Chief Superintendent Brian Ogilvy was in his office, his head deep into the Daily Mail. As Malin entered, he looked up and pointed to a chair. Carefully folding the paper, he dropped it into his in-tray and placed both hands flat on his desk.

"A successful investigation, Malin. Not that it matters, but the Chief Constable asked if we needed help with the investigation. Thanks to you and your team, we did not need him poking his nose into our business. Thank God it went tits up for them. You can close the case but put a couple of the plonks on finding who the unknown corpses are."

"When you consider there will be no conviction, why waste any more time? I'll have the paperwork typed and filed in records," said Malin. "That is unless you have anything to add."

Ogilvy leant back in his chair. "I have thoughts, but it's circumstantial, and I'd never prove it in a month of Sundays."

"I'll leave you with your thoughts, Sir."

"One mistake can ruin your life, so sometimes it's best to move on."

"If you say so." Malin stood and left.

The other officers working on the case lifted their heads as he entered the operations room. He could not help but notice his team watching him, waiting for new instructions. "Case closed, everyone. Sort the paperwork and dump it on my desk. The governor will be stating the outcome to the media this afternoon."

"Cup of tea, boss?" asked a constable.

"Thanks. Coffee black and no sugar."

The year 2002

Chief Superintendent Walker drummed his fingers on his desk and stared hard at John. "Great story and I have no idea how you know the details of our investigations. But as far as I can recall, you're close to the truth."

John began to laugh, but it changed into a violent coughing fit, his features unreadable.

"Jesus Christ, you should be in the hospital."

In between bouts of trying to breathe, John muttered, "I know everything. I've told you the truth, and if you give what I said a moment's thought, the only part I might have made up was when they drowned. The plan was to let them remain sealed in the drain and die a slow death, but an act of God killed them. There was no way I could have arranged for the tunnel to flood. The rest was, in many ways, common knowledge. You seem to have forgotten I was a detective. I read the papers, and Malin, who couldn't keep his mouth shut if he tried, was promoted for his work on that case."

"What is it with you? You know I could have you arrested and held without charge while I have your home searched and your wife interviewed."

John shuffled in his seat. "You could, but you won't unless you have taped this conversation. Even then, you could never get a conviction."

"Have you finished?" shouted Walker.

"No, I fucking haven't," said John as a coughing fit turned his face red.

"But I have to hurry. My keepers didn't give me much time."

"What's with the keepers?"

"Need to know, and you don't. Give me time to finish before you ask stupid questions. When the Little brothers drowned, things went quiet. What did you lot do? You ran around in ever-decreasing circles with your thumbs up your bums. The old days may not be fashionable, but a kick in the bollocks always worked wonders. Anyway, I digress. You must remember the Langton's, a family of thugs from London who arrived and set up a protection racket. Fortunately for me, they made a mistake when they battered a friend. My local pub landlord told them to get lost while swinging a baseball bat.

"I knew you could do nothing, and of course, there were no witnesses, well, none that would talk to you. So, I decided to make life difficult for them."

Walker leant forward on his desk. "What did you do? Tell them they were naughty boys and not to do it again?"

"Listen, and I'll tell you." John coughed several times and wiped a trace of blood from his mouth. "Once I discovered where they lived, I wrote them a polite but to-the-point letter and gave them a choice. To leave Bellstead or, one day, wake up dead. As you can guess, they ignored my request and continued to extort money from hard-working people."

Walker glanced at his watch. "Is this another shaggy dog story? You've taken up enough of my time already."

John lifted his head and grinned. "I've committed murder, and you don't care. Bloody typical."

Walker leant back in his chair. "John, I can't prove you had anything to do with the Littles, although I believe you're telling what you believe to be the truth. You know the old church site is now a housing estate. Any evidence of an undercroft is long gone."

"True, but now you know what happened. I planned it and convinced the brothers to undertake the robbery. Their drowning was a bonus. Technically, I did not kill them, but the London mob never knew what hit them. Out of interest, why did you give Angela a hard time when I married her? According to those higher up, she was a dedicated police officer and a rising star. Not your normal run-of-the-mill tea-making plonk typist. I loved her. She was easy to be with and somebody who had a good brain."

"I haven't a clue what you mean. You must know that there was plenty of opposition when I had your wife promoted to inspector."

"I do, but those beneath you gave her a hard time and every shitty job."

Walker's face flushed. "Rubbish, she retired as a Detective Chief Inspector. If she had stayed, she might have been the first female superintendent. Give me an example of mistreatment."

John shook his head. "How about, for starters, the travellers who took over the common land up the coast? Her boss sent her and a day-old constable, still wearing nappies, to get rid of them. What the hell did she know about travellers? He hoped they would give her grief and an excuse to return her to the typing pool."

"I can't say I remember that particular incident, but I'm sure she did her best under the circumstances."

"She did. As I told you, she's far from stupid, and before leaving the station, she contacted me, and I met her and the wet-behind-the-ears constable before they went near the campsite."

Walker stared at John but knew it was the wrong moment to interrupt.

"I went with her to talk to the leader of the travellers. We had history from way back. The best part is that Simon Yates, an absolute arsehole, didn't know I'd retired. The bastard met us with his six sons and weird daughter in the centre of the thirty or so caravans. Did you ever meet her? She had more tattoos than a sailor and pillar box red hair. Not the sort of woman you'd like to take home to mum. She politely said while waving a crowbar in my face, "fuck off, copper, unless you have a court order.

"I laughed and spoke directly to Simon and said I'd get a court order if he wanted, but I had a suggestion. He listened and agreed to take a look at my proposal. He almost choked when I told him we were going for a drive in his beat-up Mercedes. I relegated the sprog copper to follow us in the police car.

"The four of us travelled to the pig farm I believed the Littles owned. I'm sure you remember that a fire destroyed the house and barn, but it still retained plenty of open space, ideal for parking caravans without annoying anyone.

"Simon asked who owned the farm, and I told him I didn't know, and as far as I knew, the previous occupants had disappeared. He also queried about the pigs running loose. I told him you could do your own thing. You'll be doing us a favour if you can get rid of the pigs. They're a nuisance, but I'm sure they'll taste good."

"Simon studied the site, and when he finished eyeballing the place, he gave a non-committal shrug and grunted something."

"I asked him what did he think?

"What's in it for you?"

"Nothing, and you're out of the way of the complainers."

Simon strolled around the area again, giving everything another look. "You know as well as I do that we don't fit in. It would be great if people took us as we are, honest and hard-working."

"I found it difficult not to laugh. I told him, you'll move, or it's a court order."

"Beggars can't be choosers, Mr Daniels, and if this place means we're left alone. We'll move in this afternoon."

"Make sure you do."

"We will if only to get you lot off our backs."

"They shifted lock stock and barrel to the farm. Out of interest, did you ever discover who owned that farm?"

Walker was, for a moment, taken aback by the question. "If I remember, Bobby Little's name was on the title deeds, but with no will or family, it passed to the Crown as ownerless property, bona vacantia. The council took it over and rewilded the whole area. Some nature conservation societies turned it into a wildlife sanctuary. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. Anyway, with my help, my wife became the best detective at this station. You know her arrest record outstripped other officers. The word was the Chief Constable forced you to promote her.

"Anyway, I digress. You need to understand what happened to those wankers from London. For obvious reasons, I will not include the names of those who assisted in my mission."

"For Christ's sake, John, stop wasting my time and get on with it."

"For a long while, I searched for a solution and often changed how I asked myself the question. One day, I found the answer but could not achieve the desired result alone."

Bored, the superintendent's face remained unresponsive.

"Brian Langton, his brothers, Stewart, and the brainless one Francis made their collections on a Thursday or Friday afternoon. I watched them for a couple of months and listed who they visited, where and when. My list may not have been comprehensive, but it was an excellent base.

"When ready, my friends and I waited in a battered VW camper next to Johnston's carpet shop. Of course, you won't remember the old man who owned the shop. A fire destroyed the property later that year. This week the collector chose Friday, so we wasted a day. However, the following afternoon, Brian appeared and entered the shop. He was busy shouting at the owner, demanding an extra fifty quid, and didn't hear the two men who entered. In seconds a thick black plastic bin bag dropped over his head. He could hardly breathe, struggled and swore, but my associates were more robust. My assistant put a chokehold on his throat to silence him. We hoisted him like an old carpet and tossed his wriggling body into the back of the VW. My driver had the van parked at the shop's entrance. Brian tried to resist, but a squirt of ether into the bag silenced him.

"When we arrived at our destination, we secured his hands, legs, and feet and dumped him into an old ban the bomb Cortina. With the plastic bag removed, he couldn't help but see the line of vehicles in front of his entering the crusher. His vehicle was number four in the queue.

"Have you ever seen the fear in a man's eyes when he knows his life will end? It isn't very comforting. He screamed, but with the racket made by the crusher, we couldn't hear him. By the time we dragged him back to the van, the poor bastard had pissed and shit himself. He was not a happy bunny and swore he'd kill us.

"We drove out of town to an isolated farmer's field. We dragged him out and dumped him into the mud. At that time, the sun was setting. He shouted, but we shoved a dirty rag into his mouth. I still wonder what thoughts ran through his brain when we produced our knives.

"Brian became difficult, so we put him to sleep with a good breath of ether. I can tell you it was a cold night with a warning of ground frost. One of my team banged four steel stakes into the ground before cutting off his clothes.

"Anyway, we staked him out, waited until he came to his senses and told him if he and his friends did not leave town, we'd make sure the car entered the crusher next time. From his simple answer, I think he understood.

"With him struggling to free himself, we left. The farmer discovered him when he ploughed the field the following day. The VW drove back to the scrapyard and crushed. We posted the money we found on him through the carpet shop's letterbox. Unfortunately, it didn't work, and we had to do it all over again, except now they acted in pairs."

"The overpowering of Brian and Stewart was messy, but with us equipped with pickaxe handles, they succumbed. We had banked on not being seen, but an old couple out for a stroll saw us attack them when they exited their car but thankfully kept walking. We escaped with them, well-battered in the boot of their vehicle. I drove them and my associates to a remote spot in the country, stripped and staked them out as we did with Brian. After a chat, they agreed to leave Bellstead. It took three days for someone to find them. The newspapers reported that a courting couple out for a stroll stumbled across them. I guess they were looking for a quiet spot to get it together. It must have dampened their passion at seeing two naked men lying in their crap.

"There you are, another case you can close."

Chief Superintendent Walker hesitated. He knew he was on dodgy ground. "John, from what you have told me, you aided and abetted in the murder of the Little brothers. I can't prove anything; as you know, times have changed."

John's face was impassive. "I disagree. My team became the equalisers, the defenders of honest people. When you're dealing with serious crimes, people need help. The police operated with their hands tied behind their backs. My team dealt with the problem. A couple of friends and I found solutions and helped make our town safer for families."

"Look by the state of your health. I doubt if you're going to be around long."

John smiled for the first time and shook his head as sweat rolled down his face. "Thankfully, you and your merry men never understood or realised that my friends and I had reorganised the Neighbourhood Watch. We never intended to kill anyone. We persuaded by fair means and foul for the shit of this world to change their minds and move away."

Walker felt a change in the atmosphere of the room. "Is it me, John, but it's getting colder in my office?"

"You must be coming down with something. Where was I? My team consisted of two retired commandoes trained not to take prisoners during the war. It was evident that we could not deal with every crime, so we specialised. Drug dealers, domestic violence and despicable criminal activities. Fortunately, they are both deceased.

"I hasten to add my Angela only ever gave us information. I, in turn, gave her advice on how to proceed with many of her successful investigations. She had nothing to do with the justice we delivered. You wrote a report advising the Chief Constable that the area's crime rate had dropped. You put this down to good policing. 

John managed a smile. "As always, I did the work, and you received the awards."