Had there been a hint of amusement in those last few words? Mickey pondered the likely chain of events. A call from Cavendish to his mentor, then one from Sir Charles to the commissioner. And realised that he owed James Cavendish his thanks. Without his quickness of thought, Mickey would be twisting in the breeze now. Instead of which, behind his immaculately maintained deadpan, he was beyond smug. Let’s see you get out of that gracefully, Assistant Commissioner. Jasmine Chen stared at him for a long, hard moment. Making her true feelings on the matter completely clear, albeit non-verbally.

‘It seems that you’re to be congratulated, Sergeant Bale.’

Already have been, Mickey thought. Just not by you.

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

And shut his mouth. Nothing more to say.

‘I’ll bid you good day then, gentlemen.’

And with a last glower around the room, AC Chen was gone. Presumably to pull the arms off whatever hapless officer caught her attention first.

‘Dismissed, Sergeant Bale.’ Johnnie Palmer, at least partially human. ‘And allow me to add my congratulations to those of the commissioner.’

And not the assistant commissioner, Mickey noted. Nothing like being loved by your subordinates.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘We’ll have to reassign you, of course. Now that the minister’s made it clear he never wants to see your face again. For reasons which I’m sure you’d tell me you couldn’t share with me, were I to ask.’

Give the poor bastard a break, Mickey thought. Or as much of a break as the rules allowed.

‘If AC Chen had asked that question, sir, I’d have given her the same answer I’ll give you. The minister saw some things that were somewhat disturbing. Part of the national security incident the commissioner mentioned. And I think that my continued presence would remind him of what he saw. Sir.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant. You and Inspector Green had better go and work out what duties we can use you on. It’s not like we can afford to waste good Prot officers, is it?’

30

‘Who the fuck owns that piece of purple shit. And what the fuck is it doing stinking out my drive?’

Lewis had parked the Rhino alongside a twenty-year-old BMW 3 series coupe. The antique motor painted in a fetching shade that Ac1d had informed Eddie was called Techno Violet.

‘It’s Acid’s car.’

‘Fair enough.’ The curl of Joe’s lip remaining curled, even as he acknowledged potentially good news. ‘Let’s hope he’s got something for us. Something to make it worth pissing off the residents’ association with that pile of spare parts.’