said Andy Graham. “For the whole of March and April 1966. There’s plenty on the Springfellow disappearance, but nothing on anyone else missing, no one that hasn’t been accounted for since. Same with Missing Persons, those files that are still there. I’ve drawn a blank.” Graham was an oversized young man who had only recently transferred from the uniformed division; he was all enthusiasm, but he had to be taught that detective work was 95 per cent plodding routine. He had just had his first lesson and looked suitably chastened. “That’s just the start, Andy. I want you now to go looking in places where missing persons wouldn’t be reported.” “Right, Inspector,” said Graham, looking blank. “You know where I mean?” Graham coloured, ran a hand like a crab up and down his thick thigh. “No, sir.” “Radical hang-outs, embassies, consulates. Walter Springfellow was a spy chief, don’t forget that.” “Will I need a warrant to get into any of those places?” Malone grinned.
