"No, ma'am," said Ginger, scanning the list. "But it certainly seems as if we've got our work cut out."

"I've got more, specially for you, Ginger."

"How nice, ma'am."

"There was a young Canadian woman living on The Hill opposite the Paynes. She became quite close friends with Lucy, even after the arrest. Appeared on TV as her champion, that sort of thing, thought Lucy was a poor victim."

"I see," said Ginger.

"She was also present when Lucy Payne had her 'accident.' Lucy was living in her house at the time. You can imagine the sense of betrayal she must have felt. Anyway, she has to be our chief suspect if she was anywhere near the scene. Her name's Maggie, or Margaret, Forrest. She worked as an illustrator of children's books, so the odds are that she's still in the same line of work. You can check publishers, professional associations, what have you. You know the drill." She passed a folder to Ginger. "The details are all in here."

"You said she's Canadian. What if she's gone home?"

"Then she's not our problem any more, is she?"

"And if I find her?"

"Come straight to me," said Annie. "That's another interview I'd like to do myself."

Jill Sutherland, part-time barmaid at the Fountain, was in the kitchen when Winsome called at her flat about a mile from the college. "I was just making a cup of tea," Jill said. "I only got home about five minutes ago. Can I offer you some?"

"That'd be great," said Winsome.

Jill carried the pot and two cups, along with milk and sugar, on a tray, then sat cross-legged on the small sofa in front of the coffee table. Her living room was light and airy, with a distinct whiff of air freshener. Innocuous pop music played on the radio, occasionally interrupted by a cheery voice turned so low that Winsome thankfully couldn't hear a word he said. She sat opposite Jill and took out her notebook.

Jill smiled. She was a pretty redhead with a button nose and a pale, freckled complexion, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. All in all, she had an air of innocence that Winsome thought probably belied her experience. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

"I don't know, really," Winsome began. "It's about Saturday night in the Fountain. The girl who was killed, Hayley Daniels, had just been drinking there. We're trying to gather as much information as we can."

Jill's expression changed. "Yes, that was terrible. The poor girl. I read about her in the paper. And to think I could have been working just around the corner. Or even walking through there myself."

"You walk through the Maze alone?"

"Usually, if I've been working. It's a shortcut. I park in the Castle car park, and it's the fastest way. I never thought it was dangerous, really."

"You should be more careful."

Jill shrugged. "I never had any problems. There was never anyone else there."

"Even so...Did you know Hayley?"

"I'd seen her around."

"You're a student at the college, too?"

"Yes. Forensic science."

Winsome raised her eyebrows. "Forensic science? I didn't even know they had a course in that."

"It's quite new. After two years you can get into analytical chemistry at the University of Leeds."

"Is that where you met Hayley, at college?"

"Travel and tourism's just around the corner. We share a coffee shop. I'd seen her in town sometimes, too, shopping."

"And in the Fountain?"

"Once or twice."

"But you weren't friends."

"No, just acquaintances. I only knew her to say hello to."

"You called in poorly on Saturday, is that right?"

"Yes."

"What was wrong with you?"

"Just a cold."

Winsome guessed by the way Jill averted her eyes and flushed as she spoke, that she wasn't exactly telling the truth. As a further distraction, Jill chose that moment to lean forward and pour the tea. As she did so, she gave a small cough and put her hand to her mouth. "Milk and sugar?"

"Yes, please," said Winsome. She accepted the mug and went back to her question. "All better now?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Come on," said Winsome. "You can be honest with me. I've seen the Fountain. You didn't have a cold, did you? You just didn't want to go to work."

Jill's eyes filled with tears. "I need the money," she said. "My parents can't afford to support me."

"Surely there must be a better job?"

"I'm sure there is, and I'm looking. In the meantime, there's the Fountain."

"What's Jamie Murdoch like to work for?"

"Jamie's all right."

"Has he ever bothered you?"

"He asked me out a couple of times, but I said no." Jill wrinkled her nose. "He's not really my type. I mean, he's not exactly God's gift, is he?"

Winsome smiled. "How did he react to that?"

"He was disappointed, naturally, but he didn't push it. No, it's not working for Jamie that's the problem. It's just...I can't deal with all the drunks and the abuse. I mean, I know people aren't really themselves when they've had a lot to drink, but the mood can get very uncomfortable. There's rows and fights and all sorts, and it's not as if Jamie is the bouncer type."

"So what happens?"

"Oh, people usually calm down. I mean, no one ever got really hurt or anything. It's just the language flying around, and the rudeness. Not that I'm a prude or anything. And then there's the smoke. You wouldn't believe how bad it gets sometimes. First thing I have to do when I get home is put all my clothes in the basket and have a long soak in the bath."

"That should improve after the smoking ban in July," said Winsome. "Is there anything else about working there that bothers you?"

Jill paused and bit her lower lip. "I shouldn't be telling tales out of school," she said finally, "but in the summer, when me and Pauline drove across to France for a weekend, Jamie asked me to stop and fill the boot with cheap lager and cigarettes."

"It's not illegal," said Winsome.

"I know, but I think selling them in the pub is. I know lots of people do it, and like I said, I'm not a goody two-shoes, but I didn't want to do anything that might harm my future, especially if I'm going to be connected to law enforcement. That would be crazy."

"Quite right," said Winsome. Illegal booze and cigarettes was not exactly the kind of breakthrough she was looking for, but it was another snippet to add to the file. As far as telling Customs and Excise was concerned, though, a pub like the Fountain was so low down the pecking order when it came to smuggling that it would hardly be worth their while. "Jamie says he was there until half past two cleaning up after someone wrecked the toilets," she said.

"I know. He told me. I can't say I'm surprised."

"Has it happened before?"

"Not that bad, but someone broke some glasses once. And they often stuff toilet paper down the bowl. That's what I mean about working there. You dread going to work on a weekend, and the rest of the time it's dead, except for lunch sometimes. I'm sorry I left Jamie in the lurch like that. I feel really bad now I know he was there all by himself when, you know, it happened."

Winsome stood up. "He'll survive. Thanks a lot, Jill, you've been a great help."

"I have?"

Winsome smiled. "Like I said, every little bit helps."

Detective Superintendent Catherine Gervaise had called the progress review meeting in the boardroom of Western Area Headquarters for five o'clock that Wednesday afternoon, by which time some of the forensic reports had started trickling in. DS Stefan Nowak, the crime scene coordinator, was there as liaison with the lab, along with Dr. Elizabeth Wallace, Banks, Templeton, Wilson, Hatchley and Winsome, just back from talking to Jill Sutherland.

"Okay," said Gervaise, when everyone had settled with coffee, pads and pens in front of them. "Let's add up what we've got so far. First off, DS Nowak is here on behalf of forensic services. I know it's probably too early yet, but do you have anything for us, Stefan?"

"Not a lot, I'm afraid, ma'am," said Nowak. "And most of it's negative. Technical support did manage to enhance the number plate of the car that passed by around the same time Hayley Daniels went into Taylor's Yard, but it turns out it was just a couple on their way home from celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary at that posh restaurant down Market Street."

"What about Hayley herself?" Gervaise asked. "Anything more on what happened there?"

"The rapist wore a condom, so we don't"

"Hang on a minute," said Banks. "What about the semen on the victim's thigh?"

"I was getting to that," said Nowak. "All I can suggest is that he was in a hurry and it spilled out when he removed the condom, or it belongs to someone else. We're still waiting on DNA results."

"There were two of them?" said Gervaise.

"Not necessarily two attackers," said Nowak. "Someone could have had consensual sex with her, in accordance with the theory that she went into the Maze to meet someone."

"Then someone else killed her?" said Templeton.

"Possibly."

"She went into the Maze to relieve herself," said Winsome. "And she wasn't a slut."

"I'm not suggesting that she was," said Nowak, looking taken aback. "Just that the results are inconsistent. We know that someone had sex with Hayley using a condom because we found traces of a lubricant used on a common brand, but we also found traces of semen on her thigh and on two of the adjacent leather remnants. Those are the facts. It's not up to me to speculate, but I'd ask why a killer clever enough to clean up the body to some extent would miss the semen, unless it happened at a different time, or perhaps was left by someone else. There was one slight inconsistency."

"Yes?" said Gervaise.

"The seminal fluid wasn't quite as dry as it should have been given the time of death."

"As I've explained many times," said Dr. Wallace with a definite hint of defensiveness in her tone, "time of death is always, at best, a rough estimate."

"That's what I thought," said Nowak.

"What time then?" asked Banks.

Nowak looked at Dr. Wallace before answering. "I don't see any reason to argue with the original estimate, between midnight and two in the morning," he said. "There could be other reasons for the inconsistency. I'll work on it."

"Very well," said Gervaise.

"I noted in my post-mortem that Hayley might have tried to fight off her attacker," said Dr. Wallace. "Did you find any tissue in the samples we scraped from under her fingernails?"

"Alas, no," said Nowak. "As you mentioned in your report, the nails were too short to actually scratch anyone. All we got were a few common cotton fibres."

"Any luck identifying them?" Gervaise asked.

Nowak shook his head. "We're still working with them, but they could come from any number of brands. Not only that," Nowak went on, "but she could have picked them up at any time during the evening. Remember, she was with a large group of people, and the odds were that some or all of them touched or brushed against the others at some point."

"Hair?" Banks asked.

"Only hers and Joseph Randall's."

"So our killer wore a balaclava, or he's bald," said Hatchley.

Nobody laughed.

"There's evidence the killer cleaned her up," said Dr. Wallace. "Washed her pubic area."

"Except he missed that semen," Banks said.

"It looks that way," said Nowak. "Or that happened after he'd cleaned her up."

"Possible," Dr. Wallace agreed.

"Fingerprints?" asked Banks.

"None. Sorry."

"I thought you lot could perform miracles these days," said Banks, seeing everything slipping away.

Nowak looked at Dr. Wallace. "Sometimes it seems that way, but we're only as good as the evidence we collect."

"Any luck with the known offenders?" Gervaise asked.

"Nothing," said Banks. "They've all been interviewed, and they all have alibis. We're still working on it."