Peter Bailey was sitting behind his desk, and Smith could see the deep-seated resentment in his eyes as he said loudly, ‘Would this be a certain DI Brown by any chance?’

Smith was not surprised about the Baileys’ intimate knowledge of the police departments around the country; he knew better than anyone that they had ears everywhere. He wasn’t the only person they had bought off over the years – they had all sorts on their payroll, from High Court judges, to court-appointed psychiatrists. They recruited from every walk of life – it was why they were still on the outside and also such formidable opponents.

‘Well, it seems you are ahead of me. Why am I not surprised?’

Daniel Bailey fought the urge to smack Harry Smith around the room, and instead he grinned nastily. ‘Well, to be honest, Harry, he had the sense to tell us about your approach within hours of it occurring. Seems he doesn’t fucking trust you either.’

It was a warning, a veiled threat, and Smith was well aware of that. He was also annoyed; despite all the cash he liberally weighed out to his brethren, no one had ever seen fit to tell him that Brown was already on the take. It was a real eye-opener; it just showed him, once again, that the Baileys were one step ahead. He was due to retire in the next eighteen months, which was bothering him. He was too used to the extra cash the Baileys provided – he had seen himself recruiting a few key personnel so he could still be of use to them, still collect his extra bunce, and enjoy his little perks.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure about that. At the moment he had the protection of the Metropolitan Police; the Baileys had believed that to take him out would do them no good; he was, after all, a senior officer. But it seemed that he might actually be wrong about that – they were already making plans that didn’t include him. He needed to bring them something solid, something important, to prove his worth to them before he finally bowed out. He needed that last big pay-off; he was depending on it. His pension was not enough for a fucking fortnight’s holiday in Benidorm, let alone enough to keep him and his wife in the manner that, thanks to the Baileys, they had become very accustomed to.