“I find that terribly hard to believe,” she said stiffly.

“Don’t sell yourself so short. If you’d actually take that stick out of your arse and quit treating me like a particularly unpleasant fungal infection, you’d realise we actually have a lot in common.”

Closing over her paper and giving me her full attention, Jennings folded her arms across her chest and levelled me with a cynical expression. “Now this I have to hear.”

I held up all five fingers. “Well, for one, we’re both tough bitches, and for two, we can handle working in a male-dominated environment without buckling under the pressure. Three, let me see, we both hate my dad. Four, we’re funny.”

Five, we both had love affairs that jeopardised our careers. I left the fifth finger standing.

“Funny?” Jennings asked with a huff of scepticism.

“The other day when Connors wanted to know if he had food in his teeth, you asked him if he cared so much about his appearance, then why was he walking around with a barnet like a crow’s nest?”

“That falls more into the bitch category, if you ask me,” said Jennings. “But he does have awful hair.”

“And a bad attitude. You give put-downs where they’re due. Well, except for with me, but I guess you have your reasons for those, which I’ll allow,” I told her cheekily. I was pushing my luck, but if I knew anything about this woman, it was that the only way to get on her good side was to stand my ground. If I tried licking her arse, she’d tell me exactly where to stick it. Sure, I was complimenting her, but with bite. In this instance, the bite was key.

“You’re persistent,” she said, eyeing me shrewdly.

“I have to be, with the likes of you.”

At this she surprised both of us when she huffed a begrudging laugh. “You remind me a lot of your father in that way. And just to be clear, that’s not a compliment.”

“Don’t worry, I know.” I paused to lower my voice. “He does feel bad for what he did to you, though. Well, as bad as a man like my dad can feel about anything, which isn’t much. Usually, his way is the right way, no ifs or buts.” I paused to eye her seriously. “You do know he’s been working so hard on the McGregor case so that he can finally get justice for you.”

“Yes, well, it’s all a bit too little, too late in that regard.”

“Maybe, but we’re all fallible. It’s the ones who can’t accept they’ve made a mistake who have problems.”

Jennings stared at me for a long time, so long I began to grow self-conscious. “Do you know,” she said, “none of the other constables have ever tried to join me for lunch.”

“Well, I’m happy to break you in.”

At this she let out another laugh, a real laugh. I looked out the window again. Yep, still pig-free. “Keep applying for sergeant, Sheehan. Who knows, maybe after ten or fifteen more attempts, you’ll finally get what you want.”

With that she stood and gathered her things, leaving me alone at the table. I picked up my sandwich and took a bite, and after a couple of chews, I started to smile.

***

“I’m telling you, the answer is 9 p.m.,” I told Tony as we discussed the riddle he’d given me weeks ago, the one Stu had solved. It was one of those puzzles that even when you had the answer, it still took a while to get your head around.

“Nine p.m.,” Tony repeated. “Nah, I’m still not seeing it.”

“Just keep thinking, and it’ll start to make sense.”

His brow furrowed, and I grinned at how serious he looked when he concentrated. His thick black eyebrows were like two big caterpillars on his face. We’d just finished dealing with a homeless man who’d been causing a drunken disturbance on the tube, and were driving back to the station.

I heard the scratchy sound of the radio coming on right before a call from dispatch came through. My heart rate picked up when I heard the details of the report. The panic button had been pushed at a city centre bank, and all available units were being called in to investigate. Before the call had even cut off, I hit the sirens, put my foot down on the gas pedal, and hightailed it to the scene.

It was mid-morning, one of the quieter periods, and everything looked like normal when we arrived on the street where the bank was located. I scanned the area, noticing a few pedestrians strolling by and several parked cars. It was the black transit van that caught my attention, and just as I was pulling up to the kerb, the bank doors flew open. A number of men dressed in dark clothing emerged, their faces disguised beneath balaclavas.

I swore when I saw two of them were carrying Kalashnikovs, the others with weapons more discreetly hidden. They were also lugging a number of black gym bags. Tony was already on his radio, reporting what we were seeing. The men looked in our direction, the sirens drawing their attentions, then ran straight for the transit van, pulled open the back doors, and hopped inside.

Within seconds they were speeding away from the scene. Clearly, there’d been a driver waiting. Not even bothering to stop, I gave chase, calling out the van’s licence plate number as the dispatch operator did a search.

“It was reported stolen two days ago,” he told me, but I wasn’t surprised. Stolen vehicles were business as usual for a bank job.

We were halfway to Canning Town when three other patrol cars joined in the chase behind us. They were unarmed units, just like us, which wasn’t going to do much good once the thieves began to panic. The sentencing for armed robbery was seven years, more if they’d used their guns to harm anyone. If push came to shove, I had no doubt they’d open fire on us to get away. Suddenly, my palms felt clammy on the steering wheel, my adrenaline kicking in.