‘Over my dead body,’ said Sir Julian.
‘I fear there will be a lot more dead bodies, if we don’t.’
Sir Julian was momentarily silenced, which Marjorie took advantage of. ‘Thank heavens we live in Shoreham,’ she said.
‘I can assure you, Mother, there are more drug dealers in Shoreham than there are traffic wardens.’
‘So what does the Hawk plan to do about it?’ demanded Sir Julian.
‘Cut the head off the monster who controls half the dealers in London.’
‘So why don’t you just arrest him?’
‘On what charge? Apart from the fact that we don’t even know what he looks like. We don’t know his real name, or where he lives. In the trade he’s known as the Viper, but we’ve yet to locate his nest, let alone—’
‘How are your wedding plans coming along, Beth?’ asked Marjorie, wanting to change the subject. ‘Have you finally settled on a date?’
‘Unfortunately not,’ said William.
‘Yes, we have,’ said Beth.
‘Good of you to let me know,’ said William. ‘Let’s hope I’m not on duty that day, or worse, in a witness box trying to nail a hardened criminal who’s being defended by my overpaid father.’
‘In which case, the trial will be over by lunch,’ said Sir Julian, ‘and we’ll both be able to make it on time.’
‘I need to ask a favour,’ said Beth, ignoring them both and turning to Marjorie.
‘Of course,’ said Marjorie. ‘We’d be only too delighted to help.’
‘Because my father had to spend a couple of years in prison, and as we’ve—’
‘A miscarriage of justice that was rightly overturned,’ interjected Grace.
‘And as we’ve only recently found somewhere to live,’ continued Beth, ‘I wondered if we could be married in your local church?’
‘Where Marjorie and I were married,’ said Sir Julian. ‘I can’t think of anything that would give me greater pleasure.’
‘How about Miles Faulkner ending up in jail for four years,’ suggested William, ‘and at the same time, Booth Watson QC being struck off the Bar Council.’
Sir Julian didn’t speak for some time. ‘I’ll have to ask the judge for a recess, as I might have to consider a change of plea.’
‘How about you, Grace?’ asked William.
‘I only wish I could marry my partner in the local church.’
3
‘CONGRATULATIONS, SARGE,’ SAID Jackie, joining him at the bar. She had drawn the short straw and only drank a single shandy that night, as she would be driving the newly promoted detective sergeant home. She’d already warned Beth that it wouldn’t be much before midnight.
‘Thanks,’ William replied, after he’d drained his fourth pint.
‘Not that anyone was surprised.’
‘Except my father.’
‘Time, gentlemen, please,’ said the landlord firmly, not least because most of his customers were coppers. Although in truth, once the civilians had departed, they would often enjoy a lock-in, when the landlord would continue to serve the boys and girls in blue. There was at least one pub in every division that had a similar arrangement, which not only added to the publican’s profits, but meant he had no fear of prosecution. However, Jackie still felt it was time for William to leave.
‘As you’ve clearly had one too many,’ she said, ‘the boss has recommended that I take you home.’
‘But it’s my celebration party,’ William protested. ‘And I’ll let you into a secret, Jackie. I’ve never been this drunk before.’
‘Why am I not surprised? All the more reason for me to drive you home. It would be a pity if you were demoted the day after you’d been promoted. Although it would mean I’d probably get your job.’
‘My father warned me to watch out for women like you,’ said William, as she took him by the arm and led him unsteadily out of the pub to cries of goodnight sarge, Choirboy, and even commissioner, without any suggestion of irony or sarcasm.
‘Don’t expect me to call you sir and kiss your arse until you’re at least a chief inspector.’
‘Do you know where the expression “kiss my arse” comes from?’
‘No idea. But why do I have a feeling you’re about to tell me?’
‘The Duc de Vendôme, a seventeenth-century French aristocrat, used to receive his courtiers even when he was sitting on the loo, and after he’d wiped his bottom, one of them rushed forward and kissed it, saying, “Oh noble one, you have the arse of an angel.”’
‘Much as I’d like to be reinstated as a sergeant,’ said Jackie, ‘I wouldn’t be willing to go that far.’
‘As long as you don’t call me Bill,’ said William, as he slumped back in the passenger seat.
Jackie drove out of the car park onto Victoria Street and headed for Pimlico as William closed his eyes. Only a year ago, when Constable Warwick had first joined the team, she had been a detective sergeant, perched firmly on the second rung of the ladder. But now, following the Operation Blue Period fiasco, and the successful return of the Rembrandt to the Fitzmolean, their positions were reversed. Jackie didn’t complain – she was happy to still be part of the commander’s inner team. William began to snore. When Jackie turned the corner she spotted him immediately.
‘It’s Tulip!’ she said suddenly, throwing on the brakes and startling William out of his slumber.
‘Tulip?’ he said, as his eyes tried to focus.
‘I first arrested him when he was still at school,’ said Jackie, as she jumped out of the car. William could only make out her blurred figure running across the road towards an unlit alley where a young black man carrying a Tesco shopping bag was passing something to another man, whose face was well hidden in the shadows.
Suddenly William was wide awake, adrenalin replacing alcohol. He leapt out of the car and followed Jackie, accompanied by the sound of several car horns as he nipped in and out of the traffic. Horns that warned Tulip he’d been spotted. He immediately sped off down the alley.
William ran past Jackie, who was handcuffing the other man. But he already knew this wasn’t going to be the night for overtaking someone about the same age as
