Soppy's in the know!

As soon as Debbie had got through the turnstile, she was dismayed. This place was not at all what she had imagined. There were hardly any other women near the Tote or, as far as she could see, in the Stands. The few who were to be seen were not in smart jackets with silk scarves.

"I stick out like a sore thumb, Tom. I thought you said it was alright if I wore this yellow jacket."

Irritated to be distracted by small talk, at a time when he needed his wits about him, he still managed to be tactful:
"Like I said, Debs, you look great. Anyway, the posh lot don't arrive till later. Besides, I'll be able to find you easily in the Stands, when I get back from chatting to my pal."

Debbie sighed, she knew she was being soft-soaped but at least they were out of the house and it would be an experience. Cantwell handed her a race card and some money:
"See if you can pick a winner. If you do, then just go over to one of the bookies by the rails and place your bet - not too much mind!" He added hastily.

She looked doubtfully at the card but being the sort who would try anything once, she smiled and patted him on the shoulder:
"I'll be alright! You get on with your business. Just try not to be too long."

He left her studying the card while he went towards the collecting ring. Soppy was on his knees brushing a large brindle greyhound. He was talking softly to the animal who was shaking and whining. He spotted Cantwell and nodded towards the bar.

Cantwell bought two pints and waited at one end of the counter where he had a good view of the entrance. Just before the first set of dogs were due to parade, Soppy came in.

"Over here, Harry!" Cantwell called out, "I've got you a pint."

Soppy grinned and drank thirstily. The white head of the beer coated his top lip. He wiped it away on the back of his sleeve.

"Oh, I needed that!" Soppy said. "Now, if I recall, Tom, you'm asking for a tip or two?" Cantwell nodded. Soppy glanced round the bar and when he was satisfied no one else could hear, he leaned closer, "Place some money on Fairweather Friend in the second race. You could do 'im for a win!" He grinned and took another swig of beer. "I thinks an each way bet on Pippa's Boy in the fourth race would be good. Mind you, he might win but I bain't too sure. Each way is best. That any 'elp?"

Cantwell jotted down a mark by each of the dogs on his card:
"That's great, Harry, really great. I need a winner tonight."

"Things still not so good?" Soppy looked concerned.

"No. Not so good. But I'm really grateful, Harry. Anything I win tonight will be good." He sipped his beer. "You here all season?"

"As far as I knows, Tom. Nobody tell me much. One week we's at the County Ground, next we's at the 'alfway, then 'tis off to Plymouth. All over the damn place - and I still got to get up to be with the cows at dawn each day!"

"Where's this Halfway you mentioned?" Cantwell had no idea what Soppy meant by the 'alfway but guessed it must be a small flapper track.

"'alfway to Newton Abbott!" He laughed. "Thought you'd 'ave known that, Tom! You should go there. Tiny grass track - just like where we trains our dogs! No proper stands. But," he paused and edged closer, "lots of good races. We've got three dogs runnin' there next week."

"Really! Sounds interesting. I might go, if you think it's good."

"Too small for you and me to talk there though! You'd just have to watch where I puts on my money. Actually 'tain't my money but it's for the Boss like. Now there's a real 'ard man for 'e." He looked at his watch, drank down the beer and turned to go. "I 'opes all goes well with Fairweather and Pippa."

Cantwell watched him leave. He followed closely behind and saw him go to a bookie at the side of the track. He placed some money, then looking round furtively, went back to the collecting ring.

'Don't know about dodgy dogs!' Cantwell thought. 'But I do know there are some bloody dodgy things going on here.' He looked up towards the Stands and immediately caught sight of Debbie's yellow jacket.

Debbie Cantwell

For the second time, Cantwell explained to his wife that she could earn some extra money by taking phone calls for Temple. As usual, she was suspicious of Temple's motives.

"The trouble with you, Tom, is that you don't stand up for yourself. You've been late home every night for a fortnight. You missed two trips to the flicks with me. Your supper has either ended up as burnt offerings or stone cold. Yet, now you think I should help out too!" She paused. "How much?"

"How much what?"

"How much will I get paid?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask."

"Typical!"

"Temple is pretty fair, Debs. I always get my overtime on the dot. He says we can keep any winnings we make tonight on the dogs."

"That's big of him, I'm sure. Still, if it pleases you, love, then I'll do it. Who knows, I might enjoy being a private eye! Anyway, tell me again, who it is who'll be phoning."

"It's a woman called Brenda Ellacott."

"Ellacott, Ellacott ... I've read that name in the paper recently."

"Her husband drowned and the same week she was burgled. But you're not to talk to her about any of that. She still gets upset." He added this quickly, knowing Debbie's curiosity could get the better of her.

"So why would she want to leave messages here?"

"She's helping us trace the burglars who ransacked her flat. That's all." He and Temple had decided that the less Debbie knew, the better for all concerned. She would be happy to help catch burglars, but if she had any idea of what they were really after, it would frighten her.

"So, let's get this straight, Tom. This Ellacott woman will phone me. I take the message then I phone you and pass it on. Right?" Cantwell nodded. "Why can't she just phone your office?"

"Because, we don't want the others to beat us to catching them." He hoped he sounded plausible.

Debbie thought about it as she combed her hair and began putting on her make-up:
"Alright, I'll do it. When will she phone?"

"Not for a few days, I think she thought she'd have some news next week."

"So, am I expected to wait in day after day, just waiting for her to phone?" She sounded irritated.

"No, love, just go on as usual. She'll either find you in or not, as the case may be."

She put on a bright yellow jacket and tied a silk scarf round her neck before turning to him:
"Will this be okay for the races?"

Cantwell glanced at her. Although he had been to the dogs with Temple, he had not noticed what the women were wearing. Debbie always looked good whatever she wore, he thought:
"You look great, Debs."

"You sure, it's alright?"

"Just right."

"Well, we'd better be off. Don't want to miss any of the races, specially since you think you're going to win."

Temple had arranged for them to be loaned a police car for the night. So, instead of the bus journey, they arrived in style at the County Ground. Cantwell felt a surprising surge of excitement at the prospect of the first race. Dodgy dogs or not, this was going to be entertaining.

The Drop

From their position behind the hedge, Cantwell and Temple had observed the end of the training session. They saw Soppy collect the two dogs who had been racing round after the 'hare' and put them onto their leashes then lead them down the slope in the direction of the farm.

Ted Steele did not seem keen to have anything to do with the dogs themselves. He merely switched off the circuit and generator, then sauntered down the hill, some distance from Soppy and the dogs.

Allowing some minutes to pass, Temple beckoned for Cantwell to follow him into the field. He easily vaulted the gate, Cantwell climbed over carefully but landed heavily on the other side. Just as Temple had said, the shed was about three inches above ground, supported by several bricks.

"See if you can find a large flattish stone. We can fit it in here." Temple stooped down and ran his hand along the base of the shed.

They both walked the ground adjacent to the track, then along by the hedge. There was no stone that was either flat or large. There were plenty of small round pebbles but nothing sufficiently large to cover a message.

"You'll need to find some sort of watercourse, Gov. Other than that, you'll not find any large stones up here."

"You're probably right. I'd like to get this set up today though. Where do you suggest?"

"I reckon there's a dip in the land over there." Cantwell pointed some fifty yards or so to the east. "We might be lucky somewhere nearby the hedge."

After searching for sometime, they came across a heap of quite large stones. Obviously, the farmer had, some years before, put them there to hold down the roots of an old blackthorn bush.

"Got one!" Temple exclaimed as he held up a grey stone. "This will do just fine."

They walked back to the shed and he placed it at the back midway between two rows of bricks. If you didn't know it was there, it would not be visible to the eyes of a casual observer.

Relieved that everything was done, Cantwell looked at his watch. He would be home late again. He just hoped Debbie would keep his supper warm. He turned to get to the gate. As he did, movements near the farmhouse caught his attention. He pointed to the farm and nudged Temple. Two cars had drawn up in the yard. One was a large black Daimler, the other a Morris Minor shooting brake.

Redbourne got out of the rear passenger seat behind the driver. A smart young woman got out of the other side and Dr McBride got out of the front passenger seat. Charlie Davey had been driving. Three other men emerged from the shooting brake. They all went into the farmhouse.

"Well, well, well! Planning more dodgy dog scams for Saturday, no doubt." Temple murmured.

"Think so, Gov?"

"Sure of it! Let's hope that your pal, Soppy Soper, gives you some good tips!"

As they got back into their car, Cantwell was deep in thought:
"Do you really think that Mrs Ellacott will be able to cope with all this? The farm is isolated, there's no one to call on for help in an emergency."

"As I said before, she's a canny lady. But, I take your point. We'll just have to wait and see then pull her out if things start to get tough."

"That might be too late, Gov."

"Oh shut up, Cantwell! Try, for once in your life to be positive." He glanced at him as he drove fast along the twisting lane. "Just imagine what you can spend your winnings on, after Saturday. Leave the Brenda Ellacott problems to me."

Mrs Hannaford

Soppy was tired, he had risen at 4:30 in the morning to prepare for early milking, Then he had driven the cows out to pasture. Some three hours later, he had breakfast in the kitchen with Mrs Hannaford. She had lived on the farm since she was brought there as a young bride by her husband, Joe. He had inherited the tenancy of the farm from his father. He planned to pass it on to their son, when he got too old to handle the heavy work.

But the war had changed everything. Their only son was killed in the North African desert. After the war, the landowner had kept Joe on to look after Grange Farm. Then Joe had died, some three years previously. The landowner who saw his profits rapidly diminishing and the costs rising, sold the farm to Redbourne.

Redbourne kept Mrs Hannaford on together with Soppy who had been herdsman on the farm for nine years. Between them, they had managed to run things. Redbourne collected the profits every week. But for the last year and a half, their lives had been turned upside down. Redbourne had done up one of the barns and brought in the greyhounds. That was when life for both of them had become complicated.

Mrs Hannaford was a large woman who had none of the jolliness associated with large women. The years of hard work and disappointment had made her wary of most people. But she had a soft spot for Soppy. He was the son she wished she still had.

To Mrs Hannaford, Soppy was still one of the few 'real' Devonians, not like the Londoners who seemed to have over run the farm. She could not get her head around the fact of dogs using up good farm buildings and land. Dogs were for farm-work not for running round in circles.

Still, she had reasoned, Redbourne paid her and Soppy to look after them. So she kept 'mum' and said nothing. Recently, after talking things over with Soppy, she had decided to do a little investing of her own. Just so as their future could be safe. So far, she had done very well.

Now, however, she was anxious for Soppy. She saw the exhaustion on his face. The lad was doing two men's work already and Redbourne was demanding more and more. Things could not go on like this, she reasoned. Only that very morning, Redbourne had sent one of his men to tell her that several of them would be coming to the farm that evening to look at the dogs. She had been told she was expected to cook them all supper.

Grudgingly, she took a piece of beef from the larder and cut off several steaks. She smashed each one in turn, wishing it was Redbourne under the weight of her arm. She seasoned the steaks and put them aside. Then she prepared the carrots and potatoes.

Soppy arrived in the kitchen together with some creature of Redbourne's who had been at the farm all afternoon. Mrs Hannaford had taken an instant dislike to him. She told Soppy that this man had small 'piggy' eyes and a nose as 'sharp as a hawks'. She warned him to 'watch yourself when he's around'.

Soppy listened carefully to everything she said. He also disliked the one they called Ted. So if Mrs Hannaford said 'watch out' then watch out he would.

"Had a good day, 'arry?" Mrs Hannaford asked Soppy, when he sat at the table.

"Yeah, s'pose so. Dogs was runnin' just fine. I done the cows too."

She ruffled his hair:
"You'm a good lad."

Ted Steele, who had helped himself to a large tankard of cider, roared with laughter:
"Good lad! Godd lad, is he? Daft bugger, more like!"

Mrs Hannaford glared at him but did not respond in words. She knew from past experience that Ted Steele would only take it out on Soppy when she wasn't around. But she stored everything in her memory. 'Sometime in the future,' she told herself, 'all this will be dealt with.'

Grange Farm visited

Cantwell and Temple sat in the car mulling over the day's events. They had both been surprised at Brenda Ellacott's apparent calm and preparedness to put herself in harm's way.

"Thank God, we're dealing with a canny woman, not one of your simpering little girl types. To quote one of her undoubted Hollywood heroines: 'It's going to be a bumpy ride'. She'll need nerves of steel to see this through."

"Gov! I didn't know you were a movie fan. My Debbie has been to see 'All About Eve', three times. We had to go to Exeter, Torquay and then Plymouth just to see Bette Davis in that film and hear that line. But I tell you, my Debbie wouldn't do anything like this Brenda woman, if I got done in. What about your ex?"

Temple gave a laugh and shook his head:
"She'd most likely have given anyone who'd done for me a medal."

"Seriously?"

There was a long silence before Temple answered:
"No, not really. We had been very much in love. It was the war that did for us. I was away on and off for almost six years. She had to cope, on her own, with our daughter. Then, when I decided to move to Devon, she hated the place. No decent shops, no friends, no mother or sister. And, I was working all the hours God gave me." He paused. "So - we didn't really stand a chance. If there had been just half of all that, then we might have stuck it out. Isn't that what most marriages do anyway?"

"You mean, just putting up with each other?"

"Yep."

"I suppose so. Any romance is soon over - even if you don't go away to war or move from your roots."

Temple looked at the map, scratched his chin, then started up the engine:
"Before going back, let's do a bit of a detour passed Grange Farm. We can look out for a likely place for the 'drop'."

It took a short time to find the lane that led along the top field. He parked at the same place they had been before. They set off on foot keeping close to the hedge. The hedge itself was old and many of the bushes were gnarled. It had patches of blackthorn and whitethorn and there was a smattering of holly and here and there oaks. It provided a good windbreak and cover for them.

Suddenly Temple held up his hand for silence. Close by, the sound of barking was clearly heard. As luck would have it, just beyond them was a gate leading from the lane to the field. They peered carefully round the side of the hedge and there right in front of them saw a small circular grass and cinder track. The reason it had been placed there was obvious. It was the flattest area on the farm. Every other section sloped and would be unsuitable for training. But here the soil was somewhat different and had provided the foundations for a relatively large, flat area. It was just right for the track.

Close to the hedge was a small generator box with a line running to the circuit on the track. The wires were attached to a fake electric 'hare'. Two dogs were in full chase of the 'hare'. Soppy Soper and another man were watching the dogs. They appeared to be deep in conversation. Next to the generator was a small wooden shed.

"See that shed?" Temple hissed and Cantwell nodded. "There's a gap between the base of the shed and the ground. There are bricks at intervals to keep the shed base from the ground. The back of the shed is towards us. Messages could be placed under the shed, at that point."

"They could be blown away, Gov. It's mighty windy up here, at the best of times."

"We'll get a stone large enough to fit in the gap and wide enough to cover any note. We'll wait till the training has finished, then take a closer look." He saw Cantwell glance at his watch. "I know, I know it's almost off-duty time. But it won't take long."

Plans arranged

Cantwell selected a meringue and cream. He felt guilty when all that Temple and Brenda chose was a cup of coffee. Nothing daunted, however, he crunched his way through the meringue and savoured the rich, smooth taste of the cream. He noticed Temple observing him, but pretended he hadn't. He felt it was the very least he deserved, working for Temple as hard as he did. Before being allocated to him, Cantwell had led a quiet life investigating the odd break-in or two but nothing more taxing. Now, he was working a ten hour day and even at weekends! Things had certainly changed. Strangely though, although he had hated it, in the beginning, now he was starting to find it interesting. Even Debbie had noticed the change in him.

Brenda glanced at her watch:
"I shouldn't get back to the bus station too late. We still have quite a bit of planning to do, don't we?"

"Yes, we do!" Temple pulled out a notebook and handed it to Cantwell. "Take down details of what we decide. We need to set up some way in which we can keep in touch which won't draw attention to you. Using the post is out and I don't see how you can phone us. I'll give you my home number if you can get to a phone in the evening without any problem. I don't think you should ring either of us at the police station." He turned to Cantwell. "Would Debbie take mesasges during the day?"

"Yes," Cantwell nodded, "when she's in - and she'd keep quiet about it too."

"There's a man working at the farm you mentioned. Cantwell met him. His name is Harry Soper - called Soppy - apparently - though he doesn't like that. He doesn't know that Cantwell is police. Now," Temple watched Brenda's reactions carefully, "You'll probably be working alongside this Soper chap. We don't yet know much about him, except that he works with the dogs. From what we saw, he's up to no good himself. But we can't be sure of that, save to say that there were some very dodgy goings on with the way the dogs ran, when he was around."

"We'll still need other methods of communicating though, won't we?" Brenda asked.

"Why not use written messages, Gov, placed somewhere either on the edge of one of the fields or somewhere in the village. I saw something like that in a spy film. They called it a 'drop', I think."

Brenda smiled:
"I think I saw that film too! What a good idea!"

"The village is probably out." Temple commented, "I doubt whether Redbourne will risk too many of his people mixing with the locals. It could be somewhere on the farm's perimeter though. Not too far away that you can't get there without arousing suspicion. But, on the other hand, not in a place where those dodgy dogs could sniff it out."

"Do greyhounds sniff things out, Gov?"

"All dogs sniff things out!" Temple said loudly. "Anything like a note under a hedge would attract them. You couldn't even disguise it with perfume, it would only attract them."

"I thought greyhounds hunted by sight not smell."

"For God's sake, Cantwell, this isn't a convention on the attributes of dogs' hunting abilities!"

Brenda Ellacott burst out laughing" She laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks:
"Oh you two are so funny." She saw Temple was taken aback by her comment. She put her hand on his arm. "Sorry! I didn't mean that to sound rude. It was so lovely to hear you argue. And... I haven't laughed in weeks!"

"Well, I'm pleased there was something amusing to take your mind off things! Look, you need to be off. Leave it to us, we'll arrange something and let you know what we've discovered. We'll need to meet up about a week after you start at the farm. That's when we can tell you our plans in more detail."

"I won't write to the police station again."

"No, it's best if you don't. You could write to my home address but send it to my ex-wife's maiden name. In the meantime." He took the notebook from Cantwell, tore out a page and wrote down his address and the name. He also wrote down Cantwell's contact number and the name 'Debbie'. Then he handed it to her.

The three sat in silence thinking about what else was needed. Time was short and the next step might be quite complicated.

"We need to devise some sort of code - just for the three of us. So that if the message gets found, no one will understand it." Cantwell volunteered the suggestion.

Brenda sat forward and smiled:
"Sounds like fun! More and more like in the movies!"

"It's not fun!" Temple said firmly. "You're dealing with a man who has a history of being involved in violence. He wouldn't hesitate to harm you if he suspected you're endangering his so-called business interests."

"WingCo Jackson and McBride have no idea who they're dealing with, Mrs Ellacott." Cantwell added.

Brenda toyed with her coffee spoon:
"No, you are both right, of course. This isn't a story, it's real. Ben had no idea either, I'm sure of that. Sorry for being silly!"

"So long as you understand what you're getting into. It isn't a no-risk situation. It isn't just a case of dodgy dogs and a penny bet here and there. This is serious crime." Temple hoped he hadn't put her off, but felt he had to be straight with her. "We'll do all we can to monitor what's going on. But we can't be there with you."

"I realise that! But I am still going ahead with it. I owe it to Ben."

Temple reached for his wallet and took out two £5 notes and handed them to her:
"This is to cover the shopping, the post and your time. Unofficially, you're now working for the police." he smiled. "In the meantime, let's think up some initial code."

Cantwell tore out two sheets from the notebook and headed one 'BE' and the other 'Ours'. He handed the one marked 'BE' to Brenda.

"Redbourne can be 'Reggie'" Temple said. "Grange Farm can be 'Holly House'. Soppy Soper can be 'Sandy'. The dogs can be 'the shop'." He pursed his lips as the other two wrote down what he said. "We need a term for the drop itself."

"What about the 'counter', Gov. That would tie in with the 'shop'."

"Yep! Sounds good to me. Now," Temple turned to Brenda. "If you're asked who it is you're writing to at my address. Who is this Barbara Evans? What will you say?"

"That she's an old lady who seldom goes out, who needs cheering up. That I write to her since she is rather lonely."

Temple nodded approval then he called for the bill. he glanced at Cantwell:
"Anything else we ought to be thinking about?"

"Not that comes to mind, Gov."

"Mrs Ellacott?"

"Not at the moment, though there'll probably be loads, the minute I leave here."

"When will you let Redbourne know?"

"Tomorrow morning." She got up from the table. "I'm going to the Ladies now to change back into the red dress. Then, I'll leave here and walk back to the bus station. Wish me luck, gentlemen. I hope I don't need it, but I sure as hell expect I will."

Some half an hour later, Cantwell and Temple waited at the bus station for her to arrive. They kept close to one of the shelters, so that they could observe but not be seen. Most of the people waiting for buses were locals, with one or two tourists complete with luggage and maps.

Temple touched Cantwell's shoulder and pointed to one section of the crowd near the Starmouth bus stop. A short stocky man sat uncomfortably on the edge of a low wall. He was so overtly anxious that you could not help but notice him.

"Poor sod! He doesn't know what he's going to tell Redbourne tonight!" Temple chuckled.

Brenda Ellacott came into the bus station forecourt. She was walking briskly. She carried a large carrier bag with the name of a department store emblazoned across it.

Instantly, Charlie Davey jumped off the wall. Relief flooded across his face. At least now he could say he'd just followed her around the shops all day.

The Starmouth bus arrived and then complete with all its passengers left on its journey. Davey could be seen on the top deck in the back row of seats. Brenda Ellacott, also on the top deck, was at the front.

"Well, there goes one feisty lady, Cantwell." Temple remarked, as they walked back to collect the car.

Down to Business

To an objective observer, Cantwell and Brenda seemed like any of the other couples walking into the restaurant. Tinley's was not busy. It was still early for the lunchtime crowd and too late for the morning coffee drinkers. Cantwell chose a table well away from the windows that faced the side road and the Cathedral Square.

Temple, eventually satisfied that no one had been following them, joined their table. He rearranged the seating plan ensuring that Brenda had her back towards the restaurant, while he and Cantwell faced it.

The menu was typical Devon fare. Sausage rolls and chips, steak and kidney pie, cottage pie and, of course, pasty. Temple observed Cantwell licking his lips in anticipation, like a little boy in a sweet shop. It both amused and irritated him in equal measure. He regarded food as a mere fuel to keep him going, not as an end in itself.

He gave their order to a young waitress who had great difficulty with her spelling. Twice she had to consult the menu to see if there were two t's in cottage or whether there were two g's. She brought them three glasses of water, slopping one over Temple's side of the table.

"So, Mrs Ellacott, you wanted some advice, I think."

"When I wrote, I wasn't sure what my ideas were. I knew I wanted to make Redbourne and his thugs pay for what they had done to Ben and me. Then, I thought I would be more effective if I helped your investigation." She paused, twiddling her knife in circles. "Yesterday, I went to Redbourne's office and told him I wanted a job. I said I knew Ben had worked closely with him and now I 'wanted in'."

"How," Temple leaned forward and lowered his voice, "how did you know your husband was working for him?"

"Because that slimy bastard, WingCo Jackson, came to my flat. He behaved in an unpleasant manner. He also let the cat out of the bag about Ben having been crucial to Redbourne's affairs."

"Did he threaten you?" Cantwell asked.

"He didn't hit me, not like the other thug that time you found me. But he said enough for me to feel very uneasy. That was when I wrote to you. Then, yesterday, I knew I needed to act for myself. I asked Redbourne about work as a typist or book-keeper. I told him that now Ben was gone I needed the work and that's not a lie!"

"How did he react?"

"He made it clear that he had a typist. However, he said that for part of each week I could live at some farm where he keeps greyhounds. It would be my job to keep records about the dogs' health, their training etc." She pulled a face. "I really didn't fancy it!"

"Did you say that?" Temple interjected quickly.

"No, I said I needed a day or two to think it over. He got a bit nasty then. Told me not to talk to anyone about it. He said that he couldn't stand blabbing women. That's when I thought he might have me followed and brought the change of clothes today."

The conversation lapsed while they ate their meals. Temple mused over what she had told them.

"Would you feel able to do this work?"

"I think so," she hesitated, "if it means it's one way of getting even with him, then the answer is yes."

Temple sat back with relief. In his wildest dreams, he had not thought there would be an opportunity like this. He would never have had the temerity to suggest such a plan to her. He still felt some qualms about it.

"You know you're dealing with a very dangerous man, don't you? The sort who has no compunction about harming a woman." She nodded. "We'll do our best to protect you but we can't be there on the farm with you. There'll be days when we can't even contact you."

"I know the dangers and I've given it a lot of thought, believe you me. But, honestly, Inspector, I have no other choice. I owe it to Ben."

The waitress came to clear the plates. She returned to give them the menus again. Temple's mind was racing to devise a plan that meant they could keep in contact with Brenda Ellacott without drawing attention to her. That would be a lot easier said than done. He glanced over at Cantwell. No such worries were on his mind. He was facing the dilemma of choosing between meringue and cream or double cream eclair. For a moment, Temple envied Cantwell's ability to switch off from being a policeman. Perhaps, he thought, if he had been able to do the same then he would still have a wife and daughter with him.