untrue." And then obviously to Deborah, "It's Tommy wondering how far we've managed to...Yes, I'll tell him." To Lynley, "Deborah says you might demonstrate a bit more faith in us. We've already made three stops and we've plans to go on to Knightsbridge, Mayfair, Marylebone, and a dear little shop Deborah's managed to unearth in South Kensington. Designer wear for infants. If we can't find something there, we'll not find it anywhere."
"You've a full day planned."
"At the end of it all, we intend to have tea at Claridge's, the better to look decorative among all that art deco. That was Deborah's idea, by the way. She seems to think I'm not getting out enough. And, darling, we've found one christening outfit already, did I say?"
"Have you?"
"It's terribly sweet. Although...well, your aunt Augusta might have a seizure watching her great-grandnephew-is that what Jasper Felix will be?-being ushered into Christianity in a miniature dinner jacket. But the nappies are so precious, Tommy. How could anyone complain?"
"It would be unthinkable," Lynley agreed. "But you know Augusta."
"Oh pooh. We'll search on. I do want you to see the dinner jacket, though. We're buying every outfit we think suitable, so you can help decide."
"Fine, darling. Let me talk to Deborah."
"Now, Tommy, you aren't going to tell her to restrain me, are you?"
"Wouldn't think of it. Put her on."
"We're behaving ourselves...more or less," was what Deborah said to him when Helen handed over her mobile.
"I'm depending on that." Lynley gave a moment's thought to how he wanted to phrase things. Deborah, he knew, was incapable of dissembling. One word from him alluding to the killer and it would be written all over her face, in plain sight for Helen to see and to worry about. He sought a different tack. "Don't let anyone approach you while you're out today," he said. "People in the street...Don't let yourselves become engaged with anyone. Will you do that for me?"
"Of course. What's going on?"
"Nothing, really. I'm being a mother hen. Flu going round. Colds. God only knows what else. Just keep an eye out and take care."
She said nothing on the other end. He could hear Helen chatting to someone.
"Keep an adequate distance from people," Lynley said. "I don't want her falling ill when she's finally got beyond morning sickness."
"Of course," Deborah said. "I'll fend everyone off with my umbrella."
"Promise?" he asked her.
"Tommy, is there something-"
"No. No."
"You're certain?"
"Yes. Have a good day."
He rang off then, depending upon Deborah's discretion. Even if she told Helen exactly what he'd said, he knew it would seem to his wife that he was merely being overprotective about her health.
"Sir?"
He looked towards the door. Havers was standing there, her spiral notebook in hand. "What've you got?"
"Sod all in a bun," she said. "Miller's clean." She went on to report what she'd managed to unearth on the bath-salts vendor, which was, as she'd said, nothing at all. She finished with, "So here's what I've been thinking. P'rhaps we should consider him more carefully as someone likely to drop Barry Minshall in it. If he knows what we've got on Barry-I mean exactly-he might be willing to help. If nothing else, he could maybe identify some of the boys in the Polaroids we found in Barry's digs. We find those boys, and we've got a way to break up MABIL."
"But not necessarily a way to get the killer," Lynley pointed out. "No. Turn the MABIL information over to TO9, Havers. Give them Miller's name and his details as well. They'll give it all to the relevant Child Protection team."
"But if we-"
"Barbara," he said, stopping her before she could get into it, "that's the best we can do."
Dorothea Harriman came into the office as Havers groused about letting even part of the investigation go. The departmental secretary had several pieces of paper in her hand, which she turned over to Lynley. She departed in a breeze of perfume, saying, "New e-fits, Acting Superintendent. Straightaway, I was told. He said to let you know he's done several since you couldn't tell him what the glasses were like or how thick the goatee was. The peaked cap, he said, is the same on them all."
Lynley thanked her as Havers approached his desk for a look. The two sketches were now altered: Both of the suspects wore hats, spectacles, and had facial hair. It was little enough to go on, but it was something.
He got to his feet. "Come with me," he told Havers. "It's time to go to the