"This one's a kid," said Wells, 'a boy, seven years old. We've got a murder investigation, a detective constable in sole charge, the pathologist on his way and Mullett and Allen conveniently unobtainable. A proper sod-up!"

"Not as good as some of my sod-ups," said Frost, 'but I'm glad I'm on holiday. I'll just nick some of Mullett's fags and go." He disappeared up the corridor.

Seeing Wells with nothing to do, the man in the camel-hair coat sprang across to the desk.

"Perhaps you can now spare me some time. I've lost my car a metallic grey Rover, registration number '

"Stolen car, right," said Wells, pulling the forms towards him. The quickest way to get shot of him was to take the details.

"I didn't say it was stolen. I just don't know where it is. I drove down from Bristol for the firm's function. I parked it down a side street somewhere. I must have got confused I can't find it. My wallet, credit cards, everything, are inside it."

"It's probably been pinched by now," said Wells cheerfully.

"I'm sure it hasn't, sergeant. It's fitted with anti-thief devices."

"And you've no idea where you left it?"

"If I did, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

Wells put his pen down. "So what do you want us to do about it?"

The man sighed as if explaining to an idiot. "I would have thought that was obvious, sergeant. If one of your men could drive me around the side streets, we could look for it."

"I've got a better idea." Frost had returned with one of Mullett's best cigarettes dangling from his lips. "Why don't you piss off and go and look for it yourself? We've got more important things to do."

The man spun round angrily, jabbing a finger at Frost. "I'll have you," he spluttered. "I've got friends in high places. I want your name."