"What is it?" Bronwen asked.

"I can't tell you. But it's nothing to do with Jamila." The words came spilling out "It's the other case I'm working on. The three murders. And now I see that I got it wrong before. I've got to call Inspector Bragg right away before he arrests the wrong people."

"What wrong people?" Bronwen's words floated after him, but he was already running down the dark hallway, making for the front door. He stood in the quiet suburban street outside and punched in the numbers, drumming his fingers on the mobile phone while he waited for the inspector to pick up. It seemed like an eternity and all sorts of horrible possibilities flashed through his mind-race riots, home office investigations, himself put on suspension . . .

"Bragg here." As usual he spat out the words

"It's Evans, sir."

"Where the devil are you?"

"I had something I had to check out, and I've got it at last. Look, I can't tell you the details, but I'd like you to bring in Missy Rogers again, right away."

"Missy Rogers? What's this now? I've just sent Wingate and a couple of uniforms to bring in your pal Rashid."

"Call Wingate immediately and tell him to come back," Evan said.

"Did I just hear you give me an order?" Bragg's voice was icily calm.

"I'm sorry, sir. It wasn't meant to sound like that, but it's very urgent. Let's just say that certain facts have just come to light that throw a whole new complexion on things. We've located that missing Pakistani girl, and she's safe and being taken care of. And her brother is in the clear at the moment. So it's quite possible those Muslim boys are guilty of nothing more than a natural suspicion of the police, and we don't want to stir up further trouble."

"So now you're telling me this whole Muslim plot idea was a load of codswallop?"

"I'm afraid so."

"You know what, Evans? You're more trouble than you are worth. I'm asking for you to be transferred out of my unit as of now."

"You do what you have to, sir. But I've only been throwing out suggestions, trying to come up with connections, not presenting you with facts. Now I'm presenting you with a fact. I'm suggesting, with respect, that you bring in Missy Rogers right away, after you've called Wingate."

"So now you're saying my first instincts were right and it was cherchez la femme after all?"

"Yes, sir. I believe you were right all along." Those were probably the hardest words he had ever had to say.

"Hmmph." Bragg gave a pleased little snort. "So do you mind telling me what has made Hercule Poirot change his mind again? What brought you back to Missy Rogers?"

"Call Wingate first, sir. We don't want a race riot around here, do we?"

"No, we bloody well don't. Let's hope I'm not too late."

Evan stood in the street and waited until the phone rang again. It seemed like another eternity while sparrows twittered in the hedge and a mother came past, pushing a pram, while a solemn two-year-old pushed a replica doll's pram beside her. At last his phone rang.

"You've got a lot to answer for, Evans," Bragg barked into the phone.

"Did you get to Wingate in time?"

"Wingate was still at the Muslim lads' house, luckily. He said he sensed they were not going to come quietly-a lot of talk about lawyers and civil rights and all that guff. He was just about to call for backup. So now we look like pansy boys, and those kids are smirking all over their faces, thanks to you."

"Look, I've said I'm sorry. And you have to admit that I did present a credible connection between the three cases. The only one we'd come up with to date."

"Only now you've got a better connection, is that it?"

"It seems that way, sir. In fact, yes, I'm sure of it."

"So do you mind telling me what great detective work you've been doing behind my back so that I don't look like a complete fool when Missy Rogers arrives?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you anything, sir. I've been sworn to secrecy."

"Sworn to secrecy? What bloody game are you playing now? Did you always go in for this kind of dramatics?"

Evan took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything more at the moment, sir. I'm just asking you to trust me."

"And why the bloody hell should I trust you?"

"No reason at all, sir, but I really think I've got it right this time."

"And you can't tell me what it is?"

"Right."

"Go and boil your head, Evans. I'm too old to play games."

"I am not playing games, sir." Evan heard his own voice rising dangerously. "I've been put in a difficult position, and I've given my word not to reveal any details."

"So exactly how am I going to interview Missy Rogers if I'm completely in the dark, Evans? Or did you plan on questioning her yourself, making me look like a fool and getting the glory for yourself?"

Evan felt the blood pounding in his temples. "Let me set one thing straight, sir. I have never wanted glory. I don't want the bloody glory now. But if you bring Missy Rogers in, and then do what I'm going to suggest, I rather think she'll tell you herself."

"And she's going to do that?"

"I believe she might, if she's taken off guard."

"Taken off guard?" Bragg was beginning to sound like a parrot. "Did you always dictate like this to your old boss?"

"Only when I was sure I was right."

"So you're sure you're right now?"

"All I can say is that I have finally come up with some proof that Missy Rogers wanted her husband dead."

Bragg sighed. "I suppose I'm going to have to trust you. If it backfires, it's your head that's going to roll, I can tell you that. And if the Chief Constable hauls me onto the carpet about picking on our Muslim brothers, you can bet your life I'll let him know that it was all your idea, based on misinformation."

"I understand that, sir. You do what you have to. I'm on my way back to HQ right now."

As soon as he had hung up the phone, he called Wingate and then Pritchard. "And don't let Bragg know where you are or what you're doing until I give the signal to come into the room," he said, the words coming out in a rush. "I can't tell you anymore right now. I'm sworn to secrecy or I would. Oh, and don't get the women alarmed. Tell them it's just something we want them to take a look at and identify." Then he hung up before they had a chance to complain or question him too deeply.

He went back into the house, his heart still racing. He couldn't be wrong this time. He had to have got it right. But he knew he was taking an enormous risk. Bronwen was sitting with Jamila on a sofa while Miss Prendergast hovered in the background.

"I'm afraid something very important has come up. Would it be possible to drive me back to police headquarters right away?" he said. "I have to be there when a suspect is brought in."

"I suppose so." Miss Prendergast gave Bronwen a look that said that men were annoying creatures. "Mrs. Evans is going to pass on a message to Jamila's parents that she is safe, and she will contact them when she is ready. Until we can assure her safety there is to be no hint of her whereabouts. I don't need to remind you that her brother presents a very real threat, do I?"

"Of course I understand," Evan said. "Don't worry. I gave you my word."

Bronwen got to her feet, still holding Jamila's hand. "I have to get back to school too, Jamila. I told them I wasn't feeling well this morning but would be in later, but I should get back as soon as I can."

"I understand, Mrs. Evans. Thank you so much for coming to see me," Jamila gave her a watery smile.

"And we will work out what is best for you, I promise," Bronwen said. They hugged again, and Jamila stood looking wistfully after them as they went back down the hall.

"That poor child," Bronwen said, as they drove away. "I promised to do what was best for her, but what can that possibly be? As long as we can't trust her family not to take her out of the country or her brother not to kill her, we can't let her return home to them. So it would have to be a foster home somewhere, and that's a miserable thing for a young girl like her. If we didn't live so close to her family, I'd want to take her in myself."

"We can't keep her in the area, that's for sure," Miss Prendergast said. "My suggestion would be a good boarding school for a while. She's a bright girl. She needs to keep up her academics, and she needs protection. But if the parents take us to court, who knows how it will end up? We may have to return her to them in the end."

"Over my dead body," Bronwen said. "I could phone my old headmistress, and we could spirit her away there for a while. They'd never find her."

"A lot depends on what Jamila decides after the initial shock wears off," Miss Prendergast said. "I know I'll fight tooth and nail to keep her safe."