Director's Cut Read Online Free PDF Page B

chief superintendent who took everything
personally.
    The DS grinned. “A garden shed?”
    “On the allotments.”
    “Strange.”
    “Schoolboys. A chemistry set for Christmas or, more likely, leftover
fireworks; broke them open and put all the powder together in a
bog roll or, in this case, some steel tubing. We've all been there.”
“Still…"
    "Barry Scot's looking after it. He'll be pleased to see you.”
Butler nodded and said, “I thought there was another one yesterday.
Another seven-seven.”
    “Didn’t we all. Half the plods are still over at Buncefield. It doesn’t
help when you close the M1.”
    “Shame it can’t be permanent.”
    “I know what you mean.” Cole paused. The informalities were
over. “Are you getting anywhere with these missing women?”
Butler's hesitation went on too long. Between the detectives there
were boundaries you didn't cross. Guarding your own investigations
became a way of life.
    “Jesus, Sam. We know each other better than this.”
    Butler relaxed. His shoulders fell. He threw Cole a careless wave.
“You're right. I don't know what the hell's the matter with me lately.
Put it down to lack of sleep.”
    Without saying so they both knew the problem. Left behind at
Hinckley Inspector Jack Wooderson had turned resentment into an art
form.
    Butler concentrated on the subject. “Frankly, we've got zilch. You
know Jack. He gets one idea in his head and we're despatched to all
parts of the country. I was in Worthing. Have you ever been to
Worthing in the winter?”
    Cole shook his head. “Not even the summer.”
    “It's not a place I'd recommend.”
    “So what's in Worthing?”
    “They’ve got ten missing women. Teenagers, mostly black, all
vanished in the last eighteen months. It sounds like the skin trade.
They’re convinced they'll surface in northern Italy. Most of them come
from Nigeria, Liberia and every other messed up African country.
Interpol, the Refugee Council and Immigration are all involved. It's not
for us. I could have told him the MO was different without the pleasure
of seeing the place.”
    “Have you got anything at all?”
    Butler shrugged weakly. “I’ve had my fill of MPS if that’s what
you mean. People end up there when no one else wants them. The joke
in the office is that half the missing people we’re looking for are
probably hiding on the Victoria Embankment…”
    He was referring to the location of the Territorial Policing
Headquarters where Operation Compass – the MPS Central Missing
Persons Unit – was set up to coordinate the investigations of missing
people across London.
    He continued, “We haven't found a single connection. Credit cards
not maxed, no apparent debts, no life insurance worth mentioning, no
affairs as far as we can tell, no suspicion of crime. To be honest, Guv,
unless something breaks very soon it'll be scaled down. The official
line is no interest. Jack doesn’t actually live the ACPO values. CID
only investigate crimes that have already been committed, not those
that might be committed, or incidents that might not even be a crime –
which is what we’ve got here. Prevention is for someone else and
suspicion isn’t even logged. Missing persons are way down his list.”
“Hate to say it but he’s got a point. Has Margaret had a look?”
Margaret Domey was the resident psychologist based at Sheerham
but her remit covered the substations.
    “For a connection, you mean?” Butler shook his head again but this
time resignation was mixed with curiosity. “You haven't heard?”
Cole frowned.
    “Margaret's at home with her head down the pan. Morning
sickness.”
    That he hadn’t heard shouldn’t have surprised Cole. He kept out of
her way. He said, “I didn’t know.”
    Butler grinned. Not many people would miss the psychologist. Not
unless she'd changed a lot since his transfer. Margaret Domey didn't
use ice in her drinks. She just breathed on them.
    Cole said, “It must be catching.”
    “What's