"Oh. Sarge. Have a moment?"

Smiffy didn't bother to look up from his paper shuffling. "Wot is it Reg?"

"Yes, well, I've had a look on the PNC, and cross-referenced it with what I could deduce from thesaurus dot com, phrases dot org and the google translation interface, and I've come up with a list of possible suspects."

"Wot are you bangin on about?"

"This 'master' that our Doctor Smith in custody was talking about."

"Did I tell you you could waste police time on that?"

"No, but, I thought some initiative… You see, if you type in this name, Marquess—"

"Reg," barked Smiffy. "Go and get Laura and get back out on foot patrol. It's a CID investigation now."

"But, you see—"

"Did you 'ear me?"

"Oh, er, yes, sarge. Sorry, sarge. I'll leave this here then. If you'd pass it on to CID?"

Reg left his notes on Smiffy's desk and left. Smiffy eyed the pieces of paper warily.

"You'll be the death of me, Hollis," he muttered, and swept them into the bin without a second glance.