Every man they could call on had been brought in for the operation. Even auxiliaries like himself-Community Police Officer Gary Newstead-had been taken off regular duties and put to work on the investigation. Still, he wasn’t complaining. Watching Shantelle and Christalle larking about-it beat nicking shoplifters in the Arboretum Estate mini-mart. And the overtime was always welcome.

He’d thought they were on to something earlier. Thick traffic in both directions. Surely the top brass could have liaised with someone and found there were events going on all over the city this Saturday? A smart Bentley had cruised by, returning within minutes. A gent had stepped out, actually stepped out of the car to address the girls. His booming voice had carried as far as Gary even over the street noise, relaxed and conversational: “I say, ladies! I find myself encumbered by a growing problem. Any chance of some assistance, I wonder? From one of you? Both?” Gary ’s crouch had moved smoothly into a racing start. He’d noticed that the gent’s eyes were sharp and were taking in his surroundings. Cute as an alley-rat, this one. He must have sensed that something was not quite right; the voice, when he spoke again, no longer had its confident edge. “Lost my way, I fear. Sat-nav absolutely useless! I’m trying to get to the shindig at the hospital… dashed if I can remember its name… They’ve got a red-ribbon fund-raiser on. Know the one I mean…?”

Shantelle, popping her gum and grinning, had directed him to turn around and head back east and pick up the Newmarket road where he’d find the Cambridge Clinic. And that had been the only excitement.

Newstead pulled up the cuff of his special-issue police camouflage suit and checked his watch. Nearly two hours here and no result. Two more hours to go. He stifled a yawn.