He rang for Miss Smith, his secretary, but of course she wasn't in yet. Mullett's usual hours were from 10:00 a.m. until 6:30 p.m. Today was different, with the briefing meeting at 8:15 and the Chief Constable's nephew reporting for duty at 9:00. The Chief Constable's nephew… Mullett permitted himself a smug smile of satisfaction. With his future promotion in the balance it would do him no harm to have the division under the old man's careful eye. His musings were interrupted by a polite tap at the door. Bill Wells, station sergeant for the morning shift, entered.

"Ah, Sergeant Wells. Come in. Sit down."

Wells perched himself on the edge of a chair. He found Mullett's wood-lined office overpowering. A sad-faced, balding man of thirty-eight, he'd been in the force for seventeen years and had been a sergeant for the past six. He despaired of ever making inspector.

Mullen leaned forward. "Nothing on the girl, I suppose?"

The sergeant's sad face went even sadder. "No, sir."

"It's been sixteen hours, Sergeant. Too long, far too long."

"Sixteen hours of darkness, sir; we need the daylight."

Mullett nodded grudgingly and consulted his window. It was just about light enough now, and by four o'clock it would be too dark again. But with luck they would find the kid long before then. He dealt with one or two minor problems raised by the sergeant, then reached for his briefcase to go to the meeting. He remembered the letter of complaint festering in his drawer.

"Is Detective Inspector Frost in the briefing room, Sergeant?"

"No, sir," said Wells, putting his chair back against the wall. "He hasn't arrived yet."

Typical, thought Mullett. Everyone else gets here on time, but Frost… Masking his anger with a tight smile, he sighed audibly. "Ah well, we'll just have to start without him, won't we?" As he moved to the door, Wells cleared his throat.