With a renewed sense of purpose, Carol walked into the station with a determined step. An hour early and yet there in his familiar seat sat her detective inspector, Kevin Geoffries. His attention was on the spread of paper in front of him, his right hand occasionally jotting down a line or two on a notepad off to the side. 'Ambitious bastard,' Carol thought with a smirk. Out loud, she said, "Should I be worried about my job, Kev?"

The young man looked up and smiled. "Mornin', guv. Worried about your job? Nah, I don't think so. Superintendent Brandon, now that's another story."

"I'll be sure to let him know," she winked and walked over to the coffee machine. After pouring herself a cup, she crossed the short distance to Kevin's desk and refilled his.

"Ah, thanks."

She replaced the pot and pulled a chair up to his desk. "Just paving a road into your good graces for when you're my boss." She gestured towards the sheaf of papers across his desk. "What have we got?"

He sighed and tossed his pen on the desk. "A reminder of my poor maths skills," he quipped. "Let's see if I can get all this straight. Bradfield Knights under-eights team belongs to a league called YA- Young Achievers. There are twelve kids on each team and six teams in the league. So we've got seventy-two kids. Each team has a coach and an assistant; that's twelve. Each team plays each other twice, totaling thirty games, and there are two referees per game. That would be sixty referees, but they all do five games each, so that's really twelve." He took a deep breath and Carol waited patiently for him to get to the point. "Now, even assuming only one parent goes to their kid's games, that's another…," he paused and looked up at the ceiling, his mouth moving silently as he tried to figure out where he lost track.

"Seventy-two," Carol said.

"Right. Seventy-two."

"So the bottom line is, we've got at least seventy-two parents, twelve coaches and twelve referees to interview."

Kevin's eyes widened in surprise. "I'm glad that made sense to someone. Yeah, that's about right."

"And how far did we get yesterday?"

"Oh, good news there. Our team of five tracked down over fifty parents, nine coaches and," he referred to the pad of paper, "ten referees. Most of the kids are still on the league list this year. Those who aren't just moved on to the under-elevens division. Including," he paused for effect, "Thomas Young." Carol's eyes closed as she thanked the gods of chance. "We should have the rest done in no time."

"Anything strike you as out of the ordinary?"

Shaking his head, he confessed, "Nothing yet. A couple of complaints against a few of the fathers for threatening referees and fighting on the pitch, but not much else."

Now it was Carol's turn to shake her head. "Imagine that- fighting at a game with six and seven year olds."

"Everybody wants their kid to be the next Wayne Rooney."

"Lovely. Listen, check and see if there were any parents who signed their kid up, but pulled him off after a few weeks."

"You think it might have been used as a scouting expedition?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't want to overlook what's right in front of us, but I want to make sure all our bases are covered, too. Did you get a volunteer list?"

"Didn't need to. The refs and coaches are volunteers, but anything beyond that is all organized by the parents."

"That makes our jobs somewhat easier. Any mention of lurkers, adults with no kids, that sort of thing?"

"A few comments by over-cautious parents. Don's going to follow up today. There are six games this weekend and the Knights are playing. I thought maybe a couple of us could log in a bit of overtime and check them out."

She nodded her head approvingly. Years ago, Kevin had committed a horrendous blunder and had been exposed as an inside leak to the press. Once the case was over, Carol had reinstated him, against the unspoken opinion of the rest of the team, she was sure. Then last year, when she had been promoted to Detective Chief Inspector, she didn't hesitate in handing her old job to Kevin. He had yet to let her down.

"Good thinking, Kev. I'll run it by Brandon, but I think he'll go for it." She stood up and went back to the coffee machine. Holding up the pot, she asked him, "More coffee?"

--

She was crossing off another name from the referee list when Don's forlorn face appeared around the edge of her doorway. One look and she knew it wasn't good.

"Sorry, guv. Thomas Young and Kieran Fisher's parents are here. They want to speak with you."

Carol looked through her window into the main office and saw the parents talking agitatedly to Kevin. He held his hands up to them, obviously trying to calm them down but even from this distance she could tell they were having none of that. Stifling a groan, Carol stood up. "Give me a minute, yeah?" she asked Don.

"Sure." He left her standing alone in her office, reminding herself that this was all part of the job, you took the good with the bad; it wasn't all champagne and glory. She squared her shoulders and walked over to join Kev. Her appearance sparked a renewed clamour for information.

"DCI Jordan? What's going on?"

Carol found herself faced with four highly agitated parents; their expressions reflecting a myriad of emotions – hope, despair, fear, anger. She held out her hand.

"You're Kieran's father."

He nodded, ignoring her hand he questioned, "We've heard from some of the other parents that you've been calling round the football league. Does this mean you have a lead?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, Mr. and Mrs. Young, I can assure you that we are doing everything we possibly can to find your sons. We've just learned they were both involved in the same football league. We're following up on every aspect of that lead that we can."

"But you're no closer to finding them, are you?"

Carol looked at Alan Fisher, the designated speaker for the group, it seemed. "Mr. Fisher, I understand -"

"Do you?" he bit out. "Do you understand what it's like to wake up in the morning and not hear your little boy playing? Do you understand what it's like to walk by your son's bedroom and see his bed made and know it's because he didn't sleep in it the night before? Do you understand what it's like to not be able to eat or sleep because you have no idea if your seven year old is alive to do the same?"

His wife burst into tears and burrowed her face into her husband's shoulder. Behind them, the Youngs embraced and Carol stood rigid, feeling every word of the stinging rebuke.

When it looked like the man hand run out of steam, she quietly admitted, "You're right; I don't understand. But what I do understand is that it's my job to find them, and I am trying desperately to do so. You have my word."

"I don't want your word, I want my son." With his arm around his wife, he steered her to the exit. In the doorway, he turned and vowed, "If you don't do something, you'll leave us no choice but to do something ourselves."

Carol stared at the doorway for several moments after the parents had left. "Christ," she muttered. The office was deathly silent. Finally, she turned and saw all eyes on her. "Well?" she asked rhetorically. "Get on with it." She looked at Kevin. "Are we any forward than we were this morning?"

"I might have something," he answered. "One of the referees, an Ian Coles, started about three years ago. No complaints so far, but I looked into his record- he was arrested when he was in university for taking explicit photos of minors. Claimed it was for an art course; charges were dropped."

"I guess that's something. Bring him in."

"Already on it. He's on his way."

"Thank God he missed the parents." Carol sighed. "Good job, Kev. Let me know when he gets here. I'll be working on the rest of my list if you need me." She addressed the rest of the office. "I know you all know the drill, but bear with me. If anything or anybody strikes you as odd or suspicious, let Kevin or me know and follow up on it. I'd rather not go through that incident with the parents ever again, if I can help it."

--

It was no coincidence that Carol chose the very same interrogation room for Ian Coles that had been chosen for Peter Cromwell the day before. Its sense of claustrophobia always seemed to help an interrogation. She looked across the table at the forty-year-old referee and noted he was already starting to sweat. No Peter Cromwell was he.

"Should I have a solicitor?" he asked.

"You're considered a possible witness, Mr. Coles," she explained, "not a suspect."

"Oh," he replied needlessly, and wiped his palms on his thighs.

Carol looked down at the sheet of paper in front of her. "You've been a referee for the YA league for three years now?"

"Yes."

"You enjoy it?"

"I'm a volunteer. No sense volunteering if you don't enjoy it."

"Ever have any problems with any of the parents?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, a few times. Parents don't like the call or think I missed a call. Refereeing is the loneliest job in the world- you only get noticed when you do something wrong."

"I hear you," Don said from the corner before he was silenced by a look from Carol.

"How about the kids? Any problems with the kids?"

"Me? No. I love the kids. I know some of them were having problems at home."

"Were Kieran Fisher, Thomas Young and David Cromwell having problems at home?"

"I don't know if I should say," he answered nervously.

Carol leaned forward. "Do you really think it will hurt them to say?"

Coles shook his head sadly, "No, I suppose not. I don't know about Thomas; he's in the under-elevens now, I don't referee his age group. But I know Kieran's father… isn't the most understanding father in the world. Always yelling at him from the sidelines. The usual- 'Don't just stand there!' and 'You're playing like a girl! That's pathetic!', things like that. And David, well, I'm not sure what kind of home life he has being the son of a criminal."

"Were you close to the boys?"

"David, not really. Some henchman would swoop down and steer David and his mum away after the game. And he left about midway through the season anyway. Broke his ankle, if I remember. Kieran was a good boy. Best player I've seen, even if it wasn't good enough for his father. I even had him over to my house twice for tea. Fantastic boy."

"You had him over for tea?" Carol repeated.

"Yeah. Twice his father wasn't at the game and Kieran was left behind. No surprise those two games were the best of the boy's life. Anyway, I wasn't sure what the situation was like at home for him, so I took him back to mine. I called his parents," he added quickly, realizing the possible inference.

"When was the last time you saw Kieran?"

Coles frowned as he tried to remember. "I suppose it was his last match. A couple of days before he disappeared."

"And you haven't seen him since?"

"No!" He sat back and crossed his arms in self-protection. "I don't think I like the implication."

"No, I suppose not," Carol agreed. She slid some photographs across the table. "I'm not sure I like the implication behind these photos. Perhaps you'd like to explain them to me."

He looked down but didn't touch them. "Where did you get those?"

"They were kept on file after your arrest," Carol explained.

"Those charges were dropped. That's art," he defended.

She raised an eyebrow. "I wonder what the YA committee would think about it."

"They know," Coles answered. "In fact, I brought it to their attention before they hired me. I didn't want it to get uncovered later on and come as a surprise. They told me they'd keep it quiet, but gave me a year-long probationary period, just to protect themselves. There was nothing underhanded or lurid in what I did. They haven't had reason to fire me, and I haven't taken those kinds of photos since university. I passed the course over fifteen years ago!"

"I'm sure the parents will be happy to hear that."

Holding up a hand, he stammered, "Now listen. There's no reason they need to know. The committee gave me a chance and I've done nothing wrong. Nothing." He laughed in disbelief. "I referee a game or two on the weekend. That's all." He wiped his hands on his pants again. "I think anything beyond this and I should have my solicitor with me." Although he was well within his rights to say so, he looked up at Carol as if asking permission.

She let the silence hang in the air a little longer than necessary before replying, "That's fine, Mr. Coles. I think we've got everything we need. Thank you." She stood up and began collecting the photos and paper.

Coles watched her, uncertain and unsettled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Carol tapped the folder on the table, neatly straightening the contents. "Thank you, Mr. Coles. Don," she said to the large man in the corner, "please see Mr. Coles out."

She left the fidgety referee sitting in his seat and wondering what the hell had just happened.

--

"What do you think, guv? Is he our man?" Kevin asked. He had been on the other side of the two-way mirror during the questioning of Coles.

She crossed her arms and frowned. "I don't know. Seems like such a thin connection. I think whoever took these boys knew them, but didn't know them. Does that make sense?"

Kevin nodded. "Sure. They were familiar enough that the boys knew who they were, but they weren't someone with a direct connection to them."

She couldn't help but smile. "You'll have my job one day."

He smiled in return. "No, I've just been around Dr. Hill too much."

"Stealing tips from the master, are you, Kev? Don't worry, I won't tell him." They shared a welcome moment of respite, then she went on, "Find out more about our Mr. Coles. If he did take the boys, he would need a place to take them to, wouldn't he?"

"Should we get a warrant for his house?"

Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. "We don't have enough to get one, and as desperate as I am to find these boys, I don't want to ruin someone's life in the process, got it?"

"Yep. So I'll do some financial checks, see if he's got another house, that sort of thing."

"Exactly. In the meantime, make sure everyone continues calling whoever is left on their list, following up on whatever hunch they might have. Just because we're focussing on Coles doesn't mean we can drop everything else."

"Right. I'll let everyone know what's going on."

"Thanks, Kev."

He noticed the weariness around her eyes. "Listen, why don't you get off early? You look like you could use the break." She was about to interrupt when he said, "If anyone asks, I'll tell them you're following up on something."

She flashed him a smile of appreciation. "Thanks."

"Enjoy the weekend, then come back fresh on Monday."

Her smile dropped. "Ah, shit! The weekend." Kevin's confused expression asked her to go on. "I talked to Brandon. He gave the okay for extra hours this weekend. For the football matches." Kevin's face lit up in understanding. "I've got the Knights game on Saturday. See who volunteers to help out with the other five games. We only need one person at each game so it shouldn't be hard getting help. If more people want to help, let them."

"I'll do one, so we only need four."

"Good. If you have any problems scratching up the other four, call me."

"No problem. Now at risk of subordination, get out of here."

--

When she walked into the quiet classroom she found Tony stepping tentatively around his desk, eyes down, scanning the floor.

"Lose a contact lens?"

Tony jumped, startled. "One day, one of us is going to have a heart attack." She replied with a grin. "Anyway, no, I am not looking for a contact lens." He continued his careful pacing. "Today we continued our study into phobias."

"Right. I remember you mentioning that."

"We talked about the different ways someone can overcome their phobias."

"Teach me."

He looked up to gauge her seriousness. When he found her to be sincere, he nodded. "Okay, your fear of clowns, for instance. Since it is a psychological fear, drugs rarely play a part in the process. I could prescribe a benzodiazepine such as Valium to help calm you down, but it wouldn't do anything long term." He looked under his desk. "Cognitive behavioural therapy walks you through your fear; it teaches you to understand the thinking process behind your fear and how to challenge your thought patterns so that the symptoms are less likely to occur." He stood up straight and put his hands on his hips as he looked around. "Part of the cognitive therapy is exposure therapy."

"Expose me to my fears?"

He pointed at her appreciatively. "That's it. The human body simply cannot sustain the high levels of anxiety a phobia creates for more than thirty minutes or so. You learn to tolerate the anxiety until you realize it starts to fall and nothing catastrophic has happened to you in the meantime. The degree of exposure is gradually reduced until the person discovers they have overcome their fear."

"Gives credence to the saying, 'Face your fears'," she remarked.

"Exactly," he said.

"Okay, so now that you've taught me the only way to overcome my fear is to subject myself to creepy face-painted weirdos, what does this have to do with what you're doing now?"

"Hmmm? Oh. Today one of my students volunteered to put this theory into practice. Acceptance through exposure."

"Exposure to what?"

"Spiders."

Now it was Carol's turn to jump. She back-pedaled quickly and started brushing down her clothes. "You're right. One day one of us is going to have a heart attack." When she saw the glimmer of amusement behind Tony's eyes, she glared. "You did that entire wind-up on purpose."

He grinned. "Yes, but I wasn't lying. We exposed her to a couple of spiders, and one got away when she panicked. I dismissed the class early to prevent him from getting stepped on." His eyes lit up when he spotted something in the corner. "Ah, there you are." He quietly walked over and scooped up the tarantula into the palm of his hand.

"Jesus!" Carol exclaimed. "That thing isn't a spider, it's a bloody monster. It would eat Nelson."

Tony tilted his head thoughtfully. "Probably." To the spider he said, "Come on, back in your cage before the entymology lecturer kills me. Unless you want to visit Carol."

"I don't think so! You can keep that eight-legged hairy multi-eyed thing over there, thank you very much."

As Tony gently placed the spider into its glass house, he shook his head sadly. "I never would have thought that about you, Carol. Making rash judgments based on first appearances. God knows what you thought when you first met me."

She smirked. "Well whatever it was, I'm sure it was tempered by the fact that when you looked back at me, you only had two eyes. And lovely blue ones to boot." He flushed at the compliment and she tried not to laugh out loud.

"Speaking of eyes," he said, deflecting her comment, "yours look tired. How did today go?"

She sat on the corner of his desk and filled him in.

"Do you think Coles is your man?" Tony asked when she was finished.

Shaking her head, she admitted, "Honestly? No. I'm not letting go of this angle, but really, I just don't see it being someone so close to the children."

"You think it's someone the children recognize, but not someone they had direct contact with."

Carol laughed. "I think you've got a student in Kevin. He said the exact same thing."

"Oh really?"

"Don't tell him I told you."

Tony mimed a zipper gesture across his lips. "What else happened today?"

She feigned ignorance. "What do you mean?"

He would have none of it. "Something else happened today. Something that rattled you. What was it?"

Resting her chin on her chest, she closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Her mouth twitched a few times before she finally confessed, "Kieran Fisher and Thomas Young's parents came in today." She knew she wouldn't have to say another word in order to get Tony to understand, but she carried on anyway. "Word spread through the parents of the league that we were asking questions. So they came in to find out what we know. Of course, right now, we don't know anything."

"But they didn't want to believe it."

"Right. But I can't fabricate information out of thin air, can I?" She looked at him, grateful to get this off her shoulders. "Then, in very blunt terms, I was told I couldn't possibly understand what they were going through, and was left with the silent accusation that perhaps for that reason, I wasn't doing my job to the best of my abilities." Looking away, she pressed her fingertips against her eyelids. He remained silent, giving her this moment. Eventually, she spoke. "I know; fear of failure is okay, so long as I use it as a motivator, not a deterrent." She opened her eyes and saw his warm smile. "See? Kevin's not the only one taking notes."

"Good, because there's a test at the end of the year."

She smiled back. "Oh, listen, do you have plans for tomorrow?"

He blinked at her change of subject, then replied, "No, I don't think so, why?"

"Then I've got plans for you. I'll pick you up at noon."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "This doesn't involve clowns, does it?"

Her smile blossomed into a laugh. "No." She slid off his desk and said, "When I left your place last night, there was still wine in the bottle. I don't suppose it's still there, is it?"

"You would suppose correctly."

"Brilliant. Let's have at it." She held up a warning hand. "But the spider stays here."

--