The more she thought about it, the more clear it became that the job was at the heart of virtually all her problems. The fact that she was never around for Sophie, the conflict of interest over her past dealings with Jack Stanley, her inability to hold down any steady relationship with a member of the opposite sex, even her increasingly cynical demeanour were all the result of eighteen years on the job.

But was jacking it in really an option? What else could she possibly do? And could she really afford to give up on her generous police pension now that she was more than halfway there? Quitting would also give out the wrong signals, especially so soon after her DPS interview. And no way in hell did she want to give the likes of Anderson the idea that they had got to her.

She thought back over what Jessica Matthews had said about Anderson not being happy about working with women. A quick glance around the incident room seemed to confirm this. She was the only female DI on the team. All five Detective Sergeants were men, and of the fifteen Detective Constables only two were female. Of those, the most junior seemed to do little more than fetch Anderson’s coffee and sandwiches. Only one in eight of the Met’s CID officers was a woman, so statistically the numbers were spot on, but Collins couldn’t help thinking that things had been weighted in such a way as to ensure the officers Anderson worked with most of the time were male.

Well, that was one game Collins wasn’t prepared to play. Anderson was going to have to get used to her working on this case, whether he liked it or not. She looked over in the direction of his office and scowled. The phone on her desk started to ring and she was still scowling as she answered it.

‘DI Collins.’

‘Am I calling at a bad time? You sound a bit grumpy?’

‘Sorry, Jessica,’ said Collins, immediately recognizing the voice. ‘I was in the middle of something. What can I do for you?’

‘I hear you’re on the sidelines for this one.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘I have my sources. The thing is, I think I have something that might help you out. A heads-up to get you back in the good books. But it will mean that dinner’s on you when we meet up.’

‘You don’t have to –?

‘I want to. Anderson needs to be brought down a peg or two, and us sisters need to stick together. The way he treats some of his officers, especially the female ones, it’s not right. Some men – most men, really – need to be taught a lesson and he’s one of them. At least hear me out.’

‘I’m all ears.’

Danny Thompson was driving like a moron.

In the half an hour since he had left London he had gone through two red lights, turned left at a junction after indicating right, circled a large roundabout three times and cut across three lanes of traffic on the motorway to make a sudden exit, only to rejoin the same carriageway an instant later.

Thompson knew he was risking a ticket but there was method in his madness: it was the only way he could be one hundred per cent certain that he was not being followed by anybody.

Satisfied that he was safe, he left the M1 at Junction 6 and headed up the Old Watford Road towards Bricket Wood, parking on a side street at the edge of the common. He walked down to the end of the road, turned right and then turned right again and again, walking directly past the car he had just parked. Satisfied that no one was acting suspiciously around his car, he continued down the road and this time turned left into the entrance of the Tin Man public house.

He took off his sunglasses as he reached the entrance and peered around the room, allowing his eyes to adjust slowly to the light. In the far corner, in a booth against the back wall, he spotted a middle-aged man with glasses and a neatly trimmed full-face beard just starting to turn grey at the outer edges. Thompson got himself a pint at the bar, then strode towards the man and, without a word of introduction, sat himself down opposite him.

‘You’re late,’ said the man in a soft Scottish accent.

‘Yeah? Well, I’d rather be late and have my arse covered than get here on time and have the shit hit the fan when I get back.’

‘So how goes the big manhunt?’

‘Stanley knows there’s a leak, but there’s no way that he or anyone close to him is ever going to point the finger at me.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Trust me. I’m rock solid.’

DCI Warren Milton took a sip of his orange juice and stared at the man opposite him. Several weeks had passed since the SOCA officer had hinted to DI Collins that an operation against Stanley was under way. Today was his chance to find out if that information had indeed been passed on. ‘Good. So what have you got for me?’

Thompson sipped his pint before speaking. ‘I’m not gonna tell you … I’m not gonna name names or anything like that.’

‘No?’

‘Not right now.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Are you taping this?’

‘No, no.’

Thompson leaned forward so that he was staring directly into the eyes of the man opposite him. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I wouldn’t do that without telling you. This is all just background. Off the record. You’ve got nothing to worry about. If you’re that bothered, you can frisk me if you like.’

Thompson cocked his head to one side. ‘Nah, you’re all right.’

‘What can you tell me about the size of Mark Dennings’s operation? What sort of drugs was he dealing in?’

‘Everything.’

‘Cocaine?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Ecstasy?’

‘Heroin, blow, everything, mate. Where there was money to be made, he did it.’

‘Did he make a lot of money?’

‘Yeah, not mega-money, but he was doing all right. You have to think about this whole business like a game of chess. Everyone wants to be the king but most people just end up as pawns. Someone like Dennings, he had moved up the ranks a couple of places, but he was nowhere near the top.’

‘So who killed him? And why?’

Thompson shuffled in his seat. ‘Drawn a blank there, I’m afraid. If Stanley was directly involved, he’s keeping it pretty close to his chest. I can’t get anything out of him myself. I can’t even be sure that he was there.’

‘But you think he ordered the hit?’

Thompson shrugged. ‘Can’t be sure of that either. There were rumours that Dennings was skimming stock, but that means that anyone in the organization might have wanted to have a pop at him, just to see if he had a load of gear stashed away.’

Thompson knew he was being convincing, but the truth was somewhat different. In fact Thompson knew all about the murder of Dennings, a small-time dealer from the Blenheim Estate who had worked for Stanley. After getting greedy and skimming off a portion of the drugs that he was smuggling in, Stanley had decided to make an example of him.

Dennings had been shot twice in the head while getting out of a drug boat on the beach at Margate a few months earlier. Stanley had been there to see his own brand of justice done, but it was Danny Thompson who had pulled the trigger.

‘What about Stacey Collins?’

‘What about her?’

‘Does she help Jack out much?’

‘Does she fuck. Little prick tease. He went out with her for about a minute and a half when they were teenagers or something, and he’s been stuck on her ever since. He always reckons he gets stuff from her but the truth is it’s all one-way traffic. He gives her plenty of tips, but everything she comes back with is a load of shite. I think Jack just likes the kudos of being able to say he had a cop on his books. But I told you all this last time.’

‘I know, I just wanted to see if the situation had changed since then.’

‘He hasn’t mention her name to me. Read into that what you will.’

‘Has Jack said anything about an up-and-coming raid?’

‘What, drugs squad?’

‘No. SOCA.’

‘You lot? I didn’t think you had anything yet, otherwise why do you need me?’