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this up now. I’ll speak to Jason on my own. What do you see, John?’
    ‘A bottle of wine.’
    ‘Not quite. It’s a bottle of expensive wine. A Nuits-Saint-Georges to be precise. From Burgundy.’
    ‘How do you know that?’ asked Noble, with a hint of suspicion. It was still an offence in most station houses to drink anything other than lager and cheap whisky.
    ‘Because I spent my honeymoon on a barge in Burgundy and that was a wine we could never afford. We weren’t well off, but I imagine it would still cost youat least fifteen to twenty pounds in a supermarket. Assuming you can get it round here. I doubt the Wallis family are oenophiles,’ he flicked a glance at Noble but his constable was maintaining the face of a stoic, ‘so get someone to find out where it was bought and by whom, if you can. Who else is on the team apart from Cooper?’
    ‘DC Morton, DC Bull, DC Gadd.’
    ‘Jane Gadd? Good officer,’ said Brook evenly, ignoring Noble’s quick glance. Jane Gadd was Noble’s girlfriend. Brook wasn’t supposed to know that–nobody was–but receding proximity to sexual relationships had sharpened his antennae in such things. More importantly she was young and hungry for promotion, as were DCs Dave Bull and Rob Morton. This was a big opportunity for them and he knew they’d toe the line and work hard.
    ‘Try the big supermarkets centrally. They’ll know if they stock it. When Aktar’s discharged get him and Wendy Jones to help. Send them round the off licences.’
    WPC Wendy Jones was reading a magazine as Brook peered through a crack in the curtains. He hesitated. This could be difficult and Brook wasn’t sure how to play it. That was nothing new. He hadn’t been sure on any of the chance encounters since their little fling the previous New Year’s Eve had left them both with a severe case of embarrassment.
    Nearly a year ago. Brook could scarcely believe it. The power of alcohol had a miraculous power to transform behaviour. Brook could scarcely tally the demure, black-stockinged professional before him now with the reckless passion of that night. The energy and the urgency of herlovemaking had left its mark on Brook, a casualty of a more repressed generation.
    It had been the best sex he could remember–and he had a good memory–and had offered him a glimpse of a happiness he thought he could never experience after his divorce.
    He hated to admit it, but the touch of young flesh had thrown open the stable door on emotions he hadn’t allowed free rein in a long, long time–lust, the poignancy of retreating youth, the urge to retrieve his wasted life. For the first time in years, Brook had experienced fleeting optimism. It was a very unhealthy period.
    He coughed as he entered to allow her a few seconds to prepare. Her generous mouth dropped open briefly to reveal a glimpse of her perfect teeth. Her large dark eyes met his and she stood up. Brook was reminded of her long legs and stunning figure–what one of his poker-playing colleagues in the Met used to call a ‘Full House’.
    ‘Sir!’ she said her eyes almost level with his. She was only a couple of inches shorter than Brook’s six feet.
    ‘I didn’t know you were riding shotgun, Constable.’ Brook decided only at the last second not to call her Wendy.
    ‘Only while PC Aktar’s in here, sir.’ She fiddled with the grip restraining her long brown hair.
    ‘I’ve just seen him.’
    Jones seemed very nervous and Brook was reminded of her acute awkwardness at waking up, not just with a senior colleague, but in his hovel of a flat. She’d scuttled back to her riverside development as quickly as she could. ‘How is he, sir?’
    ‘He’s feeling a little sorry for himself.’
    ‘I daren’t imagine what he saw to cause him to pass out like that.’
    ‘No. It was pretty bad,’ he added, deciding not to expand. ‘How’s this one?’ Brook enquired, nodding towards Jason Wallis who was unconscious.
    ‘The doctor says he’ll be