 
# The Last Laugh

## Tony Nash

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Tony Nash 2013

ISBN 9781631737374

A Hand Full of Dust

The Tony Dyce Thrillers:

Murder by Proxy

Murder on the Back Burner

Murder on the Chess Board

Murder on the High 'C'

Murder on Tiptoes

The Harry Page Thillers:

Tripled Exposure

Unseemly Exposure

The John Hunter Thrillers:

Carve Up

Single to Infinity

The Most Unkindest Cut

The Devil Deals Death – (A Black Magic Thriller)

The Makepeace Manifesto

Panic

A Handful Of Dust

A Handful Of Salt

This is a work of pure fiction, and any similarity between any character in it and any real person, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional. Where actual places, buildings and locations are named, they are used fictionally.

" _He who laughs last, laughs, laughs, laughs, laughs, laughs........." (Anon.)_

CHAPTER ONE

The scarecrow on its pole looked out over the field towards a large straw stack in the middle distance. Whoever made the figure had given it a repulsive, grinning face and evil eyes. A small child's blue anorak covered its straw shoulders and a tatty pair of discarded lovat moleskin trousers had been stuffed with straw for the legs. On its head was a vintage bowler hat with a large hole in the top, through which a score or so of straws poked up into the weather. The field, one of just over eighty acres, planted with clover and almost ready for its second cut of the year, was a magnet for woodpigeons. They ignored the scarecrow completely, and a flock of over a hundred had landed and was having its morning feed just yards away from it. A vague path ran through the tall grass along the edge of the field, and by its side where it met the road was a decaying, small wooden sign with the direction, 'To the Beach'.

A police car passed slowly on a normal patrol, the male driver and female passenger more interested in their desultory chat and their awakening sexual attraction to each other than scanning the fields on either side.

Lying in the straw at the bottom of the stack, Billy Harsley lay fast asleep, still dressed in the clothes he wore when he left home: a dark grey pair of long trousers, a brown jacket, a dark blue shirt and a lighter blue, long-sleeved pullover. Each garment had a strip of light grey ribbon carrying his name sewn inside it. By his side lay a full plastic shopping bag, holding his vintage transistor radio, some apples, sandwiches, cakes and biscuits, and bottles and cans of drink.

A scrawny ancient male rat appeared out of a crack between the straw bales and eyed the small sleeping creature. It eased forward, unsure of the different and strange smells coming from the new intrusion into its well-known world. Among the other smells there were some it had not encountered before around its home on the marsh, but which could possibly indicate something edible. It emitted a low squeak, and the youngster stirred, having a bad dream, where he saw a ragged figure stabbing viciously, over and over again, at something on the ground, using a long knife, its blade running in blood. Billy's face twisted in torment, and his body rolled over. The rat, suddenly scared, fled back into its hideaway.

The scrabbling sounds woke him. He opened his eyes quickly, still afraid.

Seeing nothing to alarm him, he sighed with relief. He shivered, yawned, stretched and rubbed his stomach, then opened his bag and took out an apple and a can of Cola. He pulled the ring off the tin and began to drink and eat.

As the sun came from behind a small, puffy white cloud its rays struck the face of the scarecrow and made its grin look even more evil.

CHAPTER TWO

While Billy consumed his meal, the crew of the 'Eisenstern', an eight hundred ton cargo ship which had fought the six-knot ebbing tide until it tied up by the quayside in Great Yarmouth harbour, were working hard. To a man they were worn out after fighting the sea and going without sleep for more than twenty-four hours, but pleased to be safe in harbour. The old freighter, built to less than exacting requirements in 1953, and maintained to the lowest acceptable standards by a company whose only interest was the bottom line, was well past its sell-by date. The crew did what they could to keep her running, but were fighting a steadily losing battle. They had had to put back in to Bergen for engine repairs when half a day out, and sixty miles off their destination the engine had stopped again as the wind increased to near gale force. They'd made up and put out a drogue anchor, but the freighter wallowed almost side on to the seven-foot waves for almost three hours before they got the engine going again. The ship's outdated and badly worn winches and cranes were being used to unload her cargo of timber from Norway, and some crewmembers were working on a large piece of machinery near the fo'cstle. The German skipper, Heini Schlitter, a good-looking, blond six footer, with sky-blue eyes, in his late thirties, wearing a white roll-neck pullover, dark blue trousers and a marine cap at a jaunty angle, was walking along the corridor on the lower deck with two bowls of dog food in his beefy hands.

His left ear itched, and he juggled the dishes, stopping for a moment, in order to rub the lobe, thinking about the itch and frowning slightly, with the seagoing man's superstitious fear. Walking on, past the several doors in the corridor, he finally reached his destination – a door formed of steel bars, with a large padlock securing it.

Inside the cabin-sized kennel lived the two ship's dogs, Mukki and Moos, the former a small mongrel, with a character so appealing that his expression appeared almost human, the latter a quiet, steady Doberman. Unusual when food was in the offing, Moos lay supine at the back of the kennel. Mukki stood just inside the door, howling.

Heini shouted, 'Mukki! Hör auf!' and the dog stopped, its head cocked to one side and eyes wide.

Suddenly the captain heard very loud mechanical knocking, and shouted, 'Mensch! Musst Ihr so viel Lärm machen?'

He turned back to the dogs and spoke in a much quieter voice, 'Na, Jungs –Frühstück.' He set the two bowls down on the floor of the corridor, took a large bunch of keys from his trouser pocket, unlocked the padlock, opened the door, picked up the dishes and carried them into the kennel, setting them down on the floor inside and closing the door behind him firmly, but not locking it.

Mukki did two excited laps of the kennel then ran up to greet him, and Heini stroked the mongrel's head. The captain noticed that the dog was moving rather stiffly in its hindquarters and shaking from time to time. He wondered if something was wrong with the animal, but then decided, 'Du wirst alt, oder?' Mukki was fifteen years old and Heini had had him as a six-week-old pup. He knew that most small dogs lived no longer than fifteen years, and had steeled himself in preparation for what he knew must happen before too long. He loved both his dogs, but Mukki held the top spot in his affection. Moos was only four years old, and a much steadier companion, whose affection for his master was obvious, but more subdued.

The little mongrel began to eat as if he had seen no food for days. The big Doberman still lay motionless on the floor, and Heini crossed to him and fondled his head.

' **Na, Moos, frisst du nicht? Du hast ja normalerweise so einen guten Appetit. Komm!'**

He helped the dog to its feet and across to the other dish of food. Mukki was still eating voraciously. Moos sniffed at the dish.

' **Ja – das ist richtig. Du bist mein braver Hund.' He turned and stroked the smaller dog's head, 'Ach, Mukki, du auch, natürlich.'**

A noise like an explosion, followed by a loud hiss was followed by great clouds of steam billowing into the corridor and kennel.

Mukki started running round and round in the kennel, frightened.

Heini wrenched open the door and stepped into the corridor, leaving the door open. He shouted, 'Zum Teufel! Was ist passiert?'

Mukki, momentarily out of his sight, ran out of the open door of the kennel behind him and away along the corridor, disappearing round the corner at the end.

Unable to see what was wrong through the clouds of steam, Heini decided he had to investigate. He turned quickly, closed and locked the door of the kennel, then realised he could not see Mukki. He peered harder through the steam, reacting when he realised that the little dog was gone. He whistled and shouted, 'Mukki! Mukki! Hierher! Mukki!'

He was torn between the two demands on his attention, but realised that the other problem needed his attention more and swore, 'Ach, Scheisse!' before running towards the source of the steam.
CHAPTER THREE

Trying not to fall over, with Cleo fussing continuously round the legs of her pyjama trousers, Carole Summerset opened the door of the cupboard, took out a packet of Kittykat and began to open it, reaching for a dish with her other hand.

' **Oh, Cleo, give over.' She told her beloved 'bitsa', whose daddy had definitely been a travelling man. 'It's coming up on the next lift.'**

Cleo knew it was, but wanted to continue showing how much she appreciated her mistress. Carole loved all cats, but Cleo was her ideal – a genuine 'moggy', with a lineage as mixed as it was possible to get. She was a half dozen colours, ranging from yellow to black, with all shades in between. Three of her paws were white, and one black. Her left eye was in the middle of a black patch and the right was surrounded by brown. She was gorgeous! At least, Carole thought so. She just had to have her when she saw her in the RSPCA kennel, and had given them five times the asking price.

She put the food on the tiled floor and Cleo began to wolf it down.

Carole made herself a latte and some toast while the cat ate, thinking about the new development.

Her meal finished, Cleo jumped up onto the table. To begin with Carole had tried to stop her, then realised she was fighting a losing battle, and just let it go. She realised that, as with old dogs, you can't teach a cat new tricks.

' **I can't decide if I'm angry or upset, Cleo.' She told the cat. When Richard had first gone off to Bramshill he wrote regularly once or twice a week, filled with sentences containing the first person plural and always speaking of love. Slowly they decreased to one a month; the first person plural became the first person singular and if any affection was felt it was obviously for that person only. For the last five months of his course there had been no word at all. They had joined the Force on the same day, and both had been constables at the Wymondham headquarters when he was selected for the fast track to inspector rank and sent to the police training college. Both had degrees, but his was in law, while hers was in criminal psychology. A month after he went off she had been posted to the Great Yarmouth station as a newly promoted sergeant. Her boss there, Inspector Hugh Gladwin, was a weary veteran and just coming up to retirement. It was a happy station and she'd settled down well in her new post.**

She fussed Cleo's head, 'What do you think, pusscat? Should I be pleased or not, being with Richard again? He's obviously gone off me, and I hoped I could stop loving him, but I don't know if I can. I think he must be able to hear my heart banging away every time I'm near him.' The cat purred happily and Carole sighed, 'You know, you are no help at all.'

Though she and Richard Transome had been a couple since schooldays, they had been more like brother and sister until their late teens. Trips out gradually turned into dates as they became more aware of their sexuality, but they had never been lovers. When he first went away she was sorry she had not given herself to him, as he'd wanted. Now she was glad. They had renewed their friendship at Wymondham and the romance was blossoming, with intimacy looming again – until he'd been sent off to the College.

Life at the station was an interesting mixture and kept her busy, so that the time passed rapidly. She had just reached the point where she believed she could forget the man she had always loved, when she heard that he, too, was to be posted to Yarmouth, to take Gladwin's place. Her thought her heart would burst: her excitement grew daily, and she tried to think of ways she could show her love, foolishly ignoring the fact that he had not contacted her about the move.

They had always talked about a house with a big garden and lots of exotic plants. Both sets of parents were keen gardeners. She believed he liked plants as much as she did, and as a surprise for him, and with Gladwin's permission, she filled the inspector's office with a variety of expensive pot plants, which cost her almost a week's wages.

His arrival had been a strain: on the one hand she wanted to hug and kiss him – impossible anyway in front of the rest of the staff – and on the other he had seemed distant with her, merely shaking her hand, as he had with the others. There had been no smile, no endearing eye contact, and his hand had not held hers for more than fleeting seconds. Of course, she thought, he can't show any feelings with the others watching, but then he could have shown some recognition. Though they were the same height, she'd had the feeling he was looking down at her, almost through his nose. She recognised the symptoms: he was just full of himself and his new post, and right from that moment she began to think of him as 'The Big I-am'.

Being second in command at the station she had expected to be asked to follow him into the inner office, but the door was closed in her face. She did hear through the door his explosive, 'Bloody hell!'

She ran into the ladies' loo and cried – something she had not done since a child. Not only did he not want her, the surprise had obviously backfired.

Determined not to let him see she'd been upset she washed her eyes several times and re-did her makeup, then sat on the top of the loo seat for twenty minutes, trying to slow her fast-beating heart.

When she emerged, Marjory, one of the civilian staff, told her, 'He's been asking for you.'

She knocked at the door and entered at his shouted, 'Come in.'

He did not get up from behind the desk, and did not invite her to sit. He couldn't help running his eyes over her though. She was in uniform, but hatless, and, at twenty-four, in her prime; a pretty, if not quite beautiful blonde, with baby-blue eyes, a thirty-four B bust, which he had once managed to fondle, and great legs, the tops of which had always filled his dreams.

' **So, here we are together again, Carole.'**

' **So it seems.'**

' **Fate is strange. Do you think Dyce arranged it?'**

Detective Chief Inspector Tony Dyce had been their superior officer at Headquarters, and knew of their earlier attachment. It was possible.

' **Could be.'**

Transome felt he needed to make something clear and did not hesitate, 'You realise that we will have to be circumspect with our relationship, don't you?'

Carole was not going to have that, 'I'm sorry, Sir; I was not aware that we had one.'

He looked miffed, 'Of course we do. Don't you want to carry on from where we left off? In private, naturally.'

She was suddenly furious: the cheeky bastard! Thinks he can treat me like a dirty dishcloth and then get into my knickers – he's got another think coming!

She tried to keep her voice even, 'No, I don't think so. Surely your exalted seniority would make that impossible.' She decided to throw a heavy spanner into the works, 'In any case, I am engaged now – to Jack Arnold. He's an officer in the merchant navy and his ship is in Rio de Janeiro. He'll be home soon, and we'll probably be getting married.'

He blustered, 'Well, you don't sound very sure of him, and we do go back a long way. I agree there is something in what you say, but I'm sure we could work something out.'

She snorted, thinking: not while you're up there on your high horse, Buster!

She added to the lie, 'You seemed to have forgotten me, so I've made a life for myself without you. I've not heard a word from you for almost a year. What was I expected to do – wait for you for forever? I think we should forget the past, and concentrate on the future, as unattached colleagues.'

' **I see.' He realised what a mistake he'd made, expecting her to be ready to fall into his arms. He knew he should have kept writing – should have looked her up with flowers and chocolates when he returned to Norfolk. He still loved her, but self-importance had dominated his life for the last half year, and he found it impossible to allow himself to crawl. 'If you think so.'**

' **I do.'**

' **The woman on the desk tells me you brought these plants in. I don't think they go with---'**

While he looked for a word that would injure less, she angrily filled it in for him, 'Your exalted image?'

' **No, not that, of course.' She had hit the nail on the head, and both of them knew it. She noticed the trace of a blush and thought there might just be some feeling in there after all.**

' **This is, after all, the office of the senior----oh, all right, leave them be.'**

Carole smiled sweetly, 'I knew you'd like them.'

She turned, and without waiting to be dismissed walked out of the office, closing the door behind her.

She was not summoned and he did not appear for the rest of the day, even to ask for a coffee. She left on the dot of five, without seeing him again.

Since then they had maintained a distant, office relationship: just two ships sailing close to one another and exchanging signals now and then. Every few weeks she took in another plant, just to annoy him.

He had tried on several occasions to speak to her on personal subjects, but she maintained her stance, and intended to do so for as long as he stuck to his high ideas of himself. He was not the lovely, simple boy she'd loved for so many years. He was the stuck-up, bloody ignorant pig of an officer she still loved! It was painful being around him all the time, but the ball was in his court. She wanted to hate him; certainly to stop loving him, but it was no good. Several times she almost asked for a posting, but knew it would not do her career any good, and she wanted so badly to go up the ladder.

She drank the last of her latte, gave the cat one more fuss with her hand, and got up to go for her shower. 'There's one thing for sure, Cleo. If I am promoted, I'll make sure I'm a better bloody officer than Bighead Transome!'

CHAPTER FOUR

The cause of her concern sat at his desk on the second floor of the Great Yarmouth police station, writing a letter on his desktop computer, applying once again for re-grading to detective. He fancied himself in plain clothes, in fact he fancied himself full stop! He'd managed to put behind him the feeling of inferiority he'd had at Bramshill. He had his degree – the LLB, and that had got him fast tracked, but he knew that he was not a gifted scholar. The qualification for him had come from long days and nights of rote learning – hundreds and hundreds of hours spent pouring over his books, while his fellow students went out on the pull or boozing, able to learn and remember enough to get qualified without the slog he'd had to put in. Uni was one thing, Bramshill was something else again. At the police college the students were almost exclusively brilliant; the work was intense, unlike at Uni, and he had felt, and was, inferior. Once again he'd slogged away at the theory and managed to pass, but both he and his talented instructors, who'd seen it all, knew his limitations. One thing he would miss if he got accepted for detective would be his own office, he knew. If it were not for those bloody plants that Somerset kept bringing in, it would be exactly as he wanted it, the desk running parallel to the back wall, his own comfortable chair behind it, and two uncomfortable ones in front, to stop guests from overstaying their welcome. On his desk just the computer, the telephone, two correspondence trays, marked 'In' and 'Out' - he had never been one for 'Pending' - and his pager, all perfectly aligned in regimental order. To the right of the window stood a filing cabinet of the lockable type, with another of those damned plants on it. Two large one-inch Ordnance Survey maps - Sheets 126 and 137 - covering the area of Norfolk from Cromer in the North to Lowestoft in the South, and from Yarmouth in the East to beyond Norwich in the West, dominated the rear wall behind the desk.

Wonderful – except for those plants. He had tried tipping tea and coffee into them, but they seemed to thrive on it, and he dared not use weed-killer. He still fancied the pants off Carole Somerset, but she seemed to hold him in contempt, and he could not for the life of him think why – he was obviously a much better 'catch' now that he was an inspector, for God's sake!

**He tried to remember the names of some of the monstrosities she had brought in. One he knew was a shrimp plant – she called it a Belloperone Guttata, a name better suited to some kind of pizza. 'Would that be** _with_ **the mushrooms, Sir?' The one on the floor near the door was Pteris Cretica, next to a damned great rubber plant that to his mind seemed to increase in size every night – a Ficus Elastica – he remembered that one because it sounded like something mind-boggling from the Kama Sutra. A huge cheese plant was living up to its Latin name in the corner, trying to take over the room – the Monstera Deliciosa. He could not for the life of him think what might be delicious about it.**

He re-read the letter, long ago saved on the computer, wondering what had been wrong with it to cause his rejection three times already, made a few minor alterations, which he hoped would make it more likely to succeed. The fact that his superiors did not consider him detective material would never occur to him.

A very short, quick knock at the door preceded its opening, and the trim figure of Carole Somerset entered, smiling sweetly, but not, he thought, for him. She was taking the piss, he knew. He had a quick vision of her imagined naked body, arms held out towards him.

He let out a low groan, which she took to be for the plant she was carrying in both hands, and her smile broadened. It had worked as she expected.

' **Lovely, isn't it? You'll have your work cut out remembering the name of this one - it's a Schlumbergera Gaertneri.'**

' **Do you really have to?'**

' **You know the old saying, 'Say it with flowers.'**

' **Is that why you brought me the poison ivy?'**

' **How else could I show my undying devotion and adulation?'**

' **Are you open to suggestions?'**

' **You don't mean suggestions, you mean propositions. If you were still the same sweet constable I used to know, I might just be in the market.'**

She was not going to give in until he came down off his high horse. The lovable lad she knew must still be in there somewhere, but at the moment he was just too bloody big-headed. Handsome, yes, but he needed taking down a peg or two. He used to think before he spoke; now he made instant decisions and believed himself infallible. Oh, why the hell did the powers that be have to send him to Bramshill?

He realised when he was on the losing end, and changed the subject, 'That's an ugly brute, as the actress said to the bishop.'

' **It's lovely! What thanks is that for me buying you a present – looking my Rhipsalidopsis in the back teeth?'**

' **Your what?'**

' **Rhipsalidopsis gaertneri – but if that's too difficult for a Bramshill man, you can call it a schlumbergera – it won't be offended.'**

' **I don't like it – period.'**

' **You're lucky – I nearly bought you another monstera deliciosa.'**

' **But you knew I already had one.'**

' **Bragging again?'**

Transome shrugged and pointed to the Swiss Cheese plant, 'I don't know why you keep bringing the damned things. You know I can't stand them.'

' **Oh, you love them really. It's just that hard, hateful exterior that pretends not to.'**

' **Well, it's that hard, hateful exterior that's telling you to get the...'**

She cut in with a little shriek of mock fright, 'Your Pteris Cretica! It's got leaf-blotch eelworm!' She very dramatically picked off a slightly discoloured leaf, holding it out at arm's length in mock horror. He got out of his chair, mock menacingly, and advanced on her, 'Sgt Somerset...'

She squeaked, 'Oooh! But look – your Belloperone Guttata is having a baby.'

She delicately cupped her hand under a new 'shrimp' on the plant.

Transome looked as if he was going to blow a fuse, 'Will you...'

He was interrupted by the telephone ringing.

' **Grrr.' He picked up the phone, 'Norfolk Constabulary, Inspector Transome speaking.' He listened and began to smile sarcastically, 'Just one moment, Madam, we have an officer specially delegated to deal with cases of this kind.' He held his hand over the mouthpiece, 'One for you, Sergeant.'**

Carole stopped toying with the plants, crossed to the desk and took the receiver from him.

' **Sergeant Somerset. How can I help you?' She listened, frowning in puzzlement, while he watched, amused. 'Now, please calm down, Madam, and try to tell me, slowly and clearly, what happened.' She listened again, trying now and then to get a word in, in vain.**

Transome watched Somerset smile slightly at what she was hearing on the phone. She nodded, 'Yes, I'm still here, Madam. Now...' She began speaking very firmly, 'Madam! Have you opened the vacuum cleaner? You haven't? Well, I suggest you do so straight away – your little Jimmy may still be alive in the bag. Yes, I really do. Yes, I'll wait.'

A long pause ensued. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and gritted out, 'Thank you... Sir.'

Transome grinned, 'You're an animal lover, aren't you?'

' **Maybe so, but it's you who's the bird fancier.'**

She took her hand off the mouthpiece, 'Hello, yes. Oh, did it?' She tried to control a fit of the giggles, 'Yes, well, I'm sorry about the mess, but you know if you'd taken it outside, your budgie would have flown away, and then we'd have the Fire Brigade involved, too, wouldn't we? Not at all, Madam, that's what we're here for. Oh, no, please – it's not at all necessary to send a reward...........a pair of hand knitted earmuffs for the Inspector? Oh, yes, that might be a good idea.'

Transome pulled a face.

' **Thank you, and if I could make a suggestion, perhaps next time you ought not to use the vacuum cleaner to clean out the budgie's cage while your little Jimmy is still inside it......Yes, goodbye' She replaced the receiver, just managed to say, 'Poor old girl.' and burst out in peals of laughter.**

' **Stupid old biddy, you mean.'**

' **You'll be senile one day.'**

He realised it was the nearest they had yet come to sharing a personal moment and decided to press his luck, 'Well, I'm certainly not yet, so how about dinner and a show tonight?'

' **I know just what you want to show. Are you never going to give up? You know how long ago I burnt my bra.'**

' **We had a good thing going once.'**

' **Oh – you want to talk about once upon a time? Ah-hah! Okay! Here's a fairy story for you then: once upon a time there was a sweet, naïve little police person, who loved an honest but ambitious constable of the opposite sex, and they looked forward happily to a life of cohabitation and combating crime together...and the pitter-patter of little guard-dogs' feet...and then...one fateful day...someone up** _there,_ **' She pointed and looked upwards, 'on the Home Office Mount Olympus, looked down and said, 'There is the blue-uniformed male person we want! Tantata-tantatara! We'll make him 'Supercop'.' So they took him from his pleasant, happy, ordinary little world, made him a Bramshill scholar, and sent him to college to become a male, chauvinist pig of the first water. So heed the Word, all ye who should believe – she never fancied him after he gave up his truncheon...Hallelujah!'**

' **Flattery will get you nowhere.'**

' **Oh, get...'**

' **Basta! And in case you think otherwise, that's Italian, and talking of spaghetti, there's that new Wop chop shop just opened, where they tell me the pizza is out of this world – so what about it? It'll do you good to have a break. Purely platonic arrangement, if you like.'**

' **That's about as likely as your rubber plant fruiting motor tyres – but I bet you'd use it as an excuse to do a Van der Walk on me with the bill.'**

' **Now, honestly, would I?'**

He was interrupted by a sharp rapping on the door, and nodded to Carole to open it.

A man in his forties, dressed in a well-cut double-breasted suit, with a military-style tie stood in the doorway. With him was a handsome blonde woman in her late thirties, wearing a worsted skirt and jacket, over a white, frilly blouse. She looked worried and insecure; the man just seemed angry.

Carole Somerset was surprised that the front desk had sent them up without informing her, but asked pleasantly enough, 'What can we do for you?'

The man spoke sharply, 'I'm a busy man, and I've had to take time off work for this.' He looked over Carole's shoulder, 'Are you Handsome?'

' **Transome.' gritted the Inspector, thinking, I'll have that bugger on the desk!**

' **I beg your pardon?'**

' **Transome – the name is Transome.'**

' **Oh, I'm sorry, the Sergeant on the desk...'**

' **Yes, he would. You are Mr and Mrs Harsley, I take it? At least, he got that right. Come in and sit down.'**

Carole Somerset was regarding him warily; he'd not mentioned anything of this visit, nor why the couple was there.

The man and woman walked in and over to the two chairs that Transome pulled out for them.

Carole crossed to the filing cabinet, opened the top drawer, and pretended to be looking for something, but was listening intently.

Transome pulled a report form from the top drawer of his desk and picked up a pen. 'Now, a few particulars, if you don't mind. The name is...'

' **Harsley, Ernest Harsley.'**

' **And the address?'**

' **Eighty-three, Old Town Terrace.'**

' **The sergeant said his name was Billy, is that correct?'**

' **Yes, that's right, Inspector, but we ought to h...'**

' **William!' The woman cut in.**

' **I beg your pardon?'**

' **William. His name is William. We just call him Billy for short.'**

The father jumped in, 'But not for long. He's never there.'

' **But he answers to Billy, not William?'**

' **Oh...yes, Billy.'**

Transome wrote again, 'And he is...how old?'

' **Ten'**

' **Eleven.' They spoke together.**

Transome looked up, quietly waiting, tapping the end of his pen with his finger, trying, unsuccessfully, not to look annoyed. Carole stood with her back to them, grinning.

The mother elucidated, 'Eleven. He'll be eleven next Monday.'

Transome spoke as he wrote, 'Ten years, eleven months. Is he an only child?'

' **Yes...we tried...but...' Her voice died away as her husband looked at her disgustedly, shaking his head.**

' **And when did you find out he'd gone?'**

' **When I went to wake him this morning. I was letting him have a lie-in because the school has a teachers' training day. His bed had not been slept in. He must have left the house just after I tucked him up last night.'**

' **Did he take anything with him?'**

' **Only some food and drink from the fridge...oh, and his old tranny...'**

Transome grimaced in query.

' **His transistor radio. He prefers that to these newfangled things – says it has a nicer bass.'**

' **Clothes?'**

' **Dark grey trousers, a dark blue shirt and a blue, long-sleeved pullover. Oh, and a brown jacket.'**

' **No tie?'**

' **He doesn't like ties.'**

' **What sort of boy is he – outgoing or a loner?'**

' **Oh, he's outgoing – he'll talk to anyone, and he's got a vivid imagination.'**

Mr Harsley nodded his head vigorously, 'Hmmph! Too bloody vivid, if you ask me!'

Transome ignored the interruption, 'You brought a recent photograph?'

' **Oh.... yes.' She shuffled the contents of her handbag and took out a photo, 'It was taken at his Gran's in Exeter last month...in her garden at the back. She's got a swing for the children. He likes going there; she spoils him and...'**

Transome cut in, 'Any likelihood he will head for there now?'

' **No...I shouldn't think so...at least, he hasn't in the past.'**

Transome called to Somerset, 'Sergeant, have this photocopied straight away – a hundred copies.'

Carole took the photograph and looked at it, 'What a swee...'

Transome spoke over her, 'How many times has he run away?'

The sergeant glared at him and left the room.

The father chipped in, 'Three times before. Twice this year, the little devil. Just wait till I get my hands on him. I'll give h...' His voice died away as he realised what an impression he was creating.

Transome was interested suddenly, thinking he might have to get Social Services involved, 'You punished him severely before?'

The woman cut in, worriedly, 'Oh, no, Inspector. He has a good home, and he is happy there. He has everything he could want: toys, clothes, computer...'

Transome said it all, 'Then why would he run away?'

Their faces told different stories. The father tried to hide his embarrassment by pushing the fault onto Transome, 'What are you doing about finding him? That's what we pay you for!'

' **You said that he doesn't go far. Is that correct?'**

' **The first time, he was missing for two days. When he came home, he told us he had been in next-door's garden shed the whole time. The second time was in the school holidays and he'd found a way into the gym. He stayed there for three days and came home when his food ran out. Last time he used the church in the next street and the vicar found him.'**

' **So he never goes out of town?'**

' **Not so far.'**

' **I'll have all my mobile units on the lookout for your son, and all our available staff will be searching house to house. I will have his photograph and description in this evening's newspaper and tomorrow's daily, and on the Anglia news programmes. We will find him.'**

' **Why don't you organise a hunt outside the town? That's what you do when a child is missing, isn't it?'**

Transome was on a loser, and knew it, but hesitated, 'If he had never run away before, or had gone beyond the town boundaries previously, I would agree, but at the moment it would be a misuse of resources, and think of the cost. With the cutbacks I know you must realise how tightly we are stretched. I'm sure you know, don't you, that he will come home when he's run out of food? You are quite sure that he went of his own volition, and was not snatched? That would be a horse of a different colour.'

The two parents looked at one another and Mr Harsley grunted, 'Yes.'

' **So you would agree that an all-out sweep across the county, using all our resources, would not be the best use of our manpower?'**

' **I suppose so.'**

The inspector compromised, 'Very well. For today we will stick to the Town. If he's still missing tomorrow, we will drop everything and do a full sweep.'

' **Fair enough.'**
CHAPTER FIVE

Billy finished the last of the Cola and stood upright. He walked a few paces, undid his zip and peed on the loose straw at the bottom of the stack, then picked up his plastic bag and skipped away, whistling tunelessly something that might have been 'Boys and girls come out to play'.

He stopped dead at the sight of the scarecrow, realised what it was and walked steadfastly towards it, stopping just in front of it.

He viewed its face with disgust, 'Ugh! You're 'orrible!'

He felt the sleeve of the anorak the scarecrow was wearing and found that it was dry. He began to remove it from the figure, 'Sorry, old ugly-face – I need it more than you do.'

He took his jacket off and pulled the anorak on. He was about to put his jacket on the scarecrow when he suddenly changed his mind, 'Oh, no. You'd just like that, wouldn't you? So you could tell them all I've been here.'

He turned away, and then turned back. 'I dunno what you did to get changed into a scarecrow, but I bet you deserved it. And you don't scare me. So there!'

He stuck his tongue out and grimaced at the scarecrow, hung his jacket over his arm and walked off towards the road, but as he neared it, he saw the track leading to the sea and read the signboard. He nodded to himself – it sounded like a good idea.

It was a lot farther than he expected, and it was almost half an hour later when he came up to the dunes – low heaps of sand with marram grass clumps sprinkled among them. Beyond, forty yards of sandy beach sloped down to a quiet sea. The sea was a flat calm, and the only sounds were the soft 'shush-shushing' of the surf on the sand and the cries of half a dozen or so seagulls, fighting over the remains of something left by a visitor.

He walked through the dunes and down to the water, whistling happily and swaying gently to the tune, his jacket, held by its collar, over his shoulder.

At the water's edge he removed his shoes and socks and put them in the carrier bag, rolled up his trouser legs, then walked into the water, until it came up to his knees. Looking pleased with himself, he rolled the jacket into a ball and threw it as far as he could out to sea, then walked away along the edge of the surf, staying all the time in the water.

Only a mile away, his father and mother were passing the field with the scarecrow in it, in their Ford Mondeo. Both were silent, Mr Harsley becoming more and more angry. His wife, who had been searching the fields with her eyes, turned to look at him, saw how irritated he looked and began to cry, which made her husband's anger increase even more. As his anger increased, so did the speed of the car, as his foot went down harder on the accelerator.

He almost shouted, 'Come on, Helen! What good is that going to do?'

She sobbed, 'He's so small...and defenceless.'

' **Defenceless, my arse! He's got more confidence than most adults I know. What are we doing out here, that's what I want to know? You know he's still somewhere in the town.'**

' **But the police are searching there, and I just think he might be getting more adventurous. He's so little, and there are so many horrible crimes these days. That girl last month...'**

' **Oh, no. As if things aren't bad enough without you...'**

' **Look out!' She was staring wide-eyed at the road, which he had taken his eyes off. She grabbed the wheel.**

He over-reacted, taking violent avoiding action, and skidded sideways along the carriageway, unaware of what she had seen.

A 'bump' told him he'd hit something, but he still didn't know what.

The car came to a halt, sideways on across the carriageway.

' **What...the...hell?'**

' **The cat – you didn't see it!'**

' **A bloody cat? You did that for a cat? You could have killed us! Look at those ditches either side of the road. If we'd gone into one of them...'**

' **It was black.'**

He turned and looked out of the rear window, 'Well, it's black and dead now.'

She began to cry again, 'A black cat...Ooooh, Billy.'

' **Oh, hell!' He slammed the gear lever into first and accelerated viciously, jumping the car 'kangaroo-style', making him even angrier.**

He suggested, 'D'you think it could be something to do with school?'

' **His reports are always good, and you heard what the teachers said at that last parents' evening.'**

' **Bullying, then?'**

' **He'd tell us, or we'd notice. In any case, why on a day off?'**

' **There's got to be something. Haven't you noticed anything?'**

' **Why me? What's wrong with you? Anyone would think I'm his only parent.'**

' **Well – you** _are_ **his mother. He takes after you. You're there when he comes home from school, and when he goes,** _and you're at home all day!_ **I have to work my guts out to.....'**

' **It's all my fault now, is it? I always knew you grudged me not going out to work. It was your idea, if you remember.'**

He put the car in gear and pulled away again, 'Now, I didn't...'

' **Oh, yes, you did! I'm the one to blame. Me and my genes. Where are you when he needs a father? Did you ever find time to play with him, tell him stories, take him fishing? When did you last take him anywhere?'**

' **I used to bounce him on my knee...'**

' **My God! That was years ago.'**

There was silence for a while as the man sulked, realising what she said was true.

At last, he suggested, 'Helen, be fair. You know I don't have time...with the job, and all. You like your expensive home and your freezer and dishwasher. How do you think....'

' **You have time for that bitch of a secretary! Just wait till I...' She broke off, looking past him through the side window of the car. Suddenly she shouted, 'Billy! Stop the car! Stop the car!'**

He jammed his foot down and the brakes shrieked.

' **Where? Where?'**

' **There!' She pointed out of the side window on his side and began to open the door.**

A boy about Billy's age and general description, dressed similarly, but not exactly the same as Billy, was walking across the field to their right, his back to them.

She got out of the car and began shouting, 'Billy! Billy!'

The boy turned, puzzled, and she realised it was not her son. She fell back onto the seat, and began to cry piteously. Her husband took her in his arms, his face showing his inner turmoil.

CHAPTER SIX

Greg Haines loved beach combing with a metal detector. He had been at it since daybreak and had already found more than eleven pounds in coins, dropped by summer visitors, a brooch, two horseshoes and a gizmo that looked like part of the nose cone of a shell or bomb. He was in his late fifties, and wearing what he always wore, ex-army khaki over trousers and combat jacket with gumboots. The earpieces of the detector were jammed firmly over his ears, and he was humming part of the theme tune from 'The Ipcress File'. He'd watched the film the night before and couldn't get the damned tune out of his head.

Head down, he moved slowly along the beach, suddenly noticing Billy's footprints, leading down to the sea. Intrigued by the single set of small prints, he lifted his head, looking in that direction, and saw Billy's brown jacket rolling in the surf.

Running quickly down to the water, he waded in and hauled the jacket out. He looked down at the jacket, then at the footprints leading down from the dunes, then back at the sea. Looking down at the jacket again, he noticed the label inside the neckband.

He was loathe to give up his day's work, but made an executive decision. Finding a small boy's jacket in the sea after following the single set of footprints was decidedly 'iffy' and not something to be ignored; he had to tell someone.

In the Yarmouth police station, Carole Somerset was standing alone at the filing cabinet with the top drawer open, leafing through files. Transome took a phone call and made several monosyllabic answers. He put the phone down, looking annoyed and mumbling under his breath.

She turned, grinning, 'Someone give you a parking ticket?'

He grunted, 'Damned Germans! Get the DVO on the phone while I get a cup of coffee, will you?'

She was moving to the phone when he had an afterthought, 'What about you?'

' **No thanks, just had one.'**

She could hear the coffee machine boiling up when the call was connected, 'Yarmouth police here. Could I speak to the Divisional Veterinary Officer, please? Yes, Great Yarmouth, Inspector Transome. Thank you.'

Transome came in carrying the plastic cup, and put it down to take the receiver.

' **Hello, David. Very well, thank you...No, I haven't had time for a round in ages; they'll be cancelling my membership soon, but that's not what I rang about. We apparently have an illegal importation, but it isn't quite as simple as that. The animal escaped and is loose somewhere in Town...a small, mongrel dog, yes...no, quite healthy, I believe. It br...of course, but the animals – there are two of them, have never been vaccinated. I'll issue a description to all our units. You think we should institute that already for such a small matter? No, of course I don't think it is insignificant. Very well then, I'll set up roadblocks at a five-mile radius. Yes, immediately. Yes, of course. I'll let you know.'**

He hung up, 'Now I've got to damned well work late.'

' **Just deserts, I'd say, for trying to seduce a poor, innocent maiden.'**

' **Poor? Innocent?' He advanced towards her, mock menacing, and she backed away into the corner, mock afraid.**

' **Ah-ah! What if Jack comes home unexpectedly?'**

' **You told me his ship is still in Rio.'**

' **You mean you hope so.'**

' **Anyone would think you were already married.'**

' **He thinks we are.'**

' **Well, there's always a second opinion.' He laid his hands on her shoulders.**

' **Careful, Sir. Don't mishandle the other ranks – you could become contaminated, or start a class war.'**

' **I look forward to the first shots'**

Carole removed his hands from her shoulders firmly. 'Sir, I am but a maiden, and promised to another.'

He sighed heavily, 'Why don't you just say, "S'wive you, I'm all right for Jack"?'

' **Because one of us is far too well brought up.'**

' **There's something very fishy about that Jack business. You met him when I was away at college, and he's been away ever since. Over a year. You know something?'**

' **Uh-uh?'**

' **I think I know why Jack never came home.'**

She looked at him enquiringly.

' **He doesn't even live here.' He looked slightly angry and frustrated, while she smiled mischievously at him and walked out of the door.**

He sat down at his desk and began taking near-miss swipes at the top of the rubber plant with the desk ruler, 'And that's for being such an unemotional bitch!'

He took another swipe as the telephone began to ring, and misjudged the aim. The ruler smashed through one of the large leaves.

" **Oh, Christ.' He moaned, 'That's torn it.'**

He picked up the receiver, 'Norfolk Constabulary, Inspector Transome.' He took a report from the drawer, 'Your name? Address?' He began to write then suddenly stopped, his face showing his reaction to what he was hearing.

A light tap on the door preceded Carole Somerset's re-entry into the room. She walked over to the desk and bent over to whisper something to him, but he fiercely shook his head and grimaced to stop her.

' **Actually in the sea? What colour is the jacket?'**

Carole was posing a question with her eyes, and he nodded at her. Her eyes closed in horror.

' **And the size of the footprints? Where are you now? Stay there. I'll be with you in ten minutes.' He almost threw down the receiver.**

' **Not the boy?'**

' **I hope not, but it sounds very much like it. Call up the helicopter and tell them to start a search for the body in the sea. Hold the fort, and don't let any Indians in – the labour exchange is down the road. I'll be back as soon as I can.'**

He collected Peter and Charlie, the two civilian scene of crime officers attached to the station and they hurtled out of town, siren going and lights flashing.

Ten minutes saw them parked at the gap in the dunes. At that time of the day there were only two other cars parked there – early dog walkers.

As they got out of the car, the search helicopter appeared from inland and started its first sweep of the sea.

They walked along the beach to where Geoff Haynes waited, Peter carrying his holdall with a standard set of equipment, Charlie carrying the camera.

Geoff showed them the footprints and the jacket, which was bagged up after a quick look at the nametag. Charlie began taking pictures of the footprints and following them back into the dunes. Transome felt strangely emotional: this was not the outcome he'd expected, and he was not looking forward to meeting the parents again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Billy had been walking all morning, after leaving the sea about a quarter of a mile after he'd entered it, keeping well away from the roads, and crouching down whenever he heard a vehicle. Every few yards he stopped to pick up a stone and throw it as far as he could. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky and he was happier than he had been for months. He felt as free as the skylarks that were singing above him, and had not even thought about home. He decided to eat the last of his biscuits, and sat down on a pile of large flint stones the farmer had removed from the fields.

Suddenly he realised he was not alone. A small mongrel dog in several shades of dirty brown stood looking at him about fifteen yards away.

' **Oh, where did you come from, dog?'**

Billy looked around carefully, worried in case the dog's owner was nearby and would hand him back to his parents.

' **Where's your master?' He stood up and scanned the fields in all directions.**

' **Here, boy.'**

The little dog was unsure, but gradually drew nearer as Billy continued to cajole it.

Eventually it stood by his legs, and he bent down to stroke its head.

' **You're on your own. What's your name?' He pulled back the fur on the dog's neck and tut-tutted, 'No collar? You're a stray, just like me, but you ought to be more careful – they'll just take me back, but they might shoot you. You don't care, do you? No, you don't, but you're a nice dog, aren't you?'**

The dog began to shake, as if with cold. Billy noticed it, but misunderstood, 'Don't be afraid of me – I won't hurt you.' He patted the dog's head again, 'No, you're not afraid, you're starved.'

Billy stood upright, put his hand into his plastic bag and took out a piece of bread, which he held up.

' **Here.'**

The dog sat on its haunches and begged. Billy gave it the bread, which it ate with relish.

' **Poor dog. Bet you haven't eaten for days, have you? You've been ill-treated by a wicked master, who locked you up in a damp old cellar and beat you three times a day and never fed you, and you escaped by chewing through the brick wall and jumping over the ten-foot fence and finding your way out through the mine-field, past the machine-gun nests and patrols...here, have another piece.'**

The dog wolfed the morsel down and then begged for more.

Billy shook his head, 'Sorry, dog – have to save the rest for dinner. And I've got to go now.' He bent and patted the dog, 'You go back and find your master, there's a good boy. He won't beat you again. Tell him I said so.'

The dog sat looking up at him.

' **Look – you just can't come with me. They'll be looking for you. Go on – off you go.'**

He walked off and again the dog followed him. He stopped, looked at it again, hands on hips. "Well, I s'pose if you're lost, you might as well come with me. Come on.'

Billy walked off again, with the dog at his side, and every few yards he bent and fondled it.

At the end of that field they came to a wide ditch, filled with water, and Billy realised there was no way round. They would have to go onto the road, for a little distance at least.

There was very little traffic on the small minor road, and Billy dropped down into the dry ditch, taking the dog with him, when a vehicle did approach.

It was a lot easier walking on the tarmac, but he was getting tired.

A few hundred yards along, a red Ford Transit closed van sat at the road end of a long drive, leading down to a large redbrick house.

Using his famous Red Indian stealth, Billy approached the van from behind, looked in the mirrors, could not see anyone, so sidled along the van until he could see in.

The cab was empty.

He walked round to the back of the vehicle, opened the back door and picked the dog up.

' **I'm tired, dog.' He told it, 'Let's go for a ride.'**

He was so tired that he was asleep within minutes, and was unaware when the driver returned to the van and drove off. Billy only woke when the van hit a large pothole six miles further along the road.

A short while later the van drove past a signpost, which read, 'Horsey Mere one mile', and a few minutes after that it drew into the parking area of a roadside pub.

The driver got out, slammed the door and walked into the pub, where he ordered a pint of twos and a sandwich.

The rear door of the van opened just a trifle and Billy peeped out, the dog at his feet. The boy saw that the coast was clear, and jumped out of the van, followed by the dog. Billy closed the door behind him, and they walked quickly away off the road onto the marshland adjoining it. He didn't notice that he had left his plastic bag in the van.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Police constable Archie Argyle had called in to the station to drop off two brace of rainbow trout he'd caught that morning from his club water, Norfolk Flyfishers, at Swanton Morley, for two of the civilian staff, and read the notices while he was there, one of which detailed the search for the missing boy. Argyle was on holiday, having finished duty the day before, and was off to Scotland for the bigger prey - the elusive salmon.

He got back into his vintage silver Passat and began the drive back along the coast road to his home in Bacton.

Passing Horsey Mere his eye caught movement out on the marsh. A boy and a small dog were strolling along about three hundred yards from the road, the boy bending every now and again to stroke the dog's head. Argyle tried to remember what he'd read. There'd been no mention of a dog with the boy and the search was in Yarmouth Town anyway. What was the boy wearing? Argyle did not have a photographic memory, but his was not bad. It came back to him: a brown jacket. The boy out on the marsh was wearing a blue anorak. It was unusual for a kid to be out there on the marsh, but there were houses in the vicinity, and the constable decided it could not be the boy they were looking for. He re-started the engine and drove home. He spent the next two hours checking his equipment and tackle for the umpteenth time. He loved salmon fishing, although many of his trips to his homeland in the Highlands had resulted in blank days, when the fish either weren't there, or were not interested. No matter what the weather reports said, he often found the rivers with no flow, or so much that it was not unusual to see whole tree trunks and dead sheep speed past. Hey-ho! That was salmon fishing for you. He whistled happily as he checked all his flies. Had he packed the roll of electrical tape to go over the fly-rod joints to stop them flying apart after hours of casting? Yes, there it was. Just for insurance, he made sure he had packed enough 'flying condoms'; black and yellow were always the best, he found, but he'd only use them on the last day, if nothing had come to the fly by then.

Going out with the last load to the car he felt something amiss, and realised that no matter how unlikely the boy he'd seen was the one they were looking for, he really ought to have rung it in. Who knew – he could be another runaway?

Carole picked up when the phone rang, 'Norfolk Constabulary, Sergeant Somerset speaking. Oh, just a moment.' She took the phone off her ear and covered the mouthpiece to speak to him, 'It's a PC Argyle, and he says it's urgent.'

**Transome took the phone, 'What is it, Constable? The boy? When? Oh,** _a boy_ **– but he looked like our boy?' With his hand over the mouthpiece he said sarcastically to Carole, 'More or less'. He took his hand away and asked, 'You're sure it was an anorak? No, of course not. What was the dog like? Now, that is interesting. We have a dog loose somewhere from a boat in the harbour. Where did you see them? Near Horsey Mere? That's over twelve miles from here. What time was that, exactly? Oh, no – a pity. It's out of the question – the boy might just have reached there if he'd got a lift or walked all night, but it couldn't have been the dog we're looking for, even if it ran all the way – it escaped less than an hour before that. No, don't worry, you go and enjoy your holiday. Where are you going, just in case? Lucky chap. I'd like a crack at those Scottish salmon myself. Thanks for ringing.'**

Carole asked him, 'Any chance it's Billy?'

' **No. 'Fraid not. Only wish it were.'**

' **No news from the helicopter?'**

' **Not yet.' Any time now, he thought. He picked up his cap, 'I shouldn't be too long; I'm going to the harbour.'**

CHAPTER NINE

Transome stopped at the gangplank, hesitating about going aboard the Eisenstern without permission, but then his ego took over, and he stepped out.

The deck was empty, but he could hear men talking and mechanical noises.

He stopped by an open door and shouted, 'Anyone home?'

A head appeared out of a porthole further along the deck housing, and a voice shouted, 'Moment!'

Heini Schlitter came out of a doorway and walked towards Transome. As he came close, he held out his hand and said, 'Heinrich Schlitter'.

Transome, whose grandfather and uncle had been killed in the struggle against the Nazis, was very anti-German. He ignored the hand, and with open animosity in his voice asked, 'You are the dog's owner?'

Heini was used to that kind of treatment from some Englishmen, who seemed incapable of forgetting the last war, and metaphorically shrugged his shoulders. The Inspector wasn't here to be friendly, after all. He nodded, in answer to the question.

' **Where's the dog's kennel?'**

' **This way.' Heini spoke excellent English, with only a slight accent, but was not about to waste time trying to converse with this stuck-up inspector, who had his two-way radio in his hand, and kept stopping to listen to the transmissions. He led Transome down a set of steps and along the corridor, stopping in front of the kennel.**

' **This is the dog-house.'**

' **But not for ship's captains?' Transome took hold of the padlock and checked it for security.**

' **I beg your pardon?'**

Transome smirked, 'English humour – incomprehensible to continentals.'

' **Hm. You see, the lock is quite secure. If it had not been for the trouble...'**

Transome cut in, 'Quite. You locked the stable door.'

Heini looked puzzled, 'But I thought...'

Transome deliberately ignored the reply and interrupted again, 'The Customs issued a Practique?'

' **Yes, they...'**

' **I'd like to see it. And also the dog's inoculation papers.'**

' **I am sorry, I have no inoculation papers, the dogs live on board all the time, and do not come into contact with others, so there is no need for inoculation.'**

' **Well one of them is mixing now, isn't he?'**

Heini shrugged resignedly and pointed back along the corridor. 'If you have finished here?'

Transome gritted, 'I'll wait here.'

Heini shrugged, 'As you wish.' He walked away, slowly shaking his head and mumbling, 'Verfluchter eingebildeter Englaender!'

Once he was out of sight, Transome, who loved dogs of any shape and size, though he was not about to admit it to the captain, shook the bars of the kennel and looked in. The big Doberman, Moos, was lying on his bed, seemingly asleep. His dish of food was still on the floor and had not been touched.

Transome rattled the bars of the kennel, 'Here, boy. Here.'

The dog lifted its head but put it down again.

Transome shrugged, 'You make a good pair with your master.'

He heard the captain's steps approaching round the corner, and stepped back again.

Heini held out the paper, 'The Practique, Inspector.'

Transome took it, barely glanced at it, and handed it back. 'This dog healthy?'

' **Sure.'**

' **Doesn't look very lively.'**

' **He misses his comrade.'**

' **Can we have a closer look at him?'**

' **If you wish.' Heini took his bunch of keys from his trouser pocket, unlocked the padlock and opened the door. He held the door open until Transome was inside, entered himself and closed the door firmly behind him. Transome watched him with a sarcastic smile, which Heini could not fail to notice.**

They crossed to the dog and Heini bent to stroke it, 'Komm, Moos, steh' auf.'

He helped the dog and it got up very slowly onto all fours, as if very stiff.

' **Setz'mal.' He pushed down with his hand on the dog's back and Moos sat with difficulty.**

' **Sag mal, 'Guten Tag'.' He held out his right hand to shake the dog's paw, but Moos just sat looking at him listlessly.**

Heini spoke sharper, 'Na, komm, Moos – gib' mir die Pfote!'

The dog took no notice. Heini fondled its ears and stood up with a set smile on his face. The dog lay down again.

' **He wants his little friend.'**

Handsome nodded, 'So do we.'

' **He will perhaps return, but in case he does not, I have my crew searching now, street by street, with a map. He will not have gone far.'**

' **Typical Teutonic thoroughness, eh? Very laud...'**

' **I beg your pardon?'**

' **Very...systematic. They always said you Germans were systematic, I mean, during the war.'**

' **You still think of the war, Inspector, seventy years later?'**

' **Are you suggesting we should forget, Captain? My grandfather was k....'**

' **Ah, yes, I see. But that war was so very long ago. My father was not even born when it ended.'**

Transome changed the subject, 'You realise your ship is under port arrest?'

' **I have already radioed the owners.'**

' **And charges will be brought against you for the illegal importation of a dog.'**

Heini smiled grimly, 'Do not worry, Inspector. As your Mr Bogart would have said, 'I will not leave town'.'

' **I am sure he would have added something apt, like, "It ain't me who has to worry, Blue-eyes."' Transome turned, smiling cynically, walked out of the kennel and away down the corridor.**

Heini watched his departure thoughtfully, a worried frown developing. He bent and fondled the Doberman's head, looking again at the uneaten food. Moos always ate every morsel as soon as it was put down on the floor, but not today.

' **Ich weiss nicht was los ist, alter Junge, aber Du siehst mir gar nicht gut aus.'**

CHAPTER TEN

Billy was not whistling for once. He was listening to the fantastic music being made by the scores of larks in the air. He didn't know what they were called, but thought their song was wonderful. He couldn't remember hearing one before, and didn't know that the heavy use of pesticides had made them a threatened species; the Norfolk marshes, spared the poisons, were one of the few places in England where they still thrived.

He and the dog were walking along a trail made by animals through grass that came up almost to his waist.

He bent to pick up a dandelion, blew the 'clock' away, and patted the dog's head, totally unaware of the danger ahead.

Sam Yallop was watching the boy's approach. His whole appearance was evil, made even worse by the dirty patch over his left eye. In his mid sixties, wearing a dirty old ragged mackintosh with a muffler and a shabby cap, he had an unkempt, dirty beard and an equally dirty, straggly moustache. His long knife was held like a dagger in his hand, its blade discoloured with blood. He lay completely camouflaged in the long grass. His good right eye and the right side of his face twitched as he waited, the result of an untreated stroke earlier in the year.

The dog had run ahead of Billy, sniffing eagerly. It had picked up the scent of a rabbit, which stopped eating and sat up on its hind legs, suddenly on the alert, before dashing back to its burrow.

The dog came back to Billy's call once it had lost the scent, and the boy carried on his one-way conversation with the animal, 'I wish you could talk. Bet you're good at catching rabbits. Bet you're a circus dog really, escaped from the horrible old ringmaster because he beat you to make you learn the tricks. You stay with me – I'll teach you some new ones: how to jump through a blazing fire to rescue your master from the Blackfeet Indians, who're sittin' behind the rocks and bushes with their bows and arrows, just waitin' to pounce...' His ankle was suddenly grabbed and held tightly, as if in a trap.

' **Got you!'**

Billy struggled, kicking the hand with his other foot and trying to pull away. The dog was running around, his barks joining with Billy's shouts, his eyes on the knife, which Sam still had in his other hand.

' **No...Get off!'**

Sam pulled himself upright, only letting go of the ankle when he could take hold of Billy's anorak. He was breathing heavily and wheezing badly, looking ill. In a really broad Norfolk accent he asked, 'Now, what hev we got here? Tha'ss a fine sorta rabbit to come hoppin' along my bunny trail an' rob me o' my supper. P'raps I oughta slit its throat and hev it for breakfast, eh? What say, young fella? What're you doin' 'ere – spyin' on me, were you?'

Billy was still struggling, 'Let go! Let go!'

' **Well...I don't know...' He eyes Billy up and down, 'You don't look too dangerous. All right, but no funny business, mind.' He let go of the boy's coat. 'Now, how come you're disturbin' my rabbit patch? Not poachin' are you? That look a fairly decent hound you're got with you.'**

Billy's eyes were on the bloody knife, 'No, Sir, we were just going for a walk.'

' **A walk? Out here? An' where've you come from, that's what I'd like to know? In't no house for miles.'**

Billy was still eyeing the knife, 'We...like walking.'

' **Ar! I dare say, but...'**

Billy cut in, 'Is this really your land? You're the sort of lord?'

' **Lord? No, boy. But as fer this land bein' mine...well, in a manner o' speakin' 'tis; tha'ss common land, see, an' they don't come much commoner than me. Rabbits on common land is anybody's'**

' **But you can't eat them, can you? My mum says they've got mixed Moses.'**

' **Luke and John an'all, I shouldn't wonder, but not here they hen't. These is clean – immune. Tha'ss the salt in the marshes, I reckon. Anyrood, they're good to eat. Where're you headed? That'll be dark soon, an' you'll be proper lost. Prob'ly fall into a dyke an' drown, I shouldn't wonder.' He started to chuckle to himself, 'Tha'ss happened to some very good people round here, that hev. Y'know, I hen't never seen you round these parts afore, neither.' He scratched his head, 'I reckon you in't local.'**

He was watching Billy's face and saw how his expression changed.

' **Why, blas' my heart alive – you're run away!'**

Billy stuttered, 'No...I haven't...really...I'm just out for a walk with my dog...'

Sam cut in quickly, 'Wa'ss 'is nearm?'

Billy was at a loss, 'His...name...? He's...Dog. That's his name, Dog.'

' **What kind o' nearm is that?'**

' **Well, he comes when you call.' He shouted, 'Here, Dog!'**

The dog ran up to him and he stroked it.

' **Tha'ss the biggest loada squit I're ever heard. He'd come if you called 'Cat'. Here, Cat!'**

The dog left Billy and went to Sam. He bent down to pet the animal.

' **No, I reckon I was right the fust time; you're both a coupla strays. I should think the local bobby'd be glad to see you.'**

Billy was desperate, 'No, please, Sir! Not the police! Please?'

' **Well...orl right, but don't you go callin' me 'Sir'; no one's ever done that afore. Wait a mo. You hen't done nothin' wrong, hev you?'**

' **Oh, no, but every time I run away they catch me before I can find out what it's like, living out in the open, like Huckleberry Finn.'**

' **Oh, old Huck, is it? I mighta guessed. So you want to live in the open, do you? Well, I'm a runaway too, so I can tell you that in't all peaches 'n' cream; you can get blurry cold an wet sometimes, but I can unnerstan' how you feel.'**

' **Where do you live?'**

' **Never you mind about that.'**

' **Sir...Mister...can you put the knife away, please?'**

' **Ah! Scare you, do it? So that should, boy, so that should.' Sam pushed the knife into a sheath concealed under his mac. 'You don't need to worry though. Tha'ss jus' my rabbit knife. What were you a'gornta say?'**

' **Could...could I...we...stay with you...just for a day or two?'**

Sam stopped him dead, 'No! That you blurry well can't, boy! I...' His voice faded away as a thought struck him. 'Why d'you run away?'

Billy had no idea why himself; had never thought about it, but had to come up with something, 'They beat me...day and night...Chinese water torture, and...'

' **Oh, ar. Dreadful. You look right bad on it.' He reflected for several moments, then continued, 'Well, I dunno...mebbe jus' fer a day or two, mind – no longer. That'd be a change to hev some company, but I don't want no trouble with the law.'**

' **Oh, thank y...'**

' **Wa'ss your nearm?'**

' **Billy.'**

' **Mine's Sam.'**

' **I'm sorry about your rabbit, Sam.'**

' **Don't you worry about that.' He winked conspiratorially. 'He worn't the only fish in the sea.' He bent, put his hand into a clump of grass and brought out two pheasants and a rabbit, but the bending brought on a bout of heavy coughing, which went on for over a minute. Billy was worried that the old man looked so ill and was closing his eyes and wheezing between coughs. Slowly the coughing eased, and Sam pulled himself upright again. 'Come on. Le'ss make tracks.'**

' **Tracks?'**

' **Head for home. When you walk somewhere you leave a track behind you, see. Sometimes, if'n you don't want no one to follow you, you hev to scrub it out.'**

' **Oh, yes, I know. I've seen the Indians do it. Come on, Dog. Dig your paws in.' He started whistling 'Clementine', from a western film he'd seen a couple of days before.**

Sam asked, 'D'you know what tha'ss called?'

' **Celemine...Calomine...something about a miner.'**

' **Tha'ss a good ol' tune. D'you know the words?**

' **I think so.'**

' **Come on, then, we'll sing it together now I're got my breath back.' He began to sing the words very clearly in a melodious voice which surprised Billy. After a couple of lines he joined in – '...lived a miner, a forty-niner, and his daughter, Clementine...' He felt carefree and had forgotten about his mother and father.**

Although Billy was unaware of it at that moment he and Sam were nearing the old man's hideaway.

Billy shouted, 'It's great out here.'

' **Ar, boy. That it is. D'you know, I'd rather be here without a penny in my pocket than the richest man in the world on his yacht. All the time he's worried about who's going to take it off him. No one can take this away from me – or you, if you treat it right. Tha'ss what bein' free is all about.' He coughed badly a couple of times and wiped his mouth on an old piece of rag from his pocket. Billy was sure he saw a trace of blood, but thought it was probably from the rabbit.**

A skein of geese honked high above them and Sam said, 'Look up there, Billy.'

' **Cor! They're big ducks, aren't they?'**

' **Not ducks, Billy; geese. They're pinkfeet, looking fer a resting place. Dunno why, but there's a lot more of them t'year than I ever seen afore. Canadas an' greylags an' Brent geese an'all.'**

' **I saw a programme on the tele, where they said it was because of the Conservatives.'**

Sam laughed, 'Or somethin' like that.'

' **Would they hurt us if they came down here?'**

' **Bless you, no, lad. They're more scared o' us than we are of them. Gentle creatures they are. Mate for life. They've probably just flown in from Iceland. Tha'ss where they breed, you know. Look how tired they look.'**

' **That's a funny sky up there. What kind of cloud is that?'**

' **Tha'ss cirrocumulus, Billy – what country folk call a 'mackerel' or 'herringbone' sky. Tha'ss little tiny crystals of ice, mainly, an' that mean we're in for some rain in about eight to twelve hours or maybe a little longer. Sailors an' locals hev all sorts o' sayin's about them clouds: "Herringbone sky won't keep the earth dry", "Mackerel sky an' mare's tails make ships carry short sails", "Mackerel sky, mackerel sky – never long wet, never long dry", "Mare's tails – storms an' gales; mackerel sky, not twenty-four hours dry". There's dozens of 'em. You must know some o' them old tales, dun't you? "Red sky at night, shepherd's delight. Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning"?'**

' **I think I've heard of that one, but not the others. You must know an awful lot about the weather, and animals and birds.'**

' **An' plants too. I keeps my one good eye open, if tha'ss what you mean. You can learn a lot about nature and wild things if you watch quietly.'**

' **Will you teach me?'**

' **We'll see. F'rinstance, d'ye know what this flower is called?'**

No.'

' **Tha'ss a marsh marigold. See how the nearm suit it – bright gold. That'n there's marsh mallow. You see all sorts, like marsh thistle, cudweed, cinquefoil – tha'ss from the French an' tha'ss called that 'cos tha'ss got five points on the flower, then there's bedstraw, helleborine , grass o' Parnassus, and loads more.'**

They had reached the edge of the reeds, at a place where they had been trampled down and the water could be seen clearly. Sam bent down and began to lift the reeds up.

' **Nearly home now, Billy. Here, give me a hand.'**

' **Where do you live then, on the water?'**

' **You could say that, I s'pose.'**

The both lifted the reeds together and uncovered a punt concealed beneath.

' **A boat. Is it yours?'**

' **Ar! It's mine – now. And it's called a punt.'**

' **Punt? That's a funny name. Why do they call it that?'**

' **Well, tha'ss...come to think on it, I don't rightly know...I s'pose tha'ss 'cause tha'ss flat. Norfolk people used to use them a lot in the old days. They'll go under low willow branches, y'see, an' another thing is, you can lie flat in 'em an' not be seen, when you're out wildfowling.'**

' **What's wildfowl?'**

' **Well – hunters call just duck and geese wildfowl, though I reckon all game birds ought to be included. Come on, get in. Careful now, and sit at yon end. Where's that dog?'**

The mongrel was nowhere to be seen, but a sudden ruckus sixty or so yards away told them where he was, and they occasionally caught glimpses of him as he attacked something in the reeds.

Billy started to get back out of the punt, but Sam pulled him back, 'You don't want to get mixed up in that, Billy. You don't know what he're got a-hold of. That might be a rat or that might be that old vixen tha'ss always around here. She's wi' kit an' if tha'ss her, she's gornta be plenty angry. He mighta bit off more'n he can chew.'

Billy was afraid the dog could be killed, but a final yelp saw the little animal running towards them, bleeding from its nose and ear.

The vixen, unseen by them, slunk away through the reeds, limping.

' **I reckon he wish he hennta started it now.' He waited until the dog had run up to them and jumped into the punt, looking sorry for itself as it curled up on the floorboards. Billy laughed at its expression.**

Sam pushed the punt a little farther out, got in himself, picked up the pole and used it to push a few reeds over the place where the punt had been before pushing out into the stream.

' **Where are we going, up the river?'**

'' **Tain't a river, tha'ss a broad; a kind o' lake, an' my island's in the middle on't. No one can find us there.'**

' **Have they ever looked for you?'**

Sam rubbed his chin, 'Well, His Lordship don't exactly take kindly to me eatin' his birds. He're hed his keepers out after me a time or two, tho' they don't try too hard.'

Billy rummaged around in his trouser pocket and brought out a plastic bag with two sweets in it. He held it out.

' **D'you like a sweet?'**

' **Very civil of you, lad, but I hen't hed a sweet for many a year. Can't afford to hev to see a dentist, can I?'**

' **Oh. D'you think I ought to eat one?'**

Sam laughed, 'Ar. No harm done there; you'll be getting' a new set o' choppers afore long.'

' **I've got most of them.' He popped the sweet into his mouth and started sucking before asking, 'What would they do to you if they caught you?'**

Sam over-reacted, 'What d'you me...' He realised it was an innocent question, 'Oh. His Lordship's men, you mean? Put me in prison for a month or two, I shouldn't wonder.'

' **What, for eating a bird? That's...that's...'**

'... **The way of the world for people like us, Billy. We're supposed to conform – be like everyone else – wash every mornin', live in a two-up, two-down box, eat three square meals a day, an' go ter work. Here we are.'**

Sam poled the punt through thick reeds and under the branches of an overhanging willow tree. He stood up, jumped over the front of the punt and pulled it up onto the low bank.

' **Here 'tis, then – home, sweet home. Out you jump. We'll take the game to the hut an' then see if we can't catch some perch for supper. Ever fished for perch?'**

Billy shook his head sadly, 'I've only been fishing once. They won't let me go on my own, and Dad...never has time.' He looked carefully at the old man, 'Are you all right? You don't look very well.'

' **It's all right – not getting' any younger, tha'ss all. Here, help me cover the punt.'**

Mukki had jumped out immediately behind the old man and ran quickly away from the water's edge, going mad for a few seconds, chasing his tail and running around furiously, barking loudly. Suddenly he stopped and sat down, panting.

Sam had removed the rabbit and the pheasants from the punt and laid them on the bank. He and Billy stopped pulling the reeds over the punt to watch the dog. They were both laughing at his antics, but Sam's laughter dissolved into a wracking coughing fit. Billy looked concerned until the fit ended with Sam wiping his mouth with the old piece of rag, turning away to do so.

He turned back to Billy, 'Y'see, lad – nothin' wrong wi' me 'cept deficiency.'

' **Deficiency?'**

' **Ar – youth deficiency.' Sam cackled, 'Come on, bring the rabbit.'**

He picked up the pheasants and they walked past the dog, which hadn't moved again. Billy bent to stroke him and got a tail wag for his trouble. The dog seemed back to normal.

Billy asked, 'Is he okay, d'you think?'

' **Ar. Jus' glad t'be on the dry, I reckon. Come on – this way.'**

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Heini handed over the supervision of the loading of the return cargo to his first mate. They were going to miss their departure date, and delivery date in Alexandria, with the ship under port arrest.

It was his fault, and the owners of the line were renowned for sacking anyone who caused the slightest problem. He could see himself 'on the beach' and drawing unemployment benefit in the very near future. Worse, he was worried about his dogs, which were the only family he had.

He went below and to the kennel, unlocked it and entered.

Moos was lying on his bed and neither moved nor wagged his tail when his master spoke to him, 'Na, Moos. Komm, Junge.'

He bent to stroke the dog, and Moos moved his head just a little.

' **Was ist'n los?'**

He pulled the dog up and ruffled its head, but the Doberman did not respond. He lifted it to its feet and it took two faltering steps, as if it were lame, and collapsed.

Heini thought he knew why, 'Ach, so – ich verstehe; Mukki ist nicht hier. Na, ja. Sorge nicht, mein Junge – wir finden ihn bald.'

He ruffled the fur on the dog's head again, rose, and left the kennel, locking the door firmly behind him.

He went back to the loading, but was worrying all the time, and had enough experience to know that worry and work, using heavy machinery, did not go well together and was asking for an accident. He turned over the supervision again, and went back downstairs and into the kennel.

He stood watching the unmoving dog, still lying where it was when he was last in the kennel. It was not moving a muscle.

There was something wrong, and he felt he ought to call in a vet, but still hesitated, believing that the animal was just fretting for Mukki.

Deciding to leave it for now, he walked over to the dog and bent down to stroke it. Moos opened his eyes and tried to move his head, but could not. He bared his teeth and growled savagely at Heini.

The captain pulled back his hand, but then tried again. The growls came again

Heini was astonished. Moos was such a friendly dog.

He stood up, a worried frown on his face. He suddenly remembered Moos and Mukki both being bitten by a watchman's dog in Bergen.

Light dawned, 'Na – so 'was.'

He knew he had to find a vet.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Billy's mother and father had stopped searching when they received the call from Yarmouth police, and they entered Transome's office eagerly, accompanied by Carole Somerset.

Mr Harsley urged, 'You have some news? Oh, my God!' His voice died at sight of the jacket, lying on Transome's desk.

Billy's mother had seen it too and began to cry, 'Oooh. Billy!' She turned to her husband, eyes closed and face twisted in anguish, and he took her in his arms and tried to comfort her.

Transome motioned with his hand for the man to place his wife in a chair. He did so, and she slowly regained some control of her emotions.

' **Mrs Harsley, I...'**

' **No, Inspector, please...I'm alright now. You want me to look at the jacket?'**

She got up to take the jacket from the desk but Transome leapt to his feet and passed it to her. She opened it and looked at the label inside the neckband, although she knew it was Billy's, without the need for a check. She breathed deeply, fighting the tears.

' **It's Billy's.'**

' **There is no question about it?'**

' **None. I mark all his clothes with this ribbon, in case he loses them at school. Is he...is he...'**

' **We don't know. He might easily have lost the jacket, or thrown it away, perhaps.'**

' **But it's wet and smells of the sea. Was it in the sea? Is he in the sea?'**

Transome lied, 'We believe he's somewhere out on the marshes, and we will be doing a full search. Now don't worry; go home and try to relax. We will be following this lead, along with all the others.'

' **Others?'**

Transome was caught in the lie, and panic caused bile to start rising in his throat. He clutched at a straw he had already discarded, 'One of our constables thought he saw Billy earlier.'

' **Where?'**

' **Near Horsey.'**

' **That's miles away; how would he get there? And did you find the jacket near there?'**

' **No. It was in the sea, just north of Caister, but there is no sign of Billy, and we think he may have just lost it.'**

Mrs Harsley burst into deep sobs, and her husband looked angrily at Transome. The inspector shrugged, helplessly.

He felt relief when the door closed behind them.

Carole Somerset came back a few moments later. She said nothing and walked over to the filing cabinet, went onto her knees and pulled open the bottom drawer.

Transome asked, 'I suppose you think I could have handled that better?'

She sniffed, 'Not for me to say...Sir.' She carried on looking at the files.

' **What the hell are you looking for, Sergeant? Leave it. There'll still be some evil left for tomorrow.'**

' **Not if you had your way...Sir!'**

' **Mind reader.'**

' **With the company I have to keep it comes naturally.'**

' **What are you after there, anyway? Those are the old 'unsolved' cases, aren't they?'**

' **There was a whole bunch of reports here on that 'old man of the marsh'. I thought if he exists, maybe he could tell us something. Perhaps it was Billy that PC Argyle saw...'**

Transome interrupted her, 'You're talking through the back of your whistle. It's impossible, and you know it. That dog, and it's a small one, mind, would have had to run like a racehorse to get there in time to be seen by Argyle, and those old wives' tales about the marsh-man...'

' **It's a whole lot better than sitting around on our big fats, waiting for something to happen.'**

' **Well, nothing is what you've got, so leave it. It's a waste of time. Get on with something important – there's enough work to do around here, God knows. You've got those three live burglaries last night alone.'**

' **You think you're never wrong, don't you...Sir?'**

He ignored the insubordination, since they were alone, and said nonchalantly, 'Oh, I don't know...I thought I was wrong once last year when...'

'... **You thought you'd made a mistake and hadn't. God! If I had a pound for every time I've heard that one.'**

He grinned, got out of his chair and crossed to where she was still kneeling, having gone back to her research. He put his hands under her arms and lifted, 'I like to see a dedicated officer, but don't you think it could wait? I need food.'

' **If I had a video of that, I'd have your rank off you for sexual assault. Since I haven't I must admit that my stomach is telling me my throat has been cut. So we could....'**

The phone rang and Transome almost used the 'F' word. Seeing Carole's warning finger he managed to stop the utterance, and changed it to, 'Blast!'

He went over to the phone and lifted the receiver.

' **Transome...Oh, yes, Sir...is he sure? Oh, of course not, but suspected? The Eisenstern? Yes, that's the ship...I'm on my way.' He began to lower the phone but heard his correspondent say something else that he couldn't catch. He brought the receiver back to his ear, 'Yes...yes, of course I will.' He hung up, his face serious.**

' **Now we have got trouble.'**

' **That bad?'**

' **The other dog has suspected rabies.'**

' **Oh, no!'**

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Detective Chief Inspector Tony Dyce was enjoying a cup of coffee on the terrace of his new home, Wattisham Hall, when his phone rang.

Jane watched his face. She could hear that it was a female voice on the other end, but could not make out what was being said. His frown told her that it was serious.

He just said, 'Thank you, Carole.' And ended the call.

Jane cocked her head to one side, 'Carole – don't tell me you have a secret lover?'

He laughed, 'I'm not going to say, "I should be so lucky". It would only get me into trouble. Don't you remember Carole Somerset?'

' **Of course. She was the one you used undercover on the Fakenham job. You said she did a terrific job and you rounded up eleven members of the gang she'd infiltrated. You were instrumental in having her promoted to sergeant.'**

' **That's the one. It was Carole on the phone – there's a young lad missing in the Yarmouth area.'**

' **A kidnap?'**

' **No, a runaway, but it's something we'll have to watch. Handsome Transome has recently been posted to Yarmouth and is handling it. He has decided not to do a kidnap-style search. Somerset thought I should know about it. I don't want to step on his toes at this point; it's his call, at least for now. Handsome's not too bad, but he's still a bit green, and liable to make the odd wrong judgement call. The boy who's missing has done it three times before and always found somewhere local to hide out. Handsome's having a house-to-house done in the Town. He's informed the media too, so it'll probably be an easy one and I won't need to become involved.'**

' **So you're using her as a spy?'**

' **A harsh word, darling. I prefer 'insider'. He really should have informed me of the situation.'**

' **Perhaps he intends to.'**

' **If that's so, he's a bit tardy. I think he's too worried about having his new-found authority undermined.'**

' **But you wouldn't do that, would you?'**

' **Only if he was making a pig's ear of it.'**

' **Did I hear something about a dog?'**

He laughed, 'Not only do we have a missing boy; we also have a missing dog in Yarmouth. Perhaps they're doing a double act. Carole thought she'd better tell me, since Handsome doesn't seem to be going to..'

' **There shouldn't be any problem with the dog, surely – they go missing all the time?'**

' **Not off German freighters, they don't. The dog managed to escape from a ship called the Eisenstern – the Iron Star, tied up to the wharf.'**

' **Are its injections up to date?'**

' **Apparently not. There are two dogs, and they live on board, and don't mix with others.'**

' **So there could be...'**

' **Jane, don't even think it. My worst nightmare. Let's hope they find the little devil quickly and get him back on the ship.'**

' **I take it you believe you should get involved?'**

He nodded grimly, 'Not only do I have two murders to solve, now we could have the first ever English case of rabies loose in Norfolk – and the rabid dog may be accompanied by that eleven-year-old runaway, who now appears to be lost out on the marshes. Add to that a green nincompoop like Transome in charge, and it turns into a developing nightmare.'

' **I thought you liked him.'**

' **I did when he was a constable – he was bright and efficient, and knew his place in the hierarchy and how to take orders, but promotion seems to have gone to his head. His write-up from Bramshill says that he finished the course with barely acceptable marks, but his tutors felt he has too high an opinion of himself and needs to be overseen. They should have said 'watched'.'**

He speed-dialled the Divisional Veterinary Officer, ex-Metropolitan Police, like himself, and a shooting pal.

' **David. Tony Dyce. The dog in Yarmouth – what's the latest?'**

The DVO told him, 'I immediately set up the five-mile barrier, so we should easily pick it up.'

' **You're going to have to think again, David – I'm pretty sure that animal has been seen on Horsey Mere, in the company of a small boy.'**

' **But Transome told me it came off a ship in the harbour. It hasn't had time to go that far. If it were a greyhound, maybe, but a little terrier?'**

' **Nevertheless. I believe it possible.'**

' **Okay then, I'll take your word for it and go to Level Three now. Thanks for the info. That's two problems I've got. One of the local vets has just rung in and said he has a suspected case of rabies in the Town, as well.'**

Dyce could not help but give him the bad news, 'Your problems just multiplied, David. The suspected rabies case is the kennel-mate of the dog you're looking for. The terrier could be infected too, and if it bites the boy...'

There was silence at the other end of the line, broken finally by, 'Wish me luck, Tony. I think I'm going to need it. Full county alert and all resources diverted. First stage is local authority and police control. That'll be your Yarmouth office, and Yarmouth council. I'll alert DEFRA, and set up the required hotline.'

' **If you need anything at all – men, machines, vehicles, don't hesitate. I'll clear it with the Chief Constable.'**

' **I won't, Tony. Thanks. My lot can cover up to the fifteen-mile ring, but only on the roads. Can you organise a search of the marshes?'**

' **On it, David, though we'll not be able to cover the whole area before nightfall. If we don't find them today, we'll have an all-out search from first light tomorrow.'**

He rang Transome, who began to gush a greeting. He interrupted him, 'Get every man you can lay hands on to Horsey Mere, and search till dark. Work with the DVO. Full search for the boy and the dog, ASAP.'

' **But sir! PC Argyle was not sure...'**

' **Do it, and ring me once an hour.' He cut off the conversation, under his breath applying several quite uncomplimentary epithets to the inspector in Yarmouth.**

Jane had a frown as she asked him, 'Don't you think you were a bit hard on him, darling?'

' **Hard? I'll give him hard if he slips up just once. I won't interfere, but I'd better slip over to Yarmouth and let him understand he's under the microscope.'**

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Sam grinned, 'You're all right, Billy, you're small enough you don't have to duck like I do. Come on in.'

He bent to enter his home, an old underground army shelter, left over from the Second World War.

The walls were brick and crumbling, with moss growing on the cement, and the roof was semi-circular and made of asbestos corrugated sheets. High up in the far wall was a tiny, grimy window, just at outside ground level, but there was a thick bush growing outside it, making it virtually invisible to accidental visitors.

The whole place was in a bad state of repair. Several animal skins were nailed on the back of the door to dry, giving the inside a peculiar sweet-stinky smell.

Under the window, Billy saw the old man's bed and bedclothes – dried animal skins sewn together – and his pillow, a skin filled with some form of stuffing.

There was an orange crate with a candle in a bottle on it by the bed, and a large cupboard stood by the wall on the left. Hung on the outside of it by a nail was the uniform of a lance corporal in the Royal Norfolk Regiment, complete with forage cap. The buttons and badges were fairly clean, but the uniform itself was in a bad state, due to age and mildew. To one side stood a small, square plywood table.

By the right hand wall pride of place was taken by an old 'round devil' stove, beloved of all the forces to heat their huts during the war, its chimney going straight up through the ceiling. On top of the stove stood an old brown enamel teapot and a kettle. Heaped beside it were piles of wood and a few pieces of newspaper. A mesh bag hanging from the cupboard held a few carrots, swedes and potatoes. Held up by a nail on the wall by the bed was a picture of the Queen, without a frame, cut from some magazine or other. Two old fishing rods leant against the side of the cupboard, already rigged for perch fishing, with old fixed spool reels and large homemade floats about three feet above single size six hooks.

Sam looked around, as if he had never seen the place before, 'Not exactly the Ritz, is it?'

' **The Ritz?'**

' **A very famous hotel, Billy, or leastways, it was – I don't know if tha'ss still there.'**

' **Oh...no...but it's...very nice. Better than that old haystack.'**

' **Ar, but not much. Bit earthy, too. Still, it suits me – tha'ss private, an' the rent in't too high.' He cackled.**

Billy was eyeing the uniform, 'Were you a soldier?'

Sam hesitated, then changed the subject quickly, 'Put the rabbit on the table, and le'ss go arter them perch 'fore that get too dark.'

He laid the pheasants on the table and picked up the fishing rods.

' **Yes, but what's the uniform for, if you weren't a soldier?'**

' **I...was a soldier.'**

' **In a war?'**

Sam moved towards the door, 'You bin watchin' too many fillums.'

' **Did you kill anyone?'**

' **Bloodthirsty little tyke! No – I din't, nor did I want to.'**

Billy looked disappointed, 'Oh...but...'

Same interrupted firmly, 'Perch!'

' **Where did you get the rods and things, Sam?'**

Sam was immediately on the defensive, 'I din't steal 'em. I din't. Don't believe in stealin'. Traded some rabbits fer 'em a long time ago, an' you can pick up enough tackle left on the river banks after every weekend to open a tackle shop.'

As they walked down to the water, the dog was running around excitedly, sniffing the ground.

Billy called him, 'Here, dog.'

' **He's likely on the scent o' somethin'.'**

The dog disappeared behind a bank of reeds, and they heard excited yelps and the squeals of some animal in pain.

' **Sound like he're found it. Come on!'**

They ran round the reeds and saw Mukki with a water rat in its mouth, shaking it.

Billy shouted, 'Put it down! Put it down!'

Sam urged, 'Don't go near! If that rat get away, that'll be in a nasty mood, an' then they're dangerous.'

The squeals got louder, then the rat twisted its body and dug its teeth into Mukki's muzzle.

The dog yelped and dropped the rat, which ran away, blood on its back, and dived into the water.

' **That there dog just havta git inta scraps. Wa'ss wrong wi' 'im? I thought he'da kilt that ol' rat, but that din't get orf scot-free; he musta nipped it.'**

' **D'you think he should have killed it?'**

' **I dunno, Billy. I don't go around killin' animals for the sake onit, but rats is one o' God's creatures I don't much care fer; do a lotta damage, they do. Tha'ss right, dog, lick it clean.**

' **Rats allus goes fer a dog's nose. C'mon, Le'ss get at that fishin'.' He handed Billy one of the rods.**

' **But what are we going to use for bait?'**

' **All taken care of, I hope.'**

Sam picked up a piece of string tied to a bunch of reeds, with the other end dangling in the water. He pulled it up and brought out of the water a minnow trap, made from a wine bottle, with a cork in the top and a hole about half an inch knocked through the centre of the bottom cone. There were seven minnows inside.

' **There you are – the Lord'll provide. You heard about the parable of the five fishes, hen't you?'**

' **No. How...'**

' **Tha'ss a minnow trap, Billy. You leave the cork in, see, knock a hole in the middle o' the bottom, where that go up into the bottle, an' put a little bread inside. The fish go in arter the bread, an' foller the funnel shape, but they can't find their way out agin.'**

' **But isn't it cruel to use them for bait?'**

' **They're jus' as likely to get eaten swimmin' about off a hook as on one, aren't they?'**

' **Yes, I suppose so, but doesn't it hurt them?'**

' **No, watch.'**

He took the cork out of the bottle and shook it until one minnow fell out into his hand. He replaced the cork.

Holding the minnow in his right hand and the hook in his left he said, 'If you look closely, you'll see two holes like nostrils in his upper lip, see?'

' **Yes, I see.'**

' **Well, we slip the hook real careful-like through one of the holes, and away he go inter the water, lively as a cricket. We cast, like this, out inter the deeper water, and hope a perch'll come along. If one don't, our minnow get let off agin when we're finished fishin' an' can continue his life as if he'd never bin caught.' He laid his rod on the ground, 'Now le'ss fix you up, or would you rather do it yoursel'?'**

Growls and high-pitched yelps made them look around at the dog, attacking a root ferociously near the trees.

Sam frowned, 'That in't normal behaviour fer a dog.'

' **Aw. He's only playing.'**

' **I don't know so much...' He baited the other rod and handed it to Billy, who cast the line out to his satisfaction, then dropped the minnow trap back into the water.**

' **Where did he come from?'**

' **Dunno. He just turned up.'**

The dog was tearing furiously at the root, growling.

Sam stood watching him, shaking his head.

Billy had been watching both floats, and Sam's has disappeared with a 'plop' under the water.

Billy grabbed Sam's arm, 'Sam! Sam!'

Sam turned back to the rod, lifted it and took the bale arm off the reel to let line run off freely.

Billy was surprised, 'Don't you have to jerk the rod up? I've seen lots of people do that when they've got a fish on.'

' **Not yet, Billy. Y'see, when a perch, or a pike fer that matter, take the bait, that grab it between the jaws, stun it, an' run with it sideways-on in its mouth – sometimes with half on it a-stickin' out. Then that stop, spit the little ol' fish out, an' swallow it whole – headfust! When that run for a second time, tha'ss when you strike. Strike the fust time an' you lose it – you pull the bait right outa its mouth.'**

Sam's float came up to the surface several yards away from where it had disappeared.

' **There! Now...any minute...'**

The float bobbed a couple of times then went under again, moving fast, and line began streaming off the reel. Sam flicked the bale-arm on again and struck, 'Now!'

The line moved even faster, and the rod bent almost double.

Sam groaned, 'Oh-oh!' and began fighting the fish, letting out more line, but under firmer control.

Billy was excited and showed it, 'Gosh!'

' **Tha'ss 'gosh' orlright – tha'ss a pike, not a perch, an' a really big 'un – twenty pound or more by the feel on 'im. I don't think we'll ever see him on the table.'**

' **Why not?'**

He're got rows an' rows o' sharp teeth. They'll...' The line snapped, 'There!'

Billy said it for both of them, 'Aw.'

' **Don't worry about it, Billy. That wunt do if we caught all the fish in the water. You need a steel wire trace for them big pike, you do, 'cos o' their sharp teeth. They...hey! Look out – you're got one! Let some line out, quick!'**

Billy got all fingers and thumbs as he struggled to do as he was told.

' **Oh – don't let him get away too! You take the rod, please!'**

' **No – he's your fish – you'll get 'im, don't worry. Let 'im have some line.**

The boy's float came up to the surface, then dived again.

' **Now, tighten the line an'...strike!'**

Billy pulled the rod tip up. The fish was hooked.

He shouted, 'I've got him, Sam! I've got him!'

' **Just watch you don't lose 'im. Keep the rod tip up...up...tha'ss right. Now don't reel him in too fast, let 'im fight 'isself out.'**

' **Have I really got him, have I, Sam? Have I?'**

' **You're really got 'im, Billy.'**

The boy kept reeling and the fish came to the bank. It was a perch of just over a pound. Sam put the net under and brought it up from the water.

' **Now tha'ss a lovely perch, Billy. You'll enjoy him grilled!' He took the hook out of the fish's mouth, pulled a 'priest' from his pocket and went to stun the fish.**

' **No, Sam!' Billy stopped him.**

' **Why not? Don't you want 'im fer supper?'**

' **Can't we let him go? He's my first real fish, and he's so...lovely. I couldn't eat him, really.'**

' **Course we can, young shaver. Here you go then, lucky fella. You're still got the chance to grow to a record.'**

Sam supported the perch in the water with his hand until it had recovered, then let it go as it started to move its tail.

He watched it swim away, then looked at the sky, 'Be dark in a few minutes, lad. Le'ss get back an' hev our supper.' He began to turn away with his rod.

' **Sam.'**

He turned back to face the boy, who slipped his hand into the old man's. Billy had tears in his eyes, 'I...want to stay with you...always...please...'

Sam's eyes began to water too. He answered gruffly, after a pause, squeezing the boy's hand, 'We'll talk about it tomorrow, lad...Now, wha'ss that dog doin'?'

They looked over at Mukki, still tearing at the roots.

Billy handed Sam his rod, 'I'll fetch him.'

' **Looks like you'll hetta carry 'im – 'e don't wanta leave that ol' root.'**

Billy reached the mongrel and bent down to pick him up, but the dog would not release its hold on the root.

' **Let go, dog!' He put his hand inside the dog's jaws, forcing them apart off the root, then picked the little animal up and walked back to where Sam was waiting.**

' **That old root must have tasted really good.'**

' **Aye. 'E was....' He broke off, looking at Billy's hand, which was bleeding slightly from a small puncture, where one of the dog's teeth had gone through the skin.**

' **He bit you, lad.'**

Billy looked down and wiped the blood off on his other hand, 'It's only a scratch, and he didn't mean it, did you, dog?'

' **Ar, even so, animal bites can be nasty things sometimes. Suck it clean and spit it out.'**

' **Urggh!' He looked down at his hand with disgust.**

' **Go on, lad. It won't kill you.'**

The boy lifted his hand slowly to his lips and began to suck at the wound, a distasteful expression on his face.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Transome stood with the captain, looking in at Moos. The kennel door was padlocked.

The Inspector had spoken only monosyllables since coming back on board, and Heini was puzzled, 'I do not understand, Inspector. I telephoned for the...'

' **Vet! He would not come – not allowed to.'**

' **Not allowed, but why?'**

' **This case is out of his jurisdiction; your dog has suspected rabies.'**

' **Ray-bees? Is that...'**

' **What you people aptly call 'Tollwut'.'**

Heini frowned, not sure if he had heard correctly, certainly not expecting to hear a German word from Transome.

' **Ah, Tollwut! Sie sprechen deutsch, Herr Inspektor.'**

' **Only when necessary, captain.'**

' **You surprise me.'**

' **Surprise can be useful sometimes.'**

' **Ja – besonders fűr die Polypen.'**

' **Yes, particularly for the 'narks', but you don't seem too alarmed at the prospect of rabies on board your ship.'**

' **Why should I? It is something we have lived with for a very long time, Inspector. As you know, it was...endemic...in Germany...since 1945. We seem to be free of it now.'**

' **I suppose I should congratulate you on your remarkable grasp of English, captain.'**

' **For an ignorant, warlike German, perhaps...'**

Transome did not answer, but chewed his underlip.

' **You see – we understand each other, Inspector.'**

' **That's fine, captain, because perhaps you will understand this; you personally have achieved what your nation failed to do in two world wars – you have successfully invaded us.'**

' **I am sorry? I do not understand.'**

' **The other dog, man! If this one has rabies...'**

Oh, but surely, Inspector, the fact that Moos is ill does not mean...' His voice tailed off, then, 'Ach, Gott!'

' **Yes?'**

' **Several months ago, in Bergen, the dogs were loose on the quay, which was a closed off area, and they fought with the watchman's Schäferhund - a German Shepherd – the breed you English insist on calling Alsatians. They were both bitten; Moos on the tail, Mukki in the ear, but no more than scratches.'**

' **Quite enough to do the damage.'**

They heard the footsteps of four men coming down the steel stairs. When they reached the bottom and in sight of the captain and the policeman, the tallest of the trio, the Divisional Veterinary Officer, thanked the seaman who had directed them and walked up to the pair, accompanied by his assistant. Both were dressed in black rubber coats and gumboats. Transome was not happy to see that the fourth member of the party was Detective Chief Inspector Dyce, whom he immediately saluted.

The DVO was a man in his fifties, with the look of a man who has seen it all and not liked much of it. His face was set in stern lines, under a shock of pepper and salt hair, a lock of which fell over the left side of his forehead. A long scar under his left eye gave him almost the look of an old-fashioned swashbuckler.

His assistant, Michael, a blond, blue-eyed man, was in his late twenties. He had learnt early on in life that one can learn much more by listening than by talking.

Transome greeted the DVO, 'Good evening, David. You made good time.'

The vet nodded, 'Richard.'

' **This is the captain of the Eisenstern and this, captain, is the Divisional Veterinary Officer.'**

' **This is the dog?'**

' **Ja – this is Moos.'**

' **This is a most serious business, Captain, requiring the immediate removal of your dog to our quarantine kennels in Norwich for observation. You understand our law?'**

' **Yes, natűrlich, whatever is best for Moos.'**

Transome had to get his four pennyworth in, 'We are concerned with what is best for England, Captain.

The DVO was not enchanted at the comment, 'Quite, but the Captain is naturally interested in the welfare of his pet.'

' **I will be allowed to visit him?'**

' **I'm sorry, Captain, no – and on that subject, I must insist that you and your crew be vaccinated immediately. You may telephone, of course.' He handed a small card to the captain, 'This is the number. Rest assured he will have the best of treatment, but should he die, you must understand that we have to perform a post-mortem.'**

' **You think he will die – that he has rabies?'**

' **I hope, more than I have ever hoped for anything in my life, that he has not, and will not. If he has, we have the potentially most dangerous situation this country has ever faced from the disease. Fetch the carrying-crate, would you please, Michael?'**

Transome asked, 'Have you designated a Control Centre, David?'

' **Yarmouth Council has placed one of its rooms at our disposal, letting us have every man they can spare from other duties for the search. Chief Inspector Dyce has got the Chief Constable's permission to divert as much manpower as possible, with you, by the way, as local liaison officer for the police.'**

Dyce told him, 'David has overall control of the search for the dog. We, of course would have control of the search for the boy, if it were just the boy we were looking for. Since DEFRA has full plans for an exigency such as this, and have done practice runs along the lines we shall be using, the Chief Constable has agreed that DEFRA should run things, as far as the search goes. I'll be flying over the search area, helping in the air search with the police helicopter. If there are any developments you are to inform my office, and they will pass the information on to me. We shall use everyone we can from the Ministry, of course, and the Chief Environmental Health Officer is deploying all available staff from the Consumer Services Department. Briefing and issue of equipment and transport will be at Yarmouth market place at oh-three hundred hours, so if you could get off now and organise your end? It will be dark soon, and searching on foot will be of little use, but as a first move, I want every vehicle we can find a driver for out looking for that dog, and the boy, if he's with it, and, as far as we can, have a twenty mile radius from here enclosed.'

' **Right!' Transome nodded and walked quickly away.**

The DVO said, 'I shall need a complete list of possible contacts on the Continent from you, Captain, in order to warn our colleagues there. You can provide one?'

' **Of course. I will be glad to.'**

As they reached the quayside, Dyce said, 'Any serious decisions, I want you to make them, David.'

The DVO nodded, 'I noticed. He is a little green.'

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Leaving-off time had long passed and Carole Somerset was absorbed, unaware of how late it was. She sat at Transome's desk, which was littered with files, all open. She was reading one of them and writing on a half-filled page with a ballpoint pen.

She heard the coffee machine being operated in the outer office and thought it must be the duty sergeant from the desk.

She was surprised when Transome entered with a cup of coffee, looking as if he had all the troubles of the world on his shoulders.

He grunted, 'Overtime, or are you keeping night watch on the rubber plant?'

She eyed the damaged leaf, 'Looks as if I might need to, but I think I've got something, Dick.'

Tiredly he joked, 'Don't tell everyone, they'll all want it.'

Carole sighed with exasperation, 'Oh, my God.'

' **You called?'**

' **Can't you ever be serious?'**

' **I was never more – this flippant exterior is just a cover for the mortal fear you have just placed me in.'**

' **Come again?'**

' **You calling me by my Christian name. The only time you ever do that is when you want something. What are you after?'**

' **Not your virginity, if that's what you're worried about. Look at this though – it's about that report of Constable Argyle's.'**

' **What about it? I told you there was nothing in that. Now be a good girl and stop meddling, all right? I've got a storming headache, I've got half our officers out on the marshes till dark, and I've got to be on the market place at three ack-emma, to help organise the troops.'**

' **What did they give you at police college, apart from that ego? Won't you even listen to what I've got?'**

' **It has been a hard, trying day, and it is going to be an even harder, trying night...but...if it will make you happy...' He slid into a chair and took a slurp of coffee.**

' **It started about fifty years ago...'**

' **Oh, come on, Sergeant!'**

' **Please, hear me out.'**

He shrugged resignedly and took a large swig of the liquid.

' **You remember we were talking about the old man of the marsh?'**

' **Correction – you were.'**

She ignored him, moved several of the files until she found the one she was looking for. 'There was a disappearance – a lance corporal Yalton, who was stationed on one of the small air-to-ground firing ranges out on Horsey Marshes; a local man from Acle. His wife still lives there. He was returning to camp over the marshes with two friends after a night in the village pub, laughing and joking about wives. Somehow the talk got around to Yalton's pretty wife, and he got the impression that one of the other men had been having an affair with her. As it turned out, the man was only joking, trying to wind him up, but Yalton went beserk and attacked him viciously; the other man was a bit of a dodgy character and had a flick knife, which he pulled out to defend himself with. Yalton managed to wrest it off him and stabbed him with it. He left him lying in a pool of blood, and ran....ran blindly out into the dark. The third man heard a splash and a scream as Yalton fell into the water, then...nothing.' She paused.

' **Well – go on – finish the story now you've started.'**

' **The body was never found. Yalton's unit was leaving for duty overseas a few days later and the camp was closed, but the case was left open. Since then there have been dozens of sightings of his 'ghost' on the marshes, and strange lights moving at night. Local people won't go there after dark.'**

' **Very interesting. Quite finished?'**

' **That's all I have so far, but...'**

'... **That is all you will have! Full stop! You will pardon my scepticism, I'm sure, but just what the** _hell_ **has all that got to do with this case? Who said the boy and dog were together – or were anywhere near Horsey?'**

' **Argyle did.'**

' **Argyle my ar...'**

' **Careful!'**

' **Army greatcoat, I was about to say. Argyle said the boy was wearing an anorak, and looked older than the Harsley boy.'**

' **Well, we know he got rid of his jacket,' She rose, went over to the map on the wall and pointed, 'here, between Caister and California.' She pointed the tip of the ballpoint pen at map reference 140515. 'That's four miles towards Horsey,' She moved her pen to map reference 228460, near Horsey, 'going in the right direction. He might have found the anorak on the way. Now, take the dog – the ship is moored by the fish-wharf, on the East bank of the river, here.' She pointed to map reference 050528. 'Unless he swam the river, or got on the ferry' She pointed to the ferry at map reference 055526, 'the dog would have to cross the bridge, here,' Her pen came to rest on the bridge at 0755215, 'to get to the other side. There's a hot-dog stall and a newspaper pitch by that bridge, and I've talked to both traders. Neither saw an unaccompanied dog cross that way, and he didn't use the ferry – I checked – and if he went out this way,' She moved her pen point west along theA47 towards Acle, 'he would almost certainly have to use the road; the marshes are criss-crossed by dykes, some of them as wide as small rivers, and our permanent patrols would have spotted him. So, unless he wanted to swim, the dog's only exit from Yarmouth would also be in this direction.' The pen point moved North from Yarmouth along the A49 coast road.**

Transome smirked, 'Brilliant deduction, my dear Holmes, but how does that get them together at Horsey?'

' **Just suppose for a minute that they met up here,' She pointed at an area just north of Yarmouth on the A49 between Caister and Ormesby Saint Margaret, 'and got a lift?'**

' **You are supposing one hell of a lot, but – all right – get a request out to the media to ask for information about anyone giving a lift to a boy and dog in that area.'**

' **You mean you g...'**

Transome cut her off with, 'I mean if, and only if, you come up with one, will I listen to any more of this fairy story. Ghosts on the marsh. My God. And now, I suppose, you've got the boy and the dog teamed up with your fantasy marsh man.'

He shook his head cynically and got up to go.

She insisted, 'I know they're there; I can feel it...'

'... **In your water, I know.'**

' **That is not...'**

' **We've set up a Control Centre to find the dog – a room in Yarmouth Council offices. I'll be there till this is settled, day and night, once I get back from the search party meeting. So – you are in charge here, and I would like to think the station is running efficiently while I'm away.' He turned away, then turned back to face her. 'Oh, and Sergeant...'**

' **Yes?'**

' **While I'm there I don't want to be troubled by ghosts.' He went out and closed the door behind him.**

He did not hear her whispered, 'I hate you.' Her eyes closed, and she bit her lip, 'I wish I hated you.'

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

They sat eating rabbit stew out of dirty old soup plates, Billy on the only chair, Sam sitting on the bed. Billy was trying to emulate the slurping noises coming from Sam as he shovelled the food into his mouth. Sam had given the dog a plateful of the stew, but instead of eating, Mukki was chasing round and round, growling.

Sam stopped eating for a moment, and sighed contentedly

' **D'you believe in ghosts, Billy?'**

' **Ghosts? Brrr! I s'pose I do, but I've never seen one, nor want to.'**

' **Well, you're seen one now.'**

Billy pushed another spoonful of the stew into his mouth, 'Mm?'

Sam enlightened him, 'Folks hereabouts run a mile when they see me out on the marsh. They think I'm a ghost. Hee-hee. And his Lordship's men in't very keen, neither. Hahahaha....'

Billy had finished his mouthful and laughed with him

Sam had just crammed another mouthful of stew into his mouth, and couldn't control it. It spilt out over his beard and made them both laugh hysterically. The dog began to bark, getting excited, running up to each of them in turn, barking. Suddenly, it ran to the dish of food and tipped it over.

Sam, who had been trying to keep the remainder of the stew in his mouth, swallowed some and started coughing.

The coughing turned into a bad fit, which lasted for several minutes, with Billy watching, wanting to do something to help but not knowing how.

The coughing finally slowed to a stop, with Sam holding his chest until his breathing eased. He let his arms drop to his sides, and the dog bit his right hand viciously.

Sam yelled a swearword Billy had only heard once or twice in the playground from some of the bigger boys. He had no idea what it meant. Sam leapt up, grabbed the dog, opened the door and pushed Mukki outside, then pulled the door to again.

' **Quick, Billy, put the kettle back on the stove. Boil the water.'**

Sam drew his knife out of the scabbard and laid it on the bed. He began squeezing the hand, to push blood out of the wound that the dog had caused, to try and cleanse it.

' **Is it boiling, boy?'**

Billy took the top off the kettle and looked inside. He nodded. 'Yes, Sam'

' **Right! I want you to take my knife an' pour the water both sides o' the blade.'**

Billy was puzzled, but did as he was requested.

' **Now, bring it back to me and put it in my left hand.'**

Billy was frightened, 'What are you going to do? Kill the dog?'

' **No, boy – try an' stop it killin' me. Look in the top of the cabinet. You'll find a green tin. Bring that to me. Quick as you can, now.'**

Holding the hand over the floor, he cut deeply into it, taking care to avoid the veins. Blood ran freely, making Billy feel sick, but he found the tin and carried it over to the bed.

' **Take the top off, an' you'll find some bandages. Open one o' the packets an' start pullin' the edge, then start wrappin' it round my hand.'**

' **Why d'you think he bit you, Sam?'**

Sam looked grim, 'Cos I think he're got hydrocephalus, Billy.'

' **Hydro-what?'**

' **Somethin' I din't think we had in the UK. Rabies! An' if I'm right, you an' me is both in deep trouble.'**

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The high-ceilinged room was on the first floor of a building put up in the early 1930s. The walls were distempered in the sickly shade of green beloved of the gurus of the fifties, who proclaimed en masse that it reduced stress and helped to maintain a peaceful working environment. The old-fashioned doors had long ago lost the sheen of the last coat of varnish applied over ten years before. In the left hand wall, two of the old Crittal steel-framed multi-pane windows looked out onto the first floor of the buildings opposite – flats above a variety of shops, changed now from the butcher's, greengrocer's and haberdasher's of yore into two charity shops, a Chinese takeaway, and a pizza parlour. Progress! About fifteen feet by fifteen, it contained four plain, oak-veneered chipboard desks, each with a hard-seat chair behind it. Two of the desks had telephones on them, and one, where the DVO would sit, had a pile of Ordnance Survey maps next to the phone. On the facing wall was a large one-inch OS map of East Anglia, from Cromer in the North to Dunwich in the South, and from Yarmouth in the East to well beyond Norwich in the West. The map had four semi-circles drawn on it in permanent marker pen, described at five-mile intervals, their centre-point in the centre of Yarmouth. Each search sector was marked: Alpha, Bravo, and so on. The area of Norwich City was excluded by a segment formed by part of the outer arc on one side and lines running from it at map references 170217 and 030204 to a point on the next semi-circle at 087282. On the desk nearest the door stood a powerful mobile VHF radio transceiver, with a microphone attached, and a radio log pad. Two camp beds with blankets and pillows standing under the windows completed the furnishings.

The DVO stood pensively staring at the map. Transome sat at the transceiver, depressing the 'send' button, 'Foxtrot Sierra niner, over and out.'

He wrote on the log pad, removed the earphones and placed them on the desk.

' **That's the last.'**

' **Good. Leaving Norwich out, that's every road and track on a twenty-mile radius covered, and that is as much as we can do tonight. I wish there were more.'**

' **What are the chances?'**

' **Of catching the dog tonight? Just about nil; if it's still healthy it will be asleep, but we can't afford to take that chance.'**

' **What are you doing about the media?'**

' **As far as the dog is concerned, I'm going to leave it at the bald statement of fact already issued for now, and the request to keep pets secured. Will your men complete the house calls in the town tonight?'**

' **The few still on that should manage the East side of the river by midnight, or at least as far as the North Beach area. Depends how many A2 forms they have to issue. The rest are out on the marshes. When I think of the next six months of paper mountains I could gladly strangle that idiot of a captain.'**

' **Everyone makes mistakes, Richard.'**

' **Quite true. Even I thought I'd made one in 1993.' He laughed at his own joke, which the DVO had taken absolutely straight-faced.**

Transome's grin died on his face. He turned to the map and studied it carefully.

The phone on the DVO's desk rang. Transome was nearest and picked it up,

' **Foxtrot Sierra Control. Yes, just a moment. It's for you. Your lab.'**

The DVO took the receiver, 'yes, Michael? I see. When? Yes, straight away. Is Mrs Steele still there? Good, have her ring them to expect you.'

He replaced the apparatus, looked at Transome, his eyebrows raised.

' **The dog?'**

The vet nodded, 'Ten minutes ago.'

' **And the post-mortem?'**

' **Michael is taking organ samples to the Central Veterinary laboratory at Weybridge. We'll have a positive diagnosis within thirty-six hours.'**

' **By which time we should have the other dog.'**

The look on the DVO's face told the whole story, 'I wish I had your conviction.'

While Transome worked with the veterinary officer, Carole Somerset sat at the desk in his office, with over a dozen files open in front of her, holding the phone in her left hand, waiting for a reply, and doodling on a piece of paper with her right. The doodle she drew was of a large, bug-type beetle, with huge eyes and big teeth, drooling spittle.

She heard the connection come through, 'Ah, good evening. Sergeant Somerset, Yarmouth Division. I'm trying to contact one of our local constables urgently. He's on a fishing holiday in your area. Driving a Blue Ford Sierra, registration W999FFI, with a small camping trailer...Yes, in a tent, I believe...Thank you. Goodnight.'

She cut off the call by pressing on the unit with her finger, holding on to the receiver while she tapped at it with an extended forefinger.

Absentmindedly, she murmured to herself, 'Corporal Yalton, I may be a prim little virgin, well, almost, let's not split hairs, but you are one ghost that I am certainly going to lay.'

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Since fixed-wing aircraft were not permitted to land at the Great Yarmouth heliport on the North Denes, DCI Tony Dyce landed the Cherokee on the meadow behind Yarmouth greyhound track half an hour before dawn, switched the engine off and got out onto the ground. He had full instrument flight rules capability, but here VFR – visual flight rules, were all that was necessary. He knew from past visits that there would be plenty of ambient light from the nearby streetlights and the stadium itself. The police helicopter came in ten minutes later and set down fifty yards away from the Piper. The civilian pilot, Jamie Clarkson, left the rotors turning, got out of the aircraft and walked over to join Dyce. The other two members of the crew stayed inside.

' **Morning, Tony. Nice to see you flying again. When did you get your licence back?'**

' **Three months ago.'**

' **I'll bet you're glad. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I couldn't fly.'**

' **I felt the same way, once the healing process kicked in. Jane knew how much I was fretting, and thought it might be holding back my recovery. She cleverly came up with the solution. Do you know Peter Greenlove?'**

' **I do, as a matter of fact. He's an old RAF chum. Doesn't he run a flight school somewhere down in Suffolk now?'**

' **That's right. Well, I couldn't captain an aircraft with my licence suspended, but Jane had Peter come up once a week to be the official pilot, and he sat and watched while I flew.'**

' **Clever! After the Murder by Proxy killer put that bullet through your brain I really thought you'd had it.'**

' **Join the club! It was the closest I ever want to come to Head Office before my time is up. To get my licence back I had to go once a month for a series of tests you would not believe. I think they measured everything except how fast my toenails were growing. After ten visits they gave me a clean bill of health, but insisted I have a more thorough than normal check every year from now on.'**

' **At least you're behind the joystick again, and your own man. How's crime?'**

' **Hectic, as usual. At the moment we've got a serial killer knocking off members of an orchestra. It's different, I'll give it that.'**

' **Should be just up your street, Tony. You play, don't you?'**

Dyce nodded, 'Piano, but I don't even have much time for that now.'

' **And this job isn't helping. How are we going to work it?'**

' **Well, we're going to be below 3000 feet, so the height/heading rules won't apply. It will be 'see and avoid' with regard to other aircraft. I've checked, and there will be no military low flying over this area this morning, though they have two flights at around three o'clock this afternoon. Stuff going into and out of Norwich airport will be above our heights, so we won't have to worry about them. I suggest that you stick to five hundred and I'll maintain a thousand, except for landing. We'll both use the square search technique. If you begin from here and do east-west, west-east until you reach the end of the area, then north-south, south-north, I'll begin at the far end and do exactly the opposite. That way, we should have the best coverage.'**

' **Sounds good to me, Tony.' He pointed at the registration letters on Dyce's aircraft, 'Shall I call you BAD?' They were the last three letters of the aircraft's callsign.**

Dyce laughed, 'If you want to, but why don't we use the satellite phones. You have one, don't you?'

' **Sure do.'**

' **Fine. We'll make a call when we get in the aircraft and leave it open. I gave you the number. That way we'll both know what the other is doing from minute to minute, without the bother of calling up.'**

' **Great idea. Let's get at it and hope for success.'**

As Dyce took off again, the first faint streaks of dawn touched the eastern horizon, and the massed police and civil service personnel waiting to begin the ground search seemed to heave a collective sigh. They had been driven from the assembly point on the market place to the start point of the search and had been standing in the pub car park for over an hour, shivering in the pre-dawn temperature dip, impatient for action. The wind had veered to the northeast, and had a bitter edge to it.

Within two minutes the whole sky was a lighter grey, and in the distance they could see the sheen on the water, and the swans, ducks and coots swimming on it. A blackbird began singing its morning greeting, at odds with the serious business of the day for the assembled men.

They had all been allocated search areas.

Transome noticed the cumulus cloud beginning to form, 'I hope that weather forecast is wrong.'

The DVO was sure that it was not, and a faint rumble of distant thunder confirmed his view. 'I believe that was Thor telling you that it isn't.'

He turned to his deputy, 'John. Get the show on the road, we're heading back to the Control Centre.'

As they drove away, the mass of men spread out onto the mere, with only a couple of yards between each of them.

By the time they reached base, fourteen minutes later, it was full daylight, but the cloud had bubbled up into huge dark grey masses, reaching up several thousand feet. Both of them were thinking of the men, who were likely to get very wet.

The transceiver was humming as they walked into the office, and the uniformed PC sitting at the desk was speaking to the officer on the other end, taking details of progress. When he'd finished writing, he passed them on to the DVO, who used a blue marker pen to paint in the area searched, on a copy of the same map that was on the wall, stretched over his desk. The Alpha zone had been half covered, and the searchers were progressing towards Bravo.

The veterinary officer got up from his chair, and began to pour himself a coffee from his thermos. Transome plugged in an electric razor and was about to start shaving, but saw how worried the DVO was, 'I think I know your thoughts: suppose that dog has crawled into a hole and died somewhere, or drowned, and sunk?'

' **Both perfectly feasible. Would you like a cup?'**

' **Please. What then?'**

' **No loose ends.' He poured a second cup, 'Sugar?'**

' **No, thanks. We keep looking until we find the corpse?'**

' **Hole in one, and I haven't done that in quite a while.'**

' **Same here.' He took the proffered cup, 'Thanks.'**

He put the cup down, switched on the razor and began to shave.

A knock at the door, and a 'Come in' from the DVO, brought Somerset into the room, smiling brightly.

' **Good morning. How are th.....?'**

Transome switched the razor off abruptly, 'What the blazes are you doing here?'

The DVO looked at him, frowning.

' **I have some new information...Sir.'**

The vet smiled at the slight hesitation.

' **It had better be relevant. No more spectres.'**

' **All taken care of – I've got double-oh-seven working on that one, but in the meantime try this for size: a very angry farmer has just reported a theft of a small blue anorak...from his scarecrow...in a field less than half a mile from where Billy's jacket was found.'**

' **And from that we are no doubt to deduce that the boy deliberately changed clothes and threw his new jacket away?'**

' **Argyle saw a boy in a blue anorak with the dog.'**

' **And you've been seeing ghosts ever since. I told you it was impossible.'**

Somerset began to get angry, 'Not if they got a lift.'

**Transome got even angrier, 'I will say this just once more, Sergeant Somerset: we have hundreds of men – hundreds – combing every inch of East Norfolk. They have been briefed to look for the dog and also for the boy. If they are in this area, alone** _or_ **together, we will find them, without your...help. You are off the case – officially. I need you at the station, taking care of all the other problems. Is that clear?'**

' **Perfectly clear...Sir!' She flounced out.**

Transome picked up his cup, 'Women! Give them a badge and they think they're God Almighty.'

**He did not notice the old-fashioned look bestowed on him by the DVO, who had other opinions, 'Mm. What** _was_ **that about the boy and the dog?** _Our dog?'_

' **Not unless it's a second-cousin to Pegasus.' He switched on the razor again and continued shaving, turning half-away to avoid further conversation.**

The DVO looked at Transome's back, his eyebrows raised in query. There was a slight pause before he spoke again, almost to himself, 'That's what we're going to need on those marshes.'

Transome switched off the razor, 'Did you say something?'

' **Wings! The helicopter and DCI Dyce in his ancient Piper Cherokee. They'll be first to see anything.'**

' **What do you mean? Is the Chief Inspector flying as well?'**

' **He sure is, and I'm pleased. He's a damn good pilot, and we need every pair of eyes we can get.'**

Transome made a few unkind comments under his breath: he was not happy, having Dyce breathing down his neck. He would have to show how efficiently he was handling things.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sam was sleeping fitfully on the floor in his trousers, socks and shirt, with two of the fur blankets over him. Billy, wearing shirt and pants, was in the bed, asleep, but twisting and moaning, his face showing discomfort.

Sam had tied the dog to the table leg with a piece of old rope, which it was tearing at with its teeth and growling.

' **Ugggh!' Billy suddenly grunted in pain. He sat up in bed, eyes wide open, looking frightened. Sam woke up with a start and looked across at him.**

' **You all right?'**

' **I had a bad dream.' He looked at his hand where he'd been bitten. It had swollen up and had an ugly red rash. ' My hand is sore.'**

Sam got up and crossed to the boy, 'Le'ss hev a look-see.'

' **Is it all right? It's so hot.'**

Sam did not like the look of it at all, but said, 'Tha'ss fine. C'mon – breakfast.'

Billy pointed to the dog, 'He's having his already.'

Sam turned to look at the dog and did a quick double take. He walked over to the dog, taking small, quiet steps, and bent to take a closer look at him. The dog stopped chewing and turned towards the old man, growling furiously and showing its teeth. Sam was horrified to see that it was foaming at the mouth.

He couldn't help himself, 'Oh, my God!'

' **What's the matter, Sam?'**

The old man hesitated, weighing up whether to tell the boy the truth. He decided to, and took the lad's shoulder in a firm grip. 'Can you be a brave soldier, Billy?'

Billy was suddenly frightened, 'What is it, Sam? What...'

' **I think we're a-gornta die, son, an' that in't a-gornta be a pleasant death.'**

' **Die... Why?'**

' **Cos your little dog's got rabies, an' now so hev we. I don't know if they're found a cure for it since I're bin here, but tha'ss the most horrible disease there ever was. Maybe they're found a cure...leastways, we'll hev to go and...' He turned away towards the window, chewing his lip, his face twitching, under great emotional strain, his expression showing the weight of the decision he has to make. He turned back slowly and looked at his uniform, remembering the night he fell into the water.**

Billy was watching Sam, who looked scared to death and gasping, 'No...I can't...I can't! You can't ask me to!'

The boy was puzzled, 'I haven't asked you to do anything, Sam.'

The old man came back from the nightmare he had been in. He looked sadly at Billy, 'No, I know you hen't, old son.' He hesitated for a second or so, 'Look – I'll take you over to the village across the water an' you can go to the doctor alone, can't you?'

' **Ye..es, but why can't you come? Why must I go alone?'**

Sam had another inner struggle, before deciding to make a clean breast of things.

' **You asked if I'd ever killed anyone, Billy. Well, I did, but it worn't no German – it was one o' my friends – in a fight. So that don't make a damned sight o' diff'rence if I go or stay. They'll hang me if I go, an' I'll die here in my own home, such as it is, if I stay. I're sorta got used to this ol' place – I'd rather die here.'**

' **Hang you? They don't hang people any more. They haven't for years.'**

' **You're havin' me on!'**

' **No, honestly – they told us about it in school the other day.'**

' **Oh, no! Oh, my God, no...' He collapsed onto the chair by the table, put his hands over his face and began to sob.**

Billy put his arm round the old man's shaking shoulders, which slowly quietened.

Sam lifted his head up. He had made his decision.

' **Come on, Billy. Time to go.'**

Two minutes saw them at the punt. The dog was barking frantically in the hut.

Sam had dressed in his old uniform, but looked a caricature of a soldier, his unpressed, mouldy, dirty garments hanging loosely on his scraggy body. He had wound a dirty old piece of cloth around his hand, and was having difficulty uncovering the punt with one hand.

Billy tried to help him, but kept worrying about the dog. He asked, 'Where are we going?'

' **Potter Heigham.' Sam pronounced it in the Norfolk fashion, the second word coming out as 'Ham'. 'Tha'ss the nearest, nearer than Horsey.'**

He finally got the punt uncovered, 'Jump in.'

Billy hesitated, listening to the dog, barking and whining.

' **Can't we take him with us? He's already bitten us – it can't make any difference now.'**

' **Too dangerous! He can't do much damage here. They can fetch'im. It'll be alright.'**

Billy stepped back, 'I'm going to stay!'

Sam put out his hand to get hold of the boy, but Billy stepped back again, out of reach.

' **Oh, no, you in't! Fifty-three year I're lived here an' not bin disturbed, an' now through you an' that damned mutt I're got to lose everything! You're a-comin'! Now git in!'**

' **No! I'm not going to leave him!' He began to walk back to the hut.**

' **Don't be stupid! Get in!'**

' **No! When they fetch him they can fetch me too!'**

He turned and began to run.

Sam opened his mouth to shout again, but began to cough, until he was wracked with pain. He looked seriously ill. The coughing bout took him to his knees, where he stayed for several long minutes.

When finally his breathing returned to something like normality, he sighed heavily, got in the punt alone, and pushed away from the bank.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Somerset was sitting on the edge of Transome's desk, the telephone to her ear. On the desk top next to her sat the contents of Billy's plastic bag; his transistor radio, a tin of Cola, a small piece of bread, a half bar of chocolate and an apple. She was looking at the Horsey marshes area on a one-inch Ordnance Survey map'

' **Not just Horsey marshes?' Her finger on the map moved west from Horsey to Hickling Broad. 'Yes, there is a lot of marsh there, but all these old reports seem to stem from Horsey and West Somerton... Oh, really? You don't think he's a ghost either? Well if not, where does he live? Yes, I've got it; a small island in the middle of Hickling Broad.' Her finger came to rest on the small island shown on the map at 420218. 'But why do you think it's there? Ah, too shallow for boats...but you've never been there to look? No, of course not, why should you? No, no, there's no need for that. You've given me all I wanted. Thank you very much, Constable. Enjoy your fishing. Goodbye.' She depressed the phone cradle and dialled again.**

' **Mr Harsley? Sergeant Somerset. A van driver has just handed in some things which might belong to Billy. Can you...of course, I'll be here.'**

She dialled again, to Chief Inspector Dyce, but the phone was answered by his wife, Jane. Carole was surprised to hear that he was up in his old 1966 Piper Cherokee, over the marshes, helping with the search, along with the police helicopter.

Jane told her, 'I'll get him on the radio and let him know. Thank you.'

At the Control Centre Transome stood at the wall map, moving coloured pins, representing the various units involved, from sector to sector and zone to zone, as the uniformed constable, Peter Shaw, sitting at the radio, passed him the information. There was a proliferation of pins with unit details over all parts of the western edge of Charlie Zone. Zones Alpha and Bravo were all overlaid with transparent blue, except over the marsh areas around Hickling Broad, the marshes along the Hundred Dyke, the Rivers Bure and Yare, and around Horsey Mere, Heigham Sound and Meadow Dyke.

The DVO was concentrating his gaze on a similar map on his desk.

Shaw took another message, 'Foxtrot Lima receiving. Roger - Foxtrot Lima Eleven entering sector Charlie Alpha, over and out.'

Transome took the pin marked FL11 from sector 'BE' and placed it in sector 'CA'.

' **Foxtrot Lima Twelve, receiving. Roger, Foxtrot Lima Twelve. Unit ready to move into sector Charlie Bravo. Over and out.' Shaw told Transome, 'That's all of them, Sir.' Transome moved the other pin.**

' **Tell them to move.'**

' **Foxtrot Lima Control to all units. Commence Stage Three.**

The DVO spoke, 'Constable.'

' **Sir?'**

' **See if you can raise the helicopter now.'**

For some reason, after the initial contact, just as the rescue helicopter was taking off, they had been unable to speak to the crew.

' **Helicopter Three Two, this is Foxtrot Lima Control, do you read, over?'**

He listened and adjusted the fine-tuning on the receiver as he did so. He looked over at Transome and the DVO and nodded, 'Roger, Three Two, loud and clear. FB. Will you switch to a different working frequency please, one one eight megahertz, over.'

He listened again, then, 'Roger, Three Two, switching...' He moved the dial on the set, 'now! Roger Three Two, still five by nine, stand by for instructions.'

Transome moved over to the constable's position with a small piece of paper in his right hand. Shaw was busy with the set and didn't notice the inspector's approach.

Transome stood with his hands on his hips, waiting.

Shaw became aware of his presence and turned, lifting one earphone off his ear.

Transome asked, What's this 'FB' business, Shaw?'

' **Fine business, Sir. Bit of 'ham' chat.'**

' **Let's forget you are a radio amateur and stick to correct procedure, shall we? Read them this.'**

' **Yes, Sir.' He replaced the earphone and depressed the 'send' switch, 'Three Two, request you overfly and search areas bordered by map coordinates 020430 020470 100420 110520 and 200410 200470 230420 240450.' He listened and logged the reply, 'Roger that, Three Two, listening out. Foxtrot Lima One, this is Foxtrot Lima Control, come in, please One.'**

Chief Inspector Dyce had taken off at dawn in his old Piper. Staying at a thousand feet, to avoid near misses with the helicopter, which was flying at five hundred, he had overflown the entire area twice, and was just commencing his third 'square search'. He had flown due east from Acle, turned over Yarmouth, and retraced his flight path a couple of hundred yards north of his previous track until just north of Acle, then moved again the same amount northward to resume his eastward search. When he reached a point two miles north of Horsey, he had begun flying over the same area doing tracks north-south and south-north. He had told the DVO that he would not make radio contact unless he had something definite to report. The only living things he had seen so far were bullocks, put out on the marshes to feed them up, ready for market. Though he had serious business concerning an ongoing murder investigation to do back at Headquarters, he was pleased to have this excuse to spend time at the controls of the Cherokee – something he loved but was finding more and more difficult to fit in, now that he was not only Chief of Detectives but a farmer as well. It might be an old crate, with over eight thousand hours on the airframe, but he'd had the engine completely rebuilt by the manufacturers and had replaced the old instruments with an entirely new, state-of-the-art electronic suite. The seat covers might be worn, but the aircraft was as safe as you could wish. It might also be slow, but for this job it was perfect. The weather, which had been fine to start with, was rapidly deteriorating. Thermals were making it 'bumpy' at the thousand foot mark, as the cloud base built up, and heavy rain looked likely, making further searching from the air all but impossible, It should work out well though, since he would have to refuel in about an hour and a half. By that time the ground search should have covered the whole of the specified area and hopefully found the boy and dog, and he could go back to his murder enquiry: the musicians would be getting up and breakfasting, and he was looking forward to doing some serious questioning of the orchestra members who were present in the pub before the girl was stabbed, starting at ten o'clock.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Inside Sam's hut, the dog was growling and howling, running madly round the small area, tearing and chewing at everything. The interior of the hut was in a mess. The dog had chewed through the rope and had attacked the table legs, then the bedclothes, which were ripped and strewn over the floor. Even the fur on the animal's legs had been chewed. The dog was foaming at the mouth and patches of saliva, wet and dried, were all over the floor.

Billy pushed down the latch and opened the door just a fraction, to peep in.

Mukki twisted round towards the door, growling viciously, and threw himself forward.

Billy slammed the door shut, terrified, knowing he had made a terrible mistake, not going with Sam.

The old man had pulled the punt in to the bank and was striding out, intent on getting help for Billy as soon as he could. He could not know, but the front edge of the blue line of searchers was still three miles away from his position.

He came to a wide dyke, where he knew there was an old substantially built bridge that he needed to cross. The ends of the structure were brick and only the top few inches of the circular water tunnel were visible over the water level, well up after the recent heavy rain. It had been over ten years since the last time he had used it, but he could see that cattle had been over it some time in the past year and the top, made of wooden planks, looked solid enough. There was no handrail.

Sam stepped onto the planks gingerly, not very sure about the slippery state of them. He was almost halfway across when they gave way. As he fell, his body flipped over, leaving his legs caught on the edge. Both leg bones broke, and he crashed down into the water. He passed out before he could utter a cry.

He woke minutes later and as his eyes opened, the first thing he was aware of was a shaft of light shining on the water at his side. He was immersed in the water up to his waist, and was shivering. His legs were painful but he didn't realise they were broken. The cold water had numbed them.

He looked around, weighing up his options.

At each end, he could see daylight at the top of the tunnel, but the water level was only about an inch from the top brickwork. If he was to get out that way, he would have to swim underneath the water, and he realised that it would be impossible, in his present state.

He had fallen into a chamber with inward-sloping sides, made of rotting brick, about eight feet wide and six feet high, with two feet of water at the bottom of the semi-circular drainage channel in which he was partly lying. On either side of the channel there were mud-covered flat ledges.

Sam had fallen sideways, so that the upper part of his body was out of the water on one of the ledges, leaving his legs and lower body in the water. He tried to crawl out, gasping in agony and almost fainting. He guessed that something was wrong and put his hands down to feel his legs, immediately realising they were both broken.

He tried again, this time rolling his body and using his arms and hands, not his legs, grunting and moaning with pain. Finally he lay on the ledge, out of the water.

He looked again at both ends of the tunnel, then up at the roof. He began to struggle to crawl up the wall, hoping to reach the planks, pulling himself up with his hands, making painful, inch-by-inch progress, then inadvertently put his weight on his right leg.

He gave a yelp of pain and collapsed on the ledge, with his arm out at full length and his eyes closed.

His hand grappled with the bricks in the wall, as he tried yet again, grunting with pain, his eyes widening with each spasm.

He fainted.

His body took over, and drew him into a blessed slumber. Every few seconds his body twitched.

The sound of a rat, splashing through the water, brought him to consciousness, and he opened his eyes suddenly. He was delirious and began throwing his arms about wildly and shouting,

' **Away! No! Get away! Get off! Hah! Think I can't see you, don't you? You bin waitin' fer me, hen't you? Hah! Long time I cheated you, hen't I? Ahahahahaha!'**

His wild guffaws of laughter gradually turned to agonised sobs and then quiet crying. Through the sobs came disjointed words, 'I din't mean to kill'im...honest...I never hurt no one in my life...'

**He suddenly lifted his head, no longer crying, but with tears running down his cheeks. He spoke in a strong, clear voice, 'but he shun't hev said that! He shun't hev! True or not, an' that was true! You couldn't help yourself, Mary – I know that....You allus was a big girl, wi' healthy appetites....an' I weren't a lot o' good to you, was I?' He began to sob again, 'But I** _loved_ **you, Mary...I** _loved_ **you. I still do. I meant to tell you one day. Now...now...you won't never know...' Heavy sobs racked his body.**

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

' **You are absolutely sure, Mrs Harsley?'**

' **Yes, that's Billy's trannie. He likes the sound better out of that than his iPod. Carries it everywhere. You will find him, won't you?'**

' **I am sure of it, and very soon.' Somerset wished she were as sure as she sounded.**

She knew that if she rang Transome he would not take her information seriously. She had to go to the Control Centre and she knew he would be mad at her, but what the heck! She knew the Chief Inspector was in the air, but did not know that at that very moment he was only a couple of miles from where she stood. She had promised to keep him informed, so dialled his number.

Jane Keller answered and Somerset passed on all the information. Jane confirmed that Dyce was flying and that she would pass the message on to him.

Carole knocked diffidently at the door of the Control Centre, and entered without being asked.

Transome was incensed at seeing her. 'I thought I told you to stay at the station!'

' **And I thought you needed to know this – the boy and the dog got a lift in a van. The driver brought in the lad's bag, and his mother has confirmed it's his. And PC Argyle says he believes the man is no ghost and lives on an island in the middle of Hickling Broad'**

' **So the boy stole a lift. But what have you really got? Where from? Where to? What does it prove? And you're back with those ghosts again. Above all, you were given a direct order to stay put.'**

PC Shaw, at the radio, with earphones on, was pretending not to hear the altercation. He began speaking at the same time as Somerset, 'Roger Foxtrot Lima Four'

Carole couldn't help herself. All the weeks of repressed anger burst out of her, 'I don't believe it! Of all the megalomaniac...'

' **That is enough, Sergeant! Quite enough!' Transome felt himself shaking with shock and anger.**

Somerset realised she had gone too far and turned pleadingly to the DVO, 'Sir?'

The DVO shrugged and lifted his eyebrows, not wanting to intervene between colleagues. 'Perhaps you would wait outside for a moment, Sergeant?'

Somerset was about to retort angrily but decided against it, turned on her heel and exited the room, slamming the door behind her.

The DVO walked over to Transome, who was simmering with anger, and spoke quietly to him, 'She could have a point, you know.'

Transome had no option, 'Agreed, but we can't divert manpower with nothing more tangible than a fifty-year-old ghost story and half a dozen dog's hairs. Time enough to start looking under stones if we find nothing by the standard search procedures.'

' **But we** _will_ **mark the island for a special check later, all right?'**

' **Right.'**

' **And it would be kind to let Sergeant Somerset know that; she is only thinking of the boy, you know.'**

' **I suppose so.'**

He crossed to the door and opened it. Somerset was looking and feeling belligerent, but remained silent.

**Transome gritted, 'Okay! You've made your point, Sergeant. We** _will_ **make a special check of the island...when and** _if_ **the general search fails.'**

She was incensed, 'But that could be too l...' The door slammed in her face.

Chief Inspector Tony Dyce had just spoken to his wife on the radio and had banked away north-westward, looking at the map on his knee. It took him only three minutes to reach Hickling Broad and he flew over it and directly over the island as slowly as he could, cutting back the revs to just tick-over. Turning at the far end of the broad, he flew slowly over the island from the opposite direction. The area of land was tiny, and from above the old man's abode was invisible. The few trees masked the figure of Billy, asleep on the ground under a bush, with his head resting on his rolled up anorak. His sleep was restless and he was having a bad dream, grunting, twitching his face and moving his limbs. He did not hear the Piper gliding almost powerless overhead, but woke as Dyce opened the throttles as he flew back towards the shore.

The boy jumped up and ran down to the water's edge, waving and shouting at the departing aircraft, 'Look! I'm here! Oh! Look! No! Come back! Come back...' He fell to his knees and began to cry, sobbing, 'Come back, please.'

Dyce keyed the transmitter.

' **I've flown over twice, Jane, and couldn't see anything, but there is a small tree canopy, and there could be anything beneath it. I'm going to try to find somewhere close to land, and see if I can find a boat to go over to it. I don't even know if the helicopter would do any better; there's nowhere to land, and the trees go right down to the water's edge, but they could possibly let someone down on the winch to look under the trees. I'll let them know.'**

Shaw picked up the message and told Transome, who puffed up his chest, feeling justified, 'There you are, David. What did I tell you? Nothing there.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sam was sitting up, his legs out in front of him, half leaning against the brick wall, his eye open. He was quite conscious and his mind was clear. He was surprised that there was still a shaft of bright light illuminating his prison. The rain must be holding off, he thought.

He felt a small piece of wood under his hand and threw it into the water. It drifted very slowly on the current from left to right.

He had heard a small aeroplane not far away a few minutes before; now he heard a helicopter approaching, muffled by the earth and brickwork around him. He chuckled, 'Tha'ss enuff to make you spit, in't it? When I think o' the scores o' times I're dodged you, an' here I'd give a king's ransom if you could see me. No chance o' that, down here. One chance to pay for my mistake an' I can't even do that.' He rubbed his left leg, pain showing on his face. 'Sorry, Billy, you're a-gornta die, and tha'ss orl my fault. S'any consolation, so am I – and that damned dog. They'll find us, don't you worry – three skellingtons – mebbe a dozen years from now – an' spend hundreds o' pounds tryin' to find out what happened. Well – good luck to 'em.'

The helicopter noise sounded very loud indeed, and the shaft of sunlight suddenly disappeared.

Sam started shouting and waving his arms frantically, 'Hey...here...down here...look...here...No! Don't...go...'

The noise of the aircraft diminished rapidly and Sam slumped back against the wall, 'Bloody blind buggers!'

He was not to know that help for Billy was closer than he could imagine.

Carole Somerset had not gone back to the station, but to the Harsley house, where she had rousted out Billy's father and mother, got them into her car and driven to the boat hire station on the side of Hickling Broad. They had hammered on the door of the bungalow behind the boat hire staithe until the owner had responded, and were moving up the side of the Broad, with Mr Harsley rowing.

His wife urged, 'Can't you row any faster?'

' **What practice do I get? Usually when I'm up the creek I haven't got any oars.'**

He tried to row faster and caught a crab, falling backwards into the bottom of the boat, onto Somerset's feet. 'Damn!'

The sergeant helped him back up and onto the seat.

' **Thanks, must have been trying too hard.'**

Somerset heard a shout from the bank, two hundred yards away. She couldn't believe her eyes, but told Harsley to turn in. 'That's Chief Inspector Dyce. I don't believe it!' Behind Dyce she saw his aircraft, parked on the grass of the meadow.

Dyce himself couldn't believe it when he recognised her. 'Sergeant Somerset. Fancy meeting you here.'

' **And you, Sir. How come?'**

' **I flew over the island but couldn't see anything. I landed on the field here, and hoped I could find a boat to get to the island. And here you've come along in the nick of time.' He could see Harsley was puffed, and told him, 'Let me row; I've had a lot of practice.' Not lately, he thought, but he had been in the University eight, and he'd bought a small dinghy for the Hall lake, which he'd used a few times lately, fishing for the trout he'd had stocked.**

He was about to dip the oars into the water when Mrs Harsley said, 'Listen!'

Very faint sounds of the rabid dog were just audible. The dog had reached that stage in the rabies cycle just before death, and was really frantic.

Mrs Harsley asked, 'Did you hear it?'

They all agreed, and Dyce began rowing as hard as he could.

In Sam's hut, everything that could be ripped was torn to pieces. The dog had collapsed and looked dead, its fur gummed up with saliva.

Billy had listened to the dog's last frantic barking and then the silence. He carefully unlatched the door and looked in.

He saw the dog lying near what was left of the table. Going through the door, he crossed to the body, picked it up in his arms and carried it over to what was left of the bed. He laid it down and knelt beside it, crying big tears. He sobbed for some time without speaking, then said to the dog, 'Why'd'you have to go and die? I never had a dog...till you. I would have loved you,' He stroked the dog's head, 'taken care of you...played with you...but you had to go and die. Why? Why?'

He heard a noise behind him and thought that Sam had returned. He was astonished to hear his mother's voice, 'Billy!'

He threw himself around, jumped to his feet and almost bowled his mother over, 'Mum! Dad!' He buried himself in their arms.

' **You're cold, Billy! Why ever did you come here?'**

His father urged, 'Don't scold him, Mother. We've got him now. It's all right, son. You're all right now.'

They were so tied up with their own thoughts that they were unaware of Somerset and Dyce, looking at the dog.

Billy asked, 'Did Sam fetch you? He went to Potter Heigham to get help.'

Somerset turned quickly, 'Sam? The old man of the marsh?'

Billy nodded. As he did so, Somerset noticed his hand, which was round his mother's neck. She could see how red and swollen it was, and crossed quickly to take hold of it, so that she could better inspect it. 'Did...the dog do this, Billy?'

Billy looked over at the dog and suddenly, for the first time, despite what Sam had said, realised the full implications.

He screamed and became almost hysterical, 'I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die! I'm gonna die!'

Dyce ruffled his hair, 'Not if we can help it, Billy. We'll get you to hospital. They can do wonders nowadays, and rabies is not as dangerous to humans as it once was.' His pathologist wife, Jane, kept him well up to date with most medical matters, particularly where it might affect his work, and he was au fait with the recent advances in treatment for rabies, but he did not want to tell the boy how painful the treatment was. Time enough when he had to face it.

Sam was not an unintelligent man; sitting in his tunnel, he had decided on a course of action. The old bricks had long ago lost their mortar and were easy to dislodge. When he had removed two of them, he pulled himself along, in agony, to the end of the bridge where the water was flowing in. He laid the bricks carefully in the water and returned for two more. It would take some time to achieve his object, but time, even if limited, was all he had.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Transome held the receiver in his hand. He knew how badly he'd goofed. It was bad enough that he'd not listened to Somerset, but the fact that she had been with the Chief Inspector when they found the boy sealed his fate. He fully expected his next posting to be to Outer Mongolia, with no chance of ever receiving any further promotion. Somerset was right – his ego had not allowed him to credit her with any intelligence. He deserved everything that was coming to him.

The DVO had said nothing, but Transome could sense the cold shoulder, and he knew that the golf club would in future be a place he would want to stay away from. Without looking round he could feel the icy glance of Constable Shaw, who sat, one earphone off, watching him.

The DVO's assistant, Michael, was standing by the door, with his hand on the doorknob, and the DVO was standing next to him. The urgency in the room was palpable.

Transome had to gulp, to get enough saliva in his mouth to speak, 'I want the ambulance there when the chopper lands.' He listened briefly, said 'Thank you.' And turned and nodded to Shaw, who replaced his earphone and keyed the transmit switch, 'Three Two, this is Foxtrot Lima Control. Ambulance and vaccine waiting for you at 108520, acknowledge please, over.'

He listened and logged the answer on the pad in front of him. While he was doing so, the DVO crossed to him and indicated without speaking that he wanted to use the microphone. Shaw answered the helicopter,

' **Roger, Three Two, check correct. Ay ess one, please, I have someone for you.' He handed the mike to the veterinary officer, grinning at the knowledge that Transome would not dare to call him over the coals for using another 'ham' expression on the air.**

The DVO knew the pilot well, 'Bravo, Peter, and thank you.'

' **You should thank that police sergeant, Carole Somerset. This was all due to her. We're just the ferry service in this case.'**

' **Roger that, Peter. That will certainly be done.'**

Transome felt even smaller.

' **That leaves the old man. He didn't reach Potter Heigham and his punt is adrift in the middle of the broad. The question is, has he really drowned this time.....fifty years too late?'**

Transome still hadn't learnt his lesson, 'Or was it cold feet and a disappearance at the last minute? He's done it before. It would only be history repeating itself.'

' **Leaving the boy to a certain, horrible death? He knew the dog was rabid. Surely he could not be so heartless.'**

' **Remember, he thought he'd killed the other man, and he wouldn't know the death penalty has been repealed. He might prefer to find a hole to crawl into and die, rather than face that.'**

' **I don't care what hole he's in, or how deep...'**

' **I know – no loose ends.'**

' **And I'd like the helicopter back over that area as soon as it's dropped the boy off.' He walked over to the map, showing the placement of all the various units involved. The blue covered all of Alpha, excluding Norwich, all of Bravo and all of Charlie zones.**

' **Right! I'll organise that.'**

' **We need units nine, eleven and twelve and the helicopter to this area, here.' He described a circle with his finger, over the area where Sam was entombed.**

' **Well, that's that. Come on, Michael. Off to that island to pick up the dog's body, then straight to Weybridge, right?'**

Sam was at that moment lying unconscious, filthy with mud, body twitching, in six inches of water, at the bottom of the drainage channel. Before losing consciousness he had finished his labour and blocked the right-hand end of the tunnel with bricks removed from the wall. Only a small amount of water was still running through the tunnel. At the left hand end there was now just enough room for a man to crawl out through the circular hole, but Sam had passed out before he could make it.

The helicopter had dropped off the boy and his parents where the ambulance awaited them and had flown back to the bank of Hickling Broad to pick up Dyce and Somerset.

Transome was just about to put his foot in it again.

Shaw was transmitting, 'Roger that, Foxtrot Lima Eleven, over and out. Come in Three Two.' He listened, writing on the log pad, then looked up, surprised.

' **It's Somerset, Sir.'**

' **In the helicopter? Christ! That woman! Switch in the loudspeaker.'**

Shaw leant forward and depressed a switch. Somerset's speech was slightly distorted by the radio, and there were helicopter engine noises in the background.

' **Not a thing moving on the marsh – not even a mouse.'**

Transome took the mike and in tired, long-suffering, but not angry tones, asked, 'Sergeant Somerset, what are you doing in that helicopter? Don't you ever obey orders?'

Her voice was jubilant, 'Oh, hello, Skipper. The boys were sweet enough to give me a ride, but there's nothing unusual...wait a minute! Yes! There is...down there...a dyke...full of water one side of a bridge and almost empty the other. Something's blocking it!'

' **Oh, no! Not more damned ghosts!'**

Another voice told him, 'Thank your lucky stars she was seeing ghosts, Inspector.'

Transome recognised the voice instantly, having worked four years for the man. He cringed. Would he never learn?

' **Ah, Chief Inspector. I didn't know you were there.'**

' **Obviously not. We're going down to take a look at Carole's ghost, anyway.'**

Dyce mentally booked a ten-minute session with Transome, which the inspector would not forget in a hurry, and a recommendation for Somerset's promotion to Inspector would be on the Chief Constable's desk the next morning. With her obvious intelligence and dedication to police work he could see her going all the way to the top.

Somerset's voice came over, 'There's something blocking that waterway, and look! There's a hole in the top of the bridge...broken planks! This might be it!'

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sergeant, soon to be Inspector, Carole Somerset sat in the hospital car park in her new silver Skoda Octavia, which she had treated herself to, in the knowledge that her new rate of pay would easily allow her to afford it. Even better, the 105 horsepower 1600cc diesel engine's low emissions meant that she would be paying no road tax whatsoever. She was still having difficulty believing it, after paying well over a hundred and fifty pounds a year for her previous little1000cc petrol-engined runabout, which only managed thirty-five miles to the gallon on a good day with a following wind. She was achieving sixty miles per gallon on short journeys with the new car, and had been assured that seventy-five was possible on a long run, with careful driving.

She saw Billy's parents exit from the East Wing doors, pleased to see that they were arm-in-arm and looking extremely happy.

She got out as they approached, greeted them and asked, 'How is Billy today?'

Mr Harsley answered, 'Fine. No symptoms, and it's five days now. Doctor Blayne is convinced he will be all right; we got to him in time. He's really chipper, and taking those horrible injections like a soldier.'

' **Is he in a lot of pain?'**

' **I don't think so, but like us he has some nasty lumps from them.'**

Somerset rubbed her stomach, 'Mm.'

' **It was worth it.'**

' **Too true! Good job they use the new Diploid Cell vaccine. The old nerve tissue derived vaccine saved lives, but the side-effects were sometimes nearly as bad as the disease.'**

' **Doctor Blayne told us that it has only been in general use since the 1970s. Rabies used to be fatal in almost every case, but nowadays they manage to save most patients. How is the old...Mr Yalton? Sam, as Billy calls him. We tried to see him yesterday, to thank him, but weren't allowed to.'**

' **He's conscious, with a good chance of complete recovery. By a strange quirk of fate, being exposed to rabies probably saved his life; he has a bad case of pleurisy and double-pneumonia, not helped at all by immersion in the water for so long, and he's old and undernourished, but the outdoor life has hardened him.'**

' **And his wife?'**

' **Is with him now...rushed out here as soon as she knew, and hasn't left his bedside since. She never re-married – wouldn't believe he was really dead. He cried when we told him he hadn't killed his friend. I felt like crying with him. Not that his problems are over; he's going to find it very difficult to adjust to modern life. He was worried that he might be prosecuted as a deserter, but the Ministry of Defence has agreed to leave him be, and has closed the case.'**

' **And the wounding of his friend?'**

' **The man has refused to press charges. He says he goaded Sam beyond breaking point, and deserved a beating. He had the knife, not Sam, and says it was his own fault he got stabbed with it. His injuries were not even that serious, and his other friend stemmed the blood flow and got him back to his unit. He's been worried all these years that he caused Sam's death. Ironic, isn't it? He's even been to visit Sam in hospital and told him face to face not to feel bad about it.'**

' **What about the rabies?'**

' **The Divisional Veterinary Officer is convinced that the matter has been concluded satisfactorily and that with the recovery of the dog's body we are now in the clear. They have stood down. It was a nasty wake-up call for us, but it has been contained, thank the Lord.'**

**They had reached the passenger side of the Harsley's car and stopped. They held hands and the woman told Somerset, 'We've decided to make some changes. Ernest** **has changed his job. It'll be less money, but...'**

Her husband finished the sentence for her, '...I'll have more time to spend with Billy. He told me he's got the fishing bug, and I used to love it when I was a boy. Oh, and he's promised us he's learnt his lesson and will never run away again. He told us he ran away because life at home was too boring, and school was too easy. We've been to see his headmaster, and he has agreed to assess Billy with the idea of applying for a bursary to Gresham's Grammar School if he finds he is good enough.'

Mr Harsley opened the door for his wife, who got in, leaving the door open and sat looking at Somerset, as her husband went round to the driver's side and opened the door. Reaching into the back seat, he brought out a plant pot with a strelitzia regina in it, and walked back round the car to where a tearful Mrs Harsley was saying, 'You'll never know how much we...'

Somerset also had a tear in her eye, 'Sshh! You don't want to have me crying in my lunchtime beer, do you?'

The husband held out the strelitzia, 'We...noticed you liked plants, so... a very little token...it isn't...' He began to break down, pushed the pot into Somerset's hands and turned away. As he walked back to the driver's side, he surreptitiously wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Billy's mother reached out, took Somerset's hand and gripped it tightly, 'We are so lucky it ended well.'

The sergeant nodded, choked up and incapable of speaking. She extricated her hand, gently pushed the mother's arm onto her lap and closed the door.

Mr Harsley looked across, tearfully, and nodded at Somerset, before starting the car and driving off.

They all waved until the car was out of sight.

Somerset stood looking after them, her smile changing gradually to a thoughtful frown.

She shook her head sadly and looked down at the plant, to which she addressed her next remark, 'Ended well? If only they knew, eh, Queenie? Now begins the real work.'

Back at the station, she knocked lightly at the door of Transome's office and walked in, unable to believe her eyes.

The schlumbergera was standing on top of the Inspector's desk and he had a small spray in his hand, syringing the leaves of the plant, smiling and whistling happily, his back to the door.

As she entered, carrying the strelitzia, he half turned.

She stopped in mid-stride, amazed. 'I don't believe it!'

Transome turned back to the desk, pretending he didn't know she was there and speaking to the plant, 'Well, Rhip old pal, we've got a couple of hours off; if we grovelled to Carole and admitted being wrong, would she let us take her out to dinner?'

He set the syringe down, and placed one hand flat on the desk.

Carole came up behind him, smiling, knowing that she surely had the old Richard back. She laid her hand over his and squeezed. 'You know, that really has me worried.'

He turned to face her, frowning slightly. 'How...'

' **You never use my first name unless you want something.'**

They smiled knowingly into each other's eyes.

EPILOGUE

Out on the Horsey marsh, the vixen stood unsteadily outside her den, watching her six cubs, weaned and big enough now to leave her and the den; all of them carrying the disease and immune. Her lips had flecks of foam on them, and she was near to death. In the six weeks since being bitten by Mukki, she had bitten several rats, some of which had escaped death, and the leg of a bullock. With her lips pulled back the way they were, in the rictus of death, anyone watching her would have sworn that she was laughing.

~~~FINIS~~~

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