Anderson gave a nervous laugh. He hated being beholden to anyone, least of all a low-life like Bolton, but he had to play the cards he was dealt till the end. Who knows, when he was strolling down a sunny fairway a thousand miles away, maybe an anonymous tip would get called in. Maybe some information on the less well-known aspects of Bolton and Locke’s businesses would get spilt. Nobody on the force knew Locke smuggled immigrants in on some of his ships, for example. Yep, they’d regret treating him like an errand boy. Shame he wouldn’t be able to take credit for it, but sometimes you have to be satisfied with having the cake, and take a pass on the eating.

He started to push himself up from his chair, but Bolton held up a hand.

‘Not so fast. The boss wants a word with you before you swan off back to the station.’ He looked up at Patchett. ‘Call him. Tell him he’s all clear to come in.’

Patchett nodded and started tapping at his phone.

Anderson sat back down with a meaty thump. ‘He’s here? Now?’

‘Five minutes away,’ said Bolton. ‘He asked me to get you round here for a chat.’

‘Chat about what?’ Anderson asked, hairs prickling on the back of his neck. He heard Patchett mumbling into his phone, but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

‘That’s for him to tell you,’ said Bolton.

‘Bit risky him being here if you are as well, don’t you think?’

‘We’re safe here. You said so yourself, didn’t you? He’s close. Far enough away to be safe, though, if there’d been any bother.’

Bolton looked over at Patchett for confirmation. Patchett nodded. ‘He’s on his way. Five minutes. Ten, tops.’

Bolton gave a smile that would have passed for a grimace on anyone else, and switched his attention back to Anderson. ‘Tell me about Detective Porter. He seems like a persistent sort.’

Anderson swallowed. He’d had his differences with Porter, sure, but he didn’t wish the guy any actual harm. If he painted too flattering a picture, Bolton might see him as someone who needed taking out of the equation. After all, what’s one more dead officer when you’re already wanted for murdering the first? Maybe that’s what Locke wanted to speak to him about? He gave Bolton a very brief summary of Porter, all the while wondering if this might be the last time he had to jump through the big man’s hoops, or if he’d find safety in retirement. Safety, maybe. Salvation? Unlikely.

NATASHA – APRIL 1983