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reaction.
    ‘Try me out on some other medicines?’ he said belligerently. ‘Who are you supposed to be treating, me or the bloody medicines? I’m the one with blood pressure, not them. And I don’t like being experimented with. I’m not some bleeding dog, you know.’
    ‘I suppose not,’ said the doctor, and had doubled the Inspector’s dose of beta-blockers but under a different trade name, added some pills to counter the effect on his fingers, and changed the name of the diuretics. Flint had gone back to his office from the chemist feeling like a walking medicine cabinet.
    A week later, he was hard put to it to say what he felt like. ‘Fucking awful is all I know,’ he told SergeantYates who’d been unwise enough to enquire. ‘I must have passed more bleeding water in the last six weeks than the Aswan Dam. And I’ve learnt one thing, this bloody town doesn’t have enough public lavatories.’
    ‘I should have thought there were enough to be going on with,’ said Yates, who’d once had the unhappy experience of being arrested by a uniformed constable while loitering in the public toilets near the cinema in plain clothes trying to apprehend a genuine loo-lounger.
    ‘Well, you can think again,’ snapped Flint. ‘I was caught short in Canton Street yesterday, and do you think I could find one? Not on your nelly. Had to use a lane between two houses and nearly got nabbed by a woman hanging her washing on the line. One of these days I’ll be done for flashing.’
    ‘Talking about flashing, we’ve had another report of a case down by the river. Tried it out on a woman of fifty this time.’
    ‘Makes a change from those Wilt bitches and Councillor Birkenshaw. Get a good look at the brute?’
    ‘She said she couldn’t see it very well because he was on the other side but she had the impression it wasn’t very big.’
    ‘It? It?’ shouted Flint. ‘I’m not interested in it. I’m talking about the bugger’s mug. How the hell do you think we’re going to identify the maniac. Have a prick parade and ask the victims to go along studying cocks? The next thing you’ll be doing is issuing identikits of penises.’
    ‘She couldn’t see his face. He was looking down.’
    ‘And peeing, I daresay. Probably on the same fucking tablets I’m doomed to. Anyway, I wouldn’t take the evidence of a fifty-year-old blasted woman. They’re all sex-mad at that age. I should know. My old woman’s practically off her rocker about it and I keep telling her that the ruddy quack’s lowered my blood pressure so much I couldn’t get the fucking thing up even if I wanted to. Know what she said?’
    ‘No,’ said Sergeant Yates, who found the subject rather distasteful, and anyway it was obvious he didn’t know what Mrs Flint had said and he didn’t want to hear. The whole notion of anyone wanting the Inspector was beyond him. ‘She had the gall to tell me to do it the other way.’
    ‘The other way?’ said Yates in spite of himself.
    ‘The old soixante-neuf. Disgusting. And probably illegal. And if anyone thinks I’m going to go down at my age, and on my ruddy missus at that, they’re clean off their fucking rockers.’
    ‘I should think they’d have to be,’ said the Sergeant almost pitifully. He’d always been relatively fond of old Flint, but there were limits. In a frantic attempt to change the topic to something less revolting, he mentioned the Head of the Drug Squad. He was just in time. The Inspector had just begun a repulsive description of Mrs Flint’s attempts to stimulate him. ‘Hodge? What’s that bloody cock-sucker want now?’ Flint bawled, still managing to combine the two subjects.
    ‘Phone-tapping facilities,’ said Yates. ‘Reckons he’s on to a heroin syndicate. And a big one.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Won’t say, not to me any road.’
    ‘What’s he want my permission for? Got to ask the Super or the Chief Constable and I don’t come into it. Or do I?’ It had dawned on Flint that