Cold Pursuit by Judith Cutler Page B

youthful forty-minus and shy-looking but no doubt fearsomely competent. Another white male middle-class face, of course: she kicked herself for having been so slipshod in helping select the short list. Positive discrimination wasn’t an option, but keeping an eye open and encouraging certainly was. At the interviews Fran had really wanted a Sikh – minus a turban, it had to be said – but the majority supported Farmer, and she had to acquiesce. His CV glowed in the dark; she just hoped his spiral up through the ranks hadn’t been at the expense of getting proper experience.
    She flapped a casual hand; with a fleeting, possibly respectful smile, he responded in kind. Jill, on the other hand, did a fair imitation of a rabbit caught in her headlights. At last she overcame her paralysis to lurch from behind her desk, bumping her thigh hard on the corner as she did so.
    Fran winced for her. The two women laughed, and Fran settled on a singularly uncomfortable visitor’s chair, Jill retreating to her own side of the desk.
    ‘I want to pick your brain,’ Fran said. ‘Girls’ talksort of thing.’ She didn’t particularly want to discuss the Dilly Pound case with anyone, but hoped it would get Jill to open up a little. ‘The Chief’s got a pet stalking case.’
    ‘That’s not a job for you, Fran, and so you should have told him!’
    ‘Funnily enough, it probably is, you know – at the moment it’s manageable enough for one person and goodness knows you’ve got enough with all these assaults to keep twice as many people busy. How are things going, by the way?’
    Jill gave an embarrassed smile. ‘I took your advice. I’ve got a team of bright young things who might talk the lingo dealing with the happy-slappers , and the rest of us are doing everything we can to trace the sex offender. Whoever it is – they are! – there’s no record on the sex offenders’ register. And as you know, there’s no DNA match. The bugger’s now heavily into sexual assaults. I’m afraid any day now we’ll have our first rape. Quite,’ she acknowledged Fran’s grim expression. ‘He’s like the damned Scarlet Pimpernel. We seek him here, we seek him there – we seek him bloody everywhere.’
    ‘Still no decent description to go on?’
    ‘Half the girls were so traumatised they didn’t – maybe couldn’t – recall any details. The others just said he was “ordinary” – and no two e-fits match! Some said he wore specs. Others were equally convinced that he didn’t. So we’re checking couriers, taxi-drivers, train drivers: if it’smale and it moves we’re on to it.’
    ‘And you’re managing it all without frightening the horses. Well done. CCTV installers?’ she added, as she stood up. She could have sworn she’d suggested them before, but – no, she couldn’t swear to it. Just to thinking about it? Senior moments…
    ‘Shit! I knew there was something… I wrote it down and put the note somewhere. I’ll get on to it.’ As Jill looked frantically for another piece of paper, the phone rang. She took the call, but promised to phone back. As she replaced the handset she said, ‘Guv? You wanted to talk to me about Pound?’
    ‘So I did!’ At least wrinkling her nose in irritation hardly hurt any more. ‘She really doesn’t want to give me the name of the only suspect. He’s a family man, very respectable.’
    ‘Just the sort of man you’d expect to be stalking,’ Jill said cheerfully but not entirely accurately. ‘Did they have a red hot affair or something?’
    ‘Pretty lukewarm from what I can gather. Which is what worries me. It’s too pat. But I’d like to eliminate him from the enquiry.’
    ‘Not like you to use cop-talk, guv.’
    ‘No, indeed. I think my subconscious has just given me my answer, don’t you? Thanks for the natter, Jill. It really cleared my brain. Look, don’t beat yourself up over these cases. If you need more resources, more personnel, you know I’ll always… be your