Chief Constable Frederick Flowers was sitting in his office reading the latest reports on the Grantley Ripper. He was not happy with what he saw. It was the beginning of February and so far the man had got away with four murders. All murders were newsworthy, he conceded that, but sex murders like these seemed to grab the public interest and the daily papers made the most of this fact. His calls were now being screened because both the Sun and the Star were after something to pin on the police force. Flowers sat back in his seat.

After twenty-two years on the force he had seen many changes. He could remember when the police were respected, admired and feared - yes, feared. Now, if you grabbed a suspect by the arm the chances were his MP would shout out from the House of Commons: ‘Police brutality’. Then, when something like this happened, everyone expected an arrest within twenty-four hours.

He frowned. If they did catch the man, the bleeding hearts would get him. By the time the psychologists and the social workers and every tin pot liberal with a BSc after their name had finished, the man would be found to be unfit to stand trial and would be put away in Broadmoor with a better style of living than he had ever been accustomed to. He had seen it too many times before. At the moment though, the papers and the public were after his blood, so Chummy had to be caught - and quick.

Flowers picked up the reports again, but his heart wasn’t really in them. He had wanted to play golf today, like he did every Wednesday, but that was a no-no. All he needed was a picture of him on the course during a major investigation and the papers would finish him overnight. He was so deep in thought when his secretary buzzed him, he actually jumped in his seat.

He pressed the button on his intercom.

‘What?’

Outside, Janet rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She did not like Frederick Flowers very much and his abrupt manner got on her nerves.

‘There are two men downstairs to see you, sir, a Mr Kelly and a Mr Gabney. Shall I tell the desk sergeant to send them up?’

Frederick Flowers felt his mouth go dry and a wave of nausea washed over his body. Patrick Kelly, here? If someone saw them and put two and two together . . .