‘I am well aware that the man is a tinker, a pike, a gypo - whatever you want to call him, Spencer. I am also aware that they are camped not five hundred yards from the waste ground itself. Whether the man was drugged, drunk or both is not the issue here, Spencer. I want every lead followed up. And you can tell Willis that I’ll be down to interview Fred Barkis myself in about . . .’ she glanced at her watch . . . ‘fifteen minutes, OK?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ Spencer failed to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Kate studied the file in front of her. Fred Barkis was a known flasher. He had also acquired a dark green Mark One Cortina, and a dark car had been reported by three different people cruising around by Vauxhall Drive on the night that Geraldine O’Leary died.

Kate stared at the wall opposite her and tapped her pen on her chin. Fred Barkis was harmless, she would lay money on it. For a start he was not violent-natured. All her years of policing had proved to her that the most mild-mannered men could be animals beneath the skin, but by the same token she had also learnt that ninety-five per cent of policing was working from hunches. And she had a hunch that Fred Barkis was not the man they were after. Still, he had to be eliminated.

That was the trouble with Spencer and his ilk, she had seen it so many times: get a suspect and dress up the evidence to suit yourself. Well, she had never worked like that and she was not going to start now. How many times had she seen witnesses’ statements that had been doctored? Too many. She could understand that at times the job could be stressful - like now, when they had one woman dead and another fighting for her life and literally nothing to go on - but that did not excuse using a ‘live one’, as a pressured suspect was called. Barkis fit the bill, but in reality they could not tie him in to both cases and they now knew from the DNA samples that they were looking for one man. Anyway, Barkis had given samples of blood, urine and semen without a murmur. No, he was not their man, he was a common or garden sex pest which was a far cry from a fully fledged sex murderer.

The most annoying thing was that the local paper had nicknamed the rapist the ‘Grantley Ripper’. Whoever he was, he was local, Kate was sure of that, very sure; and she was also sure that when he read his ‘nickname’ he would feel pleased. The criminal psychologist had already begun his profile of the man, and certain things shone through. He was a misogynist. He also had a job or a home life that allowed him free rein to roam the streets.