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Back A Change of Circumstance Save as PDF
Chapters (67)
  1. Cover
  2. One
  3. Two
  4. Three
  5. Four
  6. Five
  7. Six
  8. Seven
  9. Eight
  10. Nine
  11. Ten
  12. Eleven
  13. Twelve
  14. Thirteen
  15. Fourteen
  16. Fifteen
  17. Sixteen
  18. Seventeen
  19. Eighteen
  20. Nineteen
  21. Twenty
  22. Twenty-One
  23. Twenty-Two
  24. Twenty-Three
  25. Twenty-Four
  26. Twenty-Five
  27. Twenty-Six
  28. Twenty-Seven
  29. Twenty-Eight
  30. Twenty-Nine
  31. Thirty
  32. Thirty-One
  33. Thirty-Two
  34. Thirty-Three
  35. Thirty-Four
  36. Thirty-Five
  37. Thirty-Six
  38. Thirty-Seven
  39. Thirty-Eight
  40. Thirty-Nine
  41. Forty
  42. Forty-One
  43. Forty-Two
  44. Forty-Three
  45. Forty-Four
  46. Forty-Five
  47. Forty-Six
  48. Forty-Seven
  49. Forty-Eight
  50. Forty-Nine
  51. Fifty
  52. Fifty-One
  53. Fifty-Two
  54. Fifty-Three
  55. Fifty-Four
  56. Fifty-Five
  57. Fifty-Six
  58. Fifty-Seven
  59. Fifty-Eight
  60. Fifty-Nine
  61. Sixty
  62. Sixty-One
  63. Sixty-Two
  64. Sixty-Three
  65. Sixty-Four
  66. Sixty-Five
  67. Sixty-Six

Vince’s text came in as Serrailler was going into a CID round-up. Need to see you. V.

But the round-up, estimated to last under an hour, went on for two and a half, interrupted by DC Lola Smith fainting, being sick and having to be taken out. By the time they had decamped to another room, and an extra item had arisen, it was almost noon.

Simon texted back Bit pressed. Urgent?

Urgent.

Sportsman’s Arms, Cotton Street, 1.30.

It was surprising the pub was still standing. It had been popular with workmen building a new estate, and then with those constructing the bypass, but the caravan had long since moved on, and the Sportsman’s was now washed up like an abandoned ship in the middle of a wasteland alongside a couple of repair garages and a betting shop that had closed. But the pub was open, and for those in the know, it kept decent beer though appalling food, chalked on a blackboard behind the bar. Serrailler borrowed a parka and a baseball cap, and went in one of the beaten-up but fully serviced cars used for exactly this sort of job. He felt a prickle of anticipation, a shadow of some past undercover ops in earlier days. There was nothing quite like it.

Vince was in the half-empty bar with a pint, but Simon nodded to another table, in view of the door.

‘Didn’t know you.’

‘Good. You OK?’

Vince nodded.

He drank down half his glass and then started on the story. Serrailler had to lean close, arms on the table, to catch everything, and when it was finished he drank his shandy and said nothing for a moment. The door kept swinging open to let in new customers, utilities crew, oddballs, a bleary old man who smelled of manure, wearing a matching dung-coloured raincoat, garage men who smelled of oil.

Serrailler leaned back, turning his head to one side. He didn’t expect anyone in here to know him, or to get the whiff of a cop, which was always hard to lose, but you never knew and it was Vince who need protecting.

‘You’re an idiot,’ he said at last. ‘What made you think going off on some sort of chase on your own was a good idea?’

‘I thought you wanted me to find out stuff.’

‘I did. Do. That doesn’t mean playing cops and putting yourself in danger. As you said to me at the start, you’ve got four boys. Didn’t they cross your mind?’

‘Christ sake. My lad is what this is all about – him and for all I know a load of other local kids. Why else would I be here?’