Mickey had waited on the street outside New Scotland Yard from two hours before his allotted interview time. Watched the traffic with a close personal interest. And noted the arrival, with half an hour to spare, of a prisoner transport vehicle. Recognisable as such by its tiny armoured windows and, in this case, the Trojan escort vehicle. No prizes for guessing who’d be making the journey to Pentonville in that later. If, that was, Mickey found himself excommunicated with extreme prejudice.

He wondered momentarily just how hard Jasmine had had to push to get in on the interview. She certainly wasn’t a necessary component. Professional Standards had whatever they had against him, and her presence wouldn’t add to the case. He also suspected that DAC Haskins would have resisted the idea of her attendance robustly. Perhaps mistakenly believing that she would attempt to defend her officer. As if.

He was, nevertheless, delighted to see her present.

‘Firstly, allow me to congratulate you on your recovery, Sergeant Bale.’

Mickey nodded to the superintendent.

‘Thank you, sir. It’s good to be up and about again.’

Noting that Haskins hadn’t mentioned his Commissioner’s Commendation. Or the George Cross. Haskins not mentioning his awards because, presumably, they wouldn’t have been bestowed on him with quite such haste if Jasmine had had her way. Or if the evidence that Haskins was about to lay out had been complete at the time?

‘This is not an interview under caution, Sergeant Bale. But it may result in further interviews, disciplinary action, a caution, or even your arrest on criminal charges. Do you understand the serious nature of the matters you’ve been asked here to discuss?’

Mickey looked across the table at the DAC. A known hard man. The scourge of the corrupt copper, meting out justice even-handedly. Or with both fists, depending on your perspective. White haired. A kindly grandfather in his private time, more than likely. Wearing demi-lunette reading glasses that were, fairly obviously, a cosmetic affectation. Allowing him the theatrical conceit of staring over them with a wide range of expressions. Disbelief, astonishment, even the full-on Paddington Bear if needed.

Haskins was an actor playing the swan song role of his career. And looking for the Oscar with this one. Likely to put him in the papers. And then in the Old Bailey, if Mickey went for trial on numerous counts of murder, GBH and firearms offences. With the potential for a tabloid career after retirement, if he played his cards right. Although prosecuting a decorated protection officer would be an interesting minefield to navigate.

But in one matter he was right on the money. The issues he’d been invited to discuss were about as serious as you could get without being nicked. Nicked, and then flushed down the criminal justice system’s big shitter. Life, in this case, likely to mean exactly that.