a trail here in more ways than one. You all know about the Home Office plans-for a national task force for profiling repeat offenders. Well, we're going to be the guinea pigs. Dr Tony Hill, the man who's going to be telling the Home Office what to think, has agreed to work with us.
Now, I know there are some amongst you who think that profiling is a load of crap. But like it or not, it's part of our future. If we cooperate and work with this guy, we're a lot more likely to see this task force end up something like we want it to be. If we piss him off, we're liable to be lumbered with a bloody great millstone round our neck. Is that clear to everyone here? "
Brandon looked sternly round the room, not missing out Torn Cross. The nods varied from enthusiastic to barely perceptible.
"I'm glad we all understand one another. Dr Hill's job is to assess the evidence we provide him with and to come up with a profile of the killer to help us focus our enquiries. I've appointed Inspector Carol Jordan as the liaison officer between the murder squad and Dr Hill. Inspector Jordan, can you just stand up a minute?"
Startled, Carol scrambled to her feet, dropping her files on the way.
Don Merrick immediately got down on his knees and grabbed the spilling papers.
"For those of you from other divisions who don't know Inspector Jordan, there she is." Nice one, Brandon, thought Carol. As if there were squads of female detectives to choose from.
"Inspector Jordan is to have access to each and every piece of paper on this enquiry. I want her kept fully informed of any developments.
Anyone who is pursuing a promising lead should discuss it with her as well as with their own inspector, or Superintendent Cross. And any requests from Inspector Jordan must be treated as urgent enquiries.
If I hear that anybody's being a smart arse trying to freeze Inspector Jordan or Dr Hill out of the investigation, I won't be taking prisoners. The same goes for anybody who leaks anything about this aspect of the investigation to the media. So think on. Unless you've got a burning ambition to climb back into uniform and walk the streets of Bradfield in the rain for the rest of your career, you'll do everything in your power to help her. This isn't a competition. We're all on the same side. Dr Hill isn't here to catch the killer. That's your' Brandon stopped in mid-sentence. No one had noticed the door opening, but the words of the communications room sergeant captured everyone's attention faster than a gunshot.
"Sorry to interrupt, sir," he said, his voice tight with suppressed emotion.
"We've got an ID on yesterday's victim. Sir, he's one of ours."
It was an American journalist who said, "I have seen the future and it works." I know just what he meant. After the dog, I knew Adam wouldn't be any problem.
I spent the rest of the week in a state of nervous tension. I was even tempted to try one of the tranquillizers myself, but I resisted.
This wasn't the time to give in to weakness. Besides, I couldn't afford to be anything less than completely in control of myself. My years of self-discipline paid off; I doubt if any of my colleagues noticed anything unusual in my behaviour at work, except that I couldn't bring myself to do the weekend overtime I usually volunteer for.
By Monday morning, I was at a peak of readiness. I was primed and polished, the perfect killer-in-waiting. Even the weather was on my side. It was a crisp, clear autumnal morning, the kind of day that brings a smile even to the lips of commuters. Just before eight, } drove past Adam's home, a new terraced three-storey town house with integral garage on the ground floor. His bedroom curtains were closed, the milk bottle still sitting on his doorstep, half a Daily Mail protruding from his letter box. I parked a couple of streets away outside a row of shops and retraced my journey. I walked down his street, satisfied that so far I was right on time. His bedroom curtains were drawn back, the milk and newspaper gone. At the end of the street, I crossed to the little park opposite and sat on a bench.
I opened my own Daily Mail and imagined Adam reading the same stories that I was staring at unseeingly. I shifted my position