Just a short chapter, I'm afraid! But hopefully you'll like it, things are starting to move forwards a bit...

Friday, 5pm

"Okay," Boyd said loudly, striding into the main meeting room from his office, a gruff tone to his voice and a figurative black cloud over his head, "what have we got on Peterson, then?"

Mel looked up from her desk, her sapphire eyes following her boss as he made his way to the front of the room. "Well..." She started.

Boyd cut her off immediately as he picked up a pen. "And if the answer is sweet F.A., Mel, you lot are working a late one tonight, all right?"

Spence began bristling at her side but Mel simply rolled her eyes. "Give me a chance, Boyd..."

"Well, come on, then!"

She exchanged an exasperated glance with Grace, who was seated further along the table, before eyeing her notes briefly. "He was born in 1934, 16th of June, in Brighton..."

Boyd groaned loudly. "I don't care about all the bloody minutiae, Mel, just get to the point. Where was he in 1964 and what was he doing?"

Mel threw her hands into the air with frustration and Grace's eyebrows shot up at his rebuke of the junior officer. "Boyd!"

He turned sharply to face her. "What?"

"You did ask for background on Barry Peterson, didn't you?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, that's what Mel's trying to provide, if you'd give her more than five seconds of your attention!"

Her cobalt eyes were flashing angrily, her cheeks flushing, and Boyd had to suppress a sudden, unexpected surge of desire in his bloodstream. Christ, she's sexy when she's pissed off with me...He grinned lopsidedly at the thought.

"Thank you, Grace." Mel said emphatically, her face expectant as she looked back to her boss. "It took me all bloody day to find this stuff, Boyd."

Boyd held up his palms in surrender, sighing theatrically. "Fine, Mel, you carry on. It's not as if we're in a hurry or anything."

He moved to perch on the edge of the table near Grace, ignoring her irritated expression as Mel continued with her speech.

"Anyway, as I was saying," she said, "Barry Peterson was born in Brighton in 1934, where he lived until he was about eighteen..."

"And?" Boyd prompted impatiently.

"And," she continued, deliberately slowly, carefully, "he then moved to London to train as a builder and carpenter where he stayed until 1965."

"Where did he go then?" Grace asked.

"To Birmingham." Mel replied, one eyebrow raised.

Grace blew out a breath. "That's interesting." She said. "He moved to Birmingham the year after the twins go missing and then Susan turns up there some eleven years later, if he's to be believed."

"More importantly," Boyd said grimly, "it means he was in London when the Hammersmith twins disappeared."

"Whereabouts in London, Mel?" Grace asked.

Mel glanced down at her notes and took a breath to reply but Boyd cut her off, irritably. "For God's sake, Grace, why does it matter?"

She shrugged. "Just curious..."

"Well, it doesn't matter where he lived, does it? From wherever he lived in London, he could have abducted the Hammersmith twins without any difficulty at all!"

Grace eyed him steadily. "You remember the RAT theory, Boyd?"

"Oh, God, not the bloody RATs again, Grace, please..."

"All I'm saying is, that unless he lived or worked relatively close to the Hammersmith house, it's very unlikely he's involved, from a psychological point of view at least."

"And what about from a realism point of view? Barry Peterson was thirty when the twins disappeared, he could easily be involved if he's some kind of paedophile who gets his kicks murdering and abducting kids!"

"We haven't found any evidence of paedophilia, Boyd." Mel piped up. "He's never had so much as a parking ticket."

"Well, maybe it's about time we got a warrant and searched his house..."

"On what grounds?" Grace asked. "Without any evidence, you can't just go charging in accusing someone of being a paedophile, Boyd. If this ever went to court, the defence would wipe the floor with you!"

"Yeah, not to mention the fact that Peterson would probably sue the Met for deformation." Spence added.

"Well, let's get some evidence, then!" Boyd said forcefully, the volume of his voice on the verge of a shout. "Because I think we all know damn well that Barry Peterson is tied up in this, one way or another."

"I just don't think it's as straightforward as you'd like to think." Grace said. "I think that, whatever happened forty years ago, his current relationship with Susan is linked to it somehow."

"I think his relationship, if you can call it that, with Susan happened because of events forty years ago, Grace."

The profiler shrugged. "Maybe. But we're never going to get to the bottom of it until we find out all there is to know about him; so can we please get back to Mel's research and save the speculation for later?"

Boyd took a breath to reply but Mel cut across him quickly. "Barry Peterson was living in Barnet until 1965, Grace. Nowhere near Kensington."

Grace looked thoughtful. "And he didn't move around at all?"

"No." Mel replied. "Same address from 1952 until 1965, according to the electoral register."

Spence, who had been relatively quiet throughout, spoke up suddenly, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "Hang on a second." He said, slowly. "Barry Peterson is a carpenter, right?"

"Spence, for God's sake, keep up, man!" Boyd exclaimed, exasperation clear in his tone, "We established that on day one."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm just thinking...he would have moved around a lot with his job, wouldn't he? I mean, he may not have moved addresses but he probably would have gone all over London with his work."

"Has anyone checked if there's a list of houses he worked on?" Boyd asked.

Spence nodded. "I started to, before you had me tail him." He began searching through a pile of papers in front of him before pulling out the relevant one and skimming it, snapping his fingers when he found the information he was seeking. "Here it is. In November 1964, Peterson was doing some building work...bloody hell...in Kensington."

Boyd threw up his hands, standing up from his perch to pace, an outlet for his frustrated energy. Grace raised an eyebrow. "Well, that changes things, I'd say."

Boyd gave a hollow laugh. "The RATs satisfied now, then, eh, Grace?"

"It certainly puts him more in the frame..."

"It cements him in the frame, as far as I'm concerned."

Grace turned to Spence and Mel. "Is there any way we can find out the exact address he was working on in Kensington?"

"I'll get on it." Spence replied, getting up from his seat and moving to his computer.

"Start with the house where Mary Hammersmith's body was found." Boyd said. "I'd put money on that being the one."

Mel nodded. "And it's only half a mile or so from where the Hammersmiths live. That can't just be a coincidence."

Boyd began striding back towards his office. "Let me know the second you find anything." He called over his shoulder. "Then I can get Peterson back in and start turning the thumbscrews as tight as they'll go."

"Boyd!" Grace's voice was warning as it followed him through the room.

"I'm joking, Grace, bloody hell!" He shouted back, a brief thrill running through him at their banter, before he slammed his office door behind him as he reached his destination. He felt the familiar surge of adrenaline he always experienced when a case took a sudden leap forward and he took a deep, steadying breath as he sat down behind his desk. It's only a matter of time, Peterson, you bastard...only a matter of time.