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valuable friend.”
      He pressed:
“But what does that mean, sir?”
      “You say you
have a yen to join the C.I.D.?”
      Charlie
nodded.
      “An officer
is moving on from the Flying Squad next year. There’ll be a vacancy for a
young, vigorous thief-taker to fill his shoes. I could have you transferred.
Would the Sweeney be of interest?”
      Butterflies:
“Very much.”
      “Before you
agree, you need to understand the consequences if you speak out.”
      “I do, sir.”
      “I need you
to be sure. You’ll be roundly hated by the rank and file. They’ll see you as a
snake––that doesn’t dissuade you?”
      “No.”
      “Good man.
In that case, you’ll be transferred to C Department with immediate effect.”
    o         
o          o
    MCCARTNEY LED HIM OUTSIDE. “You understand what
you’ll be doing at the Yard?”
      C
Division––internal discipline. Investigating complaints. Chasing crooked
colleagues. Hardly a glamorous posting, and not one likely to engender
goodwill. “I believe so.”
      “It’s
dangerous work.”
      “How so?”
      “Spiritually
dangerous. Temptation. You investigate a man who’s lost his way, he’s liable to
tempt you with whatever it is that caused his own problem: money, mostly.
Women.”
      “I’ll be
careful.”
      McCartney
ignored him. “But that’s the job, isn’t it? The police. The lads put themselves
in harm’s way every day. London’s a cesspit, Charlie, with all manner of filth
floating in it. Pederasts and perverts and degenerates––the scum of the earth.
A good copper takes precautions. What I said earlier––you were interested?”
      “Very, sir.”
      “Working on
the Sweeney will put you in temptation’s way. Chummy will offer all sorts so
you turn a blind eye––financial inducements, the pleasures of the flesh. The
Mysteries of the Craft will keep you clean. The All-Seeing Eye of the Great
Architect will watch over you. The world has turned its back on morals and
decency. Whores hawking the mutton all across Soho, homosexuals squealing in
Piccadilly Circus. This is the heart of the bloody Empire, Charlie. Christ, go
to the Windmill and you can pay pennies to see that bloody bastard van Damm’s
birds take their kit off and the Attorney General says there’s nothing he can
do about it.”
      “I’m really
very interested.”
      “That’s
settled, then. I’ll propose you at my lodge. We’ll have you sorted, no time at
all.”
      “Thank you,
sir.”
      “Excellent.”
McCartney took out his wallet and took out a pound note. “Get yourself a proper
haircut. Short, back and sides. And go to Henry Poole. Savile Row. They make my
suits. Best in London. I’ll telephone them this afternoon and let them know
you’re coming. They’ll sort you out with a proper whistle. Tell him to put it
on my account.”
      “Thank you,
sir. I don’t know what to say.”
      “Think
nothing of it, old sport. Don’t go into work this morning. We can’t have you at
Savile Row when the men find out what you’re going to do. Take a day off.”
      “Yes, sir.”
    “Report to the Yard at tomorrow.
Nine sharp. We need to start preparing your testimony.”

  10
    FRANK WENT INTO HIS OFFICE AND SHUT THE DOOR. He
picked up the telephone and had the operator connect him to the Yard. He filed
a Missing Persons report and dialled his home number.
      “Eve?”
      “No, it’s
me, darling.”
      “Have you found
her?”
      “Not yet.”
      “She wasn’t
with him?”
      “She was
there earlier. I just missed her.”
      “So where is
she now?”
      “He doesn’t
know.”
      “You believe
him?”
      “He wasn’t
lying.”
      Julia
sobbed. “We’ve lost her.”
      “Calm down,
darling. We haven’t. She’ll come back or I’ll find her. One or the other.”
      “It’s your
fault, Frank,” she cried. “If you hadn’t lost your temper this would never have
happened.”