PROLOGUE

The police constable stepped back and examined his hands. They were red and had some sticky substance on them.
"Jeeze, it's tough," gasped PC Richard Harolds.
"Here, let me have a go," said his colleague, PC Frank Davies.
PC Davies gripped the plastic plate with his rough hands. He grunted several times. The grunts and his considerable strength could not detach the plate from the front of the speed camera.
"Call the maintenance boys. Not our bloody problem," suggested PC Harolds, still struggling to scrape the sticky stuff from his hands.
PC Davies stepped back, annoyed at his failure. He checked his hands, too, and said: "Yeah. Too tough for me to crack it. What is that stuff anyway?"
When the maintenance boy arrived a good half hour later they discovered the source of their frustration.
"Ah! Our pal again," said cheery Joe as he started chipping away at the plate with a small chisel.
"Who's our pal?" asked PC Harolds.
"Dr Glue," replied Fred even more cheerily.
"Dr Glue?"
"Yep. Wonderful sense of humour he has, too. This is my fourth today."
"Fourth! The Super'll be going spare!" gasped PC Davies.
"He is," chuckled Joe Franklyn, a 28-year-old with nine years behind him as all-round dogsbody with the Lancashire Constabulary. "This one could send him over the edge."
'This one' was one of the local police force's most-prized Gatsos - earning anything up to £6,000 an hour. Situated on the M6 by Preston, it caught speeding motorists and flashed images digitally to the traffic headquarters. Each offender was obliged to cough up £60.
It was two o'clock on a surprisingly pleasant February afternoon and Joe explained to the two police officers that he had been on the go since 8am. Two others calls on the M6 and one on the route to the coast. Merseyside police had dealt with two calls, too.
"The good doctor had a busy night," added Joe. "I smashed the first couple off with my hammer but the Super wants them nice and neat now so the boys can check for prints. Fat chance of that, if you ask me."
Joe had finally prised the plate free, gently as he could so as to keep Superintendent Charleston happy. He placed it in a plastic wallet.
The three men stared at the Gatso; its lens was shattered and wires had been clipped. There was that sticky substance coating it. There was a businesscard placed at an angle in the substance.
PC Harolds took it and read: "Dr Glue: Roadside assistance a speciality."
"Yep, a real funny guy," said Joe. "Now, I'm no detective but if you want my advice, don't go looking for a medical man. The guy you're looking for has a boot full of superglue. Strong stuff it is. Stronger than any I have come across before."
"But why put the plate over a smashed camera?" asked PC Davies.
"It's his signature, I suppose," replied Joe. "Plus, look at the amount of police time he's wasted already today.
"The third one I did was strange 'cos the camera wasn't smashed. It felt like he was keeping us on our toes.
"Anyway, how come this beauty wasn't reported earlier? Makes a mint, doesn't it?"
"It was reported earlier," said PC Harolds. "We got the call first thing this morning. Unfortunately for the Super's coffers we got called away on PROPER police work."

TWO DAYS LATER
The forensic department's report revealed no prints on the underside of the two salvaged plastic plates. The outsides matched the prints of four, red-faced serving police officers.
Superintendent Charleston was incandescent.
"I want Dr Bloody Glue….now!" he bawled.