Frankie Doyle had contacted Lisa Jane a few days before she was killed, and a woman had spat on the girl’s dead or dying body. Nikki’s eyes narrowed to little more than slits. It had to be Doyle. But why the hell couldn’t they find her! She had half the police force and most of the local villains out looking for her, and zilch! Nikki cursed. She didn’t want to pin too much hope on the kid, but Mickey Smith was looking like her last hope. Fluke was linked to Doyle, and Mickey knew Fluke, ergo, Mickey may well know Doyle too.

She glanced at her watch. Almost midday, and Joseph wouldn’t be in for a while yet. It was very tempting to just ignore his advice and go see the kid on her own. But did she dare risk it? She flopped down in her chair and stared at her sergeant’s report. The answer was probably not. Apart from shooting herself in the foot if her plan backfired, it was hardly fair on Joseph if she cocked up all the hard work he’d done gaining the boy’s trust. Oh, but finding Frankie Doyle was a very strong incentive. No, Nikki closed the debate she was having with herself. Like it or not, she’d wait, and use the time to catch up on the latest reports from the search for Kerry.

An hour later, Cat Cullen came striding through the door from the CID room with Dave Harris puffing along behind her.

‘From your expression, I gather your “Policeman’s nose” was correct?’

‘Was it ever, Guv,’ said Dave easing himself into a chair. ‘She’s got good instincts, our Cat.’

‘So, from the beginning, please.’

‘The bad news is that the Jameses are not directly connected to the case.’ Cat scratched her cheek. ‘Which is something of a bummer after all the work we’ve done tracing the mask design back to them.’

‘So why are you two looking so bloody pleased with yourselves,’ asked Nikki impatiently.

‘Because there was another computer in the house, in a very interesting attic room,’ answered Cat.

‘Blimey, Guv! I’ve never come across the like in all my life!’ said Dave, his eyes wide in almost childlike incredulity.

‘Sadly, I have,’ added Cat. ‘When I worked Vice. The thing is, ma’am, “Lyco Rapture” is the brainchild of Mr and Mrs Squeaky-Clean, only the dirty bastards are far from that, and that particular perverted game is just one of many. The pretty web design stuff is legit, but they keep it up purely as a front.’

‘So they are the originators of the rat death masks?’ Nikki felt mildly confused.

‘No. Some sleaze-bag downloaded the game, saw the hideous creature, nicked the character’s design for the masks, and named it Griffyx.’

‘So, it’s another dead end?’