ill Bryman had offered to drive Lindsay the mile back to the peace camp principally because he thought he might be able to prise more information from her than the bare quotes she had handed out to the pack. He was out of luck. Neither gratitude nor friendship would make Lindsay part with those pearls she had that were printable. But as she left the Crabtree's house, she noticed that the Special Branch man with the red Fiesta was back, which added indefinably to her eagerness to leave the scene. So she had frankly used Bill's car as a getaway vehicle to escape her colleagues and any watching eyes. As soon as he pulled up near the van, she was off. There was hardly a sign of life at the camp, and she realised a meeting must be in progress. Clever Cordelia, she thought.

She struggled through the mud in her high heels to Cordelia's car and retrieved her other clothes. Back at the van, she changed into jeans and a sweater then set off jogging down the road towards the phone box on the main road, in the opposite direction to Brownlow Common Cottages. She had deliberately chosen the further of the two boxes in the neighborhood to avoid being overheard by any fellow journalists hanging around waiting to talk to their offices. To her relief the box was empty. She rang the police at Fordham to check that there were no new developments, then got through to the Clarion's copy room. She dictated a heavily edited account of her interview with Emma and Simon Crabtree, coupled with an update on the case.

When she was transferred to the newsdesk, Duncan's voice reverberated in her ear. "Hello, Lindsay. What've you got for me?"

"An exclusive chat with the grieving widow and son," she replied. "Nobody else got near them, but I had to give a couple of quotes to the pack in exchange for the exclusive. You'll see them from the agency wire services, probably. Nothing of any importance. Any queries on the feature copy I did earlier?"

"No queries, kid. Your copy has just come up on screen, and it looks okay. Any progress on the exclusive chat with the bird who broke his nose?"

Lindsay fumed quietly. How much did the bastard want? "Hey, Duncan, did you know that women get called birds because they keep picking up worms? I doubt if I'll get anything for tonight's paper on that. The woman concerned is still a bit twitchy, you know? First thing tomorrow, though. I'll file it before conference. And I've got another possible angle for tomorrow if the lawyers won't let us use the interview. Apparently there were one or two wee problems with Crabtree's ratepayers' association. Possible financial shenanigans. I'm going to take a look at that, okay?" Lindsay couldn't believe she was taking control of the conversation and the assignment, but it was actually happening.

"Fine," Duncan acknowledged. "You're the man on the spot, that sounds all right to me. Stick with it, kid. Speak to me in the morning." The line went dead. Man on the spot, indeed. She made a face at the phone and set off at a leisurely pace to the camp.

As the benders came into sight, she saw that things were no longer quite so quiet. Outside the meeting tent were several figures. As she got closer, Lindsay could distinguish Cordelia, Jane, Deborah, Nicky, and a couple of other women. There seemed to be an argument in progress, judging by the gestures and postures of the group. Lindsay quickened her pace.

"Lindsay!" Jane exclaimed. "Thank goodness you're here. Maybe you can sort this mess out."

Cordelia interrupted angrily. "Look, Jane, I've said already, there's nothing to sort out. Just count me out in future."

"Look, just calm down, all of you," soothed Deborah. "Everybody's taking this all so personally. It's not any sort of personality thing. It's about the principle of trust and not reneging on the people you've entrusted something to. You know?"

"Are you saying I'm not to be trusted?" Cordelia flashed back.

"Personally, I don't think either of you are," Nicky muttered.

"It's really nothing to do with you, Cordelia," Jane replied in brisk tones. "The women find it very hard to trust people they see as outsiders and they used up all their available goodwill on Lindsay."

Exasperated, Lindsay demanded, "Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

The others looked at each other, uncertain. Cordelia snorted. "Typical," she muttered. "Everything by committee. Look, Lindsay, it's pretty simple. You asked me to sort out the alibis for you and your pet policeman. I figured the quickest and most logical way to do it was get everyone together. So I got Jane to call a meeting. Which eventually got itself together only to decide that I wasn't right-on enough for them to cooperate with. So I upped and left, which is where you find us now."

Lindsay sighed. Jane said with no trace of defensiveness, "I think that's a bit loaded, Cordelia. The women didn't like someone they perceive as an outsider calling a meeting and making demands. We had enough difficulties getting agreement on asking Lindsay for help. Maybe you could have been a bit less heavy. I still think they'll be okay if you both explain to them why we need the information to protect ourselves and to protect Deborah. Right now, it's seen as being simply a case of us doing the police's job for them and exposing ourselves to groundless suspicion."

Cordelia scowled. "You can do all the explaining you want, but you can leave me out of the negotiations. I've had it. I'm going back to London," she said, and stalked off towards her car.

"How childish can you get?" Nicky asked airily of no one in particular.

"Shut it," Lindsay snarled. "Why the hell did nobody help her? Debs, could you and Jane please go and talk them down in there? I want a word with Cordelia before she goes. I'll be back as soon as I can." She ran off in Cordelia's wake and caught up with her before she could reach the car.

Lindsay grabbed her arm, but Cordelia wriggled free. Lindsay caught up again and shouted desperately, "Wait a minute, will you?"

Cordelia stopped, head held high. "What for?"

"Don't take off like this," Lindsay pleaded. "I don't want you to go. I need you here. I need your help. It's perfectly bloody trying to deal with this situation alone. I've got to have a foot in both camps. Nobody really trusts me either; you know I'm just the lesser of two evils, both for the women and for the police. Don't leave me isolated like this."

Cordelia continued to stare at the ground. "You're not isolated, Lindsay. If you go into that meeting, you won't be humiliated like I was. It's not enough with these women to have your heart in the right place. You've got to have the right credentials too. And my face just doesn't fit."

"It's not like that, Cordelia. Don't leave because there was one hassle between you." Lindsay reached out impulsively and pulled Cordelia close. "Don't leave me. Not now. I feel... I don't know, I feel I'm not safe without you here."

"That's absurd," Cordelia replied, her voice muffled by Lindsay's jacket. "Look, I'm going back to London to get stuck into some work. I'm not mad at you at all. I simply choose not to have to deal with these women solely on their terms. All right? Now don't forget, I want to know where you are and what you're doing, okay? I'm worried about you. This deal you've done with Rigano could get really dangerous. There are so many potential conflicts of interest - the women, the police, your paper. And you should know from experience that digging the dirt on murderers can be dangerous. Don't take any chances. Look, I think it will be easier for you to deal with the peace women if I'm not around. But if you really need me, give me a call and I'll come down and book myself into a hotel or something."

Lindsay nodded, and they hugged each other. Then Cordelia disengaged herself and climbed into the car. She revved the engine a couple of times and glided off down the road, leaving a spray of mud and a puff of white exhaust behind her. Lindsay watched till she was long gone, then turned to walk slowly back to the meeting tent.

She pushed aside the flap of polythene that served as a door and stood listening to Deborah doing for her what someone with a bit of sense and sensitivity should have done for Cordelia. Deborah finally wound up, saying, "We've got nothing to hide here. We asked Lindsay to help us prove that. Well, she can't do it all by herself. When she asks us for help, or sends someone else for that help, we should forget maybe that we have some principles that can't be broken or suspicions we won't let go, or else we're as bad as the ones on the other side of that wire."

Lindsay looked round. The area was crowded with women and several small children. The assortment of clothes and hairstyles was a bewildering assault on the senses. The warm, steamy air smelled of bodies and tobacco smoke. The first woman to speak this time was an Irish woman; Lindsay thought her name was Nuala.

"I think Deborah's right," she said in her soft voice. "I think we were unfair the way we spoke before. Just because someone broke the conventions of the camp was no reason for us to be hostile, and if we can't be flexible enough to let an outsider come in and work with us, then heaven help us when we get to the real fight about the missiles. Let's not forget why we're really here. I don't mind telling Lindsay everything I know about this murder. I was in my bender with Siobhan and Marieke from about ten o'clock onwards. We were all writing letters till about twelve, then we went to sleep."

That opened the floodgates. Most of the women accepted the logic of Nuala's words, and those who didn't were shamed into a reluctant co-operation. For the next couple of hours, Lindsay was engaged in scribbling down the movements of the forty-seven women who had stayed at the camp the night before. Glancing through it superficially, it seemed that all but a handful were accounted for at the crucial time. One of that handful was Deborah, who had gone on alone to the van while Lindsay talked to Jane. No-one had seen her after she left the sing-song in Willow's bender.

Trying not to think too much about the implications of that, Lindsay made her way back to the van. She looked at her watch for the first time in hours and was shocked to see it was almost eight o'clock. She dumped the alibi information, then went down to the phone box yet again. She checked in with the office only to find there were no problems. She phoned Cordelia to find she had gone out for dinner leaving only the answering machine to talk to Lindsay. She left a message, then she checked in with Rigano.

"How is our deal progressing?" he asked at once.

"Very well. I'll have the alibi information collated by morning, and I should have a fairly interesting tape transcribed for you by then. Tomorrow, I'm going to see William Mallard. Do I need your help to get in there?"

"I shouldn't think so. He's been giving interviews all day. The standard hypocrisy - greatly admired, much missed, stalwart of the association." She could picture the expression of distaste on his mouth and thought a small risk might be worth the taking.

"Any mention of the financial shenanigans?" she enquired.

"What financial shenanigans would they be, Miss Gordon?"

"Come, come, Superintendent. You live here, I'm just a visitor, after all. There must have been talk, surely."

"I heard they had a disagreement, but that it had all been cleared up. The person you want to talk to in the first instance is not Mallard but a local farmer called Carlton Stanhope. He was thoroughly disenchanted with the pair of them."

"Do you think he'll play for an interview? That's just the sort of person I need to crack this," Lindsay said.

"I don't know. He's not as much of a stick-in-the-mud as a lot of them around here. He's been helpful to me already. He might be persuaded to talk to you off the record. Being outside his circle, he might tell you a bit more than he was prepared to tell a policeman. And, of course, you could pass that on to me, unofficially, couldn't you?"

"Any chance of you helping me persuade him?" In for a penny, thought Lindsay.

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Lindsay crossed her fingers and prayed. Finally, Rigano spoke. "I'll ring him tonight and fix something up. I'm sure if I ask him, he'll give you all the help he can. Besides, he might even enjoy meeting a real journalist. How about half past ten tomorrow morning in the residents' lounge of the George Hotel in Fordham?"

"Superintendent Rigano, you could easily become a friend for life. That will do splendidly. I'll see you then."

"Oh, there won't be any need for me to be there. But I'll see you at ten o'clock in my office with the information you've gathered for me so far. Goodnight, Miss Gordon."

By the time she got back to the camp, Lindsay was exhausted and starving. She made her way to Jane's bender, where she found her deep in conversation with Nuala. Jane looked up, grinned at her and said, "Cara's with Josy's kids. Deborah's in the van cooking you some food. You look as if you could do with it, too. Go on, go and eat. And get a good night's sleep, for God's sake. Doctor's orders!"

Lindsay walked back to the van, realising that she was beginning to find it hard to remember life outside the peace camp with real houses and all their pleasures. But the thought was driven from her head as soon as she opened the van door. The smell that greeted her transported her back into the past. "Bacon ribs and beans," she breathed.

Deborah looked up with a smile. "I got Judith to whizz me round Sainsbury's this morning. Cooking your favorite tea's about all I can do to thank you for all you've done."

"Wonderful," said Lindsay, "I'm starving. Is it ready now?"

Deborah stirred the pot and tried a bean for tenderness. "Not quite. About fifteen minutes."

"Good, just long enough for you to tell me your version of events on the night of the murder during the crucial time for which you have no alibi. Care to tell me exactly what you did?"

Deborah left the stove and sat down at the table. She looked tired. Lindsay took pity, went to the fridge and took out a couple of coolish cans of lager. Both women opened their beer and silently toasted each other. Then Deborah said, "I'm afraid you're not going to like this very much.

"After I left you, I came back to the van and made sure Cara was sleeping quietly. I was just about to brew up when I remembered I wanted to get hold of Robin. He's staying at my place just now. We did a deal. I said he could stay rent free if he did the plumbing for me. I've never been at my best with water. It's the only building job I always try to delegate. Anyway, I'd been thinking that I wanted him to plumb in a shower independent of the hot water system.

"So I thought I'd better let him know before he went any further, and I decided to phone him."

Lindsay broke in. "But your house isn't on the phone."

"No. But if I want to get hold of Robin, I ring the Lees. They've got the farm at the end of the lane. They send a message up with the milk in the morning telling Rob to phone me at a particular time and number. It works quite well. So I went to the phone."

"Which box did you go to?"

"The wrong one, from our point of view. The one nearer Brownlow Common Cottages."

"Will the Lees remember what time it was when you phoned?"

"Hardly. No one answered. They must have been out for the evening. So I just came back and made a brew."

"Did you see anything? Hear anything?"

"Not really. It was dark by the perimeter fence anyway. I thought I might have seen Crabtree walking his dog, but it was quite a bit away, so I wasn't sure."

Lindsay sat musing. "Any cars pass you at all?"

"I don't remember any, but I doubt if I would have noticed. It's not exactly an unusual sight. People use those back lanes late at night to avoid risking the breathalyser."

Lindsay shrugged. "Oh Debs, I don't know. I just can't seem to get a handle on this business."

Deborah smiled wanly. "You will, Lin, you will. For my sake, I hope you will."

Later, fortified by a huge bowl of bacon and beans, Lindsay settled down to work. It took her over an hour to transcribe the tape, using her portable typewriter. Next came the even more tedious task of typing up her notes of the camp women's alibis. It was after midnight before she could put her typewriter into its case and concentrate again on Deborah, who was curled up in a corner devouring a new feminist novel.

"You look like a woman who needs a hug," said Deborah, looking up with a sympathetic smile.

"I feel like a woman who needs more than a hug," Lindsay replied, sitting down beside her. Deborah put her arms round Lindsay and gently massaged the taut muscles at the back of her neck.

"You need a massage," she said. "Would you like me to give you one?"

Lindsay nodded. "Please. Nobody has ever given me back-rubs like you used to."

They made up the bed, then Lindsay stripped off and lay face down on the firm cushions. Deborah took a small bottle of massage oil from a cupboard. She rubbed the fragrant oil into her palms and started kneading Lindsay's stiff muscles.

Lindsay could feel warmth spreading through her body from head to foot as she relaxed.

"Better?" Deborah asked.

"Mmm," Lindsay replied. She had become aware of Deborah's nearness. She rolled over and lightly stroked Deborah's cheek. "Thank you," she said, moving into a half-sitting position.

Deborah slid down beside her, and their two bodies intertwined in an embrace that moved almost immediately from the platonic to the passionate, taking them both by surprise. "Are you sure about this, Lin?" Deborah whispered.

For reply, Lindsay kissed her.