“Talk of the devil,” Baxter murmured.
Cole moved to the door and waved Maynard inside.
Maynard took a seat without invitation.
“You remember Detective Superintendent Baxter?”
“Of course.” Maynard hid his surprise. The super had gained weight. A stone a year and that meant two and most of it around the middle. “How are you, Mr Baxter?'
Baxter weighed up the therapist, searching for something, he didn't know what. Carefully he removed his spectacles for a quick once-over with the yellow buffer. “I'm fine Geoff. Are you?'
“Good,” Maynard responded. “It’s good to be back.”
Cole cut in, wanting to get on. “You saw Elizabeth Rayner?' The psychologist nodded.
“And?”
“And nothing Rick. This wasn't personal. You've got a psychopath on your hands. He's struck three times in less than a week and there's more to come.”
“He?”
“I heard the rumour. And Elizabeth Rayner has come up with something else. Remember the distinctive aftershave she recognized – well it wasn't. It was Amarige, a Givenchy perfume.”
Cole nodded. “You OK with Donna?”
“You should talk to her,” Maynard suggested. “She's got a couple of points that might interest you.”
The DI shot him a thoughtful look. He said, “What's your plan now?”
“I’ll see the other victims and try to find a connection, if there is one. Can you spare Donna?”
Now Cole knew it was personal. He nodded slowly.
Maynard smiled, enjoying himself.
Cole said, “We'll meet up later.”
Maynard nodded. Cole hadn't mentioned where but he knew exactly where he meant.
So did the super and he wasn't impressed.
Once the door had closed behind them and while Baxter considered the situation he unwrapped silver paper and started on a thick sandwich. Mature farmhouse cheddar all the way from Somerset and beef tomato from the Canaries. A feast and what was more, Cole and Maynard on the job again. The fat man shook his head in wonder. It was like old times.
On the way through the IR Chas Walker stopped them. 'Guv,” he addressed Cole. “Rodney Grant has come up with the goods. We've got Jason in IV one. But he's calling himself Brian Lara now, even though he's white and blond.”
“Right,” Cole said. “I want you to look into this rumour about a woman being involved. Find the hack responsible and sit on him till you get an answer. Make him understand that ‘no comment’ is not an option. Make him understand that he lives in a police state.” If he was joking it didn’t show and Walker said, “Right, Guv, I can do that.”
Cole turned to Donna. “You and Peter look after Brian. He'll know the score. We want to know about everything that goes down in the Square.”
Chas Walker cut in. “We're waiting for the duty social worker. He's no more than fourteen. More like twelve.”
Cole said sharply, “You still here?”
Walker persisted, “An appropriate adult, Guv. Never mind Social Services we’ll be starting a civil war with PPU.”
“PPU! FPU! CPU! They’re in the wrong job anyway.”
“We’re bending the rules, Guv?”
“Bend some more.”
Donna started toward the door. Peter Ward followed. And Maynard, without invitation, followed him.
Brian, for want of a better name, was pale, smooth and blond, with long eyelashes and a slim figure, and Walker had been right, he looked no more than twelve or thirteen. He had big innocent eyes that were as innocent as hell and a look that could lead you, if that was your bend, to hell. There was a redness around his nose and eyes and he sniffed the symptoms of a common cold.
Right away they knew it wouldn't be easy.
He was streetwise, as familiar with the police and police procedure as was his punter, Rodney Grant. He'd wait for the duty social worker, get an overnight accommodation and then leg it. He'd done it a dozen times before. No big deal. When it came to kids the police were helpless, strapped by so many rules it made it impossible. The system helped them back on to the streets. Secure accommodation, even when it was available, was a joke. Social Services were in the same boat as the police. At the end of the day it came down to funding, or lack of it, and the years of restraints or, more to the point, indifference, to the street kids and a society in free fall, would take years to redress. Donna placed a Coke on the table.
“Thanks,” he said and pulled the ring. He took a gulp as if it were life or death.
Donna said, “Brian, we need your help.”
He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his grubby sweatshirt. “Remember the guy with the tattoo? The snake wrapped around the dagger?”
He sniffed, “So what?”
“He's a regular. You should. You turned a little trick in the supermarket car park, remember?”
He shrugged and slouched further into the chair.
“He picked you up in the Square, your usual patch outside the fitness club.”
He remained blank.
“Can you remember what time it was? Or what day?”
Another shrug of his bony shoulders, then, “Eight, nine maybe.” “What about the day?”
He shook his head.
“Was it last week?”
“Maybe.”
“What day?”
“Think it was the weekend.”
“Can you think of something you did before, or after, that might help you remember exactly?”
Nothing.
“We're looking for someone who might have been acting suspiciously, watching the members of the fitness club as they came and went. Did you notice anyone at all?”
“Can't think. Might have done. It is the place.”
“Try to remember, Brian. Someone hanging around?”
He shook his head again and swallowed some more Coke. He placed the can on the table and said, “Just the usual, the girls, you know?”
“The girls? The prostitutes?”
“It's the place.”
“Do you know them?”
He pulled a face and shrugged again.
“Would you recognize them?”
“Maybe.”
Maynard couldn't resist it. He broke in. “Brian, it doesn’t suit you. Jason’s better. Your real name would be better still. How long have you been huffing, Jay?”
The lad shot him a frown. “It ain't Jay. It's Brian.”
“OK, my mistake, but you’re still taking it up the nose as well as up the arse, aren’t you?”
For a moment Donna was stunned. She gave Maynard a dark backoff look.
Peter Ward turned in his seat, uncertainty in his eyes, checking that the tape was off.
This was going pear-shaped.
Not at all perturbed Maynard went on, “You heard about these women who've been attacked?”
The lad's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“One of these women was a member of the fitness club. We think that the person who attacked her followed
