he phone was ringing when Cordelia let herself in, but before she could reach the nearest extension, the answering machine picked up the call. No hurry, she thought, climbing the stairs. She took off her sheepskin, went into their bedroom, and swapped her boots for a pair of slippers. She carried her briefcase through to her study, then headed for the kitchen. She put on some coffee to brew and, with a degree of anticipation, went to read the note from Lindsay she'd spotted on her way past the memo board. She wished she'd been able to dash down to Brownlow to be with Lindsay when she'd needed her and was gratified when she found that her presumed errant lover was due home within the half hour. Only then did she play back the messages stored on the machine.

All were for Lindsay, and all were from Duncan, increasingly angry as one succeeded another. There were four, the earliest timed at noon, the latest the one she'd nearly picked up when she came in. It was all to do with some urgent query from the office lawyer about her copy, and Duncan was clearly furious at Lindsay's failure to keep in touch. Cordelia sighed. It was really none of her business, but she toyed with the idea of calling Duncan and making soothing noises while explaining that Lindsay was due back at any minute. She got as far as dialing the number of the newsdesk but thought better of it at the last minute and replaced the receiver. Lindsay wouldn't thank her if she had the effect of irritating Duncan still further, which, knowing him, was entirely possible.

Cordelia poured herself a mug of coffee, picked up the morning paper, and ambled through to the living room. She sat down to read the paper but decided she needed some soothing music and went over to the record and tape collection to select her current favorite, a tape Lindsay had compiled of Renata Tebaldi singing Mozart and Puccini arias. She slotted the tape into the stereo, noting with annoyance that the power was still switched on and that there was an unidentified tape in the other deck. It aroused her curiosity, so she rewound the tape and played it back. The series of hisses and whines puzzled her, but she shrugged and put it down to some bizarre exercise of Lindsay's. She stopped the tape and went back to her coffee and paper to the strains of "Un Bel Di Vedremo."

She was immersed in the book reviews when the phone rang again. She picked it up, checking her watch, surprised to see it was already ten past eight. "Cordelia Brown here," she said.

"Thank Christ somebody answers this phone occasionally!" It was Duncan, sufficiently self-confident not to bother announcing his identity. "Where the hell is she, Cordelia? I've been trying to get hold of her all bloody day. She's got her bloody radio pager switched off, too, the silly bitch. I mean, I told her she could have the day off, but she knows better than to do a body-swerve when she's got a story on the go. Where is she, then?"

"I really don't know, Duncan," Cordelia replied. "But I'm expecting her back any minute. She left a note saying she'd be back by eight, and she's usually very good about punctuality. I'll get her to call as soon as she gets in, okay?"

"No, it's not okay," he retorted with ill-grace. "But it'll have to do. I'll have her on the dog watch for a month for this. Makes me look a bloody idiot, you know?"

"I'm sorry Duncan. You know it's not like her to let you down."

"She's got some bloody bee in her bonnet about this peace camp. It was the same over that bloody murder in Derbyshire but at least she was freelance then. She owes me some loyalty for giving her a job. I'll get no proper work out of her till this is cleared up," he complained.

"You don't have to tell me, Duncan," Cordelia sympathized. "I'll get her to call you, okay?"

Cordelia sat for a moment, the first stirrings of worry beginning. Lindsay was pathologically punctual. If her note said "home by eight," then home by eight she'd be, or else she'd have phoned a message through. She always managed it; in the past, she'd bribed passing motorists or British Rail porters to make the phone calls on her behalf. Presumably, Lindsay was visiting Deborah, since she'd been so worried about her condition. And there was no point in fretting about that. She was only twenty-five minutes late, after all.

On an impulse, Cordelia went through to Lindsay's desk and checked her card-index file to see if there was any contact number for the peace camp. The only number that seemed to suit her purpose was that of the pub the women used regularly. She keyed in the nine digits and when a man answered, she asked if Jane was in. She was told to hang on and, after a few minutes, a cautious woman's voice said, "Hello? Who is this?"

"Is that Jane?" asked Cordelia. "This is Cordelia."

"No, it's not Jane. She's not here. Do you need to get a message to her?"

"Yes, I do. It's really urgent. Would you ask her to call Lindsay Gordon's home number as soon as possible, please?"

"No problem. Lindsay Gordon's home number," the voice said. "A couple of the women are going back in five minutes, so they can tell Jane then. She'll get your message in about quarter of an hour."

Fifteen minutes stretched into twenty for Cordelia. She poured herself a glass of wine, though what she craved was a large Scotch. But she wasn't taking the chance of being over the limit if she had to drive anywhere to rescue Lindsay from some mess or other. After twenty-five minutes, she raked around the house till she found a packet with a couple of Lindsay's cigarettes left in it and lit one.

The phone had barely rung when Cordelia snatched it up, praying for Lindsay's familiar voice. She was unreasonably disappointed to find Jane on the other end of the line.

"Hi, Cordelia. I got this urgent message to phone Lindsay. Is she there?"

"No," Cordelia sighed. "The message was from me. I'm trying to track her down. She seems to have dropped out of sight, and, given the events of the last few days, I'm a bit worried. I don't suppose you know where she's gone to?"

"I'm sorry, love. I was hoping this message was from her, to be honest. She was supposed to come to the hospital to see Deborah tonight, but she hasn't shown up. I took Cara in for five minutes to see her mum, and I deliberately left it till towards the end of visiting time to give Lindsay a chance to spend a bit of time with Deborah if she was up to it, but the policeman on duty said Lindsay hadn't been at all. I was pretty amazed because the last thing she said this morning was that she'd see me there tonight," Jane said.

"So, when was the last time you saw Lindsay?" Cordelia asked.

"This morning. Not long after nine. She'd been in to see Deborah, and I went along for moral support. She came out from seeing Deborah and asked if I could make my own way back to the camp because she'd got to go to Oxford urgently. Look, Cordelia, I wouldn't worry about her. She's probably been held up on something to do with work," Jane reassured her.

"No," Cordelia replied. "Her office is going nutso because she hasn't been in touch with them either. It's odd - she's been back here and left a note since then. God knows where she's gone now. She didn't say why she was going to Oxford, did she? Or who she was going to see?"

"She didn't mention any names, but she did say it was something to do with a computer," said Jane. "I'm sorry I can't be more help."

"No, you've been great," said Cordelia. "Look, if by any remote chance she turns up, will you tell her to phone the office as soon as possible, on pain of death? And me too?"

"Of course I will," said Jane. "I hope you get hold of her soon. She'll probably be chasing some story that's the most important thing in the world to her right now. I'm sure she's okay, Cordelia."

"Yeah, thanks. See you." Cordelia put the phone down. Oxford and computers. That could only mean Annie Norton. She trailed back to Lindsay's desk to try and find a number for Annie. There was nothing in the card-index, and Lindsay's address book listed Annie without a phone number. Cordelia tried directory enquiries, but wasn't surprised, given the way her luck was running, to find that Annie was ex-directory. A trawl through Lindsay's address book produced three other mutual friends who might be able to supply a number for Annie. Predictably, it took her three attempts to get what she wanted.

"Annie? I'm sorry to interrupt you. It's Cordelia Brown here," she apologised. "I was wondering if by any chance you know where Lindsay is? Did she come to see you this morning? The thing is, she's disappeared, and her office are desperate to contact her."

"I'm sorry, Cordelia, I really have no idea where she might be. Yes, she was here, but she left my office about half past ten, I guess. She gave me no indication of where she was heading then." Annie sounded reluctant to continue the conversation.

"I'm sorry if this is an awkward time..." Cordelia trailed off.

"I have some people for dinner, that's all," said Annie.

"I'm just really worried about her, Annie. She never goes walkabout like this. Not when she's got work on. She's far too conscientious. Do you mind me asking, what was it she wanted to know about?"

Annie relented, touched by the concern in Cordelia's voice. "She had left a computer tape with me for analysis, and she came round to collect the results. She did say that she intended to get back to London tonight. This attack on Deborah has taken a lot out of her. I think it frightened her badly."

"I know that," Cordelia replied, "but what was this tape all about? What kind of tape was it?"

"It was an ordinary cassette tape." That made sense, thought Cordelia, remembering the tape in the stereo. "But I think you'd better ask Lindsay what it was about. I'm not in a position to discuss it, Cordelia. I'm sorry, I'm not being obstructive, just cautious. I think there are too many people involved already."

"What do you mean, Annie? You can't leave it at that!"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said as much as I have. Lindsay's mixed up in something that could cause a lot of hassle. I told her she should be talking to the police about it, not me. Maybe she took my advice."

"Jesus, Annie, what the hell's going on? Are you saying she's in danger?"

"Don't worry, Cordelia. I don't imagine for one minute that she's in any danger. She'll be in touch. She could be trying to phone now, for all we know. Take it easy and don't worry. Lindsay's a born survivor. Look, I'd better go now. Tell her to give me a call in the morning, okay?" Annie's tone was final.

"Okay," said Cordelia coldly. "Goodbye." Her anger at Annie's nonchalance had the salutory effect of making her do something to fight her own growing anxiety. She collected the mystery tape, pulled on her boots and sheepskin and ran downstairs. She climbed into the BMW and joined the night traffic. When she reached the motorway, she put her foot down and blasted down the fast lane. "Please God," she said aloud as she drove. "Please let her be all right." But the appalling fantasy of Lindsay's death would not be kept at bay by words. Cordelia was near to tears when she pulled up in the car park of Fordham police station just before ten o'clock. She marched inside, determined to find out what had happened to Lindsay.

She marched up to the duty officer. "I need to see Superintendent Rigano," she said. "It's a matter of great urgency."

The officer looked sceptical. "I don't know if he's still here, miss," he stalled. "Perhaps if you could tell me what it's all about we'll see if we can sort it out."

"Why don't you check and see if he is here? You can tell him that I need to speak to him about the Deborah Patterson attack," she responded crisply.

He compressed his lips in irritation and vanished behind a frosted-glass partition. Five minutes later he reappeared to say grudgingly, "If you follow me, I'll take you to the Super."

She found Rigano sitting alone at his desk going through a stack of files. The lines on his face seemed to be etched more deeply, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. "So what is it now, Miss Brown? Can't Miss Gordon run her own errands? Or is she just keeping out of my way?"

"I was hoping you might be able to tell me where she is," Cordelia enunciated carefully. "She appears to have vanished, and I rather thought that was police business."

"Vanished? If she's vanished, she's done it very recently. She was here till about six o'clock. And that's only four hours ago."

Suddenly, Cordelia felt foolish. "She was due home at eight o'clock. She hadn't phoned by nine. I know that probably sounds nothing to you, but Lindsay's got a real fetish about punctuality. She never fails to let me know if she's not going to make it at a time she's prearranged. Especially when we've not seen each other for a day or two." Don't dismiss me as a hysterical female, she pleaded mentally.

"You don't think that you might be overreacting?"

"No. I believe she had some information concerning Rupert Crabtree's death and the attack on Deborah that might have put her in danger. I'm scared, Superintendent. I've got a right to be."

A spasm of emotion crossed his face. But his voice was cool. "Do you know what that information was?"

"Not in detail. But something to do with a computer tape, I believe."

He nodded. "Okay. I think we may be a little premature here, but let's make a few enquiries anyway."

She expected him to dismiss her or summon a subordinate, but he picked up his phone and dialed an outside number. "Mrs. Crabtree?" He said. "Superintendent Rigano here. I'm sorry to trouble you. Is Simon there by any chance?... In London? When did he go, do you know?... Yesterday? I see. And you expect him back Saturday. Yes, a computer exhibition. I see. Do you know the number of his stand? You don't? Never mind. No, it's not urgent. Has anyone else been trying to contact him?... No? Fine, thanks very much. Sorry to have disturbed you. Good night."

He clicked a pen against his teeth. Then he dialed an internal number. "Davis? Get in here, lad," he demanded. A moment later the door opened, and a plain clothes officer in shirtsleeves entered. "Where's Stone?" Rigano asked him abruptly.

"I don't know, sir. He rushed off about six, just before you went out. He's not been back since."

"What do you mean, he rushed off?"

"He came out of his room like a bat out of hell, sir, and ran out to the car park. He took off in that souped-up Fiesta of his."

"Jesus," Rigano swore softly. "I don't believe this. Is his room locked, Davis?"

"I suppose so, sir. He always locks up after himself."

"Okay. Get me the master key from the duty officer. I'm bloody tired of not knowing what's going on in my own station." The young officer looked startled. "Go on, lad, get it." He departed on the double.

"What's going on?" Cordelia asked.

"Sorry, can't say," he replied with an air of such finality that Cordelia couldn't find the energy to challenge him. There was silence till Davis returned. Then the two men left the room together. Five interminable minutes passed before Rigano stormed back into the room. His fury was frightening, his face flushed a dark crimson. Ignoring Cordelia, he grabbed the phone, dialed a number and exploded into the phone, "Rigano here. I'm letting you know that I intend to lodge a formal complaint about Stone. Do you know he's been bugging my office? Not only has he destroyed this force's credibility over this whole investigation, but now he's taking the law into his own hands.

"Listen, I have good reason to believe that someone could be in a situation of extreme prejudice thanks to this, and I'm not going to lie down and die any longer. You'll be hearing from me formally in the morning." He slammed the receiver down. His hands were trembling with the force of his rage.

The storm had done nothing to ease Cordelia's growing fear. Rigano turned to face her and said carefully, "I'm not happy about it." He sighed. "I wish to hell she'd listened to me. Is she always so damned headstrong?"

"Never mind the bloody character analysis. Where is she? Who is she with? She's in some kind of trouble, isn't she? What's going on?" Cordelia almost shouted.

"Yes, she's in trouble. Deep trouble."

"Well, why are we sitting here? Why aren't we doing something about it?"

"I'm going to get her," he said decisively. "It's going to cause all sorts of bloody aggravation. But I can't leave her to stew. I can't walk away from it. Miss Brown... I suggest you go home and try not to worry. She should be home by morning. If not, I'll let you know."

Cordelia could not believe her ears. "Oh no!" she exploded. "You don't get rid of me like that. If you're going to get Lindsay, I'm coming too. I will not be fobbed off with all this static. Either you take me along or I'm going to get on the phone to Lindsay's boss and tell him she's been kidnapped by one of your sidekicks. And everything else I know."

"I can't take you with me," he said.

"I'll follow you."

"I'll have you arrested if you try it."

It seemed like stalemate. "I know about the tape," said Cordelia. "I know where there's a copy of the analysis of it, too," she said, guessing wildly about Annie's involvement. "Take me with you or the lot goes to Lindsay's paper. Even if you arrest me, I get to make a phone call eventually. That's all it'll take. And just think what a story it'll make - famous writer sues police for wrongful imprisonment."

He shook his head. "There's no point in all this blackmail, believe me. I give you my word, I'll get her back to you."

"That's not good enough. Something's going on here. And I can't leave it in anyone else's hands. It's too important."

He finally conceded, too worn out to carry on the fight. "All right. You can follow me. But you won't be allowed to come in."

'Why? Where the hell are you going? Where is she?"

"GCHQ Cheltenham, I think."

"What?"

It was nearly midnight when they reached the main gates of the intelligence complex. As Rigano instructed, Cordelia parked as unobtrusively as possible about quarter of a mile from the brightly lit gate. She watched as Rigano drove up and, after five minutes, was admitted. Tearing irritably at the cellophane on the packet of cigarettes she'd bought at a petrol station en route, Cordelia prepared herself for a long vigil. Rigano wasn't exactly her idea of the knight in shining armour. But he was all she'd got.