indsay walked out of the police station and breathed the cold night air deeply. It tasted clean after the stuffiness of Inspector Dart's office. She sighed profoundly, knowing that she still had work to do before she could sleep. The interview had been trying and far from satisfactory. She walked across the deserted market place to a phone box and dialled Paddy's number. It was Cordelia who answered.

'Where are you?' she demanded. 'Do you know what time it is? You said you'd be back by nine. The police have been here looking for you. I've been worried sick.'

Lindsay allowed herself a lopsided wry smile. 'You sound like my bloody mother,' she replied. 'I got caught up, that's all. I'll tell you about it later. I've got one more thing to do, and I'm not sure how long it'll take me. Will you wait with Paddy till I get back?'

Cordelia caught the serious tone in Lindsay's voice. 'Are you all right?' she asked anxiously.

'Yeah, I'm fine; just a bit tired, that's all. I only rang so you wouldn't be worried. See you later.' 'All right. Take care, now. I'll wait up for you.' Lindsay put the phone down quickly. The concern in Cordelia's voice hurt too much. She didn't want to do what she was going to do but she couldn't see any alternative. That didn't take the fear away, however. She left the phone box and quickly walked the half mile to their hotel. She ran upstairs to their room and let herself in. She pulled out her miniature tape recorder from her holdall and checked the batteries. She broke open a fresh pack of tiny cassettes and inserted one. Finally, she did a check for voice level with the machine in her jacket pocket. Satisfied that her equipment was working properly, she took a last look round the hotel room. She thought of writing a note to Cordelia in case anything happened to prevent her safe return, but then dismissed the idea as melodrama¬tic, turned on her heel and marched back downstairs. It took her a couple of minutes to get her bearings, then she set off to walk to James Cartwright's house.

The street was quiet and empty except for a few parked cars. Lindsay shivered when a strong gust of wind caught her face as she turned into Cartwright's drive. There was a light burning in the hall, and a smudge of light on the lawn at the side of the house which Lindsay guessed came from the ground-floor office where she and Cordelia had interviewed Cartwright before.

On the doorstep, she set the tape recorder for voice-automated recording and rang the doorbell. Some time elapsed before it opened, framing Cartwright against the strong light from within. He looked tired and dishevelled, as if he'd gone to seed overnight and as he spoke, his sour gin breath hit Lindsay. 'What the hell do you want?' he demanded angrily.

'I want to talk to you. About Sarah,' said Lindsay quietly.

'You? What the hell do you think you've got to say that I would want to listen to? My daughter's dead, thanks to you, and now you want to talk to me about her? You can piss off.' He moved to close the door, but Lindsay was quicker and pushed her body into the gap.

'That might be what the police have told you, but you and I know a different story, don't we? If anybody drove Sarah to slash her wrists, it wasn't me. I know the truth, Cartwright, and I want to talk to you about it. You can take your pick. Either we talk about it now or I go to the police and talk about it with them.'

He looked suspiciously at her. The blurred look left his features as comprehension drove the effect of the drink away. 'I don't know what you mean,' he replied belligerently. Lindsay said nothing. 'Oh, for Christ's sake, you'd better come in. I don't want a scene on the doorstep,' he sighed.

'You've got a bloody cheek,' he complained bitterly as he led her down the hall to the office. Once there he rounded on her. 'Sit down. Now what's all this crap about the police?'

'I thought I'd like to put a proposition to you,' said Lindsay. 'Forget about blaming me for Sarah's death. It'll go down fine with anybody else, but it won't wash with me.'

His expression was calculating. 'And what's that supposed to mean?'

Lindsay managed to maintain the tough facade she had adopted, though inwardly she was quaking with fear. 'Last Saturday night. Saturday's not been a lucky day for you lately, has it? First Lorna, then Sarah.' A flash of genuine pain crossed his face. 'You're not fit to speak her name,' he spat.

'Leave it out, Cartwright,' Lindsay replied. 'I know how Lorna was murdered, which, thanks to the conversation I had yesterday with Inspector Dart, is getting to be common knowledge. But only you and I know who murdered her.'

A new wariness appeared in Cartwright's face. 'Sarah confessed, you know. Not easy for me to believe, but my daughter did that to try to save my business.'

'Save it for the funeral oration, Cartwright. Though, funnily enough, those are the first true words you've spoken in this whole sorry business. Sarah did just that. She confessed to save both your business and your neck. She was bright enough to know that alive her 'confession' wouldn't stand up to a five-minute police interview. There were too many details of the killing she simply didn't know. And the reason for that is that it wasn't Sarah who killed Lorna. It was you.'

He sat and stared at her, his hands balling into fists on the desk top. 'You must be mad. I've got an alibi. The police have checked. It was Sarah, God damn it, it was Sarah!'

'I've checked it out too. And it's not tight enough. Lorna was killed between half-past seven and twenty to eight. You could just have done it on the basis of the times you were actually seen in the two pubs. Sarah couldn't have done it, though. By twenty-five to eight she was in Longnor. That only leaves you with the necessary knowledge and skill to assemble that scaffolding and kill Lorna.'

'You can't prove that. If you could, or thought you could, you'd be telling the cops, not me.' He got to his feet and started pacing about the office restlessly.

'I can prove that Sarah couldn't have done it. I've got a witness who will swear to where Sarah was at the crucial time. You've had it, Cartwright. So listen to my proposition.'

His lips curled in a sneer. 'You're talking rubbish. But let's hear this so-called proposition. If it's blackmail you're after, forget it. I haven't got a bloody penny.'

'I got involved in this business because Paddy Callaghan was arrested. Since then, a lot of people have had a very shitty time because of you. I think it's only fair that you should make it up to them in some small way. So all I'm asking is a written undertaking that you will withdraw from all negotiations concerning the purchase of Derbyshire House's playing fields. When I get that, I'll forget everything I ever knew about Lorna's murder. Do we have a deal?'

He continued to pace back and forth. 'If I pull out, which I might say is because of the way I feel about my Sarah's death, what guarantee do I have that you're not going to go around spreading these slanderous lies about me?'

'Why should I say anything? I'll Have got what I want.'

'And what's to stop you coming back any time in the future and making more demands?'

'You'll just have to take my word for that.'

His seemingly aimless striding around had brought him to within a few feet of Lindsay's chair. Suddenly he lunged at her. Caught by surprise, she could only struggle feebly as his weight overturned the chair and pinned her to the floor. His hands were round her throat, squeezing. She could feel the bursting pressure in her chest as her lungs fought for air. Just as she felt her head start to swim, his hands came away as he jerked her to her feet and pulled his arm round her throat in a half-nelson. She gulped air desperately as he pulled her back so hard that her toes scrabbled to stay on the floor. With his free hand, he picked up a stiletto paper knife from the desk top. He held it to her temple and growled, 'That's what I think of your lousy proposition, Miss Gordon. Now I'm going to let go of your neck. And you're not going to move a muscle. One move and this goes straight into your smart little brain. If you're clear about that, say yes.'

Lindsay swallowed hard and croaked, 'Yes,' through a dry throat. He let her go and moved surprisingly quickly round in front of her. 'Walk backwards towards that other desk. One step at a time.' She stumbled backwards until she backed painfully into the metal edge of the desk. He moved so close she could smell the combination of stale gin and sweat. She could feel bitter vomit rising in her throat and swallowed it back with effort. He reached beyond her and picked up a roll of coloured plastic tape. 'Now turn around and walk slowly to the chair by the wall. The one with the arms.' Lindsay obeyed, bewitched by the knife that was now pricking into her neck just below her ear. When she reached the chair, he punched her roughly into it and handed her the tape. 'Use your left hand to tape your right wrist to the arm of the chair,' he told her. 'And make a good job of it.' Lindsay did what she was told like an automaton. Only now was her numbed mind beginning to come out of shock and beginning to reason. Not that that was much help, since she couldn't think of anything that could be effective against this animal with the knife.

He watched her carefully, and picked his moment well for the next part of his operation. His hand darted out and grabbed her left wrist. Without breaking the tape he swiftly taped her free hand to the chair, throwing the knife on to the floor.

Lindsay tried to kick him as he bent over her, but her foot only glanced off his shin. He started with the pain and reacted swiftly with a hard slap to the head that Lindsay felt the length of her spine. 'Bitch,' he spat. Try that again and I'll kill you here and now. And don't think I'm bluffing. That was Lorna Smith-Couper's mistake.' He moved to the side of the chair and pushed it away from the wall. He came round behind her and started going through the pockets of her jacket. He removed the tape recorder triumphantly. 'I thought you might have one of these,' he crowed. Tm not daft, you know.' He opened the machine and pulled out the cassette. He walked over to a metal bin and began to draw the tape viciously out of its plastic cassette. When he reached the end of the tape, he took a cigarette lighter from his desk and set fire to the tape, which blazed briefly then died.

Thought you'd got me, didn't you?' he gloated. 'Well, you were wrong. Now I've got you. And you're not going to live long enough to tell your little tale to anybody else. This bloody land was worth killing once for. It's got to be worth killing twice for it.'

Lindsay found her voice. 'Make that three times. You as good as killed Sarah as well.'

'Don't say that,' he almost screamed. 'I know why Sarah died. It was because of your meddling. If you'd kept your nose out of this nobody would have ever known anything about that bloody scaffolding. It was you that killed my daughter, you bitch.'

'Keep thinking that if it helps. But one day you're going to have to face the fact that Sarah preferred to die rather than live with a murderer.'

A cunning look crept across his face. 'You're trying to make me lose my temper, to give you a chance of coming back at me. Well, it won't work. Where's your car? Is it outside?'

Surprised by the change in tack, Lindsay blurted out, 'No, it isn't.'

'Where is it then?'

Lindsay couldn't work out why the question was being asked, but some instinct for self-preservation made her keep her mouth shut.

He moved back to face her. 'I asked where your bloody car is.'

'Find out your bloody self,' Lindsay retorted. Before the words were out of her mouth, his hand slashed at her face again. Pain blotted out her consciousness for a moment. When she could sense anything again, she tasted blood and felt her mouth beginning to swell. Her left eye felt on fire. She shook her head to clear it.

'Where's your car?'

He grasped the little finger of her left hand and began to bend it backwards. Lindsay gritted her teeth as the pain flooded through her arm. 'It's at the school,' she gasped.

He let go. 'All the better. No one will have noticed it here. We'll go and collect it a little later on. You're going to have a nasty accident. Driving away from the school. There's a lot of really bad bends up on the Cat and Fiddle road. Somebody who doesn't know their way around and likes to drive fast could easily have a fatal accident up there. Don't worry, you won't feel a thing. A bump on the head, that's all. I'll drive you up there in your own car and we'll send it over the side. Shame you don't like wearing a seatbelt, isn't it?'

Lindsay stared at him with pure hatred. 'You bastard,' she said, her words slurring slightly.

He moved towards her again. But before he could reach her the door burst open and Inspector Dart ran into the room followed by half a dozen uniformed officers. 'Police!' he yelled. 'Stop right there, Cartwright. Okay, lads, take him.' They rushed towards him in a body. Cartwright picked up the fallen chair Lindsay had been sitting on previously and hurled it at the approaching policemen, then threw himself through the window. He'd reckoned without Dart's foresight. He dived, bleeding, straight into the arms of Dart's sergeant and another group of uniformed men. He thrashed out blindly but it was only a matter of seconds before they overpowered him, handcuffed him and hustled him off to a waiting police van.

While the struggle was going on, Dart crouched behind Lindsay's chair and picked the tape away from her wrists. She felt herself close to tears and collapse, but she was determined not to give way in front of the policeman. 'You took your bloody time,' she complained weakly. 'I was beginning to think the radio mike had packed in when he jumped me.'

'You did well,' Dart said as he helped her to her feet and lit a cigarette for her. 'We picked it all up loud and clear. I took the precaution of having a shorthand writer take it all down as well as taping it, just in case. We wanted to let him hang himself good and proper, since he seemed reluctant to make anything amounting to an admission. Probably because he guessed you were wired. That was a good idea of yours to take your own tape recorder. It put him right off his guard after he'd disposed of that. Now we can probably get him for attempted murder on you as well.'

'Terrific. That makes me feel it's all been worthwhile,' said Lindsay ironically. 'Now, could one of your lads take me back to Derbyshire House? I've had enough for one day.'

'We'll need a full statement from you. But that can wait till the morning. Don't you think you should go down to the hospital and get checked over?'

Lindsay shook her head. There's nothing broken. I'd knew if there was. I'm just bruised and shaken. Nothing a good night's sleep won't put more or less right. But thanks for the belated concern,' she added. She walked out of the room on very nearly steady legs.

A few minutes later the police car drew up outside Longnor House. Lindsay glanced across at her car. It seemed many hours since she'd left it. She glanced at her watch and was astonished to see it was barely past midnight. I'll never feel the same about that car again,' she said to the policeman with her. 'If that bastard had had his way, it would have been my coffin. Tell the Inspector I'll see him tomorrow about noon.'

The door into the house was locked. Lindsay's shoulders sagged. It was the last straw. She leaned against the wall of the porch and studied the bells. Housemistress. Senior Mistress. Junior Mistress. She pressed the top bell and prayed for Paddy.