sorry. I'm not being awkward. My hands are tied, and these are the conditions I've been given."

"Somebody's holding her hostage?"

"No, she's safe, but she's being hidden. Do you want to see her?"

"Of course I do."

"Then I'll be outside your headquarters building in fifteen minutes."

The phone went dead. Evan snapped it shut and put it away. He was uneasy about the strange way Bronwen was acting and not at all sure Bragg would let him go if he asked permission. But if he didn't ask permission, then he'd be in trouble. He decided to risk the trouble. Then he had a lucky break. Just as he was leaving the building, he saw Inspector Watkins and Glynis Davies getting out of their squad car. He went over to them.

"What's this, a welcome reception?" Watkins called as Evan approached. "I have to tell you that you've stirred up a right hornet's nest-"

"Look, I need your help," Evan interrupted. "I can't tell you where I'm going, but it's important that I go there. You two know me enough to trust me. More than that I can't tell you, but it might have something to do with finding Jamila. Can you stall Bragg for me? Tell him I've got a lead that has to be followed right away, and I'll check in as soon as I can?"

Watkins stared at him for a moment then shook his head. "I hope you know what you're doing, boyo," he said.

"I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, if you want to know the truth. And I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. Just give me an hour, okay?"

"Evan, you're not thinking of interfering in this operation, are you?" Glynis asked. "Nothing crazy like going alone to check on a terrorist cell."

"Terrorist cell? Who said anything about that?"

"Only this whole thing could turn out to be bigger than any of us imagined, and you could impair the investigation at this point."

Evan looked at Watkins for clarification. "We've been in touch with the Home Office. It appears that one of the lads we've interviewed has been making visits to Pakistan, and it's not to see his aged father. It's possible he's training young extremists right here in Wales."

"So that's why they were so jumpy. Did they let you search the house?"

"Only Rashid's room and, of course, we found nothing. We commandeered the trunk and have taken it to forensics, and that amused them."

"So you don't think I'm crazy for suggesting that these three murders may be some kind of Muslim extremists taking revenge?"

"Let's just say I'm going to recommend that we take no further action until we get more direction from the Home Office. We don't want to blow what could be a national security sweep. I don't know what you think you're going to be doing, but it better not be anything to do with those boys at the university, and that's an order."

"I understand." Evan nodded. "Bronwen's organizing it, and it's more likely to be one of Jamila's friends hiding her somewhere." He saw a car slow on the street outside and recognized Bronwen's fair hair. "There she is now. I've got to go. You will stall Bragg for me, won't you?"

He didn't wait for an answer but ran across the car park and out to the road.

Bronwen was sitting in the passenger seat. Evan climbed into the rear. The driver was a woman he had never seen before, slim, distinguished looking, gray haired.

"Evan, this is Miss Prendergast," Bronwen said. "She is Jamila's English teacher. She's prepared to take us to Jamila, but only if we promise not to reveal Jamila's whereabouts."

"Then she's safe?" Evan asked.

"For the moment, yes," Miss Prendergast said. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you both to do something very strange. I want you to take these scarves and blindfold yourselves. I know it sounds ridiculous but lives can depend on it."

"Very well," Bronwen said and tied hers immediately. Evan followed suit.

"Why all the secrecy?" he asked.

"Because the address of the place I am taking you to must never be revealed," she said.

Within a Ford Escort in the middle of Colwyn Bay, it sounded overly dramatic. Middle-aged spinster were the words that crept into Evan's head. He felt the car pick up speed onto the dual carriageway, then slow into traffic again. Several stops and turns later they stopped, and she turned off the car.

"You can remove your blindfolds now," Miss Prendergast said.

Evan wasn't sure what he would see and was surprised to find they were parked outside an ordinary redbrick house with two large laurels outside the front door, on a perfectly normal suburban street. The house's name, THE LAURELS, was on the front gate.

"This way," Miss Prendergast said, and led them up the front path. As she raised her hand to knock on the front door, she turned back to them again. "I do have your word that none of this will be repeated?"

"Aren't you being a little overdramatic?" Evan asked.

"No," she said. "I'm not. You'll understand when you go inside."

"All right," Evan said. "You have my word."

The front door was opened by another middle-aged woman who frowned at Evan, listened to Miss Prendergast's whispered words, and then nodded, reluctantly.

"Very well, then. They can come in. But I hope you know what you're doing, bringing them here."

"They have given their word," Miss Prendergast said.

"There is to be no pressure put on her, they understand that?" the woman was still talking to Miss Prendergast as if Evan and Bronwen were mere observers.

"Of course. I'll be with them and I have the girl's best interest very much at heart. I believe they do too."

The woman allowed them to step into the hallway.

"What is this place?" Evan whispered, as the woman went back into an office on the right.

"This, my dear, is a safe house for battered women," Miss Pren-dergast said. "I volunteer here. Its whereabouts are known only to a couple of women in social services and to some volunteers like myself. You can understand the need for secrecy. Women come here when they have nowhere else to go. When their husbands have threatened to kill them, and the law can't protect them. They come here literally in fear for their lives."

"And Jamila came here?" he asked.

"Jamila sought me out, very sensibly. She had told me a little of her background when she joined my English class this year. She had obviously sensed I was a person who could be trusted. When she told me her plight, I brought her here immediately."

"May we see her?"

"On condition that you don't try to make her return to her parents."

"Absolutely not," Bronwen said. "I was all for putting her into protective custody the moment I found out what her family was going to do."

"And Bronwen was the one who tried to talk her parents out of their stupid plan," Evan said.

"I am not concerned about Mrs. Evans," Miss Prendergast said. "It's you, Mr. Evans. You are sworn to uphold the law, and you may find yourself being pressured to return her to her family if they succeed in getting a court order."

"I've already given Bronwen my word that I'd say nothing," he said. "Jamila's safety comes first with me too."

"Good. Then follow me."

They passed into a day room in which several women sat, knitting or watching TV. Some of them looked up, nervously.

"What's he doing here?" one of them demanded. "I thought there were no men allowed in the house."

"He's a policeman. Don't worry, it's okay," Miss Prendergast said, as she swept past them, then down another hallway.

"The women take care of themselves," Miss Prendergast turned back to them as they walked down the hall. "They have a roster for kitchen duty, cooking, washing up, cleaning, laundry. The one thing they don't do is the shopping. They can't risk being seen outside. We get most of our food donated by church groups. Jamila's on kitchen duty for lunch, so I'm told."

She pushed open a swing door, and they were in a big kitchen. A large, middle-aged woman was peeling potatoes, humming to herself as she worked. Another woman, this one not much older than Bronwen, was arranging chicken parts in a casserole dish, and the third person was standing at the window, washing up at a huge sink. Only her silhouette was visible against the sunlight, but the long braid down her back made her instantly recognizable She turned as she heard the door open, and her face lit up as she saw them.

"Mrs. Evans-Bronwen!"

Jamila ran across the kitchen to hug her.

"I'm sorry, I've made you all wet." She was laughing and crying at the same time, and Evan noticed that Bronwen was too.

"We've been so worried about you," Bronwen said. "We've thought terrible things. We thought Rashid might have killed you."

"I was afraid too. That's why I went to Miss Prendergast," Jamila said. "When Mummy and Daddy went out, he said some things to me that really scared me. I knew I had to escape while I had the chance." She looked up at Evan. "You haven't come to take me back, have you?"

"We want whatever is best for you, Jamila," Bronwen said, before Evan could answer.

"I don't see how I can go home," Jamila said. "but I don't know where else I could go either. And I can't stay here forever."

"We'll figure something out, don't worry," Bronwen said. "Things have a way of sorting themselves out."

"I hope so. I really didn't want to frighten Mummy and Daddy, but I had no choice, did I?"

"Of course you didn't. You did the only thing you could have done."

Evan watched them, feeling out of place and sensing the uneasy glances from the other women.

"Isn't it time for coffee yet?" the large woman who had been peel ing potatoes asked suddenly. "My throat's that parched. Who's on coffee duty?"

She went over to a roster on a notice board. "It says Sally. Which one is Sally?"

"That new girl who came in the day before yesterday," the woman preparing the chicken said. "You know, the one who had her cheekbone broken?"

"Oh yes, poor thing. We won't bother her then. I can make it."

"No, I'll get her," Miss Prendergast said. "It's an important part of the healing process to make everyone feel that they are needed here and pulling their weight. Sally, you say her name is? Which bedroom is she assigned to?"

"The roster's on the wall over there," one of the women said.

Miss Prendergast went over to a large notice board and started leafing through sheets of paper. "Ah, there she is. Sally. She's in Primrose bedroom. I'll go and find her for you." She looked back at Evan and Bronwen. "You two stay put in the kitchen with Jamila, please."

Evan continued to stare at the roster sheets. He hadn't been close enough to see clearly, as she had flipped through the sheets of paper, but he thought he had read a familiar name. He tried to sound relaxed and casual as he strolled across to the notice board.

"So the rooms are all named after flowers, are they?" he asked, idly flicking through the papers. "That's nice."

He let the sheets fall again and moved away from the bulletin board. His eyes hadn't deceived him. Behind the current month's was still the sheet from the month before. And on that sheet he had seen something that set his heart racing. Surely it couldn't be a coincidence.