‘Of course I know it! I’ve been protecting you and damn near perjuring myself for years! And why? Because I happen to think you’re a damned good copper. And you, Inspector, know full well that I need you. But you just can’t go on acting like a bloody loose cannon. I know you’ve got your reasons, and that’s all very well for crime thrillers and cop films, but not here in the Fenland Constabulary. To get an arrest, you rampage through the rule book and disregard everything. You have to back down. Can’t you get it into your head that there are such things as human rights, political correctness, bullying, racial abuse. God, the list is endless, and it’s me who has to scurry around behind you clearing up the mess.’

The superintendent exhaled loudly, then sighed and opened a drawer in his desk. He pulled out two small shot glasses and a half-bottle of Scotch. With another sigh, he filled both glasses then passed one to her. ‘It’s the end of the day, and if ever I needed this, it’s now.’

Nikki stared at the amber liquid and bit her lip. So, either Rick Bainbridge was going for a well-earned Oscar nomination, or the shit had really hit the fan. He’d read the riot act on many occasions, but never like this.

In her mind’s eye she saw the orderly rows of tiny wine bottles in her fridge, then she looked back at the Super’s scarlet face, and downed her drink in one.

‘So what was the final straw?’ The old familiar taste of whisky hit her like a painful memory, one you couldn’t ignore. ‘Which one of my many misdemeanours actually broke the camel’s back?’

‘Nothing specific, Nikki. It’s just the sheer volume.’ He pointed back to the heap of reports.

Nikki closed her eyes and hoped that when she opened them the Super would have refilled her glass. She squinted hopefully, but the glass remained empty.

Perhaps it was time to test the waters and maybe call his bluff.

‘Sorry to say this, sir, but if there had been anything that would actually stick in that pile of paperwork, the Complaints and Discipline Investigator would have dragged me into an interview room by now, and my warrant card would be in your drawer, along with that very nice bottle of Scotch.’ She pushed her glass hopefully across the desk.

‘It’s no trick, Nikki. You are in real trouble; the powers that be are sincerely pissed off.’ He splashed more whisky into their glasses. ‘Now they’ve firmly wedged me between a rock and a hard place, so I’ll tell you this straight. The message I’ve been given is that you fall in line or move on. So, you really have to help me out here, or it goes out of my hands.’