I hope you aren’t slacking on this one, Peach.’ Superintendent Tucker jutted his jaw aggressively towards the industrial world outside the long window of his penthouse office. To his mind, a bright Thursday morning at the end of February was the ideal time to be letting his staff know who was in charge. The silly old sod’s trying to bollock me. Must have another day on his hands with not enough to do, thought Percy Peach. He tried not to sound aggrieved as he said, ‘We were over in Manchester until ten o’clock last night, sir, DS Blake and I. Didn’t get to bed until nearly midnight.’ We made up for it then, though, didn’t we, Lucy and I? Percy tried hard to control the smile which forced its way on to his lips with the recollection. Tommy Bloody Tucker did not consider the notion that his bête noir and the delectable Lucy Blake might have been in the sack together; it was yet another feature of Brunton police life with which he was out of touch. He said grumpily, ‘No doubt the overtime budget is taking a bashing again.’ He sighed.
