Gerry Truscott & Mickey Spillane

PC Gerry Truscott, now part of Temple's CID team and acting up as Sergeant, realised his fantasies and dreams of becoming a detective had come true. As soon as the briefing with Temple was over and he was off duty, he rushed home. He still lived in his parents' house, though he regarded himself as being quite independent. The fact that his mother still washed and ironed his clothes and prepared his breakfast and supper did not count as forms of dependence to his way of thinking.

His mother smiled when he told her what had happened. If he was pleased, then she was happy. Truscott's father worked in the local library and it was due to him that Truscott managed to get hold of a second hand copy of Mickey Spillane's 'I, the Jury'. His father had also acquired 'My Gun is Quick'. He had also just the previous week got a tattered copy of 'Vengeance is Mine' for his son who was waiting to read it with anticipation.




His mother had a large tureen of soup ready for their evening meal. She had saved up the ration book coupons and bought a chicken. They'd eaten it roasted, stewed and cold and now its carcass was the foundation of the somewhat insipid looking soup.

Still day-dreaming about his future, Truscott ate his meal quickly then rushed to his room to do two things. Firstly, to begin a detailed account of his new case and secondly, to read about Mike Hammer's way of detecting.

A new arrival at Grange Farm

Brenda had settled into the routine of life at Grange Farm. She couldn't believe that the mundane activities of helping Soppy with his work, then scurrying around the kitchen for Mrs Hannaford could absorb her time.

At night, she lay in bed and listened to the silence that seemed to lie like a blanket around the entire farm. The only sounds were those of the screech owls and the scurrying of small animals across the yard. There was the occasional lowing from the cows and, of course, the raucous crowing of the cockerel. But from humanity, there was almost nothing. Soppy played solitaire in his room with a tattered pack of cards. Mrs Hannaford knitted by the kitchen stove. Neither of them listened to the radio and there was no gramophone. Also there was little desire to chatter.

For the first time in her life, Brenda was forced onto her own resources. She had come from a talkative and noisy family. Even after the bombing, when her own family had gone, she had Ben. Lord! How he had chatted about their future together. In the first year of their marriage he had such plans, so many ideas. Listening to him, you would think the world lay at their feet and was just for the taking.

Alone in her room, Brenda relived the past. She wept for what might have been if Redbourne had not come into Ben's life. The silence and the peace to think things out had given Brenda a determination that she would survive this. Also, she would ensure that Soppy and Mrs Hannaford survived as well. She was grateful for the time spent at the farm.

They had been left in peace for almost a week. No spying visits from Redbourne, Steele or Davey. No trips to the dog races. Even the dodgy dogs were having a rest from it all. Brenda prayed it would go on like this.

Temple had left her a couple of notes at the drop. She had not shared the contents with either Soppy or Mrs Hannaford. They contained no real information, apart from telling her that Redbourne seemed to be gaining ground. But she had heard nothing from him for several days.

It was a shock to her, Soppy and Mrs Hannaford when early one morning, almost before first light, that Redbourne's car had drawn up in the yard in a shower of gravel and screeching brakes. There was shouting and tooting on the horn.

Brenda went to the kitchen window to see what was going on. Soppy received a sharp slap to his head from Steele which sent him reeling back against the wall. Without waiting, Brenda rushed out into the yard.

"What the hell did you do that for?" She heard herself shout.

"We ask the questions round here, not you!" Steele hissed at her. "If he'd come when he was called, he'd 'ave saved himself a clouting. Good lesson for you, missy! Pick up the case and take it inside. Soppy, here was meant to do it. But since you stuck your oar in, you can do it!" He kicked a large battered case towards her.

Hearing the noise, Mrs Hannaford came out. She saw Soppy's face reddened from the blow. She saw the anger in Brenda's eyes and the surly look on Steele's face. She decided to try to calm things down.

"Why don't 'e all come into the kitchen. 'Tis cold, this time in the mornin'. I've got tea made and some fresh bread."

Despite his ill humour, Steele decided some fresh farm bread and butter would do him very nicely. He turned and beckoned for Willis to get out of the car and follow them.

As soon as she spied Willis, Brenda did not like what she saw. He was cast in the same mould as Steele. The way he walked; the manner in which he sized people up; the sharp furtive glances to ascertain his surroundings, all showed what sort of a man he was.

"I've brought another guest for you, Mrs Hannaford." Steele announced after his second cup of tea. "He's to be looked after proper like! No one is to know he's here. No one. Do I make myself clear?"

"How long is 'e stayin?" Mrs Hannaford asked, innocently enough.

"As long as we please! You don't understand, do you?" Steele shouted. "We tell you when to bloody breathe; when to eat; when to keep your bloody mouths shut! You don't ask nothing! Got it?" Mrs Hannaford nodded. He stared hard at Brenda. "I said, got it? I expect an answer." Brenda bit her tongue and nodded as well.

An hour later, Willis had been shown round the farmhouse. He'd been given a bedroom at the front, so he could watch out for unwelcome visitors. Steele left after more threats to Brenda.

"I'll be back in a day or two, Pete. Things'll have settled down a bit by then." Willis had grinned and agreed that they would and that then he'd be away from this 'bloody rat hole'.

Later in the morning, while Willis was in his room, Mrs Hannaford, Soppy and Brenda met in the barn. Mrs Hannaford was agitated. "What'm us goin to do now? Us can't talk in front of 'im!"

"No. No, we can't." Brenda said. "But I can write you notes and we can meet in the barn."

Soppy was bewildered. His head still hurt from the blow he'd received and he was angry. Brenda told both of them that anger was no good in the situation they were in.

"Our time will come." She said.

Though she now began to wonder when that would be. Above all, though, she wondered what had happened so that Willis needed things to settle down. She wished she could contact Temple and Cantwell, she was sure they would know what had been going on and could help.

Truscott shows his true colours

Gerry Truscott had aspired to be a detective rather than a beat constable, for many months. He observed Temple and Cantwell at work and thought their way of policing would suit him just fine. For about a year, he had been reading Mickey Spillane novels. So far, he had devoured three of them: 'I, the Jury', 'My Gun Is Quick' and 'Vengeance Is Mine!'. Though he did not quite see himself as the Devonian version of Mike Hammer, he had strong fantasies. The one thing that Truscott did have going for him was tenacity. At age twenty-two, he was nothing if not determined.

He had a healthy respect for Temple and had done some investigating about his past history. Temple's military record alone gave him a heroic tinge in Truscott's eyes. He had also discovered as much as he could about Temple's work at Scotland Yard and that had intrigued him still more. Unlike Cantwell, who never asked too many questions, Truscott was full of queries about everything and everyone. He had immediately spotted Temple's interest in Redbourne and Dr McBride and this had led him into his own digging around their patch.

So it was with shock and disbelief that he watched as Temple sent people scurrying off to the docks. He was as sure as hell certain that it was not at the docks that the answer to Cantwell's shooting lay. However, he nearly bit his tongue off, when he heard himself telling Temple to be straight with him.

Temple had just told him to get on with what he had been assigned to do. That was something that Truscott did not intend to do. If it was good enough for Mike Hammer to go sleuthing, then it was good enough for him. He would much rather have done it with Temple's blessing and encouragement. But if he couldn't have that then ...

***************

Temple was at first furious then curious about Truscott's unexpected attitude. He had never taken much notice of him. In fact, the incident on Eager Beaver's boat was the first time he had really spoken to him. He had done a good job of observing McBride's surgery and the report was well constructed. However, when he had asked Cantwell about the boy, the opinion was that he was too keen for his own good.

Drumming his fingers on his desk, Temple considered his situation. It would be useful to have someone on the spot who he could use. He went to the door and bellowed down the corridor: "Truscott! Come back in here. Now!"

The other officers who heard the stentorian voice looked sympathetically at Truscott. The Duty Sergeant allowed himself a laugh: "Gawd, lad, sounds like you'm for the 'igh jump, don't it?" Everyone laughed.

Truscott walked down the corridor and opened Temple's office door. He was determined not to be cowed.

"Gov?"

"Truscott! Just what did you mean that I needed to be 'straight' with you? Who the hell do you think you are that I should be straight with you?" He narrowed his eyes and stared at Truscott. If the boy blanched, then he'd know he couldn't work with him or take him into his confidence.

"Gov, I meant just what I said. I know that you don't think the answer to Sergeant Cantwell's shooting is at the docks."

"I see! You're a bloody mind-reader, as well as a cheeky young sod."

"No, Gov. I've been watching you and Sergeant Cantwell and I know it's Rex Redbourne who you think is behind the trouble in Starmouth. And from what I've seen ..."

Temple sat back then banged the desk: "From what you've seen, Truscott! You're paid to see what you're told to see nothing more and nothing less!"

"That's not strictly true, Gov." He paused. "If you'll pardon me for saying so. I see what I see. And I've seen that Redbourne is a right bastard."

Temple couldn't avoid the hint of a grin cross his face. "I see. That's your studied view, is it?"

"It is, Gov."

"Well then, Truscott, you'd better join me, hadn't you? I'll ask Superintendent Baker if you can act up in Sergeant Cantwell's place - just for the time being. But one thing, Truscott, you do not discuss this with anyone else. One thing you've got to learn is that if you work with me then you answer just to me and nobody else."

Truscott grinned from ear to ear. He was almost speechless, 'Mike Hammer eat your heart out.' If he worked with Temple then whatever Temple said was alright by him.

Baker's Satisfaction

Temple found himself in a position that he was not used to. He was angry and wanted to lash out in all directions. He knew what was behind the shootings. He was sure that with the right resources he would get to the bottom of it. But he also knew he would not get those resources and that he could expect little or no help from Baker if he pursued the obvious routes. Whether Baker was totally crooked, Temple was not sure. That he was a weak and ineffectual leader was not in doubt, neither were his wife's social ambitions.

Temple made himself a strong coffee and sat in his living room looking out of the window onto the scene of the shooting. Neighbours had avoided talking to him, obviously aware of his mood. But then again, he had always appeared taciturn, particularly since his wife and daughter had left.

He sipped the drink and mused his procedure. In the War, things had seemed simple, find the bastards who were shooting at you and your men and kill or capture them. No questions asked, no answers expected. But here, questions would be asked and answers would have to be given. He did not like the odds of coming out of this unscathed. Of one thing he was grateful, he had the confidence and support of Sam Walters. The trouble was, Sam Walters was over a hundred miles away.

After several minutes during which he paced back and forth across the room, he came to a decision as to how he would act. It was totally against his instincts but then again, he knew his instincts were not perfect.

Back at the station by mid morning, Temple decided to wait for Baker to summon him. He would not take the initiative. This would wrong-foot Baker, he surmised. So, he sat at his desk and waited and waited.

In his own large well furnished office, Baker pondered why Temple had not come storming in to see him. It was so unlike the man. He had been plagued all morning by requests from the press and from headquarters. Both wanted to know what was going on. He had fobbed off the press but the Area Commisioner was another matter.

At last, Baker rang down to the Duty Sergeant and told him to ask Inspector Temple to come to his office. Baker could not see how he would be able to put it off any longer. Temple was, after all, the senior detective in Starmouth.

The two men eyed each other for what seemed to Baker an eternity.

"Sorry about Cantwell and his wife. Dreadful thing to have happened on your doorstep. Dreadful." Temple merely nodded a reply. "I think that he may have come across something at the docks. He never was very good at seeing the full picture, was he?" Temple did not respond. "What do you think, Temple? A smuggling ring, perhaps and he got too close?"

Temple knew damn well it was no smuggling ring. The idea was absurd. But, if that was how Baker wanted to play it, then that was exactly how he would play it too.

Baker waited for the full frontal attack assuring him that it was Redbourne and no smugglers who were behind it.

"I think you may be right, Sir." Temple said. "At least it's a possibility that can't be overlooked."

Baker was dumbfounded. Relief washed over him like the heat from a hot bath. He visibly glowed with surprise and the feeling of tension draining away. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he thought Temple would comply with such reasoning. Perhaps the shootings had unnerved him. But Baker was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever the cause, Temple was compliant and he would not waste the opportunity.

"Good, Temple, very good. We are both on the same track. I want you to get to the bottom of this dreadful affair. Constable Truscott will act as your sergeant, while Cantwell is on sick leave. He's already asked especially for the chance to do this." Temple nodded tacit agreement. "Of course, you'll ask me for any extra resources you need. I don't need to tell you that we must have this solved as soon as possible. Though, of course, since it's a docks issue, I expect any evidence will be long gone. Still, I know you'll do your best, Temple."

Baker stood up but advisedly did not put out his hand as Temple rose to leave. Once the door closed, Baker sat down and nodded his head in satisfaction at the way he had handled the situation. He decided he would reward himself with a lunch at the golf club. After all, he felt, he deserved it.

Temple went to the incident room. He allocated jobs to constables, sending them to the dock area; telling them to take statements; advising them of known villains; issuing photos.

Satisfied he had behaved exactly as if he thought the inception of the shootings had been at the docks, Temple edged away back to his office. Now for the real work.

He had just begun thinking about the situation when Truscott came unceremoniously into the room: "Gov, can I have a word?"

"I'm busy, Truscott, so ..."

"Gov, what are you playing at?"

Temple was shocked both by the question and that it was Truscott who had asked it. Before he could say anything, however, Truscott launched into another statement.

"I'm not quite the fool you might take me for, Gov. I think you should play straight with me."

Plans for Willis

Willis knew he had Redbourne by the short and curlies. Whether he wanted to or not, Redbourne had to take care of him, keep him out of the hands of the coppers. He knew this would not last and that once away from Starmouth, he risked becoming a victim himself. He was hot and Redbourne had the reputation for doing nasty things to hot property. Still at the moment, Redbourne had no alternative but watch out for him. He did not want to be implicated himself. He had a nice little business down here.

Redbourne waited for Baker or Bellamy to contact him. There was silence. Yet, they must have guessed that Temple was the supposed hit and not his Sergeant. He also waited for Temple himself to come knocking at the door. He didn't. At first, Redbourne worried about the situation, it puzzled him. Then, his usual sense of confidence and optimism flowed back. Perhaps after all, he was untouchable.

Grange Farm would be the ideal place for Willis for the next week or so, Redbourne reasoned. It was isolated and the three fools there were so terrified of him that they would do whatever he told them. Willis could stay in the main farmhouse with Mrs Hannaford. That way, he wouldn't see too much of Soppy Soper and the Ellacott woman, except around the farmyard..

Redbourne nodded in support of his own thoughts. "Great idea, my son," he said to himself. "You're a bloody genius, that's what you are!"

He left his sitting room and went down to the basement, where Willis had been given a small cell-like room. He threw open the door and sat himself down on a wooden chair. Willis moved away into the corner and eyed him suspiciously.

"Well, Pete, hope you're up for a bit of fresh country air."

"Why?" Willis asked, "what you got in mind?"

"I got some, how shall I put it, some dodgy dogs runnin' round in small circles down on a farm about ten miles from here. You can bloody make yourself useful while you gotta keep out of the way. I can't carry dead weight!" He laughed. "No offence, Pete old son! But you can help out with my little doggies. I got several races coming up. The very least you can do is see the two twerps I got on the farm training these doggies are doin' their jobs right. Okay?"

Willis did not like the idea at all. But he could see no other option. The thought of another stretch behind bars did not appeal. If he had to deal with these bleeding dodgy dogs, then so be it. Just for now, that is. He nodded agreement.

"Right then" Redbourne stood up. "Ted and I'll take you out there tomorrow evening. By then, the cordon round Starmouth will have been lifted. They'll reckon you're long gone. You stay down here. I'll send down food and you can use the bucket. Just like the old days in Pentonville, eh?"

Willis grimaced and was about to make a retort but Redbourne had gone, slamming the door behind him. He sat down on the rickety camp-bed and picked up the newspaper. He wondered who the people at the farm were and what they'd be like.

Vigil

Temple peered at Cantwell through the side room window. A young ward sister was checking the various tubes that seemed to be in every available vein. He watched as she wrote down some readings on Cantwell's chart. Then, pursing her lips, she headed for the door. She caught sight of Temple's anxious face and for a moment her face was transformed by a bright smile into a welcoming gesture for him to come in.

"How's he doing?" Temple rasped as quietly as he was able.

"Not too bad! In fact, quite well. He'll be very miserable when he wakes up and quite sore. He'll be pleased to see someone he knows beside his bed."

"When do you think he'll come round?"

The sister thought for some time, "Can't really be sure. But, he is a very healthy person and quite young. He'll have withstood the operation well. The problem will be the shock to his system. Also, before he was anaesthetised, he kept asking about 'Debbie'. We assume that's his wife." Temple nodded. "We'd be grateful if you didn't say too much about her condition since we really don't know how she is. Also, we don't want him to be worried by the situation."

"I'll wait here, Sister." He sighed and sat down heavily on the chair next to Cantwell's bed.

"You don't look exactly thriving yourself, if you'll forgive me for saying so." She paused. "I'll have a sandwich and a cup of tea sent here for you. Can't have you collapsing on us, can we." She smiled again and left the room.

Temple peered closely at Cantwell. He looked extraordinarily vulnerable propped up in the metal framed bed. His eyes seemed almost screwed shut in a fixed grimace. His left side was swathed in bandages; a blood transfusion tube ran down into his wrist. Temple watched the slow steady drip, drip, drip of the drops giving strength back into Cantwell's battered body.

Some time later, the door opened and the same young Sister came in carrying a tray. She drew up a small table next to Temple and placed the tray on it: "Decided to bring it myself. The rest of the ward is quiet and the duty Doctor said he didn't want Inspector Temple keeling over as well as his sergeant." He grinned. "So, you are the famous Inspector Temple." She said handing him a plate of sandwiches. "Now, you just eat all these. I don't want to find a crumb left, when I return."

Temple found, to his surprise that he was quite hungry. In fact, he hadn't stopped for lunch during the day and had been planning to go to the pub for a snack after Cantwell left. The sandwich was good, a thick slice of Devon ham and English mustard on fresh white bread. He drank the tea and sat back watching for any sign that Cantwell was coming to.

As the minutes drifted by, his mind raced around the possibilities of who had fired the shots. That they had been intended for him, he was in no doubt. That they were a direct consequence of Redbourne's dealing, he was also certain. How he could tie the two in was quite another matter. Lacking support from Baker and with no sergeant to help out, he felt at a loss to know how things could possibly work out. Of one thing he was quite sure: one way or another, he would get a result.

He must have nodded off in the chair, because when he looked up the ward and the side room were lit by the dim night lights above each bed. The nurse station was also bathed in a stream of light. Everywhere else was dark. He peered at his watch, then moved closer to the bed to catch the light from the wall.

"Gov! Gov? That you?"

Temple almost jumped out of his skin. He hadn't noticed that Cantwell's eyes were open.

"Christ, Cantwell, you gave me a shock! Sorry, old chap." He paused. "Sorry! Didn't see you had come round. It's me alright! I'm keeping watch over you." He tried to sound jocular.

Cantwell's breathing was shallow and rapid. However, he seemed fully alert. trying to sit up more comfortably, he groaned in pain.

"Hang on! I wouldn't move yet, Cantwell. Shall I call for Sister?"

"No Gov, not yet. Don't want anyone else in here. I want to know about Debbie. How is she? I know she was hit, she got it before I did. I saw her... I saw ... How is she?"

"She's in good hands, Cantwell. They're taking the very best care of her. Only the best for your Debbie."

"But how is she, Gov? Can I see her?"

Temple weighed up his words very carefully. He remembered Sister's comments before he spoke:
"She's had a small op and they're going to take some more x-rays. That's all I know. But she's a fine healthy young woman. She'll be fine, I'm sure."

The comment seemed to reassure Cantwell. He visibly relaxed and sighed deeply: "A shooting - in Starmouth of all places. Who'd have thought it?"

"Not just any old shooting, Cantwell. The shooting of a copper and his wife. You'll be famous by morning. All the national press will be clamouring to know the story."

"Was it the drugs' boys from the docks, do you think? Maybe I stumbled across something big and didn't know it!"

"Let me do the sleuthing, Cantwell. I'll get the bastard, whoever it was. You can be sure about that."

Cantwell was about to ask more when the Doctor and the Sister came into the room.

"I think you should go home and try to get some rest, Inspector," the Doctor spoke quietly but firmly. "You've been invaluable just being here when Sergeant Cantwell recovered from the anaesthetic. Now the best thing you can do is to go home and rest."

Temple was relieved in a way. He ached for a proper sleep. He nodded to Cantwell: "I'll be back later, Cantwell. Rest assured, I'll keep you posted."

On his way out he nodded to the Sister and thanked her for the tea and sandwich. Once in the chill night air, Temple took in a long deep breath. The coming day would be an uneasy one.

In the hospital - again

Temple knew his fury would prejudice any halfway decent discussion with Baker. That would have to wait. He vented his anger on Truscott instead.

"Why didn't you have the intelligence to pass on this message? Surely to God, you must have understood its importance." He waved the piece of paper in the unfortunate young man's face.

"Gov, I ..." Truscott watched in dismay as Temple brushed passed him and out into the corridor. Crossing to the window, he saw him get into one of the squad cars and drive away at speed.

Truscott felt sick. He realised he should have checked on Temple's whereabouts as soon as he took the call. He wondered whether it would have saved Cantwell and his wife from the shooting. He decided not to discuss it with anyone other than Temple himself. Though he was irascible, Cantwell had told him that he was always fair.

***************

Leaving the station, Temple headed directly for the hospital. A group of reporters was hanging around the main entrance, so he slipped along the side to the rear of the hospital. He inquired where he would find Cantwell. The nurse hesitated until he waved his identification disk in front of her. Then, she visibly brightened and gave the directions.

The same young doctor who had been looking after Brenda Ellacott was standing together with the ward sister. He turned as he heard Temple's footsteps. A look of concern crossed his face, he recalled the problems he'd had with Temple before. he decided to take the initiative.

"Inspector, I'm sure you will want to know how Sergeant Cantwell and his wife are. Come with me, please." He ushered Temple into a small office away from the ward. He glanced over his shoulder at the sister and pulled a face. If Temple noticed, he did not react but entered the office and turned to face the doctor, bracing himself for the news.

"Inspector, I'll try to give you the information I know you want. But, please understand, it's too early yet to give any precise or accurate details." Temple nodded. "Sergeant Cantwell had a bullet removed from his left shoulder. He hasn't come round from the anaesthetic yet. However, the surgeon thought that he should make a full recovery. He's lost a great deal of blood though and will need a pretty hefty transfusion."

"And Mrs Cantwell?"

"Ah, well, things are more complicated there. A bullet lodged itself in her shoulder. Also, another one passed across her forehead. We aren't yet sure of the extent of her injuries. She may need to be moved to the RD & E in Exeter. It depends on our senior surgeon. He may want a neurological opinion." Temple felt his stomach knot when he heard this. The doctor saw the impact on Temple of all the information.

"When will we know more definitely?"

"A day or two, I think. But, as with Mrs Ellacott, it's difficult to predict these things." His voice had an accusatory tone.

"When can I see my Sergeant?"

"I'm not sure ..."

"Please, doctor, I'd like to be there when he regains consciousness."

"He's in a side room. Of course, you can wait there. But, you must not agitate him in any way." He looked closely at Temple. "You understand?" Temple nodded.

Getaway Time

Baker heard the commotion outside the station some time before he saw it. Several local reporters and others whom he did not know were shouting and pushing in a melee at the entrance. One of the locals turned and spotted Baker. In an instant, the whole pack surrounded him, he felt like a trapped animal and desperately tried to maintain some semblance of composure.

Two police officers pushed their way forward and escorted him inside. The door was slammed shut, but even so the noise came through. Visibly shaken, Baker made his way to his office and sat down at his desk. Pulling himself together after a snifter from the brandy he kept in his top drawer, he asked for any reports from the road blocks on the roads leading out of Starmouth. There was nothing. The same result was true for the bus and train stations. Either the man had already escaped or he had found himself a bolt-hole. Now, with Starmouth virtually isolated from the rest of the county, there was nowhere he could go. That was what Baker fervently hoped.

***************

Willis had realised his mistake as soon as the first bullet was fired. Temple was not the man nearing the car. Temple was the man standing in the driveway. He had sprinted down the alley as if he were in a hundred yards final. Somehow, he had evaded Temple who showed as swift a turn of speed as Willis had seen from a copper. He discarded his coat, despite the evening chill, and once he was satisfied Temple had gone, he searched for a phone box. Police sirens seemed to be coming from every direction, but he kept his cool. A phone box stood on the corner of the street. A woman was talking her head off inside but he dared not rush her. Instead, he lit a cigarette and leaned as nonchalantly as possible against a wall. He made sure that she saw him, reasoning that she would finish her chatter a bit quicker if someone was standing nearby.

He waited a good five minutes before she left. Inside the box, the air was hot and smelled strongly of cheap perfume. He dialled Redbourne's office number, praying he would still be there. The phone was picked up almost immediately.

"So! I've heard all the commotion. Done it?" Redbourne sounded buoyant.

"No! It's all gone arse up!" He told Redbourne the story as succinctly as he could.

There was a long silence, once he had finished. Willis knew Redbourne was still on the line, he could hear him breathing heavily.

"Where the fuck are you?"

"In a box at the corner of Rolle Street."

"Ted'll drive down and pick you up. He'll take you straight to my place. We'll talk later. Wait in the box - Ted's just left. He'll be five minutes." The receiver slammed down. Willis glanced nervously out of the box. The street was empty save for two young women carrying shopping bags.

When the call was over, Redbourne went ballistic. Ted left the office to pick up Willis leaving Charlie Davey to get the full brunt of Redbourne's anger.

"Fuckin idiot! I'd throw him to the bloody dogs if I had my way! But we can't do that - not yet! After Ted's taken him to my place, Charlie, we'll have to keep a watch on Willis. Tomorrow, we'll move him out to Grange Farm - wait till all this bloody mess has died down. Then, maybe, we can kill two or three birds with the same stone. Surely to God, I'll get some good out of this mess." He punched the wall with his fist.

First Reactions

As soon as he entered the office, Temple saw the note propped up on his desk. Immediately he phoned Sam Walter's number. It was answered almost at once, despite the time. Before hearing the news from Sam, Temple blurted out what had just taken place.

"Why the hell didn't you ring me sooner?" Walters asked. "We could possibly have prevented this!" Temple took in a deep breath. "I wanted to warn you that one of Redbourne's old associates, Willis, remember him? Well, he's been away from Camberwell for some time. Three weeks ago, he turned up again. Guess what? He was begging for a 'clean piece'. Said he'd been paid good money for a hit job." Walters paused. "My guess was that you were the target, that's why I phoned. It wasn't your Sergeant and his wife, it was you Willis was after."

"My thoughts exactly, Sam. Christ, what a mess! Cantwell didn't deserve this. And as for his wife ..."

"Is there anything I can do to help, Jim?"

"I need to get my head round this one first. I'm still a bit shocked, I suppose and not thinking too straight. Can I let you know later?"

"You don't need to ask, Jim. You and me both want that bugger, Redbourne, behind bars. Willis may just be the man to lead us to him. By the way, when I said was there anything I could do, I did mean anything .." He replaced the receiver and the call ended.

***************

Baker was in the middle of a pre-dinner drink, at his house with three other couples, when a young constable arrived at the front door. Baker excused himself from his guests, irritated by what he thought must be a totally unnecessary interruption. He would give the chap a pasting for this. However, the young constable's face was white and he was shaking when Baker entered the study where he had been told to wait. Baker realised this was no ordinary interruption and had the sense to wait to hear the message before any bollocking. For once, he was grateful he had exercised restraint. The news devastated him. He dismissed the constable and told him he would be at the station within ten minutes.

Returning to his wife and their guests, he excused himself and told them to carry on without him. He ignored the flash of temper that crossed his wife's face.

As he drove to the station, he mused that the shooting of any officer would have been dreadful. That it had been Cantwell, as well as his wife, made it a total nightmare. The fact that it had all occurred outside Temple's flat made it horrendous.

What could he say to the Press who would undoubtedly have gathered by now. Worse still, what would he say to Temple?

Debbie

Temple had fought at Anzio and up through Italy into Germany. He had seen men die from explosions and bullets. He had been wounded twice. However, none of this had prepared him for the shock of seeing Cantwell and his wife shot down in front of him.

He caught sight of the figure fleeing down the alley and after shouting to his next door neighbour to take care of Cantwell and Debbie, he ran at speed after the man.

Willis, realising the implications of what he had done and with adrenalin flowing, ran as he had never run before. He had left a hired car at the far end of the alley but knew that Temple would be on him before he could start the engine. He raced to the end of the alley then, without considering where he was going, turned left into another street. This was wider and tree lined. He dodged between the trees then seeing a car drive out from a driveway, he slipped behind the fence - Like as not the house was empty. He edged his way along a tall thick privet hedge until he gained the shelter of a brick built garage. There he sat down on the ground re-loading the Browning.

Temple got to the end of the alley, he also turned left. The street was deserted save for a car driving slowly passed. Temple waved for it to stop. The driver halted jerkily.

"Seen anyone running down the road?"

"No, no one at all. Should I have?"

"There's been a police incident and we thought the man had come this way."

"Sorry, old chap, can't help, seen no one, like I said. Anything I can do?" Temple shook his head. He watched the car move away. He knew he had lost the man. He returned to the scene of the shooting. An ambulance had taken both Cantwell and his wife to the hospital. Two police cars, lights flashing were outside his flat, neighbours were gesturing and talking loudly. There was a general commotion.

Truscott saw him first and rushed to him: "Gov, whatever happened? What's been going on?"

Temple told him what little he'd been able to see from the doorway. He told Truscott to radio to the station the description of the man and the rough direction in which he had disappeared.

Whilst Truscott was doing this, he went over to the car. A pool of blood was on the well of the passenger seat. Pathetically, a blood-stained magazine lay on the driver's seat. A picture of a pretty young housewife proudly holding a white shirt in one hand and a box of Persil in the other was now spattered with blood drops.

Temple backed out. A sudden surge of rage came over him. He decided it was time to go to the station.

Disaster Strikes

That evening, Cantwell took Debbie in the car to Temple's flat. He reassured her that he would only take about a quarter of an hour, he had no real news to report. Then, they would drive out to the Saddler's Arms for a drink and a pasty and chips. Debbie smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Alright, Tom, you take your time. I've brought a magazine to read. It'll keep me occupied."

She watched him walk up the garden path that Temple shared with the ground floor flat. She turned to reach for the magazine lying on the back seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a tall man in a dark duffle coat standing on the opposite side of the street. She thought nothing of it. Eagerly, she turned to the latest copy of 'My Home'. She admired the woman on the front cover - hair peroxided and sleek, full red skirt and matching lipstick. She decided that the next time she went to the hairdressers, she would take a copy of the magazine and ask for her hair to be styled like this. She turned to the fashion pages and became engrossed.

True to his word, Cantwell emerged from Temple's front door after almost exactly fifteen minutes. They had very little information to exchange and Temple did not want to detain Cantwell and his wife from their evening out.

***************

Willis placed himself away from the lamp-post in case the light came on. He glanced at his watch, still some ten minutes before lighting up but in these backwoods, you could never be sure. He checked the car number plate against what Redbourne had given him. It matched with the car parked opposite him. The woman must be one of Temple's floozies, he guessed. He could not exactly recall what Temple looked like. This was his car and this was where Redbourne said he lived. Thus, the man now walking towards the car must be Temple.

Scarcely bothering to take aim because the road was narrow and the target directly in front of him, Willis fired three shots in rapid succession. The first hit its mark but he was distracted by the figure of a tall well built man appearing in the doorway of the house. The final two shots hit the side window of the passenger side of the car.

Too late, Willis realised his mistake. He heard the woman scream and he backed away into a small alley leading off the street. Then, he ran at speed to where he was not sure.

Temple later said he saw everything in slow motion. He heard the shots, saw Cantwell fall and watched as Debbie slumped forward against the dashboard.

Neighbours from all sides came running towards him. He yelled for them to call an ambulance and the police. His heart sank as he reached Cantwell's still form and he saw Debbie's head crimson with blood.

The Missed Call

Monday morning, a light drizzle settled over Starmouth. It matched Temple's mood exactly. Today, he thought, I'm not going in to the bloody station. He decided to drive up to the hill overlooking Grange Farm, see if Brenda had left any messages. At least, he might see the dogs. They were a damn sight better than catching sight of Baker. As he drove out of town the mists cleared and Woodbury Common was bathed in sunshine. He took this as an omen that he had done the right thing.

At midday, PC Truscott heard Temple's phone ringing. The Desk Sergeant told him to answer it. It was Sam Walters from the Yard. Truscott grew increasingly flustered as he searched for a pen and something to write on. He scribbled the message and replaced the receiver. He was unsure what to do next. It sounded important and he wasn't sure where Temple was. He propped the note on a pile of files on Temple's desk and hoped he'd see him later in the day.

As later events unfurled, Truscott wished he'd had the sense to find out exactly where Temple was. But he didn't and the consequences were to prove disastrous.

**************

Pete Willis had returned to Exeter late on the Sunday evening. The Browning was carefully concealed in the false base of his attache case. Arriving back at his flat, he called Redbourne to check, one final time, Temple's address and his car number.

It was agreed that Monday evening would be the ideal time for the hit. Redbourne barely concealed his impatience. Willis' parting words to him were:

"Easy does it, Rex. Better to get everything in order. Neither of us wants any slip-ups, do we?"

"Never have been yet, Pete. So I don't expect any now."

As he put down the phone, Redbourne sighed with relief. At last he could tell Bellamy, WingCo and the others that their biggest obstacle had been removed. Then, he could get back to his dodgy dogs.

***************

Countdown

As he surmised, Temple was not given a replacement for Cantwell. Dutifully, however, Cantwell phoned in most evenings to discuss the day's events.

Temple decided to take the bull by the horns and make himself as conspicuous as he could. Twice in the first week he lunched at The Blandford, taking his time to saunter to the lounge and read the newspapers. WingCo and his wife made their irritation apparent.

On a regular basis, Temple walked passed McBride's surgery making sure he coincided with McBride's sorties out on patient home visits. Their eyes met and Temple always nodded.

He observed when Redbourne and his henchmen left the Turf Accountant office and called in. Each time, Tracey became acutely flustered, just as he had intended.

***************

Willis returned to London, to Camberwell to be precise. He'd been told where he would find a 'clean' handgun. Several times in the last two years he had used guns and he knew that each barrel left a distinct set of striations along the bullets fired. This time, he wanted to make sure there would be no trail leading to him or any of his associates.

The gun he collected was a •25 Browning. It was light and small and fitted easily into his pocket. Since he'd not used one before, he spent time at the boxing gym in East Street. At the back, there was a small gun range. In the old days, it had proved useful. Although the local police knew of its existence, it was seldom raided.

When he felt ready, Willis phoned Redbourne. He was surprised by the response.

"Pete! For God's sake, you're taking your bloody time! Temple's causing us grief by the hour. What the hell 'ave you been doin'?"

Willis laughed, "Rex, calm down! You wouldn't want me to cock it up, would you? I got the piece now and it works fine. I'll be back amongst the yokels by the end of the week."

"You better had! Remember, Pete, this is a nice little earner for you."

**************

The sailors and fishermen at Starmouth harbour became accustomed to Cantwell arriving at the dockside mid morning and parking his car. Then, he mooched about looking for something to do. He looked at the boats, both large and small, as they came into harbour or left it. He watched the cargo being unloaded and then put into lorries. He did this for an hour then went to the small cafe and had a coffee and sticky bun. Out again for another walk round, a chat to some of the men, a peer into the crates then off for lunch.

As far as he could tell, there was nothing really untoward going on: least ways, no big scale smuggling, as Baker had suggested. The odd box of wine and cigarettes did pass through - but that was only to be expected. He turned a blind eye to it. The main traffic was timber and cement, hardly heroin or cocaine.

He was bored. Debbie, however, was delighted with the change. For the first time in years, he was home on time. She could make arrangements for them both to go to the flicks and know he would be there. Also, they had the perk of the car, even when he was off duty. A perk that Baker had given him, quite unexpectedly.

As far as Debbie was concerned, life without Temple was one big improvement.

Baker gets tough

The morning after Temple's summons to Baker's office, Cantwell received a similar call. He sat at his desk pondering what he could have done wrong. In his opinion, Baker would only ever want to speak to him to issue a reprimand. Despite all Temple's efforts, Tom Cantwell still maintained a poor view of himself. So it was with a degree of anxiety that he walked down the corridor to Baker's imposing door.

Baker waited to hear the knock. He allowed a full half minute to elapse before shouting "Enter." Cantwell, head down and face flushed, walked into the room and stood to attention in front of the desk.

Despite the urgency of the need to remove Cantwell from Temple's sphere of influence, Baker wanted to observe protocol and to avoid giving a seemingly arbitrary order. He eyed Cantwell for a few moments before gesturing for him to sit down. He immediately recognised that Cantwell was anxious. This would be a pushover, compared with the debacle with Temple.

"Sergeant Cantwell, thank you for coming so promptly." Baker cleared his throat and appeared to shuffle some papers. "I have had some good reports about your work."

Contrary to appearances, Cantwell was not gullible. When he heard what Baker said he was suspicious. He knew that Temple hadn't written anything about him. He had always shown him any reports and there hadn't been any for some time. He surmised that Baker was up to something. But what?

"You've worked with Inspector Temple for a considerable period of time now." Baker picked up his fountain pen and twiddled it nervously. "I think it's time for you to gain more experience by working on your own. This will develop your initiative and prepare you for promotion." He paused to see what effect this had on Cantwell. If he expected a sign of pleasure, he was disappointed. There was a look of dismay on Cantwell's face. Nothing daunted, Baker continued. "We've had reports of contraband coming into the port. Same thing is happening at Teignmouth. I want you to keep an eye on things down at the docks for a month or so. Then, I'll review the situation."

Cantwell was taken aback. True he would quite fancy a stint down at the docks. Nice easy life - plenty of off-duty. However, he and Temple had developed some sort of rapport. He had learned a lot from him. More importantly, he felt secure when he was working with him. He pondered how he should play the next move.

"We're in the middle of a difficult investigation, sir, and ..."

"I'll see Inspector Temple gets all the help he needs." He held up his hand to avoid being interrupted. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Sergeant. I'll be sending out your new rota later today. Good morning."

Cantwell sat still. Baker had uncapped his pen and was scribbling something down. He looked up fiercely and gestured for Cantwell to leave.

Walking back to their office, Cantwell dreaded breaking the news to Temple.

"I'm sorry, Gov, I didn't know how to deal with him. What should I have said?"

"Not much you could have. Let's go for a short walk shall we?"

Once outside the station, Temple felt more free to say exactly what he felt. "This is a ploy to stymie the Redbourne investigation. Baker's been got at." He saw Cantwell's agitation. "Look, this might just play right into our hands, after all. I'll keep you informed about what's going on. Let's meet at The Beacon Inn every Tuesday evening at about 8 o'clock. None of the other coppers go there. We won't be seen - anyway, why shouldn't we have a pint together. No law against it! You use our car, it's been seen around too much near Grange Farm. I'll get another one."

Cantwell looked disappointed. He had hoped Temple would have kicked up a bit more about his removal.

"I'm going to miss having your opinion on things. Still - this might just be useful to us." Temple mused.

Like a dog that's just been told he's a 'good boy', Cantwell instantly brightened. So he was going to be missed, after all. "Any betting I'll find Steele and Davey around the docks. They're sure to be mixed up with some old fashioned smuggling, as well as dodgy dogs!"

Maybe things weren't quite so bleak. He'd have a lot to tell Debbie when he got home.

Pete Willis

The rush hour cars were easing through the Exeter streets, as Redbourne parked just off the Cathedral Square. A group of French tourists thronged the pavement outside the Royal Clarence. Piles of plush luggage was piled up around them as they scanned the road for their coach. Redbourne elbowed his way through their midst and Steele pointedly gave a kick to a large purple suitcase that toppled onto its side. A small vocal Frenchman protested but was ignored.

Once inside the foyer, they made their way to the bar. Pete Willis was already there sitting on a bar stool and drinking a large whisky. Despite being smartly dressed in a dark grey suit, the man had something of the spiv about him and he looked as though he'd be more at home in the East Street market than at this rather exclusive hotel in Exeter. Willis was a heavily built man with closely cropped black hair and rather protuberant grey eyes. His complexion was sallow but his overall physique indicated he would be no pushover in a fight.

On seeing Redbourne and Steele, he grinned. "Well, well. Just like the old days! Could be back at the Fox on Denmark Hill, eh? Remember the last time we was there?"

Redbourne clapped him on the back and nodded towards a table in the corner, away from the bar and the listening ears of the barman. "Ted, get us all a whisky and soda." He handed him the cash and headed for the table.

"So, Rex, what's the problem? I'm surprised you need any help from me!"

"Remember that copper - Temple? The one who was a right pain in the arse for all of us?"

"Sure I remember him. He got my brother sent down, the bastard. Always looked as though he was still on parade in the army. Don't tell me 'e's down here."

"The bugger's not only here - he's getting right up my nose!"

Steele returned with the drinks and a bowl of crisps. "Compliments of the house, I was told." He handed out the glasses and sat opposite Willis.

"So," Willis asked, "you two been up to no good. Must've been otherwise Temple wouldn't be giving you grief."

"We're doing alright, Pete." Steele said. "Least ways, we was till Temple stuck his nose in." Redbourne nudged Steele to keep his voice down.

"So," Willis leaned closer, "Temple been sticking his nose in where it ain't wanted? Spoiling your little games, eh?"

"He has and it's time we put a stop to him for once and all." Redbourne spoke purposefully.

"You saying, what I think you're saying?" Willis asked. For response, Redbourne nodded. "Like ... finish him off?"

Steele sat forward and looked at Redbourne, "If there's any finishing off, that's my job, Boss."

"Don't be bloody daft. You're too well known in these parts. You'd be an obvious suspect. No, we need Pete here. No one in the sticks would tie us in. You, me and Davey need to be well out of the way with good solid alibis. Use your bloody head for once in your life!" Steele sat back and pondered what he'd heard.

"Willis leaned forward again, "How and when do you want it done?"

"The 'how' is up to you. You've handled this type of thing before. You'll be well paid. As to when, as soon as you like. The sooner the better."

"Since this would be a hanging matter being a copper an all - it'll damn well need to be worth it."

"You'll get £1000 up front now. Then £3000 after the job's done. How does that sound?"

"'Bout right."

"I'll ring you tomorrow and give you details of where he lives and the number of the car he drives. Then it's up to you." He pulled a small parcel out of his pocket and handed it to Willis. "There - £1000 in used notes. When you tip me the wink it's done, Ted'll bring the rest. Okay?"

Willis tried to stuff the packet into his pocket but it was too thick, so he self-consciously put it under his arm before standing up. "As ever, Rex, it's a pleasure to do business with you." He left the bar and Redbourne watched as he went out into the Cathedral Square.

Steele sat sullenly watching Willis, before turning to Redbourne. "All that bloody money. I'd have done it for half that! Is it worth it?"

Redbourne drank his whisky. "Listen, Ted, you, me and Charlie will make ten times that once Temple is off our backs. 'Course it's bloody worth it."

Things get dodgier!

"Stuart!" Redbourne was surprised to see McBride, "Come into the office. Good to see you. How's things?"

McBride glanced round the room, there was no sign of Steele or Davey. "Things are not so good actually, Rex. That's why I've come. We need a chat to see what's to be done."

Redbourne indicated for him to sit, while he opened the drinks cabinet. "What'll it be?"

"Nothing or maybe..." he paused and looked at the array of bottles. "I'll have a small G and T, Rex."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Bellamy tells me that Baker can't handle Temple and his sergeant. It seems Temple used to work for Scotland Yard and ..."

"Yeah! I know he did. I came across him in London myself." McBride looked worried. "No need to panic, Stuart, he's got nothing on me. He's a real hot head. Jumps to conclusions and rushes in feet first. Leave things to me. If Baker can't sort it, I'll sort it."

"How do you mean 'sort it'?"

"Like I said, leave it to me." He took a long swig of whisky. "What you don't know, can't hurt. Can it now?" He grinned reassuringly.

McBride considered things for a while. He wanted to say, 'no rough stuff', then thought better of it. If he really didn't know, then he couldn't be implicated. So, he reasoned, if Redbourne wanted a free hand, let him. He leaned forward twiddling the cut-glass tumbler watching the play of light on its edges. "I'm sure you know about these things better than I do. I'll leave it to you." He got up to leave. "By the way, how's Charlie doing?"

"Better, thanks to your ministrations! He's still on the painkillers you gave him. He'll be better when the stitches are out."

"I'll do that next week. I'll be in touch." As he reached the door, he turned, "I've had to put out a feeler with a Plymouth pharmacist to get our supplies. You'll have to hang on but it shouldn't be too long."

"Damn well better not! We're almost out of drinomyl. There's several good meetings coming up and I want to be sure of two of the dogs!"

Redbourne sat pondering the situation, after McBride had left. He picked up the phone and dialled. It was picked up almost immediately. "Pete! It's Rex, Rex Redbourne. Yes ... fine ... Listen, I need a favour. Any chance we could meet up tonight? I'll come up to Exeter." He listened carefully to the reply. "Right ... What time?" he looked at his watch nodding to himself. "I'll be in the George and Dragon at half eight. Okay?"

As he replaced the receiver, Ted Steele entered the office looking glum. "Charlie's resting. Still got a headache, so he says." He sat down.

"Don't make yourself too comfortable, Ted. We're off to meet Pete Willis near Exeter."

"Thought he was still up in London."

"Came down to these parts about a month ago. Needed things to cool down a bit. I'll tell you about it on the way. You can drive." He threw him the car keys.

The horns of a dilemma

Shortly after Temple had left his office, Baker's phone rang. He stared at it before answering. It was Bellamy. Baker froze, it was as if Bellamy had spies in the station noting who visited his office. Maybe he was being paranoid, he thought. "What a pleasant surprise." He forced himself to say. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. I hope I'm in for a pleasant response from you, Clive." He paused. "Have you talked to Temple and sorted things out?"

"I hope so I ..."

"Hope, isn't quite good enough. Either you have or you haven't. Which is it?" Bellamy's tone of voice was distinctly unfriendly.

"Well, he's a very determined man and ..."

"So, I take you have not sorted it out. I'm very disappointed in you, Clive. It'll be nothing to the disappointment felt by the Jacksons, Dr McBride and Rex Redbourne though!" He heard Baker's intake of breath down the receiver. "You'll have to monitor every step he takes. Red tape him, for God's sake. You are the boss, after all. I'll be in touch again." He slammed down the phone.

"Damn! Damn!" Baker said to himself. He was on a loser whichever way he turned. He knew Temple's type and knew he would not be deterred from his objectives. He also knew that Bellamy had his reasons for wanting anything to do with Redbourne quashed. He held his head in his hands and wished retirement was an option for him.

As soon as the conversation with Baker ended, Bellamy rang WingCo at the Blandford and put him into the picture. WingCo digested all that he heard and pulled a face at Judy who was sitting in the office with him. After the brief call, WingCo shook his head. "We'll have to bring McBride in on this, Judy. Unfortunately, we're in this too deep to get out easily. Besides which, we haven't yet made enough money to just up sticks and run for it." He sat back in his swivel chair. "Anyway, why should we get out of it? It's a nice little earner. No flat-footed copper is going to ruin things for us."

"I've got to call in at McBride's surgery, later today. I'll talk things over with him. Between us, I'm sure we can sort things out." Judy tried to reassure her husband. She glanced at the clock. "I think I'll go now, in fact. Afternoon surgery will be ending and he will fit me in at the end, I'm sure."

The receptionist told Dr McBride that Mrs Jackson was waiting. He wondered why she had come and decided it was not just for her health. He left her till last, telling the receptionist to go home, since he could deal with matters.

"More sodium amytal?" he asked Judy.

"Yes, please. But that's not why I've come. I'll be more doped than those bloody dodgy dogs of Redbourne's, at this rate!" She looked closely at McBride. "Which brings me to the real reason I'm here. Bellamy tried to fix things about that Inspector Temple, you know what I mean?" McBride nodded. "Well, it seems he's not fixable! In fact, the more he's warned off, the more he wants to dig into out business! We don't want him and his sidekick snooping round the Blandford anymore."

"And I don't want him monitoring who comes in and out of this surgery." McBride added glancing out of the window. "There's no one there at the moment, so don't look so worried! But when Davey was brought here, the other night, a uniformed copper was standing watching everything that was going on."

"Something's going to have to be done, Stuart, we're all in this too deep and there's more to be made, anyway!"

"I'll have a chat with Rex. He'll know how to deal with the likes of Temple. He's had plenty of practice." He wrote out a prescription for Judy. "Here, try to get some sleep with these. You look tired, Judy."

"Look tired! I bloody feel tired! Having those policemen wandering round has given me nightmares."

After she had gone, McBride drove round to Redbourne's place. Tracey was just leaving, as he walked in. She looked flustered, unsure whether to stay or leave.

"You just go off home, Tracey. Rex and I have some things to discuss. It won't take long though." She smiled gratefully and clattered across the room in her high heels, closing the door behind her.

One step forward two steps ...

The inn was a fug of cigarette smoke and Temple coughed as it caught the back of his throat. He saw the same small group of old locals sitting in what they saw as their corner of the bar. This time, instead of the silence that had met their last entry, a murmur of greetings was given to Cantwell.

Temple and Cantwell chose a corner table, after they had ordered. Cantwell sipped his bitter with relish.
"You should have a chat with the old boys, buy them a round of drinks. They might have something interesting to say." He held his hand up to stop Cantwell from interrupting."Don't worry, it'll come out of expenses."

Two large plates of steaming pasties and chips were placed in front of them by a young blonde haired girl. Temple began eating slowly, savouring each mouthful of pastry, potato, meat and carrots. It was delicious, even he could appreciate that. Cantwell, not bothering to test the flavours, demolished his meal, scattering crumbs everywhere. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and thought that he wouldn't mind another.

"Go over and get yourself another pint and some crisps. It's obvious you're still hungry. Then go and offer the old blokes their drinks."

Cantwell didn't need to be told twice and Temple watched as the old men's faces lit up when they were offered the drinks. They readily made room for him to sit with them.

"So you'm back again!" The spokesman for the group said to Cantwell.

"Yeah, why not? 'tis a nice place. Anything interestin' goin' on since we was last 'ere?" He slipped into the Devon burr so that they would feel more at home with him.

"Oh! Plenty! Plenty! Tell 'im, Bob. Tell 'im what 'e saw t'other night." The one called Bob, whose face was as brown and wrinkled as a walnut, just nodded. He said nothing. "Go on, Bob, tell 'im."

Bob eventually cleared his throat, took a long swig of cider, then peered closely at Cantwell. "Well 'twas like this, lad. I were goin' up lane near Dimity's place. It were real dark like and I sees a car nose right up the bank, like. There was some young woman stroking one of them skinny dogs. The other dogs was barkin' their 'eads off." He looked at the group around him to make sure they were all listening. "Then round the corner comes this great big jalopy! Then another old van. Them two stopped and a fancy bloke wearin' a suit like a bloody clown's got out. There was some shoutin' and yellin', I can tell 'e!" He paused again to satisy himself they were all paying him due attention. "Then Soppy gets out and 'elps the girl with the dog. Two other blokes lift a man out of the front of the car up the bank. They puts 'im into the van. Then off they goes leavin' Soppy and the girl. Then, I tell 'e, this girl she drives the motor 'erself. She gets it off the bank and then drives it down the lane."

Cantwell listened carefully, nodding appreciatively where appropriate. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Temple was eavesdropping. As soon as the story was finished, there was a general hubbub from the group Cantwell thanked Bob for the story and said he would go and tell it to his friend.

Once back in the car, Temple was quiet for sometime. "Somehow, I don't think that Mrs Ellacott is telling us everything that's been going on and I wonder why that is. Certainly she's a woman of many talents. Quite a woman, in fact."

Cantwell grinned. "You've said that before, Gov."

"What have I said?"

"That she's quite a woman!" He thought better of elaborating on the point.

"I'll drop you back home, Cantwell, then I'm going into the station. I'll phone you later, if there's anything I need to tell you."

Most of the cars were out of the car pound when Temple arrived. He noticed, however, that Baker was still there and hoped he would not bump into him. The hope was forlorn because no sooner was he inside the entrance, than the sergeant on duty called out to him to tell him to go to Baker's office.

Baker had spotted Temple's arrival and rang the desk sergeant immediately. After he had put the phone down, he wondered exactly how he was going to handle Temple. He would have to be firm but subtle and he prided himself that being subtle was one of his fortes. He knew that Temple did not 'do' firmness from others neither did he appreciate flannel. So, Baker concluded, he would have to go straight to the point, no beating about the bush. As for Cantwell, he would do what he was told, maybe he would need to be allocated new duties. No, he was not the problem. It was Temple who needed careful handling.

As it turned out, the meeting was short, sharp and very much to the point. Baker barely began stating his request for Temple to cease harassing important members of the community, when Temple came right up to his desk and faced him in what Baker termed a menacing pose.

"Sir, before you continue, I think you should know that I have been in touch with former colleagues in Scotland Yard. They have informed me that, at least, three of the people Cantwell and I are investigating, have been involved in serious crimes in the London area. There are a number of investigations concerning them that are still pending. So, sir, I cannot see, in all conscience that we can call off our own work."

Baker visibly paled, "You did not ask my permission before involving another force, Inspector. I .."

"Before you go any further, sir, with all due respect, the Yard would greatly appreciate our co-operation. I don't think they would understand it if we suddenly back off."

Baker chewed at his left knuckle wishing he had never agreed to take Temple. Damn it all, he thought, he has out-manoeuvred me again.

"Well, sir, what do you think? Do I inform them that we are still actively pursuing our lines of investigation?"

Baker remained silent. The prospect of even an OBE were diminishing by the second. He could certainly kiss a knighthood goodbye. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright, Temple, go ahead but keep me fully briefed. For God's sake try to keep out of Councillor Bellamy's hair. He's got enough clout to get us all demoted."

"Sir!" Temple stood to attention, without agreeing to anything. Returning to his office, he decided to keep the details of the encounter to himself. What Cantwell did not know, he would not grieve over.

Another Meeting in the Village

The day of the pre-arranged meeting with Brenda Ellacott arrived. Temple and Cantwell drove to the village green early, positioning the car so that they had a clear view of the various streets that converged there. Cantwell observed several locals going into the pub for their lunchtime drink and snack. His own stomach began rumbling actively and loudly. He shuffled on the seat, trying to disguise the cause of the noises from Temple's acute ears. Temple smiled knowing full well that Cantwell's weakness for food was a major driving force in his life.

"We'll have a pint and a pasty, as soon as we've seen Mrs Ellacott. There's no need to fret, Cantwell, so long as she's on time. She usually is reliable."

A few yards further along the High Street, Brenda Ellacott was, in fact, going into Mrs Tyler's shop to buy the twill trousers and sturdy shoes that Mrs Hannaford had recommended. She also bought a grey windcheater to keep out the gusty rain that so often swept the pasture. As she emerged, clutching her shopping bags, she caught sight of Temple's car. Not giving any sign of recognition, she sauntered past and then into the post office and general store. She knew they would have been keeping an eye open for her to appear. She reached into her pocket for the note that she and Mrs Hannaford had concocted together earlier in the morning. She intended to hand it to Temple or Cantwell and say as little as possible to either of them. She felt rather guilty that she was being duplicitous and knew that if she talked to them she was quite capable of giving the game away. Taking the note in her hand, she stood looking at a shelf sporting rows of tinned spaghetti and baked beans. Temple entered the store and indicated that she should join him.

"I can't be long," she said as she stood next to him, "I've written everything you need to know in a note. I won't be back in Starmouth for quite some time. Redbourne intends to keep me at the farm."

"Everything alright?" His voice expressed concern. "You're safe, are you?" She merely nodded, carefully putting the note into his hand then immediately moving away further down the shelves. She stopped to pick up a notepad then, after paying for it, left the store.

Cantwell, sitting observing the comings and goings in the village, saw her leave the store. He watched her head out of the village in the direction of Grange Farm. She had quite a spring in her step, he thought.

Temple lingered a bit longer, bought a copy of the Daily Express, then returned to the car.

"So, what did she have to say, Gov? Couldn't have been much, you were hardly there two minutes before she left."

"Your observations are correct, Cantwell. She said very little. However, she says she's written everything down in this note." He waved the paper in front of Cantwell. "I don't think she was being completely frank with me though. I noticed she had some severe bruising to her face and she seemed rather nervous, not her usual self." He handed the note to Cantwell. "You read it for us both."

Cantwell unfolded the paper and glanced at it for a few seconds before reading it aloud.

"I've been here for over a week now, it seems like forever! Redbourne insists that I stay here until more of the work is done. Then I can go home to collect some of my things.

I had a bit of a run in with the man called Charlie Davey, one of Redbourne's henchmen. He's a rather rough and vicious man. He's managed to upset all of us at the farm. Mrs Hannaford, the former tenant farmer's widow, tells me that Redbourne, Steele and Davey know more than they've told you about Ben's death. In fact, she thought that Davey and Steele were there when Ben died.

There are various things going on with the 'dodgy' dogs. Redbourne has big plans for several meetings coming up in the next month or so. What he's up to is going to be difficult to prove, without involving Soppy Soper. That would NOT (in heavy capital letters) be right and I would have nothing more to do with this should you try to do so! You will have to be patient and think up alternative ways of getting proof. Have you considered finding a police-friendly vet? This might prove difficult, Mrs Hannaford says that most of the local vets are being paid to turn a blind eye to all sorts of illegal activities.

Mrs Hannaford also told me that several of the so-called County set know Redbourne more than passing well. They wouldn't want to see him go under since it might affect their pockets!

I'll leave another note at the 'drop' on Wednesday or Thursday. However, it looks as though I'm in this for the long haul.

Best wishes
Benda Ellacott."

Cantwell stared at the paper, "That's it, Gov, not much hard information, is there?"

"Maybe, maybe not. This Hannaford woman sounds useful though. Also the County set keep cropping up, don't they? Bloody hell, Cantwell, are we still living in Feudal England? We'll have to tie Redbourne into Eager's and Ellacott's deaths. Not even the County set will want to know him then - stuffed pockets or not!" He glanced at his watch. "Come on, time for your lunch. Your stomach rumblings are getting deafening."

Plans are laid

Once Redbourne, Steele and Davey had left the kitchen, silence fell on Brenda, Soppy and Mrs Hannaford. They heard the Daimler's powerful engine roar into life and then throb its way across the farmyard. No one spoke. They did not even look at each other.

It was only after a few minutes that Brenda's spirit crumpled. She began to sob quietly, tears falling down her flushed cheeks. Soppy became flustered, he had no idea what to say or do. He disliked too much emotion and found it difficult to cope with it. He was still trembling from Redbourne's onslaught and the sight of Brenda's reaction was almost too much for him. Realising the fragility of the situation, it was Mrs Hannaford who pulled herself together first. She patted Brenda on the back.

"There! There, my dear! You'm a brave and good girl! I'm sorry I doubted 'e. The way 'e stood up for 'arry, fair took my breath away." She paused and turned to Soppy. " Fetch the brandy from the cupboard over there, 'arry. Bring three cups."

A large bottle of Courvoisier stood on the top shelf, half hidden behind a row of Toby jugs. Soppy pushed the jugs to one side and reached for the bottle. He looked at it for a second, then brought it to Mrs Hannaford. "I've 'ad this stuff since my Brian's funeral." She said. "Don't like the stuff nor does 'arry. But, I think us all needs a bit right now." She poured out a measure for each of them.

Brenda winced as the liquid burned its way down her throat. Soppy choked and spluttered and grimaced, then chuckled.

"Now then," Mrs Hannaford said. "Us can't go on like this." She paused. "But, at the same time, us can't not go on like this, if you sees what I mean."-

Brenda nodded wistfully, "I know exactly what you mean. I thought I was so clever. I thought I'd get my own back on Redbourne." She paused, then looked directly into Mrs Hannaford's face, "I need to come straight with you both."

Mrs Hannaford instantly stiffened and glanced at Soppy who was still in a state of bewilderment. "So, you'm been spyin' on us, after all!"

"No, not in the way you mean. But, in a way, yes!" She told them everything that had taken place since Temple and Cantwell had first been to see her. She explained that they had been kind to her; she told them about the arrangements that they'd come to in Tinleys in Exeter. Finally, she told them about the drop. Mrs Hannaford took it all in her stride, nodding to herself every now and again. Soppy heard but did not seem to be able to take it all in.

"Well, Brenda, seems to me that your police contacts could prove useful to us, if and when us needs them. Now, let me tell you a thing or two as well, while we're in this confiding mood. She cleared her throat. "Mind you, Brenda, this is just between us three. T'ain't for the police, you'm understand?"

Brenda sat back and sipped at the brandy wondering what on earth she would hear and hoping it was something she could keep from Temple.

"Some months ago, 'arry and me got talking. Us could see things could go real bad for us. I decided to try and see if there was something us could do to 'elp ourselves. I got a little money put by." She leaned closer to Brenda. "So me and 'arry started to put bets on them
dogs that 'arry thought was goin' to do well." Soppy's pale face flushed with pleasure. "So far, we done alright. More than alright. We'm doubled my savings."

Brenda grinned, "What a good idea. If Harry is forced to make some of the dogs dodgy, and I know he doesn't like doing it, then it's only fair you should both see yourselves right." She thought for a moment, "I've got some savings, not much mind. But I'd be pleased to go in with you, if you'd have me, that is."

"What about your police pals?" Mrs Hannaford asked.

"They're pals just so long as they need me. But, like as with Redbourne, once they've used you up, they'll throw you away. I'm a useful tool at the moment - nothing more. They won't help me or you when this is all over."

"You'm right, my dear. You got to take care of Number One. No one else will do that."

"There's just one snag," Brenda said, "I can't get hold of my money unless I can get to a Post Office. I've got a savings account there."

"We got a little Post Office in the village. We can cover for you if Redbourne or one of 'is men comes unexpected like. We need to bet on the next few meetings."

"I knows who's goin' to do well, " Soppy said, "but I ain't always right!"

"We got nothin' to lose, 'arry." Mrs Hannaford said. "And we got lots to gain. Redbourne is sure to get caught out, then we'll be turfed out of Grange Farm."

"Well," Brenda said,"I'll just have to make sure I spin out a long story to Temple. The longer the three of us can make a bit on the side, the better for us!" The brandy was beginning to have its effect, she felt her confidence beginning to rise by the minute. "Tell you what, I need to get another notebook just for us. I'll keep records of our winnings and work out which bookies give the best odds. We'll make more that way."

"Enough to get a smallholding?" Mrs Hannaford asked.

"Maybe - especially if we pooled the money. Let's just wait and see, shall we?"

Camouflaging the 'dodgy' dogs

As soon as Brenda left, Redbourne joked about her to Steele and Davey. It was as if Soppy and Mrs Hannaford no longer existed. Davey was still smarting from the Saturday night episode, he blamed Brenda for the fact he had stitches to his head.

"She's a stupid cow", Davey said, "if she hadn't acted so bloody daft, I'd not have crashed. Let's get rid of her, like we did her old man."

"Didn't exactly 'get rid' of him, did we, Charlie? He plum threw himself into the bloody river!" Steele laughed. "He saw us coming and thought drowning was a damn sight better than a knife in his guts!" He laughed again.

"Now then, boys, we can deal with little Brenda in good time. Right now, she's useful! Can't afford too many accidents in close colleagues, can we? Besides which, the beating she got in her flat will have taken any fight out of her. She fair came crawling to me for help, she did. Can't disappoint her, leastwise not just yet."

Mrs Hannaford glanced at Soppy, shaking her head imperceptibly to tell him to keep quiet and well in the shadows. No point in drawing attention to themselves.

Brenda returned with the notebooks and looked at Redbourne: "Give it here." He demanded. For several minutes, he examined them closely. Then, he rubbed his chin: "Right then! Fairweather Friend seems to have been doing alright. We'll rest him for the next couple of meetings. One of the brindles," he glanced at the notes, "Master Craftsman, he's no bloody good. So, Soppy, come here!" Soppy edged forward. "This is what you do. I'll get some black dye. You dye the brindle jet black. You done that before, ain't you?" Soppy nodded. "This time, I want the dog as black as Fairweather. Put a dab of peroxide on one foot - to match Fairweather. Then, we'll run him at Plymouth on Saturday. He'll come in near last, if not last."

"Got it, Soppy?" Steele asked.

"What I ..." Soppy began.

"Just do what you're told, Soppy. You don't need to know nothing. Just do as you're bloody told." Steele looked menacingly at Soppy.

"Now then" Redbourne began. "We have Midnight Boy. Another black dog, shows promise. I've got a little something here," he reached into his pocket and took out a small brown medicine bottle. "Just one of these little purple beauties, mixed in with Midnight's snack just after you arrive at the track, that will do nicely." He laughed. "By the time he races, he'll be right on his toes."

"I dunno..." Soppy began.

"You dunno" Steele mimicked. "You dunno! You don't know nothin'. That's why we call you 'Soppy'." He grabbed hold of Soppy by his shirt. "You don't need to know, Sunshine, you just do what you're bloody told."

"Leave him alone, you bastard!" Brenda heard herself say. "He loves the dogs, that's all! I'll take care of it, just leave Harry alone!"

Redbourne looked at her in surprise, "My my! Quite the little firebrand, aren't we! Touching, isn't it? So attached to our Soppy." He grinned. "Alright, darlin', you just make damn sure you do what I said, or else... or else your pretty little face won't be quite so pretty."

Mrs Hannaford felt her heart beating faster than she'd thought possible. She sat down heavily, knocking over one of the cooking pans. It clattered onto the stone floor, startling everyone.

"Don't you go bloody wobbly on us, Mrs H." Redbourne looked around the kitchen. "Just you three do what you're bloody told! Be grateful you're here in this warm kitchen and have a bed to sleep in. Things could soon change for each of you, if you don't behave." He nodded to Steele and Davey. "Come on, boys, back to the office to take more mug's money!" He threw Brenda's notebooks to her. "Keep up the records. I'll be here on Thursday to check the tarted up brindle."

Redbourne arrives at Grange Farm

Late on Monday morning, Redbourne with Steele and Charlie Davey in tow, arrived at the farmyard. Mrs Hannaford peered through the kitchen window and saw clearly that Davey looked battered and bruised. He had a row of stitches across his forehead and two puffy black eyes.

The kitchen door was flung open and they came in. Without a greeting or smile Redbourne pointed his finger at her.

"Make us all coffee and some biscuits as well. Then, get Soppy and the Ellacott woman in here." His voice was gruff and Mrs Hannaford recoiled in annoyance. Grudgingly, she made the drinks and placed the biscuits on the table.

"Pour the bloody stuff, woman." Steele said. "You don't expect us to do it."

Mrs Hannaford bit her tongue and did as she was told. Then, she left them and ran to find Soppy and Brenda. She guessed they would be in the barn. It was there that she found them feeding the dogs. The atmosphere in the barn was warm and cosy and the dogs were waiting for their food.

"Whatever is wrong?" Brenda asked, putting down the bowl of meat she had been about to give to Midnight.

"You'm okay?" Soppy showed concern by going to Mrs Hannaford and putting his hand on her shoulder. She took in several deep breaths before she could explain anything.

"Redbourne and 'is men are in the kitchen. They treated me like dirt and now 'e is demanding to see you two. 'e's a bloody bastard, that's what 'e is."

Brenda had never heard Mrs Hannaford swear or appear angry. At the same time she thought that any commiserations would not be welcome.

"What do they want with us?" Soppy asked.

"Dunno, 'arry, dunno. 'e thinks 'e's God Almighty. That I does know. And in my kitchen too!" She twisted her apron in her hands.

"Don' worry, we'll see no 'arm is done, won't us, Brenda?"

Brenda nodded but felt distinctly unsure if it was possible. Redbourne held all the cards in his hands, after all.

They went to the kitchen. Redbourne sat appraising them for a few seconds then exploded with irritation. "Are you bloody daft, woman?" He stared hard at Brenda. "It's not you I want to see, it's the records. The records, darlin'. Don't you get it?" He turned and looked at Steele and Davey, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Go and get the bloody notebooks."

Steele and Davey roared with laughter, though Davey winced with pain as the skin on his face stretched.

"Go fetch, girl!" Steele laughed. "Just be a good bitch. Go fetch!"

Brenda flushed with embarrassment and anger. She glanced at Mrs Hannaford, then she turned to go to get the notebooks.

Trying to unlock the code

Temple spent the rest of his Sunday afternoon and evening trying to make sense of Eager's notebooks. The writing was difficult enough to decipher without dealing with the cross-referencing between the books. He saw that whenever an entry in the racing details had a large question mark beside it, there was sure to be an equivalent comment in the other book. This would include the same date and dog name followed by the letters BE and SM with either a tick or question mark next to them.

Temple found it all increasingly boring and, after a time, he nodded off in his armchair. He woke some half hour later in a state of panic. The books had fallen to the floor, he had been dreaming again of the War, of the time in Italy when his battalion had crossed the Garigliano river. The nightmare of that crossing still haunted his dreams, even after all the years that had passed. It was the death of his best friend, Gerry, that he could not forget; he still saw him disappearing into the dark fast flowing waters of the river.

Temple's regular yelling out at night had driven his wife into a fury. Her solution was that he should 'pull himself together'. That, he thought, was much easier said than done. Now, he had no one to disturb at night. No one to hear his shouts through the thick walls of the flat.

He shook his head and got up. For a moment he was tempted to pour himself a large whiskey to steady his shaking hands. He glanced at the clock, it was only five o'clock. Instead, he made a pot of tea and opened a packet of biscuits. Then, he returned to the chair and the notebooks. So many deaths end in water, he thought. First Gerry's in Italy, then Ben Ellacott then Eager Beaver here in Devon.

He dunked his digestive biscuit into the tea and cursed as half of it broke off and sank into the cup. Then, he froze as the significance of the notebook entries suddenly hit him. BE was Ben Ellacott; SM was Stuart McBride. The races marked with the question marks always coincided with very fast times for the winning dogs. Eager Beaver had put two and two together and guessed that the dogs were being doped and that BE and SM were somehow providing the drugs.

Had Eager then grown too cocky and tried a little blackmail? Bloody fool, Temple thought, he didn't know who he was dealing with.

Now with BE out of the way, Temple wondered how the group would cope? Could a local family doctor get his hands on drugs as easily as when he had a tame pharmacist to hand?

Feeling quite pleased with the day's work, he packed up the books. Then he sauntered down the road to the pub. He had earned the whiskeys he was about to drink.

Note from Author of Dodgy Dogs

I've been reading the diaries for the last few weeks. Cantwell certainly scribbled in his notebooks! Spelling is not always his forte either!

However, it was something else that prompted me to jot this note to the blog readers out there! Today, as I was walking round to the local shops a small Morris Minor 1000 van literally shot passed me. It was the old familiar green with wooden panels. Just the type that Temple and Cantwell saw at the County Ground and at the Halfway track. I was amazed to see it in such good order and running so smoothly. Of course it may not date right back to the 1950s but it wasn't much later than the early 60s.

I guess there are many of you who have no idea what a Morris Minor 1000 Traveller looks like.

Here are some images of the Traveller. It will help you get an idea of the type of vehicles that Soppy Soper used to get the 'dodgy' dogs to the races.

A Truce

Brenda collected the two brindle bitches from the barn. They were both eager to be out, their tails wagging furiously. They pulled her up the sloping pasture faster than she intended. At the top, she stood still to catch her breath. The view back down the hillside to the farmhouse was like a painting. Gently sloping, lush, green fields with cows grazing; the sound of cockerels crowing from the yard and smoke drifting up from the old chimney. No one was in sight.

Taking the papers from her top pocket, Brenda led the dogs to the back of the shed, lifted the
stone and placed them beneath it. She straightened up and took in a deep breath, then set off with the dogs for a walk along the level ground.

"Come on girls," she said to the two dogs, "they might be trying to make you into dodgy dogs but we are going to have a good walk this morning. Nothing dodgy about that." Some half hour later, she returned to the barn. Soppy was about to exercise three more of the dogs who were barking, eager to get out into the fresh air.

"Can I do anymore?" Brenda asked.

"Nah! You'm done enough already. You'm as pale as milk. Mrs 'annaford says you're to go into the kitchen and have a warm drink. She said you fair ran up the hill."

For a moment, Brenda panicked wondering if she could have been observed from the farm. Then she realised it would have been impossible. All she really wanted was to lie down. The previous night had been awful and she felt tired. But a drink would not come amiss.

Mrs Hannaford had two newly baked loaves and a large fruit pie on the table. The smell of baking filled the room and the kettle was boiling on top of the range.

Brenda sat down, "This is just how I imagined a farm kitchen would be. It's so warm and cosy."
As Mrs Hannaford smiled, her face was transformed and Brenda could see the woman whose real personality was kept hidden behind the sour facade.

"I'll make us both a cup of tea, you'm fair frozen. Those clothes you wear are alright for a town but they bain't right on a farm. You needs proper woollies. You'll never survive otherwise."

Brenda looked at her skirt and jacket. It was true, they weren't suitable, "Maybe I ought to buy something better. But Redbourne won't let me go shopping in Starmouth for at least another two weeks."

"Mrs Tyler, in the village, will 'ave all you'm needs: Sturdy twill trousers or riding breeches and jumpers. That's what you'm needs. Keep you warm and dry when you'm with them dogs. You can get some proper walking shoes. Boots is good for the fields but solid shoes is what you need rest of the time." She pointed at her heavy black lace-up booties. "som'at like these."

Brenda's heart sank. The thought of dressing like a land-girl horrified her. But it would, at least, give an excuse to go to the village. "You're right, Mrs Hannaford. I'll try to go to the village soon."

"We'll make a countrywoman of you yet, ma dear." Mrs Hannaford smiled warmly at her.

That afternoon, Brenda walked to the outskirts of the village. She had seen a phone box near the old coaching inn. As she dialled Cantwell's number, she hoped he would answer. She pressed button A and began hastily giving her message: "Sergeant Cantwell, it's me, Brenda Ellacott. I can't be too long - this is just to let you know I hope to be in the village shop, Tyler's that is, on Tuesday lunchtime. Any time between 12:30 and 2 o'clock. Must go." Not waiting for a reply, she replaced the receiver quickly. She did not want to be seen by anyone.

"Who's that?" Debbie asked.

"Work," Cantwell responded, "just work."

"It's supposed to be your off-duty time. I'd give that Temple an earful if I were you."

Cantwell nodded but took out his notebook, just the same. He jotted down the details Brenda had given him. Then he grinned at Debbie, "Let's go to the pub. We can have a bar snack, save you the cooking."

Debbie brightened immediately, "Can we afford it?"

"We had those winnings, didn't we? What's money for, anyway!"

With obvious delight, she ran upstairs to change. She came down wearing her new suit and a bright canary yellow jacket. With her make-up on and a big smile on her face, Cantwell knew why he had married her.