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homework all right, don’t you?”
    “It remains to be seen,” replied Banks. “But I’ll agree she bodes well. You said a woman. Why? Has Mrs Hawkins stopped cooking and cleaning for you?”
    Gristhorpe laughed. “No, no. Still brings me fresh scones and keeps the place neat and tidy. No, I’m not after another wife. I just thought it would be politic, that’s all.”
    Banks had a good idea what Gristhorpe meant, but he chose to carry on playing dumb. “Politic?”
    “Aye, politic. Diplomatic. Tactful. You know what it means. It’s the biggest part of my job. The biggest pain in the arse, too. We’ve got the local feminists on our backs, haven’t we? Aren’t they saying we’re not doing our job because it’s women who are involved? Well, if we can be seen to be working with an obviously capable, successful woman, then there’s not a lot they can say, is there?”
    Banks smiled to himself. “I see what you mean. But how are we going to be seen to be working with Jenny Fuller? It’s hardly headline material.”
    Gristhorpe put a finger to the side of his hooked nose. “Jenny Fuller’s attached to the local feminists. She’ll report back everything that’s going on.”
    “Is that right?” Banks grinned. “And I’m going to be working with her? I’d better be on my toes, then, hadn’t I?”
    “It shouldn’t be any problem, should it?” Gristhorpe asked, his guileless blue eyes as disconcerting as a newborn baby’s. “We’ve gotnothing to hide, have we? We know we’re doing our best on this one. I just want others to know, that’s all. Besides, those profiles can be damn useful in a case like this. Help us predict patterns, know where to look. And she won’t be hard on the eyes, will she? A right bobby-dazzler, don’t you think?”
    “She certainly is.”
    “Well, then.” Gristhorpe smiled and slapped both his hands on the desk. “No problem, is there? Now, how’s that break-in business going?”
    “It’s very odd, but we’ve had three of those in a month, too, all involving old women alone in their homes—one even got a broken arm—and we’ve got about as far with that as we have with the Tom business. The thing is, though, there are no pensioners’ groups giving us a lot of stick, telling us we’re not doing anything because only old people are getting hurt.”
    “It’s the way of the times, Alan,” Gristhorpe said. “And you have to admit that the feminists do have a point, even if it doesn’t apply in this particular case.”
    “I know that. It just irritates me, being criticized publicly when I’m doing the best I can.”
    “Well, now’s your chance to put that right. What about this fence in Leeds? Think it’ll lead anywhere with the break-ins?”
    Banks shrugged. “Might do. Depends on Mr Crutchley’s power of recall. These things vary.”
    “According to the level of threat you convey? Yes, I know. I should imagine Joe Barnshaw’s done some groundwork for you. He’s a good man. Why bother yourself? Why not let him handle it?”
    “It’s our case. I’d rather talk to Crutchley myself—that way I can’t blame anyone else if mistakes are made. What he says might ring a bell, too. I’ll ask Inspector Barnshaw to show him the pictures later, get an artist in if the description’s good enough.”
    Gristhorpe nodded. “Makes sense. Taking Sergeant Hatchley?”
    “No, I’ll handle this by myself. I’ll put Hatchley on the peeper business till I get back.”
    “Do you think that’s wise?”
    “He can’t do much damage in an afternoon, can he? Besides, if he does, it’ll give the feminists a target worthy of their wrath.”
    Gristhorpe laughed. “Away with you, Alan. Throwing your sergeant to the wolves like that.”
III
     
    It was raining hard. Hatchley covered his head with a copy of
The Sun
as he ran with Banks across Market Street to the Golden Grill. It was a narrow street, but by the time they got there the page-three beauty was sodden. The