After ten years working as a uniformed constable out of various police stations in Crowley, her home town, but also home to GMP’s notorious November Division, or ‘the N’, as it was sometimes called, Lucy had made the long-awaited permanent move to CID the previous winter. To some extent, this had been a battlefield promotion, a result of the ‘exemplary courage and resourcefulness’, to use the words of the Deputy Chief Constable at her commendation, that she’d displayed during a long, complex and particularly dangerous undercover assignment, the now legendary Operation Clearway. Without any of this, it was highly unlikely that she’d ever have made detective. Long before Clearway, at a relatively early stage of her career, one spectacular foul-up had almost seen her kicked out of the job and had certainly looked as if it would follow her round forever. Even with Clearway under her belt, it was mainly thanks to the persuasive powers of Detective Superintendent Priya Nehwal of the Serious Crimes Division, that the GMP top brass had finally decided to overlook her previous indiscretion. That was the good news.

The bad news was that, for her first posting, working out of the CID office at Robber’s Row – Crowley’s divisional HQ – Lucy had been partnered with Detective Constable Harry Jepson, who, though affable enough when it suited him, was a bit of a throwback.

Harry had already been a detective for fifteen years when Lucy came along, but in all that time he’d never once been promoted, which implied that his dual habits of cutting procedural corners and showing heavy-handedness with suspects did not always pay dividends. He was a reasonably good-looking bloke, fair-haired and with a big frame – like a rugby player – though he was now in his early forties and a tad beaten-up around the edges. He was also a divorcee, unhappily so, with several kids to support, which embittered him no end; he drank too much as well, was increasingly slovenly in appearance, and inclined to gruffness with those he didn’t know.

Lucy occasionally wondered, though had never asked aloud, if her being partnered with Harry was deemed to be as much for his benefit as hers. Not that she was renowned for playing a totally straight bat, herself, she had to admit.

It was also a growing concern that she thought Harry might secretly be carrying a candle for her. She knew he was lonely and frustrated, and he was well aware that she too was a singleton. Though they enjoyed a productive working relationship, she’d several times caught him eyeing her approvingly when he thought she wasn’t looking. Not that Lucy was in any way tempted. Harry wasn’t unfanciable – he had a certain roughneck charm. But she had strict rules about mixing work and pleasure, much to her mum’s helpless fury.

‘Brew,’ she said. It wasn’t a question; she handed him a mug of tea, while still stirring her own.