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further duties. He then turned his ire on the prosecution. It was clear to him that the female officer had been instructedto begin a relationship with the accused; that she had visited his flat; and there was consequently the distinct opportunity for forensic evidence to have been created. It did not matter whether such malfeasance had in fact occurred; it was enough that there was the possibility that the police might have done so, that the opportunity was present. There had been a clear honey trap, and the forensic evidence offered in court was unsafe to rely on.
    He was dismissing the prosecution; Raymond Conroy, on the evidence produced so far, was adjudged to have no case to answer.
3
    After a stunned silence, the noise in the courtroom crashed about their ears.
    As Raymond Conroy stepped smugly down from the dock, a surge of men and women surrounded him. Mr Justice Abernethy left the courtroom hurriedly, and court officials attempted to hold back the flood of journalists who were almost fighting to get close to Conroy. There was some shouting at the back of the court and from the corner of his eye Eric caught sight of a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a shock of red hair waving his fist towards Conroy and shouting, while a woman, presumably his wife, pulled at him, trying to persuade him to leave the courtroom. Her features were tear-stained, her demeanour shaken.
    Sharon was already on her way to the robing room; Eric was still gathering up his papers when someone near to his elbow spoke to him. ‘I guess you can understand that guy’s fury.’
    Eric turned his head to the speaker. The man was perhapsin his early forties, with deep-set eyes, lean features, a thin-lipped , cynical mouth. He was of middle height, wore an old leather jacket and jeans and the collar of his shirt was frayed. He held a notebook in his left hand, and Eric gained the impression that he might be one of the more restrained members of the media pack that was attempting to obtain an interview with Raymond Conroy.
    ‘I’m sorry … what were you saying?’ Eric asked distractedly.
    ‘The couple at the back of the room. The guy who’s shouting. It’s obvious he thinks there’s been a miscarriage of justice. And if you look at his face, he’s enraged, wouldn’t you say?’
    Eric looked again at the couple near the exit of the courtroom. The woman was still pleading, dragging at the man’s arm, but his face was still suffused, his eyes wild, and his fist was raised in fury. He was shouting something but Eric was unable to pick out the words in the general hubbub.
    ‘They’re the parents of one of the murdered women. His name’s Jack Capaldi. Runs a chain of small pizza places in the Midlands, I believe. It looks as though he was expecting a guilty verdict – probably convinced the police had got the right man – and is furious that Conroy seems to have got away with it. Is that your view, by the way?’
    It was not a question Eric was prepared to answer. ‘So the Capaldis will have come up from the Midlands to attend the trial?’
    ‘Seems so.’ The speaker hesitated, then held out a hand. ‘My name’s Fraser, by the way. Tony Fraser.’
    Eric hesitated, then shook the man’s hand. ‘You from the Midlands yourself?’
    ‘Not recently. But I’ve been following the case, and I recognized the Capaldis from photographs published earlierin the hearings. They’d made a television appeal at one point: you know, usual thing, we must bring this monster to justice. Interesting, in view of his own background…. There’s been a great fuss about this whole business in the Birmingham area. There was a near riot, you know, when Conroy was first arrested. A lot of people jumped to the conclusion that he was the Zodiac Killer simply because the police had made an arrest.’
    Eric shrugged. ‘It was why the trial was moved up here.’ He hesitated, uncertain why Fraser had engaged him in conversation. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry, Mr