They read the screen in silence for a while and then Doggett says, “This explains Fireman Sam’s statistical spike. Looks like Barry isn’t the only copycat out there.”

“We need to tell Enfield about this. If they can shut it down, it will help stop people copying.”

“Hang on, let’s not be too hasty,” Doggett says. “This might be our only chance to catch the bastard. If we shut the thing down, won’t that just tip him the wink that we’re on to him? Can’t we just . . . trace it?” He asks hesitantly, as though he’s unsure whether it might be a stupid question.

“We should be able to trace the IP address. But I don’t know how long that would take. In the meantime someone could get hurt.”

“Well, let’s find out at least.”

Tyler thinks about it for a moment. “I know someone who works in IT. Hang on a minute.” He pulls out his mobile and finds Sally-Ann’s number. While he’s waiting for her to answer, he says, “So what have you done with poor old Barry?”

Doggett grins. “I read him the riot act a bit, but to be honest my heart wasn’t in it. He’ll probably catch far worse when he gets back to the butcher. And we’ll pass his details on to your fireman friend, just in case he decides to start lighting bonfires again. I almost feel sorry for the lad.”

“Careful, Jim, you’re growing soft in your old age.”

Before Doggett can respond, Sally-Ann answers without saying hello. “This isn’t a good time. Can I call you—?”

He cuts her off: “Actually, this is work related.” Has he pissed her off somehow? Probably.

“Oh,” she says. “Go on then.”

He outlines what they know about the fire watcher and gives her the Web address. She’s silent at first and then seems to get excited, as though she can’t help getting drawn in, despite how pissed off she might be. “So you think this is your killer then? The Cartwright case?”

“I can’t give you any details at this point, but I can tell you you’d be helping us out. A lot.”

She giggles with excitement. “Sure. I should be able to trace it. Unless your killer is some kind of computer whiz and has managed to cover his tracks. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“How long?”

She hesitates, then, “I should have an answer for you by tomorrow.”

“Great, thanks, Sal.”

“Adam, wait! Don’t hang up.”

He waits, but she’s fallen silent. Eventually he says, “I’m still here. Go on.”

“It’s just . . . I need to tell you something.”

“Okay. Can it wait? I mean, I’m sorry if I upset you the other night or something, but I’ve got a fair bit on at work at the moment and—”