Lindsay could feel the scarlet tide of anger and embarrassment that swept through her body. She was dimly aware of Shaz’s hand on her arm again. This time she let herself be drawn away from the bitter, bereaved woman at the bar. “Come on,” Shaz said. “She doesn’t deserve your support.”

At the door, Lindsay looked back, Laura was still leaning against the bar, the center of all the other drinkers’ wary attention.

“I’ll never forgive her that,” Lindsay said, her voice cold, her face set. “I don’t care how shocked she is, she’s gone too far. One day she’s going to regret this.”

PART TWO - Sheffield, April 1993

PART TWO

Sheffield, April 1993

Chapter 1

1

“Tempting though it is for fringe groups to regard conference as a captive audience, only authorised conference material may be distributed inside the hall itself. Any other leaflets, flyers, etc. will be removed and shredded, thus resulting in needless death to trees. Non-authorised material may be distributed outside the hall, though those distributing it should be warned that hung-over delegates who have unwanted bumf thrust upon them can often react violently. SOS and the Amalgamated Media Workers’ Union can accept no responsibility for any injuries thus caused.”

from “Advice for New Delegates”, a Standing Orders Sub-Committee booklet.

The custody sergeant picked up his pen and gave Lindsay a shrewd look of appraisal. “Been drinking?” he asked. It was the first indication he’d given that she wasn’t invisible. The two detectives who had brought her into the police station also turned towards her. She’d listened patiently while they’d informed the sergeant she was required for questioning relating to a suspicious death. The stocky detective sergeant had grumbled at her refusal to say anything, either at the scene of the death or in the car on the way to the station.

In answer to the custody sergeant, Lindsay nodded. “I had a few whiskies earlier.”

The custody sergeant nodded grimly. “Okay lads, no questions for a couple of hours. Give the lady time to sober up.”

“No problem. We’ve got plenty to keep us busy back at the scene of the crime,” the detective constable said.

“Alleged crime,” the custody sergeant corrected him absently.

The two detectives shouldered their way past Lindsay. She heard the DS mutter, “Bollocks to that,” as he opened the door.

“A few details, if you please, miss,” the custody sergeant said.

“I’d like a lawyer,” Lindsay said.

“Do you know one locally? Or would you prefer me to call the duty solicitor?”

“The duty solicitor will do fine,” Lindsay sighed. “Thanks.”

The custody sergeant picked up the phone on his desk and dialled a number. Almost immediately, he spoke. “Pager number 659511. Please call Sergeant Meadows, Central Police Station. End message.” He paused. “That’s right. Thanks.” He put the phone down and smiled at Lindsay. “Now, while we’re waiting, a few details.”