Oliphant said stolidly: 'But why should she lie if she's got nothing to hide? And it isn't just the false alibi. Reeves says that their love affair was only pretence, that she only pretended to care for him to cover up her lesbian affair with Camm. I reckon the two women were in it together, sir. Amphlett must have known that Robarts swam at night. All the staff at Larksoken knew that. And she worked closely with Mair, none closer. She's his PA. He could have told her all the details of that dinner party, how the Whistler operated. There'd be no problem in getting hold of the Bumbles. Camm knew about the jumble box even if Amphlett didn't. Her kid had clothes from it.'
Rickards said: 'There'd be no trouble in getting hold of the shoes. There might be trouble in wearing them. Neither woman is tall.'
Oliphant dismissed what he probably felt was a puerile objection. He said: 'But they would have had no time to try them on. Better to grab a pair too large than too small, a soft shoe rather than unyielding leather. And Camm's got a motive, sir. A double motive. She threatened Robarts after her kid was pushed over. We've got Mrs Jago's evidence of their quarrel. And if Camm wanted to stay on in the caravan, close to her lover, it was important to put a stop to Robarts's libel action against Pascoe. And Camm almost certainly knew exactly where Robarts took her nightly swim. If Amphlett didn't tell her, Pascoe probably did. He admitted to us that he used to sneak out occasionally to spy on her. Dirty-minded little devil. And there's another thing. Camm has a dog lead, remember. So has Amphlett, come to that. Reeves said that she was exercising her dog on the headland Sunday night.'
'There were no paw marks at the scene, Sergeant. Don't let's get too excited. She might have been at the scene, but the dog wasn't.'
'Kept in the car, sir. Maybe she didn't have him with her but I reckon she used the lead. There's another thing. Those two wine-glasses in Thyme Cottage. I reckon Caroline Amphlett was with Robarts before she went for that last swim. She's Mair's PA. Robarts would have let her in without question. It all adds up, sir. It's a watertight case, sir.'
Rickards thought that it was as watertight as a sieve. But Oliphant was right. There was a case, even if there wasn't as yet a scintilla of proof. He mustn't let his feelings about the man cloud his judgement. And one fact was depressingly obvious. If he arrested another suspect this theory, for all the lack of firm evidence, would be a gift to any defence counsel.
He said: 'Ingenious, but it's totally circumstantial. Anyway, it can wait until tomorrow. There's nothing we can do tonight.'
'We ought to see Reeves, sir. He may change his story before morning.'
'You see him. And let me know when Camm and Amphlett get back. I'll see you at Hoveton at eight. We'll pull them in then. And I don't want them questioned, either of them, until I see them tomorrow. Is that understood?'
'Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir.'
When he had replaced the receiver, Susie said: 'If you think you ought to go, darling, don't worry about me. I'll be all right now I'm home.'
'It's not urgent. Oliphant can cope. He likes being in charge. Let's make him a happy Jumbo.'
'But I don't want to be a trouble to you, darling. Mummy thought that life would be better for you with me away.'
He turned and took her in his arms. He felt his own tears warm on her face. He said: 'Life is never better for me when you're away.'
The bodies were washed up two days later two miles south of Hunstanton, or enough of them to make identification certain. On the Monday morning a retired tax officer, exercising his Dalmatian dog on the beach, saw the animal sniffing round what looked like a white slab of lard entwined with seaweed, rolling and gliding at the edge of the tide. As he drew close the object was sucked back by the receding wave then taken up by the next surge and flung at his feet and he found himself gazing in incredulous horror at the torso of a woman neatly severed at the waist. For a second he stood petrified, staring down as the tide boiled in the empty sockets of the left eye and swayed the flattened breasts. Then he turned away and was violently sick before shambling like a drunkard up the shingle of the beach, dragging the dog by its collar.
The body of Caroline Amphlett, unmutilated, was washed up on the same tide together with planks from the boat and part of the roof of the cabin. They were found by Daft Billy, a harmless and amiable beachcomber, on one of his regular sorties. It was the wood which first caught his eye and he dragged the planks ashore with squeals of glee. Then, his prize secure, he turned his puzzled attention to the drowned girl. It was not the first body he had found in forty years of beachcombing and he knew what he must do, who he must tell. First he placed his hands under the arms and pulled the body out of the reach of the tide. Then, moaning softly, as if mourning his clumsiness, her lack of response, he knelt beside her and, pulling off his jacket, spread it over the torn rags of her shirt and slacks.
'Comfy?' he asked. 'Comfy?'
Then, putting out his hand he carefully moved the strands of hair out of her eyes and, rocking himself gently, began crooning to her as he might to a child.
Dalgliesh made three visits on foot to the caravan after lunch on Thursday but on no occasion was Neil Pascoe at home. He was unwilling to telephone to check whether the man had returned. He could think of no valid excuse for wanting to see him and it seemed best to make the visit part of a walk, as if the decision to call at the caravan were merely an impulse. In one sense he supposed it could be a visit of condolence but he had only known Amy Camm by sight and that excuse seemed to him dishonest as well as unconvincing. Shortly after five o'clock, when the light was beginning to fade, he tried again. This time the door of the caravan was wide open but there was no sign of Pascoe. While he stood hesitating a billow of smoke rose from above the edge of the cliff, followed by a brief flash of flame, and the air was suddenly filled with the acrid smell of bonfire.
From the edge of the cliff he looked down on an extraordinary scene. Pascoe had built a fireplace of large stones and chunks of concrete and had lit a fire of brushwood on to which he was emptying papers, box files, cartons, bottles and what looked like an assortment of clothes. The pile awaiting burning was caged down against the strengthening wind by the bars of Timmy's cot; that too, no doubt, destined for the flames. A soiled mattress lay curled to one side like a makeshift and ineffectual windbreak. Pascoe, wearing only a pair of grubby shorts, was working like a demented demon, his eyes white saucers in his blackened face, his arms and naked chest glistening with sweat. As Dalgliesh slithered down the sandy slope of the cliff and moved up to the fire he nodded a brief acknowledgement of his presence, then began dragging a small, scuffed suitcase from under the cot bars with desperate haste. Then he sprang up and balanced himself on the wide rim of the fireplace, his legs wide apart. In the ruddy glow of the flames his whole body gleamed, seeming for a moment transparent as if it were lit from within, and the great dollops of sweat ran from his shoulders like blood. With a shout he swung the case high over the fire and wrenched it open. The baby clothes fell in a brightly coloured shower and the flames leapt like living tongues to snatch at the woollen garments in mid-air, spinning them into briefly burning torches before they fell blackened into the heart of the fire. Pascoe stood for a moment breathing heavily, then sprang down with a cry half exultant, half despairing. Dalgliesh could understand and partly shared his exultation in this tumultuous juxtaposition of wind, fire and water. With each gust the tongues of flame roared and hissed so that he saw through a shimmering haze of heat the veins of the tumbling waves stained as if with blood. As Pascoe emptied into the fire yet another box file of papers the charred fragments rose and danced like frantic birds, blew gently against Dalgliesh's face and settled over the dry stones of the upper shingle like a black contagion. He could feel his eyes prickling with the smoke.