AT THE END of the following working day, Toni was filing her notes on a case, glad it was over. Because of previous successes, she was often given work for women who wanted to make sure their husbands were not having affairs.

Jimmy Wilson strolled in. “Evening, babes,” he said. “Fancy a pint?”

“No, thanks,” said Toni. “Not tonight.” Jimmy was chubby and somehow he seemed to fill the small office with an oppressive, sweaty presence. Toni had already decided she did not like him. Phil Marshall was a gentleman. Patrick Mulligan looked and behaved like the hard-working copper he used to be, but there was something unhealthy about Jimmy. Toni wondered why he had taken early retirement. It was supposed to be because he had contracted cancer, but she felt sure, somehow, it had been because of some other reason. She moved towards the door. He barred her way.

“C’mon,” he said. “Just one drink.”

The door behind him swung open, banging into his back. He stepped aside as Agatha strode in, her bearlike eyes darting from Toni’s embarrassed face to Jimmy’s grinning one.

“I’m just off,” said Toni.

“Coming with you.” Jimmy moved to take her arm.

“Run along, Toni,” said Agatha. “You. Jimmy. Stay.”

When Toni had left, Agatha said, “What was all that about?”

“About what?”

“She looked nervous and embarrassed. You were blocking her way.”

“I only asked her for a drink.”

“Look here. That girl is eighteen and you are too old. If I catch you bothering her again, you’re out. Get it! Now sit down and tell me if you’ve found out anything else.”