Breaker

The dog raised his shaggy head and thumped his tail on the mat before rising leisurely to his feet and yawning. 'So this is where he comes,' she said. 'I've often wondered. How long did it take you to train him, as a matter of interest?'

'Not long. He's a bright dog.'

'Why did you bother?'

'Because he's a compulsive digger, and I got fed up with having my garden destroyed,' he said prosaically.

'Oh God,' she said guiltily. 'Sorry. The trouble is he never takes any notice of me.'

'Does he need to?'

'He's my dog,' she said.

Ingram opened the Jeep door. 'Have you made that clear to him?'

'Of course I have. He comes home every night, doesn't he?'

He reached into the back for the stack of evidence. 'I wasn't questioning ownership,' he told her. 'I was questioning whether or not Bertie knows he's a dog. As far as he's concerned, he's the boss in your establishment. He gets fed first, sleeps on your sofa, licks out your dishes. I'll bet you even move over in bed in order to make sure he's more comfortable, don't you?'

She colored slightly. 'What if I do? I'd rather have him in my bed than the weasel that used to be in it. In any case, he's the closest thing I've got to a hot-water bottle.'

Ingram laughed. 'Are you coming in or do you want me to bring the brandy out? I guarantee Bertie won't disgrace you. He has beautiful manners since I took him to task for wiping his bottom on my carpet.'

Maggie sat in indecision. She had never wanted to go inside, because it would tell her things about him that she didn't want to know. At the very least it would be insufferably clean, she thought, and her bloody dog would shame her by doing exactly what he was told.

'I'm coming in,' she said defiantly.

(Carpenter took a phone call from a Dartmouth police sergeant just as he was about to leave for Chapman's Pool. He listened to a description of what was on the Frenchman's video then asked: 'What does he look like?'

'Five eight, medium build, bit of a paunch, thinning dark hair.'

'I thought you said he was a young chap.'

'No. Mid-forties, at least. His daughter's fourteen.'

Carpenter's frown dug trenches out of his forehead. 'Not the bloody Frenchman,' he shouted, 'the toe-rag on the video!'

'Oh, sorry. Yes, he's young all right. Early twenties, I'd say. Longish dark hair, sleeveless T-shirt, and cycling shorts. Muscles. Tanned. A handsome bugger, in fact. The kid who filmed him said she thought he looked like Jean-Claude Van Damme. Mind you, she's mortified about it now, can't believe she didn't realize what he was up to, considering he's got a rod like a fucking salami. This guy could make a fortune in porno movies.'

'All right, all right,' said Carpenter testily. 'I get the picture. And you say he's wanking into a handkerchief?'

'Looks like it.'

'Could it be a child's T-shirt?'

'Maybe. It's difficult to tell. Matter of fact, I'm amazed the French geezer spotted what the bastard was up to. It's pretty discreet. It's only because his knob's so damn big that you can see anything at all. The first time I watched it I thought he was peeling an orange in his lap.' There was a belly laugh at the other end of the line. 'Still, you know what they say about the French. They're all wankers. So I guess our little geezer's done a spot of it himself and knew what to look for. Am I right or am I right?'

Carpenter, who spent all his holidays in France, cocked a finger and thumb at the telephone and pulled the trigger-bloody racist, he was thinking-but there was no trace of irritation in his voice when he spoke. 'You said the young man had a rucksack. Can you describe it for me?'

'Standard camping type. Green. Doesn't look as if it's got much in it.'

'Big?'

'Oh, yes. It's a full-size job.'

'What did he do with it?'

'Sat on it while he jerked himself off.'

'Where? Which part of Chapman's Pool? Eastern side? Western side? Describe the scenery for me.'

'Eastern side. The Frenchman showed me on the map. Your wanker was down on the beach below Emmetts Hill, facing out toward the Channel. Green slope behind him.'

'What did he do with the rucksack after he sat on it?'

'Can't say. The film ends.'

With a request to send the tape on by courier, together with the Frenchman's name, proposed itinerary for the rest of his holiday, and address in France, Carpenter thanked the sergeant and rang off.

'Did you make this yourself?' asked Maggie, peering at the Cutty Sark in the bottle on the mantelpiece as Ingram came downstairs in uniform, buttoning the sleeves of his shirt.

'Yes.'

'I thought you must have done. It's like everything else in this house. So'-she waved her glass in the air-'well behaved.' She might have said masculine, minimal, or monastic, in an echo of