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  Adkins moaned. Hope kept his voice low.

  “A bit careless of him, leaving it open like that.”

  Grant shrugged.

  “Probably got dislodged during the struggle.”

  Grant could see where Hope was going with this and headed him off at the pass. He didn’t want the young constable giving Adkins ideas for his defense. He held the bloodstained bus pass up.

  “This is what got him arrested. The rest is just good luck.”

  Hope nodded that he understood. Another tick for Grant’s tutor report. He put the plastic wallet back in his pocket.

  “I’ll bet a pound to a pinch of shit whose blood it is.”

  “Sharon Davis.”

  “You win. Now let’s cuff this twat and cancel backup. We only need transport and an ambulance. Just make sure it’s not the one that took her. We don’t want to be accused of cross-contaminating blood samples.”

  Hope went outside to make the calls. The blood was a moot point since Grant had comforted the bleeding Davis at the crime scene. She wouldn’t make the complaint anyway. It was the drugs that would send him to prison. Grant handcuffed Adkins’s hands behind his back as blue lights began to flash in the street.

  22:30 hours

  “You know as well as I do that calling it forced entry to preserve evidence isn’t gonna fly.”

  Sergeant Ballhaus stepped back from the landing to let the SOCO get to work with the blood samples trapped in the U-bend. The scenes-of-crime officer was careful where he knelt as he unscrewed the waste pipe. He wasn’t dressed in the full forensic paper suit—this wasn’t a murder scene—but he didn’t want to get blood on his trousers.

  Grant had bagged the bus pass for DNA testing himself to at least preserve the illusion of avoiding cross-contamination. Having the samples from the waste pipe and the bloody towel booked in by the same officer who had seized the bus pass at the crime scene would make it too easy for the defense solicitor to pick holes. There were enough holes already.

  Grant stood in the doorway to the front bedroom.

  “Worked, though, didn’t it?”

  He pointed towards the bathroom.

  “The evidence is preserved.”

  Then he nodded at the bath panel, still open a few inches at the top.

  “And I’m telling you, we’re gonna hit the evidence jackpot.”

  Ballhaus let out an exasperated sigh and glanced over his shoulder to make sure that Jamie Hope had gone downstairs. He jerked a thumb towards the bedroom.

  “Fuck me, Jim. Ways and Means Act doesn’t work anymore.”

  Grant followed his sergeant into the front bedroom. He knew he was skating on thin ice but was confident that Ballhaus was a practical copper and not the pencil-pushing desk jockey that most supervisors became once they were off the frontline. A shift sergeant at Ecclesfield Division was about as frontline as it got.

  “Sarge. There’s always a way of getting the job done. Nose to the grindstone trumps thumb up the arse every time.”

  Ballhaus stood by the bedroom window and looked down at the sea of blue flashing lights. The paramedics had taken Adkins away but there were still three patrol cars and the divisional van choking the cul-de-sac. It was a testament to the code of the streets. When you called for backup, everyone responded. Ballhaus appeared to fill with pride that his boys honored that code. He turned back to face Grant.

  “Jim. Grow up. This is the modern police force. There are more thumb-up-the-arse types than there are practical policing types. So let’s not give them anything to poke shit-fingers at.”

  Grant nodded his understanding.

  “Okay. Let’s shape this right.”

  He rubbed his chin for a moment before clarifying the first point.

  “Entry to preserve evidence is out. Right?”

  “Right. There is no power of entry to gather evidence for a crime if there is no complaint of assault. The girl isn’t going to cooperate. Is she?”

  Grant shook his head. He should be annoyed that Sharon Davis was unwilling to accuse Adkins of assault, but he understood her reasoning. Police officers could deal with confrontations, then go back to the safety of their own homes. People in Ravenscliffe had to live among the thieves and burglars. If they gave evidence against them, they were easy targets for intimidation. That was a lot to ask of a nineteen-year-old girl.

  “What about entry to prevent a further breach of the peace? An officer—that’s me—fears for the girl’s safety. Forced entry to preserve life.”

  Ballhaus smiled but shook his head. “Good try, but the girl was taken away in the ambulance. Remember?”

  Grant raised his eyebrows.

  “I knew that. Could have been discharged after treatment, though.”

  “At the BRI? You kidding? Takes three hours just to get through triage.”

  Grant scratched his head since rubbing his chin hadn’t worked. Then he stopped and clicked his fingers.

  “Okay. Evidence of an assault at the rugby club. Officer—that’s me again—believes a crime has been committed that will only be disproved when Davis declines after treatment. Officer has reason to believe that Adkins committed that crime”—he held up the sealed evidence bag with the bloodstained bus pass in it—“and pursued the suspect to his place of residence. Suspect goes into house and locks the door. The officer, in continued pursuit of the felon, forces entry in order to effect the arrest.”

  Ballhaus nodded his approval and finished the chain of evidence.

  “After making a lawful arrest, search of any premises that the prisoner has control over is allowed to preserve evidence for that crime.”

  Grant pointed at the SOCO under the sink.

  “Including blood on the towel and in the sink.”

  Ballhaus smiled.

  “Eureka.”

  Grant held up a hand. He wasn’t finished yet.

  “And during that search, evidence is uncovered of other crimes, namely drugs and money pertaining to illegal supply of Class A drugs.”

  Now that they’d got their story straight, Ballhaus stepped onto the landing and nodded towards the bathroom.

  “You know, if you fell in a pile of shit, you’d come up smelling of roses.”

  Grant squeezed past the burly shift sergeant and stood in the bathroom doorway. The SOCO had almost finished with the sink. Now it was time to draw his attention to the bath panel.

  It took over an hour before drug squad detectives arrived at the house and took over. By that time SOCO had photographed the contraband in situ. Standard shots of the bath with the panel partly open, then with the panel removed. Then establishing shots of the sheer scale of the discovery followed by close-ups of the individual bags of white powder and rolled-up banknotes.

  There were six large sealed bags of white powder, like five-pound bags of sugar only you wouldn’t want it in your tea. Behind the bags was a cardboard tray containing 150 dealer bags, little self-sealed plastic baggies with individual portions ready for sale. Beside the tray were twenty-five thick rolls of ten-pound notes held together by elastic bands.

  Twenty-five thousand pounds, it would turn out later.

  The lead detective looked excited but weary. There was hours of work ahead seizing and labeling the evidence. Counting the money. Weighing the drugs. Making sure that the chain of evidence was observed. SOCO would have to fingerprint the bath and the panel. The bags would have to be removed and examined. They wouldn’t bother with the money. Everyone who’d ever handled the banknotes would have left a trace.

  This was a big find for a council estate. The value of the drugs would far outstrip the quantity of money they’d recovered. The rest of the house would have to be searched just in case there was more, but Grant told the lead detective there wouldn’t be any. Adkins kept the house spotless for just that reason—so that no visiting police officers could stumble across his stash by accident while harassing the local villain. Grant should know. He’d been harassing Adkins for over a year.

  The blue lights in the cul-de-sac thinned out. The rest of the shift went back to chasing the radio calls. Grant had a quiet word with his probationer. The only thing that Hope needed to be clear about was the continued pursuit from the rugby club to the house, which wasn’t a stretch since Grant had come straight here after they’d taken the report. He left Hope watching the evidence being gathered in the bathroom and joined Ballhaus, who was still waiting in the front bedroom. The sergeant appeared to be having more fun than a shift supervisor normally got on a half-night tour.

  Grant stood beside his sergeant in front of the window. “Like they used to say in The A-Team.”

  Ballhaus followed Grant’s train of thought. “I love it when a plan comes together.”

  The only thing Ballhaus was missing was a big fat cigar.

  Grant let out a sigh. “Thanks, Sarge. It’s nice to know the good guys get to win now and again.”

  Ballhaus was about to reply, then his face stiffened.

  “Thumb-up-the-arse brigade.”

  Grant followed his gaze through the window.

  “What the fuck’s he doing here?”

  Down in the cul-de-sac an unmarked Astra pulled up behind Grant’s patrol car. A tall, well-dressed man got out and strode towards the house. D&C’s top bulldog, Inspector Nelson Carr. With two gold fillings in his false smile.

  The question was, what was Discipline and Complaints doing at the scene of a routine drug seizure?

  23:45 hours

  “Didn’t know you could find your way around after dark.”

  Grant opened the front door
before Carr made it all the way down the path. The lawn and flower borders were overgrown and full of weeds. Grant reckoned that Inspector Carr was a weed in the police force’s garden—the sort of thing that grew unchecked if you didn’t keep it down. The trouble was Grant was a police constable and Carr, an inspector. Carr tapped imaginary pips on his shoulder as a reminder.

  “Sir.”

  Grant folded his arms across his chest. “Didn’t know you could find your way around after dark. Sir.”

  Ballhaus stood behind Grant but couldn’t see through the doorway. Grant felt his presence sending out a psychic message: When you’re up to your neck in shit, don’t make waves. The sergeant had no more love for D&C than any other policeman. They didn’t call it the Rat Squad in America for nothing. Internal Affairs. At least in the UK they weren’t quite so aggressive.

  Not all of them.

  “You need to remember you’re not in the army now, PC Grant. There are rules.”

  “There were rules in the army. Sir. They just made better sense.”

  “The rules of engagement are different in the police service.”

  “Who’s talking about rules of engagement?”

  The D&C inspector stood with one foot on the doorstep and gave Grant his best hard stare. Grant had been stared at by harder men than Carr. With more serious consequences too. Carr stuck his jaw out as if that made the stare more devastating.

  “What rules do you mean, then?”

  Grant was about to relate the rule of brotherhood but knew it would sail right over the inspector’s head. The bond that troops shared was the same as what frontline police enjoyed. It seemed to Grant that once bosses left the trenches and began to climb the career ladder, comradeship was the first thing they forgot. There was no point trying to explain.

  “The QWERTY rule.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve read my file. I was a typist.”

  Carr snorted a laugh. “Read your file? Damn thing’s never off my desk. And here I am again, looking into your shit.”

  When you’re up to your neck in shit, don’t make waves. Apart from some creative writing, Grant felt he was on pretty firm ground tonight. This was a righteous drug bust that would take one of the major players off the streets for many years. Maybe not high stakes on the international stage but good by Ravenscliffe standards and good for the poor bastards who lived here. That should make the bosses happy. Unless you were a boss from Internal Affairs.

  Carr let a hint of a smile play across his lips. Light glinted off his gold fillings. “Well, you fucked up this time.”

  Grant stood in the doorway and waited. You can’t defend yourself until you know what the accusations are. Carr appeared to be enjoying himself. He took his time before continuing.

  “Adkins didn’t even make it through prisoner reception. He had a relapse in the ambulance. Broken ribs punctured his lung.”

  The shift sergeants’ office at Ecclesfield Police Station wasn’t the perfect place for a discipline interview, but it would have to do. The nightshift inspector’s office was busy with the handover from late turn to night duty. The sergeants’ office would normally be busy too as the night staff prepared for briefing, but tonight wasn’t a normal night. Inspector Carr commandeered the office, and nobody argued.

  Sergeant Ballhaus closed the door behind him and sat in the far corner. Grant had the right to have a Police Federation rep present but said that his shift sergeant would do fine. He trusted Ballhaus over most people. Carr looked uncomfortable having such an experienced officer acting as witness. Grant didn’t mind making the inspector feel uncomfortable.

  The first thing Carr did was log onto the computer and bring up the Command and Control log for the rugby club disturbance. The IBIS system showed everything the radio operator had reported, including the times and call signs of any units deployed. The unit in question tonight was Alpha Two. Carr looked at the deployment sheet from the late turn briefing. Alpha Two was PC Grant and his probationer, PC Hope.

  “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  Carr read the caution out loud even though the interview wasn’t being recorded. Grant exercised his legal rights and said nothing. Ballhaus leaned backwards in his chair and waited. That put all the pressure back on the D&C inspector. He turned away from the computer and opened Grant’s complaints file. It was a thick file. Rule of thumb was that a good policeman should have at least two complaints from the crooks he arrested per year, otherwise he wasn’t doing his job properly. Anyone with a clean sheet must have spent his service never leaving the station. If you don’t arrest anybody, then there’s nobody to complain how you abused their rights.

  Grant had arrested plenty of crooks. He had acquired much more than two complaints per year over the last twelve years. Upsetting the criminal fraternity was almost as much fun as making Inspector Carr feel uncomfortable. The inspector made a show of skimming through the file, but what he had to say wasn’t in there. Instead he closed the file and referred to a printed sheet lying next to it.

  “Let’s review the evidence, shall we?”

  Grant resisted the urge to ask if Carr was auditioning for David Frost’s role in Through the Keyhole. He said nothing. Carr glanced at the sheet, then back at Grant. He ticked off each item on his fingers.

  “Blood recovered from the U-bend will be tested and is expected to be from Sharon Davis.”

  That was one finger.

  “Blood on the recovered towel. Ditto.”

  Two fingers.

  “The bus pass that you recovered at the scene belongs to Adkins.”

  Three.

  “And the blood on the bus pass is expected to be from Davis.”

  Four. He stopped using his fingers and simply told the story.

  “That would suggest that Adkins was at the scene during the assault, but he could argue he’d lost the bus pass earlier and it just happened to be on the ground when she was assaulted. The blood on his hands, on the towel, and in the sink is more damning evidence and would certainly be enough to secure a conviction if the victim were to endorse the allegation of assault. Her injuries make it a Section 47, and therefore he could do prison time.”

  Carr paused for effect before continuing.

  “Except the girl has not made a complaint, and there is no crime recorded.”

  He paused again, waiting for Grant to state the obvious—that a constable only needed to believe that a crime had been committed in order for his powers to be lawful. Good interview technique by Carr. Most people when confronted with silence during an interview felt the need to speak. Grant said nothing. Carr filled the void himself.

  “But, of course, you had sufficient grounds to suspect a crime had been committed and that Adkins had committed it. You were therefore within your rights to seek him out.”

  Grant noted that the inspector didn’t say pursue. He kept quiet.

  Carr went back to using his fingers.

  “Now. The other matter. During the struggle a bath panel was dislodged.”

  That was one finger.

  “Items behind the panel were clearly visible.”

  That was two.

  “Giving you reason to believe another crime had been committed and the authority to arrest Adkins for that offence and conduct a search of the premises.”

  Three. He gave up using the fingers early this time.

  “The search was conducted in the presence of a Scenes of Crime Officer, who photographed the recovered drugs and cash in situ before examining the scene for fingerprints. Several latent prints were found on the inside of the bath panel and are expected to belong to Lee Adkins. Adkins is the sole occupant of the premises and therefore cannot claim the drugs were put there by somebody else.”

  Carr pushed back from the desk and swung the chair to face Grant.

  “Drug Squad have taken over the investigation and expect the quantities, dealer bags, and cash to be enough to convict Adkins of supplying Class A drugs in such volume that he will be given a substantial prison sentence when the case goes to court.”