Perfect Sins by Jo Bannister Page B

be if she married cousin Rodney. Which used to happen quite a bit, of course. It explains why the children of the nobility tend to have teeth like a row of gravestones but no chins.”
    Hazel laughed again and linked her arm companionably through his.
    They followed the plodding cows in silence for a minute. Then Byrfield said, with some reticence, “Can I ask something personal?”
    â€œAlways,” said Hazel. She meant it, but before Byrfield had time to take up the invitation, she’d already jumped in with the answer. “Ah—me and Gabriel. Yes?”
    â€œWell—yes,” admitted Byrfield.
    â€œDavid wanted to know the same thing.”
    â€œDid he indeed?” If Hazel saw him glower, she thought nothing of it. “What did you tell him?”
    â€œThe truth. That we’re friends—nothing more, nothing less. He’s married. At least…” And then she had no option but to fill in some of the details. “He doesn’t know if his wife is still alive,” she finished. “He works on the assumption that she might be. I don’t think he’s ever going to know for sure.”
    â€œHe could—” Byrfield stopped there, aware that he risked impertinence.
    â€œHave her declared dead? Yes, he could, eventually,” said Hazel. “But you see, that’s not what he wants. All that keeps him going is the remote possibility that she might be alive somewhere. Or if not Cathy, then his sons. If he knew for sure they were gone…” She shrugged unhappily.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œHe says he’d find the people responsible and kill them, or die trying.”
    It’s just a cliché when someone says it on a TV show. It’s different when it’s for real, and it’s someone you know. Despite the warmth of the sun, Byrfield felt chills running under his skin. “He doesn’t seem the violent type.”
    â€œHe isn’t,” Hazel said fervently. “In spite of which, I think he means every word.”

 
    CHAPTER 10
    DNA SAMPLES are taken by swabbing the inside of the cheek. It requires a few moments and no privacy. Hazel, this early in her career, had already seen it done too often to find it interesting, but Pete Byrfield watched intently.
    By the time the technician arrived to map David Sperrin’s entire family history from a few cells of mucous membrane, the cows had been moved and the cowherds had returned. Sperrin had brought them up-to-date with every appearance of satisfaction, as if he thought the conversation with DI Norris had proved something.
    Perhaps Byrfield thought so, too. As the day wore on, Hazel noticed him becoming more and more quiet, looking more and more troubled, until—anxious about him—she cornered him on the stairs and asked plainly what the problem was.
    â€œProblem?” he echoed, prevaricating weakly.
    â€œPete, you look like you lost a twenty-pound note and found a euro! What’s happened? Did David tell you something he didn’t tell us?”
    â€œNo, of course not. It’s just…” The words dwindled and died.
    Hazel took a lot more putting off than that. “Yes? What?”
    Byrfield swallowed. “David seems pretty sure that wasn’t his brother we found.”
    â€œYes, he does. Well, people try to believe what suits them. Unless you’ve some reason to think he’s wrong?”
    â€œNo—no,” he said quickly. He looked around, although there was no one else within sight or earshot. “But if it wasn’t Jamie Sperrin, who was it?”
    Hazel didn’t understand his concern. “If it wasn’t Jamie, it probably wasn’t anyone you’d know. No other local children went missing about that time, did they? So he was brought here. Not a nice thought, I know, but better than the alternative. Norris will have to go back to the PNC—national records—and see what he can turn up around