Three days had passed since Elizabeth Jackson's murder, and they had worked on it solidly. So far though, nothing had come up that was going to help them solve the case. They had interviewed girls and their pimps - when they could find them - not to mention dealers, dog walkers and residents of the flats that backed on to the alleyway where she was found.
Just like on all the other occasions, no one had heard or seen a thing. The Suitor killed the girls quickly, left his calling card, and then simply vanished into the night.
He was clever, Dempsey thought. In one of the most built-up areas of the city, he found quiet places to do his work, where he knew he wouldn't be disturbed. And he had the luck of the devil. Once the girls got into his car, they were as good as dead. No one had come forward with a story of escaping him, or even of being approached by someone suspicious. They were dealing with a predator completely in tune with his habitat.
The SI 10 office was a-buzz with activity. Tonight should have been the squad Christmas party, but it had been postponed until further notice.
"I want you all working flat-out on this job," Spikings had told them. "If we catch him before Christmas, I'll personally see to it that the bar stays open all night."
This announcement had prompted a few mumbles of discontent, but Dempsey couldn't have agreed more.
"We get him, I'll be the drunkest person in the place," he said to Harry. "WHEN we get him."
She knew Dempsey when he was hot to solve a case. He had that restless air, jumping up every five minutes, pacing around and trying to galvanize the others into action. Again and again, he studied the pin boards with their images of the victims. And Harry approached it in the same way she always did, too: methodically re-reading the stack of witness statements they had taken, searching for any tiny missed detail that might spark something.
She looked across at him; his feet were on the desk and he was staring into space. In his hands, in protective plastic casing, was the Christmas card that the killer had sent the police.
The provenance of the card was still a mystery. Forensics had turned up no fingerprints. It had been posted from central London and processed through one of the three main sorting offices in the area – not much for them to go on given the amount of mail that passed through every day. A Graphologist had analyzed the handwriting but without samples to compare it to, the findings were useless.
Spikings appeared and surveyed the room, glowering. Someone had stuck a sprig of mistletoe above his office door, but Harry doubted there would be many candidates for a kiss. He carried all the Christmas cheer of an angry bulldog.
"Dempsey, Makepeace. A word in my office please."
He disappeared again.
"What've we done now?" Dempsey tossed the card to one side and stood up. She made a face at him as if to say, search me.
"I need an update from you on the Suitor case," Spikings said, when they were standing in front of him.
"Time is ticking on and I would like to avoid another girl dying right before Christmas if I possibly can. And he must be starting to get the itch again. It's been three days."
They looked at each other.
"The thing is sir…" Harry began, "it's quite uncanny how few clues he seems to leave behind. I can't remember another case like it."
"She's right," Dempsey agreed, "it's driving me crazy, boss. I know we'll get a break, it's just when – and if it's in time."
"And time is what we don't have." Spikings steepled his fingers and fixed his gaze on each of them in turn. "So what are we going to do?"
Dempsey opened his mouth to speak but Harry got there first.
"It's obvious Sir. I was going to suggest it right after the last body was found, but I hoped we'd have more luck with the leads. You need to put me undercover."
Dempsey gazed at her incredulously. "Are you serious? Kind of dangerous, don't you think?"
She glanced at him quickly. Thanks for showing solidarity, partner.
"I think it makes perfect sense, actually. How else are we going to have a chance of catching him? We know exactly where he hunts for victims, we know he most likely has a maroon car. At this stage, I think I need to do it."
He turned to Spikings, "Chief, she gets in this guy's car, we got no way of controlling the situation. It's too risky."
Harry's heart started beating faster and she fought to keep her temper. How dare he oppose her so blatantly?
"Lieutenant," she said coldly, "I'll be armed. I'm extremely proficient with a weapon - I think even you would have to admit to that, since I've saved your skin using it on several occasions. I can be wired up. It's not a problem."
Just then, Chas poked his head around the door.
"Dempsey, I've got a trace on the rings. Turns out they're cracker toys."
They all looked at him. He maneuvered himself so he was standing completely inside the room.
"They're quite unusual actually. The rings themselves are made in China, but the crackers they go into are fairly rare. Handmade. There are only six shops in the whole country that stock them, and only one in London. If we go and speak to the owner, we might get some information on who's been buying them."
Dempsey's eyes lit up. "Chas, that's great! Good man!"
He appealed to Spikings. "This sounds like a pretty solid lead. Why don't we go check it out first? Putting Sergeant Makepeace under cover should be a last resort."
Spikings considered them both. Harry stood erect, arms folded.
"Dempsey, on this occasion, I'm inclined to concur with your partner. She can look after herself. Sergeant, get yourself a wire. We'll start the undercover operation tonight."
"Right, Sir." She glared briefly at Dempsey before she turned on her heel and stalked from the office. Dempsey followed in her wake, tension radiating from him.
Spikings sat back in his chair and shook his head at Chas. Whatever it was that was going on with those two, he wished they would bloody well sort it out.