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arm, following the thin blue line of the vein.
    ‘And there,’ she was saying, ‘and there.’ She glanced up. ‘Is your daughter a diabetic, by any chance?’
    ‘No, not to my knowledge.’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’
    ‘No,’ he said gruffly. ‘Definitely not.’
    The sister nodded, replacing the blanket. Jessie stirred, one hand reaching for her face. She emitted a tiny sigh. The sister was turning to go. Barnaby stopped her. ‘So what was it? What was she using?’
    ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because we don’t know, Mr Barnaby. And if we ever do, it won’t be me who tells you.’
    ‘But what would you expect to find? May I ask you that?’
    The sister blinked and Barnaby knew at once that he’d overstepped the mark. This was neither the time nor the place for lawyerly cross-examination. He turned back to Jessie. There were scarlet blotches down the side of her neck, disappearing beneath the soiled T-shirt. Barnaby gazed at them a moment, aware of the sister beside him.
    ‘Love bites,’ she confirmed. ‘Who knows? Maybe that’s a positive sign?’
    By the time he waved Zhu off, Ellis was exhausted. He watched the little Jet Ranger climbing away from the Battersea heliport, and then walked back to the terminal building.
    Mr Hua, the chauffeur, was still waiting outside in the Daimler. Ellis stood by the driver’s window, looking in. Mr Hua had a big atlas of road maps open on his lap and he was tracing a route south from London with a felt-tip pen. He did it with immense concentration, a heavy green line inching down through Surrey and Hampshire, all the way to the coast. Ellis waited until he’d finished then tapped on the window. He needed to confirm the directions out to Buckinghamshire. According to the message he’d received at lunchtime, Zhu would be ready for collection at eight thirty prompt.
    Mr Hua flicked back through the atlas. Ellis showed him the way to High Wycombe. Sunday night, he said, the traffic out of London should be light, though returning to the Savoy might be trickier. Mr Hua made a note of the directions, then reached for the ignition key. Seconds later, the Daimler was easing away from the kerbside.
    Ellis stifled a yawn, watching the car disappear in the direction of Wandsworth Bridge. The route Mr Hua had been so carefully planning on his atlas would take him to Portsmouth but Ellis, try as he might, couldn’t think why.

Chapter Two
    Billy Goodman was still trying to tune the radio when he saw the parking space. He checked in the rear-view mirror then braked sharply. The pub car park, as usual, was full. Fifteen feet of car space, so close to the Finches, was a godsend. He eased the Audi into the gap between the two cars and turned off the engine. Only then did he notice the Cavalier waiting to back in.
    He looked at it a moment, then shrugged. Parking in this city was a game. Unless you got in first, you didn’t get in at all. Even guys who drove Cavaliers knew that. He reached for the radio again, looking for Virgin AM. He’d spent most of the afternoon trying to sort out a clean signal on the medium wave and he thought he’d cured the interference with a new suppressor but now he wasn’t so sure. He found the station and started the engine again, cursing as the hum returned. Kate wanted the car back by ten. No excuses.
    He glanced at his watch, wondering whether he ought to skip the pub. Another hour in the workshop might see the problem sorted. He glanced up, hearing a car door slam. The Cavalier was still parked in the middle of the road. A bulky youth about half his age was striding towards him. He was wearing jeans and a sports shirt and his hairwas freshly gelled. His girlfriend was still sitting in the car, her body half turned in the passenger seat, watching.
    The youth stopped beside Billy’s window. He wrenched open the door. ‘You fucking blind or something?’
    Billy eyed him without enthusiasm. The boy had used far too much