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integrity of both men more poignant and their deaths pure tragedy. I found myself wondering if investigating them would answer quite a lot of other questions. Gray had been killed in the same ghastly way as Giddings, but was this a copycat killing by someone hoping to draw suspicion away from themselves?
    The car park at the pub was practically full and even though it was a chilly day after the unseasonably hot start to spring, some hardened souls were sitting outside at the rustic tables. From the blue smoke emanating from the chimneys I knew that inside was what I was really after: log fires. There was one at each end of the huge bar area in which I found myself and I bought myself an orange juice and gravitated to the nearest one, where there was a group of armchairs, all vacant. In so doing I walked past someone I knew, Patrick, who was leaning on the bar talking to a tall and rather beautiful redhead.
    Having seated myself still within sight of him, but not her unless she moved, I studied the menu I had picked up, giving the pair an occasional glance over the top of it. My cat’s whiskers had already told me that Patrick had seen me, was not chatting her up, even though in charm mode, and that they were probably talking business. She was Bill, then, and I amused myself Holmes-style by judging that she was either Scots or Irish with that hair and superb complexion, was neat, tidy and efficient. Had she worked for either Harmsworth or Gray? The annoying thing was that it did not seem I was about to find out, as himself was making no move to recognize me and in the circumstances it was out of the question for me to go over and speak to him. No matter how professional I try to become at this game I always fall at this particular fence and right now wanted to upend his pint of Old Fart – or whatever the hell he was drinking – all over him in revenge for the smile on his face. I toyed with the idea of treating Julian to dinner this evening instead.
    I wandered over to a separate counter where one ordered food, again passing quite close to the pair – just to get him all of a twitch – and organized some lunch for myself. A mobile rang; it was the redhead’s, and she went outside to answer it. Patrick then finished his beer, gave me a leery wink and headed off in the opposite direction to where I was standing in a short queue, and I did not see him again just then.
    So be it. I would come back later.
    I decided to walk around the district in order to get the lie of the land, although for the time being I intended, as requested, to stay right away from the nick. I was really regretting having left the car behind as, although one tends to notice more while on foot, a vehicle can be used as a base where one can consult maps, have a rest or even a nap. It was going to be a very long day.
    The business of researching a novel had gone right out of the window; it seemed wiser to concentrate solely on the job in hand, although I intended to use it as an excuse if challenged while snooping perhaps where I should not be. Thundering great forest or no, for some reason this area held no mystery for me and if somewhere does not immediately set your imagination alight, then forget it.
    As seems to be my fate, unanswered questions about some aspects of the three killings with which I had promised myself I would not get involved kept niggling away in my mind. What had Jason Giddings been doing in this area and, in particular, in the park? The local paper had been at pains to report that the park was infamous after dark as a place frequented by homosexuals. His widow had apparently been appalled when asked about this, insisting that there was no question of anything like that. However, I was recollecting a fuss generated several years previously by a gossip columnist in a tabloid rag – somehow avoiding being sued for libel – suggesting that Giddings was bisexual and had married for respectability reasons upon