Click.

The bastard was gone.

Roberts whirled round to the desk jockey, shouted:

‘Did you trace him?’

The sergeant asked:

‘Oh, did you want a trace?’

Roberts nearly went over the desk, reined it in a bit, said:

‘That’s what my bloody hand signals were for, you moron.’

The sergeant, not missing a beat, said:

‘Ah, I thought you were asking for tea? Speaking of which, shall I order you up a nice cuppa, you seem a touch overwrought?’

Roberts spun on his heel, snapped at Andrews:

‘What are you standing around for, bring the damn car.’

Andrews felt it was a bit ripe to take it out on her, but kept her thoughts to herself.

Roberts comforted himself with the thought that all calls into the station were recorded as a matter of course and maybe they’d get something off those. He ordered the desk guy to have the tapes in his office… pronto.

The desk sergeant muttered:

’Seig Heil.’

3

Falls was between exhilaration and depression. One moment she wanted to scream in triumph, then was plunged into the depths. Her third attempt, she’d passed the sergeants’ exam.

Well, cheated on the sergeants’ exam.

Brant had gotten the papers for her, and she’d made the requisite protest when he’d offered to get them. She’d said:

‘Oh, I can’t do that.’

Brant had given his wolf smile, said:

‘Fine, but you’ll fail again and guess what, babe, there ain’t going to be a fourth try.’

That she had to agree was true on both counts, she said:

‘I’ve been studying, really trying.’

Brant laughed out loud, said:

‘Bollocks. You’re black, they already have their quota of minorities in place and you, you’ve got some very… colourful… form.’

No argument there, she’d more screwups than Liza Minnelli, so she had to ask: