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placed three mugs on the table and weshuffled beer mats under them. ‘I left the used bag on a saucer,’ she said.
    ‘When you have a few dry ones you could always put them in an envelope and post them to someone,’ I suggested.
    Gilbert took a sip and pulled a face. ‘Anyone …?’ He made a pouring gesture over his coffee.
    Maggie and I shook our heads and he looked disappointed.
    ‘Or you could let them drop out of the bottoms of your trousers as you walked across the car park every evening.’
    ‘Right,’ Gilbert said. ‘Having solved my problem of how to dispose of wet teabags, is that it, or is there something even more pressing?’
    I looked at Maggie and spread my fingers, inviting her to talk. She told the super everything Janet Saunders had alleged the night before, and the little we knew about Darryl the Rapist.
    Gilbert looked grave and gave a big sigh. ‘Has anyone recognised him?’ he asked.
    I shook my head. ‘No, but it’s early doors. And if he’s local he shouldn’t be too hard to find. He seems to be a creature of habit.’
    ‘So you want to fetch him in?’
    ‘I think we should. We need to know who he is, at the very least.’
    ‘OK, but don’t waste too much time on it.’
    There was a look of panic on Maggie’s face asshe looked from one of us to the other. ‘What’s the problem?’ she demanded. ‘He’s a regular in the Tap and Spile. We’ll get him.’
    ‘It might be better, Maggie, if we didn’t,’ I suggested. ‘And let him get away with rape!’
    ‘Which would Mrs Saunders prefer: not catching him, or we arrest him and the CPS refuses to prosecute?’
    Gilbert said: ‘Darryl was right, Maggie. It’d be her word against his. The vast majority of rapists are known to their victims, and we have a less than thirty per cent conviction rate – if we go ahead with it. It looks as if he knows the score.’
    ‘We can’t just let him get away with it,’ she protested.
    ‘What would happen if it went to court?’ I asked her. ‘I liked Janet. I admire her courage and believe every word she said. But how would she look in the witness box?’ I took hold of my thumb, as if counting. ‘Her husband has the daughter through the week. That looks to me as if he has custody. Why is that? Was she the guilty party?’ I moved to my index finger. ‘Janet works in the pub three nights per week, but doesn’t have a full-time job. Is she on benefits? Almost certainly. Does she declare her pub income?’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘They’re just for starters. What else might we find out about her that can be twisted by a barrister to destroy her character? She’d get torn to pieces, Maggie. It’d be worse than the rape.’
    Poor Maggie looked shell-shocked. She’d heard ofcases like this, heard of judges who still lived in the Stone Age and believed that ‘she was asking for it’ was a sound defence. But it’s impossible to accept that there might be another point of view when you’ve dried the victim’s tears, wiped the snot off her cheek and steadied her trembling shoulders. I didn’t mention the final kick in the teeth: if the CPS decided that it wasn’t worth pursuing, or if Janet decided not to give evidence, we regarded it as a clear-up.
    ‘But,’ Gilbert said, removing his half-moon spectacles and polishing them on a large handkerchief, ‘as Charlie said, we need to know who he is. If he gets away with it once, he’ll do it again. Let’s have a look at him, eh?’
    I turned to Maggie. ‘How do you fancy a couple of nights on the town, with Mrs Saunders?’
    ‘No problem,’ she replied.
    ‘Overtime?’ I wondered, turning to the super.
    He rolled his eyes. ‘Two hours,’ he said. ‘Not a minute more.’

CHAPTER TWO
    I caught Annabelle on the telephone when I arrived home. It was rather late, but I was missing her, so I risked it. I’d been for a swift half with Dave and Nigel, and when Dave didn’t invite the two of us home to share his evening meal we