“It’s a fine rate if you have enough people paying it. Once I’m turning clients away, I’ll move somewhere more salubrious.”

“Just you? There’s no Mrs. Wildsmith?”

It was a perfectly reasonable question of the light conversation type, and yet there was something about it, or the asking, or the way he was watching Joel’s face, and in that instant, something sprang to delicate, tingling life. Joel found his lips curving.

Not that he was going to do anything stupid. He’d only just got out of one lot of trouble, and he had too much sense to screw a policeman again, especially not knowingly, and it wouldn’t do to alienate Fowler, who was going to help him.

Unless Fowler was expecting a quid pro quo. He had, after all, asked Joel to stay. He didn’t seem the sort of man to demand it, but if he thought Joel was interested...well, he might not even be far wrong. Those dark liquid eyes, the mouth that needed to slacken and gasp—Joel had a lot of ideas about that mouth.

None of which he would be putting into practice, because he’d learned his lesson about obliging coppers.

“Afraid not. Probably for the best.” He knocked the last gasp of whisky back on that, and rose before he did anything stupid such as suggesting another drink. “I’d better go. Thanks again. I won’t say you’ve restored my faith in the police...”

“Yes, well, I lack faith in graphologists,” Fowler said, with a smile that didn’t look quite right. Disappointed? “Goodbye, then, Mr. Wildsmith.”

“The difference between police and graphologists is, you’ve never caught me in a professional lie. I’ll show myself out,” Joel said, and got out of there, leaving the tall, dark figure lonely behind him.

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

AARON HAD ONE LAST day off to fill. He might have gone to an art gallery, or a museum, but in fact he found himself heading over to Marylebone nick, in order to ask about the policeman who had supposedly taken advantage of Wildsmith.

‘Supposedly’ was an awkward word there. Aaron was well aware some of his colleagues profited from their positions. Accepting petty gifts, free food and drink, was a matter of routine; Aaron wouldn’t take more than a cup of tea himself, but didn’t comment when his colleagues accepted a packet of sausages or a bunch of flowers for the wife, for fear of being seen as a prig. He wasn’t aware of corruption on a larger scale in G Division, but he knew bribery was rampant in Soho, where the criminals had more money. He’d also heard of colleagues taking payment in kind from ladies of the night in return for looking the other way, which was a very euphemistic way to say extorting sexual services and not doing their job.