Chief Superintendent John Monroe smiled as Inspector Hugh Talbot entered his office. From the redness of his inspector's face, he could see he had dashed up the stairs. "It's good manners to at least knock."

Talbot slammed an envelope on the desk. "Do you know anything about this?"

Monroe lifted, removed and read the envelope's contents. "I'm not stupid. It's a summons from the courts. The charge is the assault and rape of two women. It gives their names, dates and times. You appear in court in four weeks. If a civil court finds you guilty, your career as a police officer will be over."

"Can't you have a word with someone? Get this quashed."

Monroe smiled. "The force found no proof of you having raped either of them. This is not a normal situation. Samantha Harman QC must have the evidence. I'll tell the court we acted on the information available."

"So, you're not going to help me?"

Monroe peered at him and shrugged. "No, and I have no intention of lying in court. If I were you, I'd investigate the evidence and any witnesses she may call."

Talbot snatched the summons and envelope off the desk. "Thanks for nothing."

"Close the door on your way out."

***

Rupert shoved his chair back from his desk, stood and stared out the window. Why had he expected more? Three of the ten village police officers he once served with lived close. Returning to his desk, he highlighted the three telephone numbers. George Rily, Steve Burke, and Harry Nuttal.

Lifting his telephone handset, he punched in George Riley's number.

A woman with a soft voice answered. "Good Morning, Freda Rily speaking."

"Good morning, Mrs Rily. Sorry to be a nuisance. I'm Rupert Parsons. Could I please talk to your husband? When he was in the force, I was his Chief Inspector."

"Can I ask what it's about? He's putting out plants in his greenhouse. He grows exhibition Fuchsia's these days."

"I'm investigating a cold case and need to pick his brain."

"I'll go and get him."

"Thank you."

Rupert glanced at his watch. George picked up his handset after two minutes.

"Morning, sir. They retired me five years ago when they shut down the village station. I loved my job. Anyway, how can I help."

"Ian Spence, your local vicar based in Stonewall. What did you think of him?"

"Can I ask why, sir?"

"His name keeps turning up when associated with a few missing women."

"Oh, him. I checked the vicar out and wrote a report. You might find it in the head office files if you're lucky. If I remember, his alibi was rock solid."

"I know, George. I've read your report. What I want to know is what you didn't write."

"You want to know what kind of vicar he is. He worked hard to keep the church almost full on Sundays. I would say he was okay."

"Was he gay?"

George chuckled. "Far from it, sir. All the women, young and old, loved him. There were rumours about his life, but without any complaints, I never followed them up."

"Can you be more precise? You may not have explicit details, but a general idea would be helpful."

"A few of the villagers believed he was having sex with his female parishioners."

"You're kidding me. What do you think, George?"

"Me. The best of luck to him. A single, stunning man getting his leg over is not uncommon. If it's consensual, who cares?"

"Thanks, George. Sorry to take you away from your greenhouse."

"No problem, guv. Hope it helps."

"Thanks again, George. Bye."

Rupert leant back in his chair, shut his eyes, and tried to join the dots. He scribbled notes on a blank sheet of paper. Was George right in his assumption, or was it village gossip? There was only one way to find out more information. But first, a cup of coffee.

His coffee finished. He rang the next on his list, Steve Burke.

"Steve speaking."

"Morning Steve, Rupert Parsons. How the hell are you? Long time no see."

"Morning, guv. It must be serious for you to contact me. I retired four years ago."

Rupert toyed with his pen as he spoke. "I'm a civilian these days. Records officer and cold cases. I need your help."

"Don't know how I can help. I was a village sergeant, did a great job, and generally slept well every night."

"How well did you know Ian Spence, your local vicar?"

"He was a good man and got things done. His sheer energy sometimes tired you out watching him. He had a way with words, and his services were always well-attended. He got married to a local woman a while back. She was a drop-dead gorgeous divorcee. All the village women were jealous but also happy for him."

"Was he a bit of a lady's man?"

"I don't think he could help it. My missus says he's the best thing since sliced bread, and George Clooney from ER. Great pity there aren't more Vicars like him. The world might be a better place."

"One of the good guys?"

"I'm a reasonable judge of character, guv. I'd trust him."

"Do you remember the woman in your village who went missing?"

"Are you telling me there's a connection? Ian was in another place the night she disappeared. I remember her name, and it was Gillian."

The association is his name, and it's always mentioned by those who have disappeared. I've six names, and my staff keep their eyes open in case there are more."

"Bloody hell, guv. I never spotted that one

coming."

"No one did until we started to organise the old records. It was more by luck than judgment. It might be a complete waste of time, but I'd be wrong not to investigate."

"I remember you, guv. A gut instinct copper. Pound to a penny, you're on to something."

Rupert chortled. "The gut instinct I get these days is acid reflux. Thanks, Steve. I'll call you if I need more background info."

"Anytime, guv." The line went dead.

He stared at his doodles on a sheet of paper and grimaced. A psychoanalyst might understand them.

Leaving his office, he spoke to Maggie. "I've brain fog. I need some fresh air. Don't know when I'll be back."

As the lift descended to the ground floor, he checked the address of

Harry Nuthall. He still lived in Stonewall.

With the windows open, he drove, enjoying the fresh air. Twenty-five minutes later, he knocked on Harry's front door. He listened as someone released a security chain.

The door opened. "Morning, guv. What the hell are you doing standing at my front door?"

"Sorry to disturb you, Harry. I'm up to my eyes in an ongoing investigation. Have you a few minutes for a chat?"

"I heard you retired."

Rupert grinned. "I have. I'm the cold case officer and in charge of organising records. You know you don't have to talk to me."

"Great to have a visitor. Come in. It's cold out there. Tea, coffee or something stronger?"

Rupert followed him, closing the door.

"I tend to live in the kitchen," said Harry as he switched on the kettle. "Warmest room in the house."

"You never remarried?"

Harry shrugged. "I still miss my Betty, but these days, I have a girlfriend who stays over when she's in the mood. It suits both of us. No strings."

Rupert seated himself on the nearest chair. "Harry, I'm on a dirt-digging mission."

"You never answered. Tea or coffee?"

"Is the coffee instant?"

"Nescafe Gold Blend. It's not half bad."

"Coffee, please. What do you think of Ian Spence, your local vicar?"

Harry placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of Rupert. "When I first met him, I wasn't sure. I thought he was an uphill gardener. From the gossip in the pub, he sows his oats rather more often than most of us. He's married now, and his wife runs the WI. From what I've seen of him, they are love's young dream. Best of luck to him and her. The village would miss them if they ever up sticks and left. Why the questions? Has his past caught up with him?"

Rupert was toying with his pen. "I don't know." He explained how the new records department works. "So, you see, one missing woman is unusual. Two might be a coincidence. We have found six to date, and there may be more. They all had an appointment with the vicar, who was miles away. My brain aches thinking about it."

"I understand, guv. If I remember

anything, I'll give you a bell."

Rupert handed him a card. "Thanks for the coffee and the chat. We must go out for a beer sometime and chew the fat."

"Sounds good."

Rupert stood and wandered to the front door, turned and proffered his right hand."

Harry shook it and opened the door. "Don't be a stranger, guv. You're always welcome."

Rupert waved as he drove away.

***

Before he entered his office, he beckoned to Maggie.

Minutes later, she knocked and entered. "Problems, boss?"

He smiled. "I have an itch I can't scratch. These missing women and the vicar. From talking to the retired village coppers, you would think Ian Spence is God's gift. I want you and Julie to meet this vicar in civilian clothes. You have my authority to tell him why. His reaction and how you see him will be helpful. Any questions?"

"I'll get straight on to it, boss."