The phlegm looked like normal bubbles on top of the whisky and Jimmy felt his stomach rebelling as he handed the glass to the tall skinny policeman with the sarcastic smile and the air of someone who was under the impression he was far too good for the place he had landed up in.

DI Halpin was a tame filth, but he was not tame enough for Jimmy. In fact he was a flash prat until he had accidentally got himself on to the Serious Crime Squad through severe boot licking and serious amounts of cash provided, naturally, by people like Freddie and Jimmy. He was making the mistake all treacherous people eventually made. They believed their own press, they saw themselves as not only above the law they had sworn to uphold, but above the people they traded with, and they always got the fright of their life when they finally realised just how deeply they were entrenched in the shit of their own making.

They were quite happy to lie and cheat old friends and colleagues, were comfortable with their double dealing and the fact that violent criminals, as well as the usual blaggers, walked free and clear while they fitted up someone they either had a grudge against or who they had once more been paid serious money to take off the street.

Consequently, the criminals they dealt with saw them as the lowest of the low. When he was a humble filth, if Halpin busted a dealer with five weights of dope, the dealer knew that only two weights would be taken into evidence, the other three would be back on the street within hours. He helped himself to monies and firearms located on searches, which he also recycled back on to the streets. He honestly believed he was above the law.

It was this greed that had brought him to the attention of Freddie and Jimmy in the first place, and tonight he was going to find out the real reason they had bought him. For the last six months he had been courted by them, had taken a luxurious holiday, and pleased his wife no end because he had finally agreed to the conservatory she had been desperate to have built on to the back of their mock-Tudor, four-bedroomed detached house in Manor Park.

Halpin was flavour of the month at the moment and he was loving it. He did not see what he was doing was wrong in any way, he saw it as a means to an end. He was still young enough to feather his nest, and after talking to colleagues he was determined that he was not going to end his days on a police pension, reminiscing about a bygone era when he was useful, and when he was still being listened to.

He had seen that time and time again with colleagues, and it frightened him. His own father had seemed like a god to him but now he saw him for the man he really was, a small man who had lived for work. Well, Halpin was determined that he would work to live. He wanted a good life, wanted money in his pocket, and if it meant he had to bend the rules to achieve that goal, then so be it.

He had married above him, and he was painfully aware of that fact. He loved his wife and his kids and he wanted them to have all the things he felt they were entitled to. He had loved being in the force, but as the years had gone on he had come to understand that there was not only a ceiling to what he could earn, but also, that to get on properly he had to court the right people. Drink in the right pubs and ignore the flagrant bending of their rules.

The feeling of pride he had felt in his job had gradually been eroded. It was on a drugs raid a few years earlier that he had finally burned his boats. Until then he had taken the occasional drink, meaning he had received money for turning a blind eye and leaving people to ply their trade as long as they were not too blatant about it. The attitude being they were better off with the devils they knew.

Then he had been teamed up with an older man who had tipped him the wink on their way to the raid. He told him that they had a deal with the man in question, and that they were to go to the pub for a couple of hours before the raid took place to give him plenty of time to sort himself out. It was stepping over the line, and this had bothered him.

But it had been the dealer's house that had convinced him he was a mug. It had blown him away, from the kitchen that looked like something from NASA to the glass and chrome lounge. It had been a learning curve, the sheer luxury of it, the way the man's family had been dressed, and the kids in their private school uniforms.

The dealer, a close friend of his governor's, had opened a bottle of Scotch and sat down to chew the breeze with them. It had been an enjoyable afternoon and the beginning of his double life.

He had gone home that night and as he had let himself into his semi-detached in Chigwell, with its cream-coloured nets to stop the neighbours peering in, and its constant smell of damp, it had occurred to him that crime did pay, and it paid a lot better than he had first thought.

Now his wife was happier than she had ever been, as were his kids. Money did buy happiness in its own way, he was proof of that. As for the adages about money not buying happiness, well, he had proved that was utter crap. They were sayings to keep the poorer parts of the population quiet, mainly those without any real money. It might not buy good health but money bought the best doctors in the world. Money might not make your relationship better but it certainly kept the relationship going, because it was the lack of money that caused most of the rows in most of the households.

Halpin's whole concept of life had been challenged and he had finally found the solution to his worries. A decent holiday built a marriage, the break gave them all a chance to recharge their batteries and the hot sun did wonders to break down barriers between man and wife. The strolling along a beach, the few drinks before bed and the smiling children crashed out from a day's swimming and playing went a long way to making people happier.

His life was better than ever, and he felt he had a hold over the people he had to deal with. At the end of the day he was a policeman, they needed him and he held all the cards. It was this belief that allowed him to show his disdain for these people. It was also the reason he was going to be brought down to earth in the next twenty-four hours.

He heard Freddie before he saw him.

As was his wont, Freddie came in the pub like a conquering hero, smiling and laughing, a word for everyone and a drink offered. He knew his job, he also knew it was important to keep good relations with people because you never knew when you might need them. The Clancys had found that out, and it had been a lesson well learned for all concerned.

Freddie was still smiling as he sat opposite the DI, who watched warily as Bernie Sands eyed him for long seconds before drifting over to the bar.

'Hello, mate, all right.'

It was a greeting, not a question.

Freddie snapped his fingers towards the bar. 'Drinks all round, please.'

Paul nodded. He liked old Freddie. Since he had taken over, trouble in the bar had all but ceased, even the lairiest among them were wary of Jackson. Even Bernie Sands said please and thank you, that alone was a touch.

Freddie knew his job and he kept everyone, except himself, on an even keel. He was worth every penny, and he knew it.

As he looked at the policeman with the beer gut and the weather-beaten look of a man who had drunk too much too soon he said happily, 'You and me need a talk, mate, because tomorrow me and you have to sort out a bit of skulduggery at the Old Bailey.'

Jimmy noticed that the man's smile was now frozen on to his face. It was funny, but they always thought they were never going to be called on for anything serious.

But Halpin was about to find out that they owned him, and that he owed them far more than he had thought possible.