`It`s an end job, Jim.` Jim listened but the boss was on his mobile phone in the middle of a noisy street; why he didn`t ring from his office was a mystery. He was spelling out a name and a place. Jim put in his notebook - Raggydoo lives Lanson.

` Lanson. Where`s that?`

But the reply was unhelpful. `Haven`t the foggiest.`

`Anything else?` A few more words filtered through the rumble of traffic and he scribbled them down. Jim asked, `what`s that name again?` He meant the name of the personage but the reply was, `get cracking Jim, no time to lose.` `O.K.,` he said, `I`ll keep you posted.` He shut his notebook. Nothing much to go on but that was the thrill of the hunt; the more vague the better. His quarry was probably a back-number big-wig needed to serve as the icing on the cake. This one might be shy of publicity but Jim would flush him out.

Jim Lamb had reached the rank of detective inspector in the police force and had retired with a jolly good pension. Plenty of jobs were made available to an ex-sleuth with a talent for problem solving and he had been given a chance to work in television and grabbed it. Up to then he had delved into the activities of notorious ne'er-do-wells but now he made enquiries about lives of a very different calibre.

He poured himself a generous whisky and ran through his options. Usually, his first line of attack was to go for the most likely positive. The most likely here was the location and the individual in this particular case was living at a place called Lanson. Get out the road atlas, look up L-a-n. Lanivet, Lanlivery, Lanner, Lanreath, Lansallos, Lanteglos. No Lanson. Each place was in the county of Cornwall. Could that be significant? Could be in Wales, but that was double-ell-a-n, wasn`t it? Go for Cornwall. Jim never hesitated when he thought he was on to something so he lost no time now.

Out on the forecourt of his suburban house his sleek car waited, tanked up with diesel and ready to go. It was a brand new dark green four-wheel-drive, chosen because personal comfort was essential. His first motor had been a blue convertible, bought with savings during first years as a constable. He wasn`t married then, just going out with Rosemary - his own age, at school together but never his childhood sweetheart. They hit it off at a dance when he was a still a greenhorn and their friends teased that Rosemary went well with Lamb. And it did. Eventually they were joined in holy matrimony in a year ending in a zero. That way you will always be able to remember the anniversary, Rosemary had laughed. He missed her tinkling laugh, the way she lent a hand (without realising it) in his investigations. She was a sounding-board and many a time had rescued him from being overwhelmed with clues.

Pack a bag, lock the house, set the security system, then climb in behind the steering wheel; Jim`s considerable bulk slid on the smooth leather agreeably. He was making for the River Tamar, the natural boundary between Devon and the County of Cornwall. On the way, he stopped at a motorway services and almost turned back. Was he on a wild goose chase? But he was too far from home to back down now so he continued on. He left the big road and followed the signs to Cornwall. At last he crossed the Tamar by way of a narrow grey stone bridge and a few miles farther along the country route lined with trees he noticed a signpost that announced LAUNCESTON. He stopped and asked a man hacking at a hedge. `Excuse me, but how do you pronounce that place? Lawn cess ton?`

`Zum say Lawnston, I say Lanson.`

`Eureka! Thank you.` Jim sounded so pleased he even surprised himself and the man`s mouth opened in astonishment. When he arrived in the small town square he booked in at the only hotel and telephoned the office. The producer`s secretary answered; she said: `Hello there, Jim! Where are you?` He told her.

`Good. Where are you staying?`

He told her and was going to ask her more but she said she had to go. `Best of luck,` she breezed and the line went dead. He still hadn`t identified the peculiar name of the personage. It was so unusual that he tried it out in the bar that evening.

`Raggydoo, does that ring a bell?`

`Is it a person or a musical instrument? Digereedoo?` Some joker asked. Another one added, `is he from Oz?`

`I think he, or she, might be a member of this community.`

The barman`s contribution was a lot more help. `It could have been Reggie Drew. You know, Mayor Drew but he died years ago.`

`I thought everybody would know everybody else in this delightful English country town.` He gazed at the array of laughing faces. `Did I say something funny?`

A chap in a well worn-in cap explained: `You`m not in England, you`m t`other side of Tamar. Cornish not English.`

`I see,` said Jim but he didn`t really.

`Home rule for Cornwall!` He was getting nowhere so he gave up his quest till next day when he planned to look up farms in the district. One of the clues was that his target figure kept animals. Farms and animals went together, perhaps he`d have better luck there. But in the morning, characteristic of moor-land districts, weather prevented him from travelling far. Dartmoor fog was famously thick and treacherous so Jim stayed in town. Being a stranger in the town he sought out the vicar first, that way he might be sure of confidentiality. `Good morning,` Jim said, `I`m a newcomer here. Could you spare me a little of your time, please?`

`Of course. I`m on my way to the church, would you like to come with me?`

`Yes, I think I will. I`ll let you into a secret, Reverend. I am researching for a television programme, the one where a lifetime is flashed before an unwary personage.`

`I know it. I like it. The first few minutes are really exciting, waiting to discover who the victim is to be!`

`I`m looking for a guest on the show but it is essential that we work surreptitiously so as not to spoil the surprise for the subject.`

They reached the place of worship and entered the vaulted interior. `Who is the victim?` The slightest sound reverberated alarmingly. Jim put a forefinger up to his lips and whispered, `can`t say.` They sat side by side on a highly polished pew whispering like conspirators. `This person might have been ill or injured recently.`

`Quite a number of my parishioners are ill but only one has been in an accident recently.

Go for the positive, thought Jim. `Does he live here? In town?`

`Yes, he does. He is about your age, shouldn`t go up ladders.`

`Where does he live?`

`I could have taken you there to introduce you but I have to visit a poor soul who has only a short time to live. She dying of cancer.`

Jim`s vision swam. Submerged memories of Rosemary surfaced and he desperately tried to control himself. Tears welled up and wet his cheeks yet he hadn`t shed a tear since she had died in his arms. His pent-up emotions spilled over. She had been so brave, so determined to live. He had stayed by her hospice bed for the doctors told him she was about to die. Now, he looked around the church but the clerical gentleman had gone and he was alone with his sorrow. Rosemary had a faith in God and some of it had rubbed off on Jim so he sent up a spontaneous prayer for the soul of his much loved wife. He followed it with an appeal for the sufferer the vicar was visiting.

Having to deal with so many harsh cases in the past had called for a thick skin but Jim really had a soft centre. He had supported cancer-care charity workers after Rosemary, when his anguish had abated. He lent them a hand whenever he could and had now become a foremost, voluntary fundraiser and campaigner.

Outside the morning sun had started to burn off the fog but, though it was still quite early, he could face no more that day. The visit to the man who fell off a ladder would have to wait. Was Jim Lamb, the super sleuth, a no-hope-winner? His confidence was waning. Before dinner that evening, the bar was empty but the same barman served him with a large whisky. `How are you getting on with your search?`

`Not very well. But thanks for asking.`

`My brother, he lives in Canada.`

`What part?`

`Vancouver Island.` Jim spluttered into his whisky glass. The barman was saying: `Up in the wild north of the island a bear came after him! So he sprinted through the trees till he got to the shore. Hundreds of huge bits of driftwood was lying about all over. He tripped over one. Broke his leg.`

`And where was the bear?`

`I dunno but it turned out a float-plane was sitting in the water within spitting distance. The pilot took him to hospital. My brother, he owes his life to the pilot of that float-plane.`

The barman went to serve someone else leaving Jim staring into space. What made him choke on his drink was that his very own son`s home was in Vancouver Island and now another coincidence, he was a float-plane pilot. The barman`s story occurred in the north and Jim had heard about bears roaming the woods. However, Gordon`s home was right down in the south. Jim had never seen his grandchildren, Mary aged two and Jamie aged two months. In actual fact, Gordon and his lovely wife often tried to get him to go and see them in Victoria with its busy harbour and stately buildings but Jim had declined because he didn`t fancy making the journey alone.

All through dinner that evening, for some unknown reason, Diana was in Jim`s thoughts. He doted on his daughter, so much like her mother to look at. She was his little girl and the light of his life these days. Later, he was sitting in the lounge having coffee when someone came to tell him there was a phone call for him. It was Diana, of all people.

`Daddy, I wish you had a mobile, I`ve only just managed to find you. You are needed here. Sir Robert has been held up; his plane is hopelessly delayed and they want you to take his place. Please come, for my sake. I promised them that you would. Drop everything and come.`

She hung up before he could protest. Because of his headlong mission, he had clean forgotten the date. He asked himself how could he take the place of the top man? Well, if the kingpin couldn`t make it then somebody else must do it. However, Diana had asked him and he couldn`t refuse her. Everything seemed to be at a standstill here; the trail had gone cold.

At six o`clock in the morning he rose from his bed, bleary-eyed, longing for more sleep but he had to be on the road early to get home in time for the evening event. He dressed and went downstairs but nobody was about. Foregoing breakfast, he left. It was not until he was driving fast along the motorway that he realised he had left the hotel without paying his bill. Reaching his house, he bathed and changed and grabbed something to eat. Diana was not there when he arrived at the hotel where the ceremony was to take place. It was not like her to be absent, especially after her entreaty. Jim played his part in handing over the huge cheque printed on a large piece of cardboard and made a little speech. He smiled for the camera and stepped back nearly knocking over a fellow carrying a large book. He recognised the book and saw that fellow was looking at him! And there was Diana, with her lovely young face wreathed in smiles. `It`s you, Dad.` He was the subject? Jim wavered. `I can refuse you know,` he said, smiling.

`But you won`t. Not after the trouble we all went to in order to get you out of the way for a few hours.`

`All that about the end job was just a lot of red herrings! And I fell for it!`

`It`s a fair cop. Dad!`

The stage was set in the television studio. Jim waited in the wings for the signal and then he walked into the limelight. When he reached the hot seat and settled into it there was the familiar piece of music. Diana was announced and came forward with her arms outstretched. He jumped up and greeted her and she took her place, the place where Rosemary should have been. Jim thanked God he had let go of his emotions in that Cornish church. Friends and acquaintances came from the past and the present to commend him. He stood up numerous times to greet all the different people; even Sir Robert arrived and Jim wagged a finger at him and laughed. Eventually a large television screen showed the Canadian city of Victoria. He saw the float-planes flying across the harbour and somebody was greeting him. But it wasn`t Gordon. `Mr. Lamb, you don`t know me but I`m the mother of the man your son saved. He owes his life to your son and I cannot thank Gordon enough.`

Her image faded and the music played and who should enter but the barman from Lanson. `Sorry, Jim,` he smiled, `I was a decoy. But the story is true. Gordon rescued me that day, not my brother.` A wave of gullibility surged over Jim; he saw that he had been set up; the whole Cornish scene had been a con. But before it could take him over he heard: `Flown in from Vancouver Island, your son Gordon and his wife Jill and your grandson and grand-daughter.`

James Lamb beamed at them through wet eyes but he quickly blinked the tears away. The little family advanced and he hugged them all in turn; then he turned to face the camera and said, `That was my life!`