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‘Guv,’ he acknowledged, his shrewd brown eyes studying Fulton as the big man dropped into a chair in the corner, mopping the perspiration from his forehead.
    Oates had been LIO for close on ten years and had become part of the antiquated furniture on the police area, earning a reputation for himself as one of the best intelligence gatherers in the force. Not that there was much about him to suggest greatness. Short and bald, with protruding ears and a permanent lugubrious expression that had earned him the nickname Gollum after the notorious creature in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings , his talents were pretty well hidden, but they were there all the same. His razor-sharp brain and photographic memory, coupled with a local knowledge that was second to none, had put many a villain away. Consequently, he was an indispensable resource to any investigating officer and Jack Fulton did not believe in wasting resources.
    ‘Long time, no speak, George,’ he said, getting his breath back at last.
    Oates nodded slowly. ‘Heard you were SIO on this one, guv,’ he said. ‘Bit off your usual manor though, aren’t you? You usually cover the northern end of the force.’
    Fulton grunted. ‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘But they ran out of SIOs down here, so they had to scrape the barrel.’
    Oates tried to affect a smile, an unusual facial contortion for him. ‘Hardly scraping the barrel where you’re concerned, guv,’ he replied, making no effort to conceal his respect for him. ‘How’s Janet?’
    Fulton threw him an old-fashioned look. ‘You must be the only one who hasn’t heard. She’s run out on me.’
    ‘I had heard; I was just asking you how she was.’
    Fulton shrugged. ‘Who knows – or cares?’ he lied and changed the subject quickly. ‘How long is it since we last worked together, George?’
    ‘The Meldrew killing – you were a DI then.’
    ‘As long ago as that. Must be all of—’
    ‘Twelve years,’ Oates finished for him. ‘I was acting DS.’
    ‘Yeah, I remember. Never made it to skipper, then?’
    Oates sighed. ‘Nope and not interested now anyway. This job’ll suit me fine until I pack it in in a couple of years’ time.’
    ‘As soon as that, is it? Doesn’t seem possible. Still fooling around with an oval ball, are you?’
    ‘Hardly. My days playing rugby ended a long time ago.’ Oates’s gaze dropped to Fulton’s ample stomach. ‘As I suspect yours have. Too old and too many injuries along the way. Just a spot of fishing now.’
    Fulton chuckled, his eyes more alive than they had been for a long time. ‘Happy days though, George, eh?’
    Oates didn’t answer, but glanced at his watch. ‘Look, is this just a social visit, guv, only…?’
    Fulton scratched his nose. ‘I need a favour, George.’
    ‘Ah, thought you might. What sort of favour?’
    ‘I need a PNC check on a car reg.’
    Oates frowned. ‘Why don’t you ask one of your own team to do it?’
    ‘Not strictly their bag, George. It’s sort of unofficial. And it might raise a few questions if I did the job myself as head of a high-profile murder inquiry. This way, it will be just another vehicle-check from your office.’
    Oates shook his head firmly and held up one hand to emphasize the point. ‘No go, guv. You should know that as well as anyone.’
    ‘It’s just a bloody car number, man.’
    Oates leaned forward in his chair. ‘Look, guv, my own boss has specifically told me not to get tied up with your inquiry, but to remember that I’m an area – not a headquarters – resource. She said I am to help where I can—’
    ‘Well, there you are then.’
    ‘But only if absolutely essential. What you’re asking me to do is well out of order anyway. It’s a breach of force regulations, using the police national computer for private purposes, and probably Data Protection as well. It could cost me my job. No thanks.’
    ‘You owe me, George,’ Fulton said bluntly.
    Oates’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’d hoped you