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.They had trusted each other.They had never had secrets.He corrected himself with a pang of bewilderment: until now.He clambered to his feet and went to the window to stare out at the leaf-strewn grass.Why didn’t you tell me about the witness, Lizzie? Surely you trusted me to keep a secret like that? Or had you given your word to tell absolutely no one, not even me? Or – he had the sense of grasping at straws – was there some conflict of interest involved, something that touched on my work?Finally he took refuge in what he had chosen to believe last night – that she hadn’t wanted to burden him, that she’d known he would worry and, once worried, would try to talk her out of getting more deeply involved.She had been determined to pursue this first chance of fresh evidence, and determination was no sin, even if it resulted in a little subterfuge.The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that this must be the answer, and he returned to the table with a sense that his past had been restored.Conclusion: No lover.Sorry for even considering it, he told her, but you know I must unturn every stone.It was one of those phrases that had become part of the family’s vocabulary.Whatever was mislaid – passport, book, iPod, keys – the owner was required to unturn every stone in search of it.Gone now, he thought, the sharing of private language, cryptic jokes, our shorthand, our past.With new anger he scrawled Rape.The word stared up at him, charged with a thousand brutal images.He added in his neatest handwriting: Conscious? Drugged? Restrained by.?He gazed at this for several moments before taking a fresh sheet of paper and starting another list headed Action Points, under which he wrote:1) DNA2) Post-mortemThe house phone began to ring.He waited for the answering machine to pick up before returning to the subject of the rumpled bed and finding he had nothing more to add.L naked, clothes folded strangely was now subheading the fifth.Here at least was one firm conclusion: that at some point the intruder had been in the bedroom.But if not to rape, then why? And what possible motive could he have had for folding her clothes? From the knot of competing ideas that had been clogging his mind for days a half-glimpsed truth finally emerged into the light; he realised it was the clothes, not the rumpled bed or Lizzie’s nakedness, that was the key.Cautiously at first, then with more confidence, he wrote: He wanted to make it look as though she’d gone to bed of her own accord.He examined the statement for flaws.It had to be right; the only other possibility was sheer insanity, a nutter with a fetish for tidiness.But there was too much organisation, too much guile in the intruder’s actions for that.Failing to put Lizzie in her customary nightdress had merely been a bad guess on his part.Conclusion: Lizzie did not go to bed of her own accord.Ergo, either she was forced to get into bed or she was placed in bed while unconscious or otherwise immobilised.But if you forced someone to get into bed, how did you make them stay there while you went downstairs, started a fire and left the house? You didn’t, was the answer.You couldn’t.What victim, realising the house was on fire, wouldn’t try to get out even at the risk of being attacked? He moved on to the last alternative with a mixture of relief and dread, relief that she might already have been unconscious, dread that she might have been ‘otherwise immobilised’, by which he supposed he meant tied up.But the tied-up scenario fell at the same hurdle as the force argument.If she had been tied up only to be released before the fire started, what would have prevented her from trying to escape? Particularly when the smoke alarm was screaming its head off.She must have been unconscious.But not, according to the post-mortem, drugged with anything obvious.A date-rape drug then.What was it called? Rohyp-something.Or was it GHB?Something that left no trace, anyway.Something that could be slipped into a glass of wine.Sorry it took me so long, he told her.Sorry.But I’m there now.The urge to reach for the phone and start making calls was very strong, but he resisted it and went back to the window to gaze out at the spiralling leaves while he waited for his thoughts to settle.Even when he was certain what he needed to do, he delayed a little longer, making some coffee, reading his notes again, going over everything a second time, making a list.Finally he began.His first call was to Isabel to ask if she could find the name and availability of a good forensic pathologist, his next to the coroner’s office to notify them that he wanted to apply for an independent post-mortem and to fix a time to go in and sign the necessary paperwork.Then he called Slater to ask if there was a way of salvaging damaged papers and documents, but Slater wasn’t answering and he had to settle for leaving a message.Lastly he called Ray and asked him to stand by on the legal side.‘Glad to help,’ Ray cried immediately.‘God, any time.You don’t even have to ask! But can you give me an idea of what you might want me to do?’‘Probably to lodge information with the police and the coroner.’‘I see,’ he said in a puzzled tone.‘Can I ask what sort of information?’‘I’ll let you know.’‘Right.Right.’ A pause, while Ray struggled to contain his curiosity.‘My imagination’s going crazy, Hugh.Can you give me some idea.?’‘Proof that Lizzie was killed unlawfully.’There was a taut silence, then he exhaled sharply.‘God, Hugh, I don’t know what to say.God, that’s terrible.’‘But not for public consumption.Okay? Not till I say so.’‘No, no.But are you absolutely sure about this, Hugh?’‘Absolutely sure.’‘You mean it was arson?’‘At the least, yes.’‘Christ, Hugh, what are you saying? I don’t even want to think what you’re saying.’‘The arsonist meant to get Lizzie.’‘What? But why would anyone want to get Lizzie, for Christ’s sake? Lovely, lovely Lizzie.Why?’Hugh was reminded of a line his old law tutor Dewey had liked to quote: To ask the hard question is simple – to ask the right question is far more difficult.‘Lovely, lovely Lizzie.Why?’ Ray repeated emotionally.‘I don’t know
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