Free What She Saw by Mark Roberts

It was taken only weeks after Baxter’s mistress of three years had made it to sergeant and dumped him in favour of a higher-ranked commander.
    â€˜Henshaw’s the best,’ said Baxter. ‘I agree, but why do
you
think so?’
    â€˜I had that meeting with the assistant commissioners this morning. They want a profiler on board—’
    â€˜Since when do the ACs run investigations on the ground?’
    â€˜Since Thomas Glass’s father went to Capital Radio and said he apportioned a large degree of blame to the Metropolitan Police for what’s happened to his son. Not acting fast enough, not doing everything possible, poor communicators. . . It’s a long list, vague and unsubstantiated, but juicy enough for a damning phone-in debate this morning.’
    Rosen imagined the scene. Baxter, political doggie, doing sit, stand and heel to the ACs because that was the way it worked. Baxter did it to those beneath as those above did it to him.
    â€˜I’ve done everything humanly possible.’
    â€˜Except pick a profiler. ACs Cotton and Telfer don’t understand why you’re not using a profiler.’
    â€˜So you reminded them about Peter Cale,
Doctor
Peter Cale, early days of the Herod case. . .’
    Baxter looked battered.
    â€˜Cale had us all convinced that Herod was a woman. . . half the team spent a week on HOLMES, the rest went tracking down females with any form for abducting children or attacking pregnant women.’
    â€˜David, I remember it well.’
    â€˜Remember how Cale then did a sudden about-face and declared it may not be a woman after all? Same day, Alison Todd was abducted, victim number two.’
    â€˜OK, David, listen. John Glass is going to the IPCC. I’ve been told to start a damage limitation programme on the conduct of the case so far. Make sure no stone is left unturned. Profiler!’
    Rosen watched the colour red rising from Baxter’s collar line carry on upwards.
    â€˜I’m happy to argue the case for selective use of resources.’
    â€˜It was a lecture,’ snapped Baxter. He composed himself. ‘Not a debate.’
    Silence.
    â€˜Who do you want, David? Name your man.’
    There was something different about Baxter: he looked worn down, and, in that moment, Rosen amazed himself by feeling sorry for his boss.
    â€˜OK. At half past nine last night,’ said Rosen, ‘all we had was a missing child. Now we’ve other information, we could use a profiler and I’d like James Henshaw on board.’
    Baxter said, ‘Thank you. And thanks for not reminding me that I insisted Doctor Cale be made central to the MIT chasing Paul Dwyer, also known as Herod.’ He exhaled, loudly. ‘I’ll call Henshaw personally. OK, David, I know you’re busy. You can go now.’
    Rosen stopped at the door when Baxter suddenly asked, ‘Why do
you
think Henshaw’s the right man for this case?’
    Rosen smiled. Baxter was cribbing notes for his next run-in with the ACs. He fixed his face, turned and, looking at Baxter, saw a man who was down to the last of his energy.
    â€˜The perpetrators aren’t paedophiles but there are at least two of them involved, possibly more. What binds them? Abnormality. Off the scale. Henshaw’s our man. He’s got a great track record on cases of collective insanity. Send him to me, Tom, ASAP, Bannerman Square.’

20
    3.55 P.M.
    A s the late afternoon rain stopped, Rosen arrived back at the mobile incident room in Bannerman Square. He asked the PC manning the Portakabin if there had been any visitors, but had predicted correctly: not one.
    He scrunched up a greasy brown McDonald’s bag, the large fries and cheeseburger packaging still inside it, and dropped it in the bin by the desk. He felt a shiver of guilt at the thought of the hard work that Sarah put in to making calorie-controlled lunches but with his stomach full, his mind, he told himself,