said that might be a good time to introduce them to Digby and announce their engagement. We said our goodbyes, swore our undying love, and I told her that I'd always be there for her.
'And don't forget to send me an invite,' I said as I started the engine for the last few miles.
'You're top of the list, Uncle Charles.'
'Thank you.'
'Shall we make it and friend?'
'No, I don't think so. Which way?'
'Follow the ring road. Is there anybody?'
'Not really. I thought there might be, but suddenly she doesn't want to know.'
'Why's that?'
'I don't know.'
'What's she called?'
'Rosie.'
'She's a fool. When she knows you better she'll change her mind.' Sophie reached out and touched my face. 'Your hair'ji long.'
I tilted my head to trap her fingers between my cheek and shoulder. 'It needs cutting.'
'I like it long. It suits you.'
'Thanks. I don't think Rosie will ever have the chance to know me better.'
'In that case you'll have to work at it, won't you? And then we can all be happy.'
'Are you happy, Sophie?'
There was the slightest hesitation before she said: 'Yes, I am.'
'Then I'm happy too,' I told her.
I hadn't tried to put a face on Digby, but he wasn't quite what I expected. He was an inch shorter than Sophie but broad-shouldered, with sandy hair and a rugby player's nose. The rugby image was reinforced by the county shirt he was wearing, and I suspected that he'd earned it, not bought it at JJB Sports. He was clearly devoted to Sophie and his face lit up like an herbaceous border as he hugged her. He shook my hand, then asked Sophie how her parents were.
'They're fine,' she replied, lying with a facility that would have been the envy of most of the villains I meet. 'Uncle Charles came round and insisted on driving me back.'
'That's really nice of you,' he told me.
'My pleasure,' I replied. 'We see so little of Sophie these days.'
They gave me afternoon tea and Digby said he was studying computer sciences and had been offered a job with Intel in Dublin. I liked him, and thought Sophie's dad would, too, once he'd cleared the Digby hurdle.
'Look after her,' I told him as we shook hands again, standing on the pavement next to my car.
'I will,' he promised, and I believed him.
Sophie gave me a peck on the cheek as she hugged me and I rubbed the small of her back in a non-avuncular way. 'Don't forget to talk to Rosie,' she said, matter of fact, as much for Digby's benefit as mine, I suspected. Round the corner I stopped and sorted through my CDs for the long drive north. 'Desire' would do for starters:
I married Isis on the fifth day of May But I could not hold on to her for very long.
So I cut off my hair and I rode straight away For the wild unknown country where I could not go wrong.
Hooray for 24-7 supermarkets. It was early evening as I hit Heckley, so I called in Grainger's and did a medium shop. The place was manned by schoolgirls, earning money for riding lessons and the latest Pop Idol CD, but I wasn't complaining. I had a calorie-counter's sweet-and-sour chicken for tea, followed by sticky toffee pudding and custard, all done in the microwave. Very tasty. As weekends go this one had been pretty serendipitous. OK, be honest, it was one of the most serendipitous weekends of my life. I was on a roll, so I decided to push it. I found my diary and dialled Rosie's number. She picked up the phone after the first ring.
'Um, hello Rosie,' I said, slightly off guard. 'It's Charlie Priest.' This time I didn't add the as in Roman Catholic.
'Hello Charlie. How are you?'
'I'm splendid. Fine, thanks. And you?'
'Oh, I'm all right.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes, I'm fine.'
'You don't sound it.'
'Well I am.'
'Good. So how about that drink sometime?'
'I don't think so, Charlie. I thought I made that clear the last time we spoke.'
'Rosie,' I began, 'I'm not very good at this sort of thing, and I don't want to be a nuisance, but I thought we were getting on reasonably well, and then, I don't know, you suddenly became distant. Did I say something I shouldn't have, or offend you in any way?'
'No, of course not, Charlie. It's just that… I don't want to become involved.'
'Going out for a Chinese is hardly becoming involved.'
'I know. I tried to tell you, on the phone. I come with baggage-'
'To hell with baggage, Rosie. I don't give a toss about baggage. We were doing fine until I said that I was a cop. That's when your attitude changed. Now, I don't think you're a master criminal — a Mafia godmother or head of an international drugs cartel — so what's it all about?'
She was silent for a while and I expected her to come back and tell me to mind my own, but eventually she said: 'You're right, Charlie. It is to do with you being a detective. I'm involved in a legal procedure and I've been advised not to speak to any policemen, that's all.'
'What, by a solicitor?'
'Not exactly.'
'Then by whom?'
'By a TV production company. First Call TV.'
'And why don't they want you talking to any policemen?'
'Because they say you'll try to influence me. We're taking out an action against the police, and they say you'll apply pressure for me to drop it.'
'Oh, I see. Well, no I don't see. If you had a case, Rosie, we'd probably help you. There are procedures for this sort of thing. Do you want to tell me what it's about?'
'It's about my father. I'm trying to clear his name and they're helping. They want to do a documentary about his case.'
Alarm bells started clanging when I realised that journalists were involved. For Rosie's sake, not the police's. As with politicians, there are some good ones. And there's probably life on Mars, too.
'What did your father do?' I asked.
'He didn't do anything,' she protested, her voice beginning to crack. 'It's what he had done to him.'
'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I guess I'm conditioned to adopt an attitude. I've been in the job too long. What did they do to your father?'
'They hanged him, Charlie,' she sobbed. 'They hanged him for a murder he didn't commit.'
I did a quick calculation. The last people to be hanged in the UK were two hapless souls in Lancashire, back in 1964. Rosie would have been a little girl, a baby, then. I tried to think of names but they wouldn't come, and Rosie's mother may have changed hers after the event. Capital punishment doesn't punish just the accused. A vast cone of misery extends out from under the gallows, enveloping everyone involved with the whole rotten process, including the victim's family. Their expectations that a life for a life would ease the burden always proved to have been a hollow promise.
'Rosie,' I began. 'We can't leave it like this, and I'm not happy with you being involved with a TV company. They want a story, that's all, and they don't care who gets hurt. I'm coming round to see you. I'll be ringing your doorbell in about fifteen minutes. If you don't want to let me in, fair enough, but I'll be there.'
'I don't know…'
'Fifteen minutes.' There was a long silence as I waited for her to either reply or replace her handset, but before she could my brain reminded me of a simple fact. I said: 'There's just one thing. You told me in the pub that
