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wasn’t David. It was a tall, good looking young man who was not from the village. Having knocked several minutes off the record, he took the crowds completely by surprise as he broke the hastily stretched tape at a still cracking pace. Sarah clapped enthusiastically hoping her disappointment wasn’t too evident, and the crowds cheered and rushed to greet the winner.
    Only Darrington remained perfectly still. The hair on the back of his neck rigid, his mind racing as the last piece of a grizzly puzzle fell into place, “Ivor James Calway that’s how you did it,” he said under his breath.
    â€œDid what?” Sarah asked, but Max was already giving orders to the bewildered village policeman.
    â€œâ€¦ and when you’ve done that come back here to help me with the arrest.”
    Mouth open, the young constable didn’t respond immediately then almost jumped to attention, “Yes, sir.” But as he made off toward the small police house that served as the village police station Darrington caught his arm.
    â€œNo fuss. Do it quietly.”
    â€œYes, sir,” he repeated, then lowering his voice, “But who are we arresting?”
    â€œIvor James Calway,” Darrington said glaring at the smiling young man now wearing a warm tracksuit and sipping a hot drink from a paper cup, “our champion and record breaker.”
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Sarah asked impatiently.
    â€œI’m sorry but this is very important,” Max spoke distractedly staring over her head, anxious not to lose sight of his quarry. “I’ll have to go into the station.” Before Sarah could protest, cheers and applause broke out and David pounded toward the tape gasping for breath and also beating the previous record but taking second place. Sarah rushed to congratulate him, but Darrington hovered in the background hardly daring to believe the pure chance that had brought him here on just the right day. His breathing was short with fear and anticipation, after twelve months he had got him.

Chapter Six
    A small porch light flashed on above Darrington’s head just at the moment Andrew Wilson opened the door and the two men stood looking at one another. They had met under tortuous circumstances but Andrew Wilson had kept his dignity and strength when many would have lost both and the Wilson family had survived because of it. Now the two men faced each other in silent sadness, the intrusion could only be connected to that which they would rather forget.
    Suddenly Andrew Wilson stepped back, “Come along in Chief Inspector.”
    The Wilson house was as Darrington remembered, small and welcoming, a cared for home full of happiness and love that tragedy seemed not to have blighted. In the living room Audrey Wilson, a dark, attractive woman, got up from her chair and shushed a small, black spaniel yapping from its blanket near the fire. The dog, Sally, lost on the Common was never found and Jean Morrison had organised a collection in the police station and bought the spaniel puppy for the other Wilson children. Darrington had never been more proud of his staff.
    The Wilson children sat on the floor watching the television and but for a hint of sadness in the eyes of the parents, the scene was of blissful domesticity. Molly, the younger daughter of the Wilson family, got up and walked towards Darrington. Carrying a battered teddy bear and wearing a pink dressing gown and fluffy slippers, she looked up at him. “We’re allowed to stay up until midnight because it’s New Year’s Eve,” she beamed.
    Darrington caught his breath. The tiny, oval face smiling up at him was that of the dead and lifeless child he had last seen on a cold mortuary slab.
    â€œWill you be allowed to stay up until midnight?” asked the child.
    He cleared his throat and forced a smile, “If I behave myself.”
    Audrey guided her daughter back to the others, then asked, “Have