the sideburns. A big, handsome Kennedy jawline, slightly tanned. The only thing screwing up his appearance was the evidence of teenage acne. Looking at him Caffery saw, with a moment of surprise, that he was expecting good things from this guy. ‘Every day’s a little better. I’m not such a noob any more. They’re even giving me leccy at last.’ Prody nodded to the workman. ‘They must like me.’
Caffery held up a hand to the workman. ‘Mate? Can we have some space here? Just for ten.’
He got down the ladder without a word. He put his screwdriver into a toolbox, closed it and left the room. Caffery sat down. ‘Anything new?’
‘Nothing really. No bites from the ANPR points – not on the Yaris or the partial index on the Vauxhall in Frome.’
‘It’s definitely the same guy as the earlier two jackings. No getting away from it.’ He put the Ordnance Survey map between them. ‘You were in Traffic before you came over here.’
‘For my sins.’
‘Do you know Wells, Farrington Gurney, Radstock?’
‘Farrington Gurney?’ He laughed. ‘Just a little. I mean, I lived there for ten years. Why?’
‘The superintendent’s muttering about bringing in a geographical profiler. Meanwhile I think someone who’s spent enough time out on the roads knows more about the way the land lies than a psychologist.’
‘And I get paid half as much, so I must be your man.’ Prodypulled the lamp towards himself and hunched over the map. ‘What’ve we got?’
‘What we’ve got is a fuck-awful situation, Paul, if you’ll pardon my language. But let’s suck that one up and think what to do about it. Look at this. The first jacking’s over in minutes, but the second one, he took longer. And he went a weird route.’
‘Weird how?’
‘He came up the A37, going north, and kept going. Past Binegar, past Farrington Gurney. Then he turned back on himself.’
‘He was lost?’
‘No. Definitely not. He knew that road really well. He told the girl there was a Little Chef up the road a long time before they got to it. He knew where he was. And that’s what I’m wondering. If he knew the area why did he take the route he did? Is there something along there he was attracted to?’
Prody ran his finger along A37, the road that came down from Bristol into the Mendips. He went down south, past Farrington Gurney, past the turn the jacker had taken. He stopped north of Shepton Mallet and was quiet for a moment or two, frowning.
‘What?’ Caffery said.
‘Maybe he knew the road from north to south, but not from south to north. If he travelled it often in this direction he’d know this way to Wells, but he might not know it coming from the south. Which might mean that whatever he was using the road for – going to work or visiting friends or whatever – he only knew it up to this point. So he was stopping his route somewhere here, south of Farrington, north of Shepton. And yesterday’s jacking was here. In Frome.’
‘But I’ve got a witness who thinks the Vauxhall must have come through from Radstock, which is in the direction of Farrington. So let’s just say this general area is important to him somehow.’
‘We could put ANPR on these roads too. If they’re not already over-committed around Frome.’
‘Know anyone in the Tactical Traffic Unit?’
‘Been trying to get away from the bastards for the last two years. Leave it to me.’
Caffery had noticed a file on the side unit. He stopped listening to Prody and stared at the name on the spine. After a moment he put his hands on the chair arms and pushed himself upright. Went across to the unit and glanced casually at it.
‘The Misty Kitson case?’
‘Yup.’ Prody didn’t lift his eyes from the map he was studying, trying to figure out a good place to position the ANPR units.
‘Where’d you get the file?’
‘The review team had it. Thought I’d give it a quick flick through.’
‘Thought you’d “give it a quick flick
Caffery held up a hand to the workman. ‘Mate? Can we have some space here? Just for ten.’
He got down the ladder without a word. He put his screwdriver into a toolbox, closed it and left the room. Caffery sat down. ‘Anything new?’
‘Nothing really. No bites from the ANPR points – not on the Yaris or the partial index on the Vauxhall in Frome.’
‘It’s definitely the same guy as the earlier two jackings. No getting away from it.’ He put the Ordnance Survey map between them. ‘You were in Traffic before you came over here.’
‘For my sins.’
‘Do you know Wells, Farrington Gurney, Radstock?’
‘Farrington Gurney?’ He laughed. ‘Just a little. I mean, I lived there for ten years. Why?’
‘The superintendent’s muttering about bringing in a geographical profiler. Meanwhile I think someone who’s spent enough time out on the roads knows more about the way the land lies than a psychologist.’
‘And I get paid half as much, so I must be your man.’ Prodypulled the lamp towards himself and hunched over the map. ‘What’ve we got?’
‘What we’ve got is a fuck-awful situation, Paul, if you’ll pardon my language. But let’s suck that one up and think what to do about it. Look at this. The first jacking’s over in minutes, but the second one, he took longer. And he went a weird route.’
‘Weird how?’
‘He came up the A37, going north, and kept going. Past Binegar, past Farrington Gurney. Then he turned back on himself.’
‘He was lost?’
‘No. Definitely not. He knew that road really well. He told the girl there was a Little Chef up the road a long time before they got to it. He knew where he was. And that’s what I’m wondering. If he knew the area why did he take the route he did? Is there something along there he was attracted to?’
Prody ran his finger along A37, the road that came down from Bristol into the Mendips. He went down south, past Farrington Gurney, past the turn the jacker had taken. He stopped north of Shepton Mallet and was quiet for a moment or two, frowning.
‘What?’ Caffery said.
‘Maybe he knew the road from north to south, but not from south to north. If he travelled it often in this direction he’d know this way to Wells, but he might not know it coming from the south. Which might mean that whatever he was using the road for – going to work or visiting friends or whatever – he only knew it up to this point. So he was stopping his route somewhere here, south of Farrington, north of Shepton. And yesterday’s jacking was here. In Frome.’
‘But I’ve got a witness who thinks the Vauxhall must have come through from Radstock, which is in the direction of Farrington. So let’s just say this general area is important to him somehow.’
‘We could put ANPR on these roads too. If they’re not already over-committed around Frome.’
‘Know anyone in the Tactical Traffic Unit?’
‘Been trying to get away from the bastards for the last two years. Leave it to me.’
Caffery had noticed a file on the side unit. He stopped listening to Prody and stared at the name on the spine. After a moment he put his hands on the chair arms and pushed himself upright. Went across to the unit and glanced casually at it.
‘The Misty Kitson case?’
‘Yup.’ Prody didn’t lift his eyes from the map he was studying, trying to figure out a good place to position the ANPR units.
‘Where’d you get the file?’
‘The review team had it. Thought I’d give it a quick flick through.’
‘Thought you’d “give it a quick flick
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