Kate groaned. Oh, please, not Kenneth Caitlin!

Ratchette saw her face and snapped at her: ‘Look, Kate, whether you like it or not, the man’s coming. You are a Detective Inspector, I am a Superintendent. You take your orders from me and I take mine from the Chief Constable. Just try and work with him. Whatever his reputation, he gets results.’

Kate looked at the floor. Her heart had sunk down into her shoes.

‘All right?’ Ratchette’s voice was still hard.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Now before he arrives, have you any thoughts on this that you want to talk to me about?’

‘Actually, yes. In 1984 at Enderby in Leicester two young girls were raped and murdered. There was nothing to go on at all. The police took blood samples from just about every male in the vicinity. The only thing we’ve got here is the DNA of the murderer. I think, if nothing else, we should try and eliminate as many men as possible by DNA testing in the area.’

Ratchette’s wrinkled face was incredulous.

‘You’re joking. Do you know how much that would cost?’

‘A little over half a million pounds. I know it will be expensive, but for Christ’s sake we’re dealing with a maniac.’

‘You realise that some men won’t allow us to take their blood?’

‘Then they will immediately be under suspicion.’ Ratchette shook his head.

‘I don’t know, Kate. This is something I shall have to discuss with the Chief Constable. It’s already going out on this month’s Crimewatch. Hopefully someone will have their memory jogged. The man isn’t invisible, he must have been seen.’

‘Well, up till now, sir, he’s done a pretty good job of eluding us.’

‘Leave it with me. Caitlin will be here in about an hour. Make him welcome, won’t you?’

The fact that the Superintendent could not look her in the eye was not lost on Kate.

‘Of course, sir. Now if there’s nothing else?’ When he didn’t answer, she rose from her seat and walked from the room, giving the door a satisfying slam as she closed it. Bloody Caitlin! Bloody hell!

Elaine had a hangover and the shrill ringing of the telephone made her head ache even more. She heard George pick it up.

They did not get many phone calls and any other time she would have rushed out into the hall to see who it was. Today though she just wanted to curl up and die. Her mouth felt as dry as a bone and her eyes were closed against the intrusive light. She wished George would hurry up with her cup of tea.

‘Hello?’ His voice was quiet. Who could be ringing them? The only people to phone were Joseph and Lily, and now and again a friend of Elaine’s from work.

‘Hello? Mr Markham?’ The voice was rough and coarse.

‘Speaking.’ George was bewildered.

‘This is Anthony Jones from Sexplosion in Soho. You asked me to give you a ring like.’