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wasn’t just her failure to nail the killer of two Aboriginal women, though that had played a part. She was still disturbed by the other killer she had caught. Catch and punish no longer seemed a sufficient basis for police work. Like catching and releasing fish, punishing young offenders merely left scars and made them wilier. This project in Derbyshire seemed to offer a more positive emphasis. Would it work for Eric Ellison? That remained to be seen.
    Turning onto a quiet side street, they entered a three-storey stone building with a discreet government sign beside the door. A receptionist showed them into a conference room, saying Ms. Upton would be with them shortly. Danutia was examining the pictures of historic Buxton on the wall when the probation officer entered, a file folder in her hand. She was fortyish, Danutia guessed, plumpish, conservatively dressed in charcoal gray skirt and jacket. Her manner was brisk but friendly.
    â€œHow very exciting to have the famous Royal Canadian Mounties interested in our little program,” she said as they shook hands. The words were flattering, the blue eyes shrewd. Danutia felt herself being sized up and wondered what conditions Ms. Upton would set for her, given the chance. Compulsory attendance at a social dance class? Exclusion from her workplace on weekends?
    â€œDo be seated.” Ms. Upton gestured towards a round oak table with six unmatched chairs. When they had settled, she passed them each a stapled set of papers. “Kevin, it was kind of you to offer to deliver Eric. I’m sure Hugh appreciates not having to drive into town.”
    â€œKindness wasn’t my intention. Gives me the chance to put the fear of God into the little blighter,” Kevin responded with mock severity. He turned to smile at Danutia. “Not to mention giving our Mountie a peek at the countryside.”
    Ms. Upton frowned at Kevin’s frivolity, then turned her attention to Danutia. “I’ll go over Eric’s conditions when he arrives. First I’d like to explain the general principles of Community Service Orders to you, Constable Dranchuk. I don’t know if you have a similar system in Canada.” She didn’t pause for Danutia’s response. “In Britain, community sentences were introduced into law in 1907, and they have been an option for judges ever since. However, successive governments have adopted ever more stringent ‘law and order’ measures, so CSO s have been less widely used than they might have been and less wisely, I might add. If the sentence is too lenient, the offender has no respect for the law and no incentive to change. This is especially true for youth offenders, who need firm treatment if they are not to become career criminals.”
    Put off by the woman’s air of moral superiority, Danutia said, “They also need to find something worthwhile to do with their lives.”
    Ms. Upton went on as if she hadn’t heard. “Under this pilot project, community sentences are designed to Punish, Change, Control, and Help. The sheets I gave you outline the plan Hugh and I agreed upon for young Eric, and show how his plan meets these objectives.”
    As Danutia looked at the top sheet, an agreement form ready for Eric’s signature, there was a knock and the door opened.
    â€œEric Ellison,” the receptionist announced, and withdrew.
    The boy who edged forward, small duffel bag in hand, could have been twelve rather than almost fifteen. He hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet and wasn’t much over five feet, maybe a hundred pounds. Black T-shirt with what was probably a band logo, jeans with a knee out, dirty Nikes. Dark eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, unruly dark hair falling across a sullen face.
    Not the fair-haired boy she’d imagined Alice’s son to be.
    Ms. Upton made the introductions. “Now then, Eric,” she said. “Sit there by Sergeant Oakes and I’ll