On her way in, she took a phone call on the hands-free. It was from Kyle Armstrong, who didn’t sound best pleased.

‘Thanks for nothing,’ he grunted.

‘Excuse me …?’

‘That so-called favour you did us.’

‘So-called!’ Lucy had delivered the message from Geoff Slater to the Low Riders by leaving it on Armstrong’s voicemail. She hadn’t expected him to ring her to offer thanks for it, but even given the biker president’s usual truculent attitude where law enforcement was concerned, she hadn’t expected this either.

‘Dykey’s still talking to his solicitor about changing his plea,’ Armstrong said. ‘But seriously … the best we get is a letter to the judge?’

‘Perhaps you thought you were going to get one of those anyway?’ she snapped, as she drove into the personnel car park. ‘Perhaps you thought that, out of the sheer goodness of their hearts, the Drug Squad were going to recommend your lad for a smack on the wrist rather than the good slap round the head he so richly deserves. It may come as a surprise to you, Kyle … but there are certain people based in offices not very far from the office where I work who’ve really got you lot marked as a pile of dog-shit, and can’t wait to see you shovelled up and chucked into the nearest bin.’

‘Fuck ’em. We feel the same about them …’

‘The difference is they can do something about it,’ she said. ‘And they aim to, the first chance they get. Now, in light of all that, I think your lad, Ian, got a good deal here, don’t you?’

There was a long, surly silence – she could just picture his handsome, feral face as it twisted with indignation that ‘a mere lass’ had him on the backfoot.

‘So …’ she said, ‘can I assume that in reality you’re actually eternally grateful for this, and are now looking for any way you can to scratch my back in return?’

He muttered something foul-mouthed but inaudible.

‘Eloquent as ever, Kyle. Don’t worry … I’ll be in touch soon.’

By eight-thirty she and Harry were ready to hit the road. They left the nick by the personnel door, and were traipsing across the car park when a commotion caught their attention at the main gate. They stopped to watch as the barrier lifted, and a Trojan unit – a heavily armed troop-carrier – came trundling in, with firearms-response officers in full armour and helmets, their MP5s held crosswise at the chest, trudging in front of it.