John Daniels appeared to those who knew him younger than his years. Yet, he possessed a stubborn streak and physical strength when pursuing a criminal. Drunks on a Friday night discovered this to their cost. He sat frowning, not speaking to his team, and smoking at his desk while waiting for a phone call from the sergeant at reception.

The instant his telephone rang, he grabbed the receiver. "Thanks, Tom." At a fast pace, he headed straight for his boss's office. Once there, he knocked and entered.

Chief Superintendent Brian Ogilvy turned his head and hung his jacket on a hook. "Morning, Jack. Sorry for your loss. I didn't expect to see you in the office today."

"I know who murdered Elsie, and I accept the rules state I'm not allowed to work on the case. Last night, my grass told me David and Mike Little sanctioned the fire. But when you pay peanuts, you get monkeys. Are you ready for this? His morons firebombed the wrong house. I'm informed a few pigs ate a hearty breakfast."

Ogilvy, in his handmade charcoal grey suit, starched white shirt and conservative blue tie, seated himself behind his desk. He fixed John with a curious look. "And you can prove it was the brothers?"

"Trust me, arrest the Little brothers and let me talk to them for an hour in the cells. I'll make them talk like parrots on LSD."

"John, that style of an interview is history. We don't wipe the blood from the floors and walls anymore. Without evidence, the rules tie my hands. There's nothing I can do. Go home and do what you have to do."

John's eyes flashed with rage. At this moment, he detested Ogilvy and did not disguise the venom in his voice. "I came to you for support. Have you forgotten the days when you helped a prisoner trip the light fantastic to the bottom of the stairs? You followed his bruised body and kicked the shit out of him? I deserve one hour."

"Would you feel the same if it hadn't been your sister?"

"You'd better believe it. Justice is good for my soul. Since they banged up the Krays in sixty-nine, the Little brothers have copied their every move. Protection rackets, extortion, and prostitution, to name a few of their profitable activities. Those three fleece everyone, and we are powerless to stop them. They need locking up and the key tossed in the sea. But, unfortunately, they pay others to do their dirty work."

"The problem you have is proving one of the brothers gave the order. As I said, show me the evidence, and I'll support you. That's the only way the legal beagles can put them away for a long time. Without it, those bastards will laugh in our faces when they cash the wrongful arrest cheque."

Ogilvy's phone rang, and he lifted the receiver.

John lept forward, grabbed the handset and slammed it into the cradle. "I guess you're not going to help?"

"Sorry, John. Regulations. We're talking about a major crime investigation."

There was a sharpness in John's tone, and his eyes threatened murder. He considered his options. "In our lives, we have choices. My sister did nothing wrong and should have lived her life in peace. I'm not surprised by your attitude when all you can do is bury your head in the sand. You may be my governor, but you can shove your job where the sun doesn't shine. I'm out of here."

Ogilvy knew John meant what he was saying. "Look, I can understand why you're upset. I'd feel the same way if it were me. Why don't you take a couple of weeks off?"

"No fucking way."

"John, this is between us. I know you're in line for promotion. Don't fuck up, and it'll add a few quid to your pension."

"You know I don't need the money. I have led a frugal life since the death of my Jackie, and I have a profitable hobby. "I'm out of here, and if you find the Little brothers hanging from a tree, you'll have a good idea who did it."

"You're acting stupid. Is it justice you want or revenge? And by the way, ex-police officers who cross the line and end up in the nick tend to be accident-prone."

"Someone once said Justice is the queen of virtues." John shook his head." What's a load of bollocks. I say nail the bastards, lock them up, and lose the keys. Anyway, I've always been a better copper than you and know how the system works. I'll clear my desk and hand in my resignation letter on the way out."

"John, that sounds like a threat. Anyway, you've wasted enough of my time. Go away and think of what you're giving up. Please don't end your career on a crime you can't solve. Break the rules, and I'll be knocking on your door."

"Who do you think you're talking to? I'm not some sprog copper trying to impress his governor. You tell me I should give up on my sister's killers? I can't do that. The law and justice are never the same, and I want retribution. Get a life. Worst case scenario – Me in a dodgy hotel, using a false identity waiting in the shadows for my chance. You watch far too much television. Do you believe I'd leave a trail of clues? Anyway, I hate the brothers with a passion you'll never understand. For the record, I won't shake your hand."

A black mood cloaked John as he returned to his office for the last time. Still, he was right about one thing. He knew the system. After all, he had written many of the procedures.

***

Those who worked for and with John watched in amazement as he emptied his drawers straight into a waste paper bin.

He lifted his head. "Before any of you ask, I've told Ogilvy to shove his job., I can't work for arseholes. On a need to know basis, I'll be in the pub at six this evening."

***

When he got home, John knew his fridge was empty. He sighed, not even a couple of beers to help him relax. He stroked his chin. Best I pop along to the corner shop few a few cans.

He sat sipping from a beer bottle and smoking in his kitchen. On the table stood a photograph of his wife. He started talking to her as if she was in the room. "I know you listen. How can I allow those scum to get away with murder? Evidence, Ogilvy, knows there's none we can use to get a conviction. And even if the two men who carried out his orders are pig food. And don't ask what are my plans as I don't have any. I've never killed anyone before. I'm glad no one can see me talking to myself. That's my problem we always spoke to each other. Life was easy when you were here. Anyway, I can't sit on my arse all day." He lit another cigarette and put the open crate of beer in his fridge.

The telephone on the kitchen wall rang, and he took a moment to respond. "John Daniels."

"Angus Hope, John. My condolences. I heard you told your governor to stuff his job today."

"Bad news travels fast. You know I loved my job but times have changed. The old days and old ways worked, but now that style of policing is out of fashion. Out of interest, is this a private or business call?"

"Both John. Concerning your sister Elsie. Did you know she used my firm to write and store her will?"

"To tell you the truth, I didn't know she'd written a will."

"I have to ask this question. As the main beneficiary, would you like me to sort out Elsie's estate?"

"How long have we known each other, Angus. You do not need to ask."

"Rules is rules, John. I'll send you a formal request to sign and return, but I'll complete the preambles in the meantime. Is that okay?"

John found himself nodding. "Her estate, as you put it, is a pile of ashes."

"Your sister was a cunning old bird. Her life insurance is a tidy sum. The house will realise..."

"Angus, I'm not interested. When you need my signature for whatever, give me a ring."

"Sorry, John, but life goes on, and it's my job."

"I know, but today is the wrong day." He replaced the receiver.

***

John stood at the polished bar of the Templers Rest and gazed around. Apart from him, it was empty. "A pint of your best bitter, please."

Bill, the owner, wandered across, "Rumour has it you have left the force."

John laughed. "It's not a rumour. I jacked it in this morning."

"Can I ask why?"

"It's not the force I joined. The merchant bankers have taken over and operate from a rule book."

Bill placed a pint in front of John. "On the house, and I have a message for you."

John stopped drinking. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?"

Bill smiled. "You're required upstairs. Your team booked the function room until the last man or woman goes home."

He let out a long breath like he did not know and nodded with a slight smile. "Bill, I'll pay the bill in the morning."

"Already done and dusted. Enjoy the night."

Carrying his pint, he strolled up the stairs, the noise level increasing as he mounted each step. A roar drowned any conversation as he entered. Someone shoved another pint bitter into his empty hand as he made his way to the bar.

With a grin on his face, his eyes scanned the room. Many of his retired colleges were busy catching up on new and old news, swapping stories and jokes. By the appearance of a few, they had been there since lunchtime. He searched for his boss, wondering if he would bother to come.

Terry, his sergeant, came and stood alongside him. With a giant grin on his face, he swayed to the beat of the music. "I'll miss you, guv. You were alright, a bit of a bastard but fair."

"You will miss me like a hole in the head." John pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, removed one and lit it with a cheap plastic lighter. Before saying another word, he dragged the smoke into his lungs and blew a smoke ring. "Terry. I'm glad to be on the outside. Politics and arse crawling have become the name of the game. The criminals are laughing all the way to the bank."

"Great turn out," said Terry.

"Most are here to get rat arsed, and when they fall through the front door, tell their wives it was my fault."

Terry gazed across the room. "I see Angela Newton is on her own. Shame about her. I would love to get into her knickers, but she's not interested in men. Did you know she lifts weights at the gym?"

John turned to the barman. "Another pint of best, please." He turned and gazed at Angela. "I didn't, but she's a striking woman always full of life, and a good copper, gets the job done. A mile above you lot."

"Your pint, sir."

John turned and grabbed it, raised the glass towards Angela and smiled. To his surprise, she acknowledged the gesture.

"I'd better get back to the lads," said Terry.

"Away you go," said John, watching the promotion hunting sergeants leaving early. "Not like the old days," he muttered.

The beers flowed non-stop. Colleagues greeted John, shook his hand, slapped him on the back, told him not to be a stranger and left.

At eleven, the hardcore drinkers decided to start a boat race. Two teams of equal numbers with John at the head of one raced to finish their drinks in sequence. More games of a similar variety continued into the early hours.

John drank his pint as fast as he could, lay back on the floor, and closed his eyes.

"He's out for the count," said a female voice. "Someone order a taxi and carry him down the stairs.

Four drunken men lifted John. As they descended the stairs, his head bounced on each step. With difficulty, they reached the outside where a taxi waited. They bundled his carcass into the back seat. He curled into a ball and snored with a "What the fuck," on the rear seat.