The Chief Constable has a table ready for your evidence. You spread out notes, photographs, transcriptions, witness accounts. You explain the beatings, the robberies and riots. The Chief Constable listens intently and says nothing. The gold clock on the mantel has marked out three hours by the time you are done.

The Chief puffs out his cheeks and kindles his pipe. 'Good. Very good. I've been trying to bring those scoundrels to heel for years. The trouble is that they know where the bodies are buried, so to speak. They could blackmail most everyone in Parliament should they choose. But this tips the balance against the Inspector and his band of hoodlums.'

He puffs a great cloud of smoke at the ceiling and thinks for a while. 'Leave this with me,' he says at last. 'You'll have to leave the Squad, of course, but I'll bring this evidence to committee tomorrow and we'll see what the Home Secretary thinks of it. Given what the Inspector knows, I doubt anything will make the papers. But I'll start reducing their numbers and their budget. In a year's time, they'll just be messengers for the rest of the Constables. You should keep your head down for a while. There will be hell to pay if they work out who sent them down the river. I won't forget this, you know. You have my gratitude. And take this as a keepsake.'