Daniel Bailey was furious, and Detective Inspector Harry Smith was more than aware of that fact. As usual, Peter Bailey was quiet; he was always willing to let his brother do the dirty work, so no change there. In over twenty years of dealing with the Baileys, Harry Smith had never once felt that he was anything other than the paid help. It rankled, there was no doubt about that, but he knew there was nothing he could do about any of it now. Even the sons of these men were the same – ignorant fucks the lot of them. But they were criminals, so what else could he expect?

Inspector Smith sighed heavily, aware that he was expected to make some kind of protest, and more than willing to do just that. He knew exactly how to play the game.

‘Listen, Daniel, if I heard anything on the street, you know that you would be the first to know. From what I can see, no one is saying anything detrimental about any of you. Even the paid narks – who I make sure you know about – haven’t said a fucking dicky bird. The Allens are not showing their hand. I can assure you that, if and when they do, you will be the first to hear about it.’

Daniel Bailey was still not satisfied. ‘You get a decent collar from us and, lately, you have given us fuck-all of any real interest.’

Smith smiled. ‘If there’s nothing to tell . . .’

Peter Bailey hated this man with a vengeance, as did his brother. Smith was first and foremost a Filth – never a good thing in their world – but, even worse than that, he had never understood that his willingness to sell out his own was the reason they would not, and could not, ever trust him. They paid him, they tolerated him, but that was as far as it went. To them, he was worse than scum.

He had his uses, and that was why they had cultivated him for so long; he was a part of their world now whether they liked it or not. He was a celebrated Filth, he had his so-called creds, and a penchant for women and money. Both weaknesses had been the reasons they’d recruited him in the first place. He sold out anyone within his orbit for a price, a heavy price admittedly, and he still believed he was one step above them. The man was a cunt, as Daniel Bailey said on a daily basis, and a treacherous cunt at that.

‘The Allen brothers are keeping a low profile; they have done nothing that would warrant a mention from me. All I can tell you is that I made sure your Northern counterparts were left alone. I have a colleague who is now up in Manchester, and he is more than willing to come onboard.’

Peter and Daniel exchanged a look, and Smith knew that he was skating on very thin ice.