‘If that’s the case,’ said Sir Julian, ‘some evil bastards must be making a fortune at the addicts’ expense.’
‘Some of the leading drug barons are coining literally millions, while young dealers, some of them still at school, can make as much as a hundred pounds a day, which is more than my commander is paid, let alone a humble detective sergeant.’
‘With so much cash swirling around,’ said Sir Julian, ‘the less scrupulous of your colleagues might well be tempted to take a cut.’
‘Not if Commander Hawksby has his way. He considers a bent copper worse than any criminal.’
‘I agree with him,’ said Sir Julian.
‘So what does he plan to do about the drugs problem?’ asked Grace.
‘The commissioner has given him the authority to set up an elite unit, whose sole purpose will be to track down one particular drug baron and take him out, while the area drugs squads concentrate on the supply chain, leaving the local police to handle the dealers on the streets, and the users, who are committing other crimes like burglary and theft to fund their addiction.’
‘I’ve defended one or two of them recently,’ said Grace. ‘Desperate, pathetic creatures, with little purpose in life other than getting their next fix. How long will it be before those in authority realize it’s often a medical problem, and not all addicts should be treated as criminals?’
‘But they are criminals,’ interjected her father, ‘and they should be locked up, not mollycoddled. Wait until it’s your home that’s burgled, Grace, then you might feel differently.’
‘We’ve already been burgled, twice,’ said Grace.
‘Probably by someone who can’t hold down a job. Addicts begin by stealing from their parents,’ said William, ‘then their friends, then anyone who leaves a window open. When I was on the beat, I once arrested a young adult who had a dozen TVs in his flat, scores of other electrical items, paintings, watches and even a tiara. And then there are the fences, who are making a small fortune. They set up so-called pawn shops for customers who never intend to claim the goods back.’
‘But surely you can shut them down?’ said Beth.
‘We do. But they’re like cockroaches. Stamp on one of them and half a dozen more come scuttling out of the woodwork. Drugs are now an international industry like oil, banking, or steel. If some of the biggest cartels had to declare their annual profits, not only would they be among the top hundred companies on the stock exchange, but the Exchequer would be able to collect billions more in taxes.’
‘Perhaps the time has come to consider regulated legalization of some drugs,’ said Grace.
‘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.”’