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the disappointment in his father’s eyes, no matter the words spoken in his defence. Those same cloudy eyes were always upon him wherever he went.
    â€˜He was a good copper, your ol’ dad. Learnt a lot from him, when I was going up the ranks. A real stickler for procedures mind, but he knew where to draw the line.’
    â€˜Never rose above custody sergeant,’ said Harry.
    â€˜A bloody sight better achievement than yours.’
    â€˜Wasted his whole life in the Met.’
    â€˜You mean dedicated?’
    â€˜Long time to be stuck in a job.’
    â€˜To think he was so proud of you. I don’t get you at all.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t expect you to.’
    â€˜As a young copper he wore out more leather on the beat than the rest of his division. Real proper coppering. Something you should respect. Something you’d know nothing about.’
    â€˜I’ve heard it all before.’
    â€˜Then you can hear it again – from me. He might have been in uniform all his life, but he showed more class than you in your pathetic fifteen minutes of fame in plain clothes. He kept telling me that you’d make detective inspector one day. It was all he ever wanted for you.’
    â€˜Well it never came about. Did it?’
    â€˜Jesus, you’re a hard case. What the hell’s wrong with you?’
    Harry changed his position on the sofa and did not reply.
    â€˜Glad we tossed you out when we did,’ continued Gemmell. ‘Not that you gave us much choice.’
    â€˜I was going to leave, anyway. I wanted a job with more creativity. One that would transcend my highest expectations in life.’
    â€˜Seems like you made it,’ said Gemmell, looking again at the grubby habitat surrounding him.
    â€˜This is purely temporary,’ said Harry, referring to his flat. ‘I’m at a crossroad in my business development right now, you understand.’
    Gemmell shook his head, and said, ‘You’re sure not your father’s son.’
    That much was true.
    Then the voice from Yorkshire asked a question. ‘You own a gun?’
    â€˜Not after I gave up competitions.’
    â€˜Mind if we search your premises?’
    â€˜Not without a warrant.’
    Gemmell pulled the required documentation from his pocket and cheerily told Harry that a team was already on its way to conduct the search.
    An hour later Mr Charalambous was standing on the landing watching with horror the floorboards in Harry’s living room being yanked up by officers. The staircase was in constant use and Mr Charalambous was moving backwards and forwards to get out of their way as they lugged furniture out of the flat to make more room for the search. Harry shrugged his shoulders apologetically as he led two officers downstairs to show where he had parked his Volvo.
    The whole search took five hours but nothing was found in the flat. They took the car away, even though they had little interest in the vehicle. On the night of the murder Mr Charalambous had told them it had not moved. Harry figured removing the car was just a delaying tactic while they looked for something else on him.
    After Gemmell and the officers left empty-handed, Mr Charalambous helped Harry move the furniture back into the flat. It was four in the afternoon when they stopped working and Harry consoled himself that the flat actually looked tidier than when he’d first moved in a year ago. He fished out a bottle of whisky from the kitchen cupboard and poured three fingers into two empty tea cups as he’d no suitable glasses on account that he usually drank alone, straight from the bottle.
    Exhausted, they sank into the armchair holding their drinks, with only the shudder of the Number 17 trundling down the Cally disturbing them.
    â€˜What you do now?’ asked Mr Charalambous.
    â€˜I need to get away from here.’
    â€˜I have a flat in Nicosia.’
    â€˜You didn’t tell them about my lock up,