Stuart Pawson - The Mushroom Man

"CPU might have them on their at-risk file. And we know where they all are between nine and four, most days."

CPU was the Child Protection Unit. We'd have to call them in as soon as any kids were involved. I told Jeff to give them pictures of the girls. Sparky wandered over to the big map on the wall and started attacking it with a highlighter pen.

"What are they, Dave?" I asked.

"Schools."

"What are you thinking?"

"School photographs, Charlie. We can't rely on just rolling up and flashing pictures before the headmistress's eyes; but if we could obtain pictures of all the kids we could do a practical comparison."

"They won't keep a spare set," said Jeff Caton, 'but we could chop the best of what we have, to show just the kids' faces. Then ask all the teaching staff if they recognise them."

"Bang goes confidentiality," I stated. "They'd soon guess or invent what we were doing."

"There's another objection to that," Sparky told us. "About three years ago a teacher at the primary school was fined and sacked for dealing in computer porn. Others no doubt escaped."

"That's right, I remember. So what are you saying?"

"That we'd have to take our own photographs: identify the kids ourselves," Sparky replied.

"You're assuming the kids are local," I stated.

"We've got to start somewhere."

"Right!" I decided. "We'll do it Dave's way. This one needs hitting with all we've got while Lally is still inside. How many schools have you found, Dave?"

"Four. The two big middle schools and a couple of medium-sized ones.

What's that… oh, about, say, fifteen hundred pupils."

"Half boys, though," said Nigel. "And we might be able to disregard some who are too old or too young."

"Mmm. These in the photos might look younger than they are. Let's try to do them all," I replied. Turning to DS Newley I went on: "Nigel, round up four photographers, if possible, and four WPCs to act as their assistants. Then we want photos of all the girls, with the WPCs cataloguing their names and any other characteristics we can come up with. Let's have a look at the children again."

Jeff rummaged through the collection of pictures and spread samples on the desk, looking for any that gave good views of the faces. Not many did.

Sparky pointed with a forefinger. "They're both wearing earrings, for a start," he said.

One girl had small gold rings in her ears, and a pair of shiny stones glinted in the other girl's. "Would they be allowed to wear those at school?" I asked. This was foreign territory to me.

"Probably," Sparky told me. "Things are different to your day. They're allowed to write left-handed now. So we want to know which kids have pierced ears."

"And look where it's brought us. Make a note of that, Nigel: pierced ears."

"Done, boss."

"What else?"

"This one's wearing a chain around her neck."

"Yep. Look, let's call them child A and child B and make a list."

It didn't take long. Child A had pierced ears, a neck chain and rings on two fingers. B had pierced ears, a neck chain, two bracelets and one ring. We added various facial characteristics and estimates of height and weight. Jeff found photographs that showed some of the jewellery better and distinguishing marks on the girls' features.

"Match that lot and it will be better than fingerprints," he declared.

You always feel more cheerful when you are doing something positive.

Although Georgina wasn't involved we all had the feeling that something worthwhile was happening: villains were about to be put behind bars, and kids rescued from a life of hell. If being taken into care could be called rescued.

I told the three of them to visit the four schools first thing in the morning. They would have to stress the seriousness of the of fences to the heads and arrange for the photographers to visit in the afternoon, if possible. It would disrupt the school day, and a couple of bolshie teachers could wreck the whole thing. Tact and diplomacy were called for.

"That's it for today, then. I've had enough. We'll go home at a reasonable hour for once," I said. It was about six thirty.

"I'll sort out these pictures first," said Jeff.

"No you won't," I told him. "They can wait. Let's lock them in my drawers and have a full day tomorrow. Are you all right, Dave?"

Sparky was the only one of us with children. He had three. Jeff had one on the way.

"Yeah, nothing that fourteen pints and kicking the dog won't cure," he replied.

"C'mon, then. Let's go."

It was still drizzling outside and I didn't have a coat, but it felt pleasant and cleansing after the oppressiveness of the office. Walking across the car park with Nigel, he asked: "What will you do tonight, Charlie?"

"Tonight? Oh, I don't know. Something to eat, have a shower. Listen to some decent music with a can of beer. Try to get some quality into my life after the daily grime of this job." I gathered my thoughts and continued with the theme. "I try to shed it, like a miner washing off the coal dust and appearing as a new person. We can't live two separate lives, one as a policeman and one as a civilian, and none of us would want to, but you've got to learn to cultivate a space for yourself. End of sermon. G'night, Nigel."

"Er, Angela's coming round tonight, to cook a Chinese meal. It'd be no problem to put an extra portion in. You're welcome to join us, if you want."

It sounded a cosy arrangement. I wondered if it ought to be me asking advice from him. "Angela? The WPC from Halifax?"

He blushed and nodded.

"It's good of you to ask," I told him, 'but I'd be in the way." I'd reached my car and fumbled in my pockets for the keys. "Enjoy your meal," I said, adding with a stab of the finger: "And treat her properly. That's an order."

I'd lost my keys. Then I remembered that I'd left them at the front desk. It would have been easier and drier, to have fetched the duff radio myself. So much for being assertive.

Acting DS John Rose took DI Peterson and DC Wilson to Heckley Town Library, where they interviewed Mrs. Chadwick, the chief librarian.

John was pleased at the sideways move into this new investigation. The Georgina case had given him a taste for high-profile work, but it was bogged down now that most avenues of enquiry had petered out.

Mrs. Chadwick went through her story again and demonstrated the library's computer to them. They came away with the names and addresses of the last twenty people to withdraw the mutilated books.

Peterson fell for the chief librarian's charms and twice managed to boast of his friendship with Olga Friedland, Chief Executive of the Library Association. He added 'library' to his list of retirement activities.

"Be nice if he took the books home before he cut the pages out," DC Wilson stated, in the car on their way back to Heckley nick.

"True, but sadly, he didn't," Peterson told him, passing the printout across. "Nobody appears on both lists, but maybe he took just one of them home. He must know something about fungi, he can't have dreamed it all up."

"We have plenty of Travellers and New Agers around these parts," ADS Rose said. "They know all about mushrooms: which ones are good to eat, which are poisonous and which give a good trip. I'd be looking for a connection there, for a start."

"Do many of them carry library cards?" Peterson asked with undisguised sarcasm.

"No, but they could still go in. Plenty of them are educated university dropouts and such," John answered.

"Fine. So tomorrow you two can ask Mrs. Chadwick about any traveller types coming in for a read and a warm, then start going through the list of names."

At the station Peterson sniffed round his allotted accommodation and gave John a list of requirements to organise, before starting back to Trent Division. In the car, driving down the M1, DC Wilson said: "They seem a friendly bunch, don't you think?"