brought with him. He needed a bit of Dutch courage for this.
Minimising the program he was in, he connected to the Internet.
‘It’s someone I’ve known for years,’ Theresa had told him during that painfully brief conversation on the phone.
‘Do I know him?’ he’d asked. She hadn’t answered, which meant that maybe he did.
‘Where did you meet?’
‘It’s not important.’ But Knox had already worked it out. The only someone she could have known a long time who they both knew could be someone from school. Theresa used the computer all the time. She’d been on courses and could find her way round it better than he could. He also knew that she visited the various school reunion sites that were springing up. Once she’d urged him to have a look.
‘It’s fun,’ she’d said. ‘You get to find out what’s happened to all those spotty oiks.’ But Knox had declined. He didn’t have the same enthusiasm for the past as Theresa did. It must be a woman thing.
There were half a dozen sites offering to put people in contact with old acquaintances. Knox logged on to the first and typed in the name of the secondary school they’d gone to and the year they’d both left. By the time he clicked to proceed, his palms were sweating and his heart pounding. Would he know who it was? Would he recognise the name?
‘Anything?’ Mariner’s voice behind him sent the mouse skidding across the desk. He hadn’t heard anyone come in.
‘No. Nothing yet, boss.’ Knox minimised the screen but Mariner was already looking over his shoulder.
‘Are we sure we’re looking in the right place?’ But it was curiosity more than anything else.
Knox fumbled for the notes he’d made. ‘Checking back over the indecent exposure incidents in the south of the city during the last six months, there have been two others as well as the unreported ones at the university, bringing the total to six,’ he said. ‘All occurred at different times of the day, and on the surface there seems little to connect them.’ He’d plotted the incidents on a map, which they now pored over. ‘As you can see, boss, they all happened in secluded areas, but then the flasher is hardly likely to strike in the middle of a busy shopping centre, is he?’
‘It would be a first.’
‘One common thread seems to be that a lot of them take place fairly near railway stations.’
‘Like Kingsmead. OK. How did you get on with Helen Greenwood?’
Knox reported what she’d told him.
‘Sunburnt, eh,’ said Mariner. ‘That might be helpful.’
Calling in at the incident centre revealed that the news bulletin had been less fruitful. Although there were a handful of possible sightings of Yasmin to follow up, the descriptions were vague and there didn’t appear to be anything that held any great significance. Mariner could safely leave Knox to follow those up. As the search of the university campus had turned up nothing either, apart from a handful of spent spliffs, the logical thing to do was to widen the search to the stretch of railway track between Kingsmead Station and the point at which Yasmin left the train. That would be a much bigger operation requiring far more manpower, which Mariner didn’t like to think about just yet. As far as he was concerned, they were already jumping the gun. Instead, he wanted to concentrate on the information they had got. On an investigation like this it was important to be systematic, starting at the core and working gradually outwards, making sure not to miss anything.
DCI Fiske, however, was like a dog with a bone and any decision on how to prioritise this was all but taken out of Mariner’s hands. Now that Yasmin’s disappearance had been on TV, the press were on to it, presenting exactly the sort of case that would capture the public’s imagination. Always on the lookout for an ‘angle’, the media were playing up the possibility of a racially motivated abduction and, ever helpful, Fiske was equally
Minimising the program he was in, he connected to the Internet.
‘It’s someone I’ve known for years,’ Theresa had told him during that painfully brief conversation on the phone.
‘Do I know him?’ he’d asked. She hadn’t answered, which meant that maybe he did.
‘Where did you meet?’
‘It’s not important.’ But Knox had already worked it out. The only someone she could have known a long time who they both knew could be someone from school. Theresa used the computer all the time. She’d been on courses and could find her way round it better than he could. He also knew that she visited the various school reunion sites that were springing up. Once she’d urged him to have a look.
‘It’s fun,’ she’d said. ‘You get to find out what’s happened to all those spotty oiks.’ But Knox had declined. He didn’t have the same enthusiasm for the past as Theresa did. It must be a woman thing.
There were half a dozen sites offering to put people in contact with old acquaintances. Knox logged on to the first and typed in the name of the secondary school they’d gone to and the year they’d both left. By the time he clicked to proceed, his palms were sweating and his heart pounding. Would he know who it was? Would he recognise the name?
‘Anything?’ Mariner’s voice behind him sent the mouse skidding across the desk. He hadn’t heard anyone come in.
‘No. Nothing yet, boss.’ Knox minimised the screen but Mariner was already looking over his shoulder.
‘Are we sure we’re looking in the right place?’ But it was curiosity more than anything else.
Knox fumbled for the notes he’d made. ‘Checking back over the indecent exposure incidents in the south of the city during the last six months, there have been two others as well as the unreported ones at the university, bringing the total to six,’ he said. ‘All occurred at different times of the day, and on the surface there seems little to connect them.’ He’d plotted the incidents on a map, which they now pored over. ‘As you can see, boss, they all happened in secluded areas, but then the flasher is hardly likely to strike in the middle of a busy shopping centre, is he?’
‘It would be a first.’
‘One common thread seems to be that a lot of them take place fairly near railway stations.’
‘Like Kingsmead. OK. How did you get on with Helen Greenwood?’
Knox reported what she’d told him.
‘Sunburnt, eh,’ said Mariner. ‘That might be helpful.’
Calling in at the incident centre revealed that the news bulletin had been less fruitful. Although there were a handful of possible sightings of Yasmin to follow up, the descriptions were vague and there didn’t appear to be anything that held any great significance. Mariner could safely leave Knox to follow those up. As the search of the university campus had turned up nothing either, apart from a handful of spent spliffs, the logical thing to do was to widen the search to the stretch of railway track between Kingsmead Station and the point at which Yasmin left the train. That would be a much bigger operation requiring far more manpower, which Mariner didn’t like to think about just yet. As far as he was concerned, they were already jumping the gun. Instead, he wanted to concentrate on the information they had got. On an investigation like this it was important to be systematic, starting at the core and working gradually outwards, making sure not to miss anything.
DCI Fiske, however, was like a dog with a bone and any decision on how to prioritise this was all but taken out of Mariner’s hands. Now that Yasmin’s disappearance had been on TV, the press were on to it, presenting exactly the sort of case that would capture the public’s imagination. Always on the lookout for an ‘angle’, the media were playing up the possibility of a racially motivated abduction and, ever helpful, Fiske was equally
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