'So you think CID will get him?' The traffic-lights turned to green and Kelly drove off.

'I'm guessing not,' said Shepherd. 'There was no physical evidence and no confession, so without the victims giving testimony I don't see what they can do.'

'You know what you should have done, Terry? Right at the start?'

'What?'

'When you went in on that initial search, you should have taken something with you.'

Shepherd frowned. 'What do you mean?'

'What's the reason he's going to walk? Lack of physical evidence. So you should have provided some.'

'Forensics, you mean?'

'Not necessarily, but forensics would have done. I was thinking some kiddie p.o.r.n, on a thumb-drive. Or a file of pictures. Hand them to him, get his prints on them. Sometimes you've got to be creative.'

'Are you serious?'

Kelly smiled. 'Maybe.'

'Would you do that? Get creative to get a conviction?'

Kelly indicated and overtook a bus. 'Maybe,' he repeated.

'Maybe?'

Kelly's smile widened. 'Maybe. Or maybe it's just the booze talking.'

Shepherd spent most of Friday driving around north London, though in the late afternoon the Serial was called off patrol to help find witnesses to a shooting in Harlesden. No one was injured, but more than a dozen shots were fired between two rival gangs. Shepherd and the rest of the team were told to canva.s.s a block of flats that overlooked the children's playground where the shoot-out had taken place. They paired off and knocked on every door, asking if the occupants had seen or heard anything. Half the doors they knocked on remained closed, even when they were sure that someone was at home. Of those who did answer, not one person could remember seeing or hearing anything. It was par for the course, said Fogg. The residents knew that if they offered themselves up as witnesses, they risked being in the firing line themselves next time.

Charlotte b.u.t.ton had asked for a meeting in the Praed Street safe-house before Shepherd left for Hereford. He got there a little after seven o'clock. Jimmy Sharpe was studying some new photographs that she had fixed to the whiteboard. Shepherd joined him. The additions were police mugshots of two middle-aged white men.

'Two Romanians. They're in ICU,' said b.u.t.ton, behind them. 'They've been castrated.' Sharpe shuddered. 'Names are Victor Mironescu and Lucian Popescu. Well known to the police as traffickers and pimps, but on a big scale. They've been bringing in girls from Central Europe for years and working them in walk-ups. Lately they'd moved into Internet escort agencies. A few girls who've escaped from their clutches have alleged rapes and beatings but the police have never managed to make a case against them.'

'It's the judgment of Solomon again,' said Sharpe.

'Sorry?' said b.u.t.ton.

'They were rapists, they got castrated. If there's a better case of the punishment fitting the crime, I'd like to know what it is.'

'It would be nice if there was a trial and evidence somewhere in the process, though,' said b.u.t.ton.

'You said the cops couldn't make a case,' said Sharpe. 'Probably because the girls were too scared to give evidence.' He leaned forward. 'Look, if you were to ask the average man in the street what should be done with rapists and kiddy-fiddlers, ninety-nine per cent would opt for castration. It's the perfect punishment. It hurts, it's a permanent reminder, and it stops you repeating the offence.'

'Actually, Razor,' said Shepherd, 'and I don't know why I know this, but castration doesn't do away with the erection, just the sperm.' He shrugged at b.u.t.ton. 'Sorry.'

'I'm sure Razor would prefer the death penalty because then there's no chance of repeat offending,' she said.

'I'm not crying any spilt milk over two Romanian pimps and rapists who lose their nuts,' said Razor. 'I just hope they used a rusty knife.'

'They're not going to die?' Shepherd asked b.u.t.ton.

'Question is, will they want to live without their knackers?' sn.i.g.g.e.red Sharpe.

'They'll live,' said b.u.t.ton. 'Between you and me, the Met's Clubs and Vice Unit cracked open a bottle of champagne last night.' She sipped her tea. 'Someone else was celebrating, too. A battered women's refuge in Harlesden found a holdall next to their back door this morning. It contained a shade under forty thousand pounds.'

Shepherd raised his eyebrows. 'Wow,' he said.

'Exactly,' said b.u.t.ton. 'Wow.'

'But there's no proof that the money came from the Romanians, is there?'

b.u.t.ton smiled. 'Actually, there is,' she said. 'One of the vans that you put a transponder on was in Chelsea last night, which is where Popescu lives. It then drove to St John's Wood, which is where Mironescu lives.' She sat back and waited until she was sure that she had their undivided attention. 'It then drove to Harlesden, not far from the women's refuge. And from there to Paddington Green.'

Shepherd nodded. 'Open and shut, then.'

'Not necessarily,' she said.

'Come on, Charlie. CCTV should show when the van left Paddington Green, and when it was returned.'

'As soon as we ask for the CCTV footage, they'll know we're on to them,' said b.u.t.ton. 'But if we get the CCTV footage, what do we have? Shots of a van leaving the station and returning.'

'With the transponder showing where they went in between,' said Shepherd. 'Like I said, open and shut.'

'Circ.u.mstantial,' said b.u.t.ton. 'And we won't know who was on board the van. Remember, Popescu and Mironescu are unlikely to say anything, and they've never left forensics behind before so I doubt they will have this time. They're cops so there's no way they'll break under questioning, so that doesn't leave us with much.'

'So what's the plan?'

'The plan is the same as it's always been you have to get closer to them. Ideally get them to take you along.'

'Terrific,' said Shepherd.

'Or find out who the next victim is and we can mount a surveillance operation,' she said.

'That might be easier,' said Shepherd.

'Keep your ear to the ground, see what gets them riled up,' said b.u.t.ton. 'If you can get a hint as to who they'd like to see taken out of commission, we can take it from there.' She drank some more tea. 'What are you doing over the weekend?'

'I'm heading straight back to Hereford after this,' said Shepherd. 'Liam's got a football match.'

'You should think about boarding-school,' said b.u.t.ton. 'They really enjoy it when they get to their teens.'

'I spend hardly enough time with him as it is,' said Shepherd. 'And I like hanging out with him. I figure it won't be long before he doesn't want me cheering on the sidelines so I might as well enjoy it while it lasts.'

'What about you, Razor?'

'My new best friend Gary Dawson is taking me to a fund-raiser in south London,' said Sharpe.

'I'd have thought that after his last brush with the TSG he'd have given it a miss,' said Shepherd.

'It doesn't seem to have put him off,' said Sharpe. 'He rang me, asked if I wanted to go. I don't think he's trying to draw me into anything. Hardly ever talks about his work, or mine.'

'So what do you guys talk about?' asked b.u.t.ton.

'This and that. Politics, sport. Guy stuff. But he's certainly not asking me to do any favours on the SOCA front. I think I'm wasting my time.'

'Do we still think that Dawson is one of the vigilantes? I hardly ever see him talking to anyone in the Serial,' said Shepherd. 'He nods to Fogg but that's as far as I see him go.'

'He might be careful,' said b.u.t.ton.

'Or he might just be a cop who happens to have right-wing political views,' said Shepherd.

'Right-wing racist views,' said b.u.t.ton. 'And that's not compatible with his job as a police officer.'

Shepherd stood up. 'You know, I never thought I'd be working for the thought police when I signed up for SOCA,' he said. 'Are we done? I've got a train to catch.'

Shepherd woke up early on Sat.u.r.day morning and went for a ten-mile run with his brick-filled rucksack. Liam was having breakfast with Katra when he got back. 'Don't you eat anything other than cheesy scrambled eggs?' he asked.

'It's the breakfast of champions,' said Liam.

Shepherd took a bottle of Evian from the fridge. 'I'm going to shower, and then we've got to go and see the police about that video.'

'Dad...' Liam moaned. 'Do we have to?'

'Yes, we do,' said Shepherd.

'Can we take Lady?'

'No, of course not,' said Shepherd. He ruffled Liam's hair. 'It'll be fine. Don't worry.'

'I'm not in trouble, am I?'

'I told you already that you're not. Stop worrying.' Shepherd went upstairs, showered, and put on a white shirt, dark blue tie and a grey suit.

Liam laughed when he walked back into the kitchen. 'It's like you're dressed for a job interview.'

'Yeah, well, it won't hurt to look respectable. The police often go by appearances. They shouldn't, but they do.' He adjusted his tie.

'You look very nice,' said Katra. 'Like a businessman.'

Shepherd grinned and picked up the keys to the CRV. 'We won't be long,' he said.

'And afterwards you'll come to the football match?'

'Sure,' said Shepherd. He could see that his son was nervous, even though he hadn't done anything wrong. 'There's no need to worry, Liam. Really. We're just going to have a chat with them, that's all.'

Shepherd drove to Hereford police station and parked on the street close by. He walked with Liam into the main entrance, went up to the reception desk and told the middle-aged female sergeant behind the desk that he was there to see DS James Hollis. She asked them to sit on the orange plastic chairs below a line of posters warning of the dangers of drugs, rabid dogs and knives. Shepherd smiled to himself as he sat down. Terry Halligan had spent two years working at Hereford police station but this was the first time he had actually been inside.

'Why are you smiling?' asked Liam.

'Because I'm happy,' said Shepherd.

'Are all police stations like this?'

Shepherd looked around. 'Pretty much. Some are more modern, some are a bit older, but, yeah, this is where people come to talk to the police. The offices are through the door there. That's where the CID will be, and all the civilian staff who do the paperwork.'

'And cells for prisoners?'

'Sure, there'll be cells. Probably close to the rear entrance so that prisoners can be brought in through the back.'

'It doesn't look special, does it? It looks very ordinary.'

'It is ordinary it's just a building,' said Shepherd. 'And most of the work done here is pretty boring.'

'You don't work in a police station, do you?'

'No, I don't have an office,' said Shepherd. 'I don't even have a desk.'

'I don't think I'd like to work in a place like this,' said Liam.

'Yeah, I know what you mean,' agreed Shepherd.

A side door opened and a man in his late thirties smiled at Shepherd. 'Dan Shepherd?' he asked.

Shepherd stood up. 'That's me,' he said. He put his hand on his son's shoulder. 'And this is Liam.'

'Thanks for dropping by,' said Hollis. He had thinning hair and a spreading stomach and was wearing a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows that gave him the look of a college sociology lecturer. He held the door open. 'Please, come on through.'

Shepherd and Liam walked through the door into a cream-painted corridor. 'Second door on the left, please,' said Hollis, from behind them.

Shepherd and Liam walked along the corridor. Shepherd frowned when he saw the sign on the pine-effect door. 'Interview Room'. 'This isn't a formal interview, is it?' he asked the detective.

'It's just a quiet place to talk, sir,' said Hollis. 'The CID room is a bit cramped.' Shepherd pushed open the door. There was one table in the room, against the far wall, and above it, on a shelf, a double-tape-recording system. There were two CCTV cameras at opposite ends of the room. The detective pointed to the chairs on the left. 'Why don't you and your son sit there and I'll go and get my colleague?'

Shepherd and Liam sat down while Hollis closed the door. 'Is this where they interrogate suspects?' asked Liam.

'I think question rather than interrogate,' said Shepherd, 'but, yes, this is where they do it.' He nodded at the tape recorder. 'These days they have to record every interview and the suspect gets a copy so both sides have a record of what's been said.' He pointed up at the CCTV camera opposite them. 'Usually they take a video as well.'

'To stop the cops beating up the bad guys?'

Shepherd laughed. 'Not exactly,' he said.

The door opened and Hollis walked in, followed by a younger detective who was holding a briefcase. 'This is my colleague, Detective Constable Graham Cooper.'

Cooper shook hands with Shepherd and nodded at Liam, then sat down facing Shepherd. He was in his mid-twenties with square-framed spectacles and a receding hairline that suggested he would be completely bald before he reached middle age. 'Thank you for coming in, Mr Shepherd,' he said. He put the briefcase on the table, opened it, and took out a plastic evidence bag. Inside was Liam's Nokia phone. He put the phone on the table and the briefcase on the floor. 'This is your phone, right, Liam?'

Liam nodded.