Captives

SIXTY-TWO

The light on the telephone was flashing. Someone was trying to reach him. Steve Houghton ignored the red bulb. He finally pushed the phone aside so that he couldn't see the distracting light. That task completed, he returned his attention to the work in front of him.

On his desk there were six files. One of his assistants had worked slowly and laboriously through the records and come up with half-a-dozen prints which looked at least similar to the ones taken from Paula Wilson. Now Houghton reached for the first file and took out the piece of card that bore the fingerprints of a possible match. He looked at the name on the file. George Purnell. Murderer. He'd strangled two children with his bare hands, then called the police to give himself up.

Houghton traced every curve and twist of the prints, comparing them beneath his microscope when he felt it necessary.

He shook his head. No match. Not close enough.

He reached for the second file. William Fisher. Killer of three elderly women he had robbed. Again Houghton began the comparisons.

He paused for a moment, increasing the magnification on the microscope. A number of loops seemed similar. The radial loops were definitely alike. He sat back from the microscope for a moment, then looked again.

Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Perhaps he was tired. They seemed totally different now. Houghton convinced himself he was searching so avidly for the match that he was almost willing himself to find it.

He discarded Fisher's file and reached for another.

Mathew Bryce.

Murderer of a number of young women in a particularly brutal manner.

He slipped Bryce's prints beneath the microscope.

He peered through the lens, frowning slightly.

Maybe…

He crossed to the VDU on his other desk and punched in a series of numbers, checking the number on Bryce's file. He pressed in the number, then Bryce's name, his face bathed in a green glow as first figures then images began to appear on the screen. From the two and a half million prints on file those of Mathew Bryce appeared on the screen. First those of the right thumb. Houghton pressed a button and the index finger patterns appeared. He paused and looked through the microscope again, this time at the print taken from Paula Wilson. Then back at the green image on the screen.

'Jesus,' he murmured, looking at the loops and composites on the VDU screen.

There was a hook on the crime print.

Matched by one on the suspect print.

A fork on the crime print, glowing on the screen.

Houghton checked against the one beneath the microscope.

Match.

He knew that he was searching for sixteen points of comparison before he could be sure of positive identification.

The clock on the wall ticked noisily in the silence as he continued his task. The red light on the phone console stopped flashing as whoever sought his attention tired of waiting.

Thirty minutes had passed from his initial inspection to the point where he now marked down another match.

He had fourteen marks of comparison.

It was enough to convince him.

Now it was his turn to reach for the phone.

He tried Gregson's office.

Nothing.

Then his home.

His wife said he wasn't back yet.

Houghton asked her to instruct Gregson to call him as soon as he could. Then he put down the phone and glanced once more at the fingerprints beneath the microscope.