25 February 1624

Wesley wondered why Pam was so quiet as he drove the car down the sweeping gravel drive away from the Morbay Clinic and through the imposing gates. 'You okay?'

'Why?'

'You're quiet. I thought you'd be happy. They didn't find anything wrong with you.'

'That's worse in a way. At least if they found something wrong we'd know what we were up against.'

'I've got a confession to make,' said Wesley nervously.

'What?'

'I rang Maritia last night, told her. She's going to ring you today, have a chat.'

'You had no right to tell...'

'I had every right. This affects me too, you know.'

They drove home in silence. As soon as they got back to the house Pamela disappeared upstairs.

The telephone rang. He let Pam answer it. He could hear her talking and he resisted the temptation to listen in on the downstairs extension. After twenty minutes or so she came downstairs, looking a little better, more cheerful.

'That was your sister. She rang to see how I'd got on. I still don't know why you had to tell her.'

'Sorry.' Wesley didn't feel particularly apologetic. Maritia was working in the gynaecology department of the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. She had been the obvious person for Wesley to confide in. 'What did she say?'

'She said it was good they hadn't found anything wrong. She said anxiety can sometimes stop women conceiving. That I should relax; try and forget about it; have a holiday.'

'Good advice.'

'You're only saying that 'cause you don't want to fork out for more medical bills.'

'It's not that,' he said unconvincingly. 'Maritia's a good doctor, and she's got no profit to make.'

Pam looked at him and attempted to smile. Then she put her arms round him. 'I'm sorry I've been such a neurotic b.i.t.c.h.'

Her husband kissed her. 'If I could get away, I'd suggest a few days of self-indulgence at a country hotel.'

'But you can't, and neither can I. I couldn't let the school down. I can't take any more time off.'

'Okay. But let's try and forget about all this business. That's what Maritia said just try and put it out of your mind for a while.'

'It's difficult. I'm even covering for someone who's on maternity leave. It's all around me, reminding me that I'm some sort of freak.'

Wesley looked at her. She was near to tears. He had no words to say. He had said them all.

'You're not a freak. There are lots of people in the same boat. What about that woman you were sharing a room with?'

'That Jenny woman? She was awful, a real rich b.i.t.c.h. Husband owns his own computer company. She kept going on about her house and her Mercedes. She's been trying for a baby for five years; tried IVF, the lot.'

'But she's still not given up?'

'She heard about Dr Downey... heard he was good.'

'Expensive,' mumbled Wesley, who was still in shock at the bill for the doctor's services.

'And she said if all else failed, he could still come up with the goods. You could get anything as long as you were prepared to pay for it.' She looked at her husband, willing him to ask what she meant.

'Bound to be something that costs more than we could afford.' He shrugged, suddenly uneasy.

Pam stared at him, a look of determination on her face. If they had the money, he wondered, just how far would she be prepared to go to get what she wanted?

Chris kept the caravan quite tidy. He had to; there wasn't much room. He looked out of the window at Daniel who was playing outside with some dirty-faced children; he was following the bigger ones about happily, trying to join their game. A couple of girls, aged about ten, seemed to have taken him under their wing and were holding his hands. Daniel seemed content with their attentions.

Chris wondered if he should take the child to his mum's. It'd be for the best with all this business with the police going on. But Daniel was happy with the freedom of the travellers' site, happy to be with the children and the dogs. He saw a young woman approaching; he didn't recognise her as being one of the site's residents. Although her hair was long and she was dressed in a mildly hippie style, she looked as though she had access to a washing machine. She was coming up to the caravan, leaning to one side with the weight of her bulky briefcase. She was knocking on the open door.

'h.e.l.lo, Mr Manners? Lynne Wychwood, Social Services. I wonder if I could have a word about Daniel.'

He invited her in and prepared to offer her a cup of tea. He didn't want to antagonise officialdom any more than necessary. 'He's out there ... playing. He likes it here. Lots of kids to play with.'

'Would it be all right if I spoke to him, Mr Manners ... or may I call you Chris?'

Chris went outside and led Daniel away from his minders, telling them he'd be back in a minute. Daniel toddled happily up the caravan steps and smiled charmingly at Lynne. She greeted him and got down on the floor with him to play with some bricks. After a while she looked up at Chris and spoke.

'I've been told the background to the case, Chris. I know all about Sharon. Daniel seems to be adjusting well.'

'Yeah, he is. He didn't live with Sharon, like, not from being a baby, so ...'

'So the bond wasn't really there.' She completed his sentence. 'Do you mind if Daniel and I have a little chat?'

Chris nodded. There was nothing he could really do to stop her without setting off alarm bells.

'I thought I might take him to stay with my mum, while all this business with the police ...'

Lynne looked up and smiled before returning her attentions to Daniel. 'That's a lovely tower you're making, Daniel. Can you make another one?' The child did so obligingly. There was certainly nothing wrong with his mental development, thought Lynne. 'Would you like to go to your grandma's for a little holiday, Daniel?'

The child looked at her, blank. He hadn't understood. 'You'd like to go and stay with your nan?'

'Want go home. Bike ... want bike. Want go home ... Mummy ...' The child was beginning to cry. Lynne hated it when they cried. 'Want mummy ...'

'I know, darling. Now you go to your daddy.' Chris picked up the crying child and looked at Lynne expectantly, praying she would leave.

'Well, it's obvious he's missing his mum. It's only natural. But I think, from what I've seen, you're coping well, Chris. It might be an idea to take him to his gran's for a few days. Familiar scenery and all that, and it'll give you a break. Remember, you've been through a bereavement too. If there's anything I can do, please ring me. I'll give you my number.'

Lynne scribbled down her office number. There was no need to take any action on this one, no suggestion of abuse, and the man seemed to be coping and had the support of grandparents. And it was important not to be judgemental about the fact that he lived on the travellers' site and was in trouble with the police. Besides, she had eleven more cases to visit that day. She lugged her bag full of case files back to the car.

Chris held the sobbing child in his arms and mumbled comforting words, stroking the brown hair. Suddenly he looked down in alarm. There was something to be done ... and he'd better do it quickly before anybody else saw what he had seen.

Pam felt lazy, guilty. It wasn't on to lie in bed all day reading the Sunday papers. Wesley had to go into work. It was always like that during a murder investigation. And she had work to do herself; lessons to prepare; reports to write. But half an hour more wouldn't hurt.

She turned the page of one of the glossy supplements. Another article about babies ... She almost turned the page over in disgust. But a word caught her eye America. This was what that Jenny in the clinic had been going on about. She began to read the article. It was about a woman who had paid another woman to have a child for her. One woman was childless, the other poor. Pam began to turn things over in her mind, things she'd heard at the clinic. She called down to Wesley.

'How's your wife?'

'She's fine, sir. On the mend. She's talking about going into work tomorrow. Anything new?'

'I sent someone round to take swabs from Chris Manners and the kid for the DNA tests and I told them to snip off a bit of the kid's hair while they were at it but be discreet about it. I'm keeping Stan up to date. He's waiting with bated breath.'

'If you think this kid's Jonathon why don't you take the mother to identify him? That'd clear things up once and for all.'

'No, Wes. I think there's more to all this than meets the eye. If it is him it'd muck up our murder investigation, and if it isn't it'd only get her hopes up. There's no way she's going anywhere near this kid till we know for sure. Social Services say he's okay where he is and I'll go along with that for the moment.'

'I've been thinking, sir. Pam was reading this article in the Sunday papers about places in America which arrange for poor women to have babies for rich childless women. The women are paid and their debts are cleared and it all goes through as an official adoption.'

'Surrogate mothers. It's illegal to pay here.'

'There was a woman sharing a room with Pam who was going on about Dr Downey being able to come up with the goods and that you could get anything as long as you were able to pay for it. What if Sharon Carteret ... Chris Manners had debts from his gambling. If Sharon was so besotted with him, she might ...'

'But how was it arranged?'

'Mary Hughes. She had a daughter-in-law who couldn't have a child and a girl who was desperate to pay off her boyfriend's debts living downstairs.'

'We don't know of any connection between Mary Hughes and this Dr Downey, and besides, there's no evidence that Jonathon wasn't born to Elaine Berrisford. The birth certificate says ...'

'If it is done through Dr Downey it could all be fiddled. The real mother could go in at the same time as the adoptive mother. One woman comes out with a child and a valid birth certificate. Don't forget Sharon left work. n.o.body saw her pregnant.'

'Except Mary Hughes, her landlady.'

'Exactly.'

'We haven't enough evidence. It's all supposition.' Heffernan sat back, deep in thought. 'I think we should give Mrs Hughes another stir, get her simmering gently, see what turns up."

Wesley was getting used to the journey across the river. This time Mrs Hughes looked even less pleased to see them.

'I really can't tell you anything else, Inspector. You're wasting your time.'

'It's just a quick visit, Mrs Hughes. Nothing to worry about. May we come in?'

She could hardly say no. Soon they were upstairs in her immaculately tidy lounge.

'I wonder if you could do us a favour, Mrs Hughes. Have you got a photo of your grandson, Jonathon?' She nodded. 'Could I have a quick look, please, love?'

Slowly and resentfully, she left the room. As soon as she was out of the door Heffernan leaped to his feet and almost ran towards the telephone. With a swiftness that Wesley hadn't witnessed before, the inspector flicked through the address book lying by it. With a whispered 'Yes!' he turned to Wesley beaming triumphantly. 'His name's here. We've got her, Wes ... we've got her.'

Mrs Hughes looked surprised to see the inspector standing by the phone, and she was even more surprised when he told her, with an air of official authority, to sit down. She obeyed, still resentful.

'How long have you known Dr Downey, Mrs Hughes?'

'I've known him for years. He was a friend of my late husband. They played golf together. Why?'

'When did you find out your daughter-in-law, Elaine Berrisford, couldn't nave children?'

'She's got a child, Inspector. Jonathon.'

'How much was Sharon paid to have the child, Mrs Hughes? Did your son and daughter-in-law get in touch with her direct or through Dr Downey?'

Mrs Hughes squirmed uncomfortably. 'I really don't know what you're talking about, Inspector.'

'I'm talking about Sharon Carteret having a baby for your son and daughter-in-law for payment, Mrs Hughes. What went wrong? Did Sharon want her child back?'

'You've moved into the realms of fantasy, Inspector. Now if you don't leave I shall make a complaint to the relevant authorities.'

It was clear to Heffernan that she'd give nothing away. He looked at his sergeant. Mrs Hughes was calm, in control. This one would need more simmering until she was ready to break. There was nothing for it but to make a strategic withdrawal. But he had one more card to play before he left.

'We think we might have found Jonathon. But it's all very delicate. It might not be him, of course, and we couldn't just risk going in like a herd of elephants, not with a little kid of that age. We're doing DNA tests with the man who claims to be his dad and with samples taken from Sharon's body. That should clear it up once and for all. If, as you say, your son and his wife are Jonathon's real parents.' He smiled sweetly. 'Well, I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Mrs Hughes. We'll no doubt be seeing you again.'

As they left, Wesley noticed that Mrs Hughes's jaw had dropped and, even beneath her immaculate veneer of makeup, she seemed to have aged ten years in the past thirty seconds.

'She's not going to give anything away, is she, sir?' Wesley was perched on his boss's desk. They had made the journey back to the station in virtual silence, neither liking to intrude on the other's thoughts.

'I reckon I put the wind up her with that DNA stuff, though. We should get the results soon. And what's the betting they'll show I'm right. Did you see her face?'

'Yes. I reckon you touched a nerve there, sir. But we need proof. Anyway, surely if you're right the tests'll show Chris wasn't the father.'

'Not necessarily, Wes, not necessarily. Pity your wife's not in the force she'd be perfect to do what I've got in mind, what with Downey knowing her already and ...'

'What have you got in mind?' Heffernan was like a foxhound in pursuit. Wesley just hoped that what he was contemplating didn't go against the regulations.

'Ever used an agent provocateur, Wes? Or don't they speak much French in the Met?'

Wesley felt uncomfortable. He hoped the inspector wouldn't go too far. The powers-that-be held a very dim view of officers who didn't stick to the guidelines. 'How do you mean, sir?'

'Is Rachel about? Tell her to come in, will you.'

Rachel was at her desk, wrestling with reports. She sensed Wesley's unease and followed him into Heffernan's office with some apprehension.

The inspector was at his most jovial. 'Sit down, Rach, sit down. I remember a few years back you used to be in the divisional drama society.'

'That was when I first joined the force, sir. I haven't done much acting since.'