Frost chuckled to himself. He loved winding the sergeant up. He tut-tutted reprovingly. 'That's no way to speak about your superior officer, Sergeant!'

Wells couldn't bite at the bait quickly enough. 'Superior? She's the same rank as me… a sergeant. She's done half the time I have, only been here five flaming minutes and she's made up to temporary inspector. What has she got that I haven't?'

'Big tits,' said Frost.

Wells jabbed a finger. 'You've hit the nail on the head there, Jack. It's sex discrimination in reverse.'

'I've never tried it in reverse,' said Frost, 'but where is she?'

'With a prisoner… a cab driver. He picked this woman up and, instead of taking her home, took her down a side street and raped her.'

'Bloody hell!' tutted Frost. 'I hope she didn't leave him a tip.'

His office was in darkness. He expected to find DC Morgan, newly posted from Lexington Division, hard at work with the crime figures, but the office was empty. He walked over to Morgan's desk and looked at the papers to check progress. They hadn't been touched since he left for the derelict filling station. Frost charged out into the corridor, almost bumping into PC Collier who was on his way to the lobby. 'Where's DC Morgan?'

'In the canteen, I think,' said Collier who knew damn well he was.

'Go up and drag the sod out. We don't pay him to drink bloody tea, we pay him to fiddle the crime figures.' His voice died. Over Collier's shoulder he could see into the open door of No. 2 interview room where a grim-faced woman in her late fifties sat bolt upright, clutching a large brown plastic handbag to her bosom. She caught his gaze and snapped her head away to stare pointedly at the far wall. She had no wish to see that rude little man.