Echo

'Then why were you so determined to discredit Barry Grover earlier?'

She didn't answer.

Harrison dipped a hand into his pocket. 'Tell me about Billy Blake,' he invited. 'Did you recognize him when you found him in your garage?'

She took the change of tack with only the mildest of frowns. 'Billy Blake?' she echoed. 'Of course I didn't recognize him. Why would I? He was a stranger.'

He produced the borrowed photographs, and aligned them carefully on the coffee table. 'The same man?' he suggested.

Her shock was so extreme that he couldn't doubt it was genuine. Whatever else she might be guilty of, he thought, it had clearly never crossed her mind that Billy Blake might be mistaken for her missing husband.

But then Deacon had omitted to mention that she'd heard that very same theory on Thursday night.

Deacon replaced the telephone receiver with a gleam of amusement in his dark eyes. 'Harrison's pissed off with being sent on wild-goose chases,' he remarked. 'Apparently, Mrs. Powell looked poleaxed when he showed her the photos.'

'I'm not surprised,' said Terry. 'Like Barry said, if you forget the difference in age, it takes a computer to tell them apart. Maybe she's shitting bricks right this minute because she's suddenly clicked that it might've been James after all.'

'No,' said Deacon slowly, 'she didn't blink an eyelash when I suggested it to her. She's always known it wasn't him, so why throw a wobbly for Harrison?' He looked at his watch. 'I'm going out,' he said abruptly. 'You two can watch a late movie till I get back.'

'Where are you going?'' demanded Terry.

'Never you mind.'

'You're planning a Peeping Tom act like old Barry, ain't you? You're going to sneak into her garden and drool while she gets rogered by Nigel.'

Deacon stared him down. 'You've got a grubby little mind, Terry. Unless Sergeant Harrison's blind as a bat, Nigel de Vriess is long gone.' He leveled a finger at the boy. 'I won't be more than a couple of hours, so behave yourself. I'll skin you alive if you try anything while I'm out of this flat.'

Terry flicked a thoughtful glance in Barry's direction. 'You can trust me, Mike.'

The traffic was thin at that time of night, and it took only half an hour to drop down through the City and head east along the river to the Isle of Dogs. He kept a wary eye on his rearview mirror, regretting his decision to open the second bottle of wine. Lights blazed in Amanda's house, and he toyed with the idea of acting out Terry's fantasy by sneaking round the back and peeping through her sitting-room windows. The idea was more attractive than he liked to admit, but he abandoned it for fear of the consequences. Instead he fulfilled one of Billy's prophecies. 'You will never do what you want because the tribe's will is stronger than yours.''

He rang the doorbell and listened to the sound of her footsteps in the hall. There was a brief silence while she put her eye to the peephole. 'I'm not going to open this door, Mr. Deacon,' she said from the other side, 'so I suggest you leave before I call the police.'

'I doubt they'll come,' he said, stooping to smile amiably into the peephole. 'They're bored with the both of us. At the moment they can't decide which of us is telling more lies, although you seem to have the edge. Sergeant Harrison's deeply put out by your refusal to admit that Nigel de Vriess was in this house last night.'

'He wasn't.'

'Barry saw him.'

'Your friend's sick.'

He leaned his shoulder against the door and took out a cigarette. 'A little confused, perhaps, like me. I had no idea I'd frightened you so much on Thursday night, Amanda, not when you were so charming to me the next morning.' He paused, waiting for an answer. 'Sergeant Harrison's surprised you didn't call the police when I passed out on the sofa. It's what most women would have done when faced with a violent and abusive intruder.'

'What do you want, Mr. Deacon?'

'A chat. Preferably inside, where it's warmer. I've found out who Billy was.'

There was a long silence before the chain rattled and she opened the door. The light in the hall was very bright and he was taken aback by her appearance. She seemed unwell. Her face was drawn and colorless, and she looked nothing like the radiant woman in the yellow dress who had dazzled him three days ago.

He frowned. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes.' She was staring at him rather oddly, as if she expected to see a reaction in his eyes, and relaxed visibly when he showed none. She stepped back. 'You'd better come in.'

He looked around the hall and noticed a suitcase at the bottom of the stairs. 'Going somewhere?''

'No. I've just come back from my mother's.'

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing.'

He followed her into the sitting room and noticed immediately that the scent of roses was absent. Instead, the window was open and the rotten smell of the exposed riverbanks seemed to be drifting in on the night air. 'The tide must be out,' he said. 'You should have kept one of the flats in Teddington, Amanda. There's no tide above the locks.'

What little color remained in her face leached out of it. 'What are you talking about?'

'The smell. It's not very pleasant. You should shut your window.' He lowered himself onto the sofa and lit his cigarette, watching her as she sprayed the room with air freshener before fluttering the potpourri between her fingers to disperse its scent.