“They say it runs in the family. Like father, like son.” Bridger looked straight at Tyler for the first time, making sure his words struck home. “Sometimes they’re so racked with guilt over what they’ve done, they end up topping themselves. Best thing for ’em, if you ask me.”

Afterward, he didn’t even remember moving. Only the blood pounding in his ears and the mist clouding his vision as he went for the man’s smug face.

“He always was a dog’s arse of a copper,” Doggett says now. “Too handy for his own good. I daresay I’ve been tempted to smack him one myself from time to time. But there’s one thing you can say about Gary Bridger—he’s always had friends in high places. I reckon it must have cost the DCI a fair few favors to pull your fat out of the fire on that one.”

“I think it helped that I came off worse.”

Ironically it had been Bridger’s defense of himself that had ultimately saved Tyler. Perhaps he’d underestimated how strongly Tyler would go for him. Or perhaps, after months of fruitless taunting, the thought that he might elicit a response hadn’t occurred to him. Maybe he believed his own rhetoric and saw Tyler as nothing but a limp-wristed sissy-boy. Whatever the reason, he’d panicked and picked up the bottle from the tray without thinking. At least, he was given the benefit of the doubt that it hadn’t been planned. There were witnesses, too. Not just Bridger’s mates either. The woman behind the counter had testified that some of the lads had already pulled Tyler off and were holding him back when Bridger attacked. She said she saw him smash the bottle deliberately. Tyler himself never even saw it coming through the mist. He didn’t feel the glass as it slid into his face, or the blows that came afterward. They were much weaker, to his abdomen and chest, most of them deflected by his clothing. The wounds were superficial, but they testified to the fact Gary Bridger was a violent little bastard. There had been other smaller incidents in the past, it seemed, and Bridger found that his friends in high places couldn’t get him out of this one. He escaped the grievous bodily harm charge but was forced into early retirement. Tyler, who was widely seen as the one who’d started the incident, was lucky to escape with just a reprimand. And the transfer to the CCRU, of course. The job nobody wanted. He suspects that was Diane Jordan’s work. Without the DCI in his corner, Bridger’s friends would have found a way to take him down as well. He still doesn’t know exactly what it cost her, but by all accounts she should be a superintendent by now. The fact she isn’t . . . well, he guesses that’s on him.