Chief Superintendent Colin Harpur (You'd Better Believe It, 1986) searches for the rapist/killer of five young girls while he and his wife carry on separate affairs (``I hate liberated marriages,'' says one of his too-cynical daughters), and while division chiefs feud over jurisdiction, media credit, and bureaucracy perks. With dogged work and luck, the next victim, Cheryl-Ann Day, a school chum of the Harpur girls, is rescued, but her romantic fantasizing about her ``Dark Eyes,'' the captor, is no help to the police--who lose him, only to have another young victim's body surface. Many treacle-y, girlish diary excerpts later, Harpur and a senior officer surround the molester/murderer, earning Harpur public accolades but also the enduring enmity of his supervisor, who wanted the glory. More riveting than the murders is the edgy in-fighting among the police and the testiness of the emotionally too-old kids and the adults who never grew up. So-so plotting, but realistically drawn Harpur is Wambaugh tough, sharp, and keen.
