“Probably,” said Banks. “We don’t actually hand our reports to the press, but they have their ways. Depends on the media interest.”

“Oh, there’ll be media interest around here, all right. Jet Harris, homo and bent copper.” He eyed Banks warily. “You sure you’re not going to hush it up, then?”

“Dad,” said Banks. “We don’t go in for cover-ups. At least I don’t, and nor does DI Hart. This investigation has cost her a lot. She’s only been at the division a couple of months and here she is, debunking the legend. Imagine how popular that’s going to make her around the place.” It had nearly cost Michelle her life, too, Banks thought. She would be safe from now on, he was certain, and not because of his melodramatic threat. Now Mandeville knew there were more people involved, he could hardly scare or kill off everyone. He would just have to take his chances that time had hidden his secrets.

“Why are you telling me?” Arthur Banks asked.

Banks sipped some beer. “Dad, you and mum have never really given me a chance, you know, ever since I joined the force. You’ve always pointed out the negative side of the job. I just wanted you to know that some of us aren’t crooked, that some of us take our work seriously. Even if it never comes out in public, at least you’ll know the truth, and you’ll know I told you.”

Arthur Banks paused for a moment, looking his son in the eye, then he said, “And did you also find out what happened to your friend Graham after all these years?”

“Yes. Well, DI Hart did most of the work. I just filled in the blanks.” Banks leaned forward. “But yes, Dad, I found out. It’s what I do. I don’t go around waving rolls of fivers at striking miners, I don’t beat up suspects in the cells, I don’t botch investigations into murdered black youths, and I don’t steal confiscated drugs and sell them back on the street. Mostly, I push paper. Sometimes I catch murderers. Sometimes I fail, but I always do my damnedest.”

“So who did it?”

Banks told him.

“Donald Bradford! You’d have thought that would’ve been the first place they’d look.”

“That’s what made us suspect some sort of misdirection.”

“And Rupert Mandeville. That’ll make a nice headline.”

“If we can pin anything on him. Remember, it was a long time ago, and he’s hardly likely to confess.”

“Even so…Your pal Graham was up to no good, wasn’t he?”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. He always seemed a bit shifty to me, that’s all. Like his father.”

“Well, Graham wasn’t exactly walking the straight and narrow, but that’s no excuse for killing him.”

“Course not.” Banks senior fell silent for a moment, contemplating his son through narrowed eyes. Then he let slip a thin smile. “You’ve stopped smoking, haven’t you?”

“I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

“There’s not much you can slip past your own father.”