'She's family,' laughed Shepherd.

'She's not my family,' said Jack. 'Put in a good word for me, will you?'

'I'll see what I can do,' said Shepherd.

'That means no, doesn't it? b.a.s.t.a.r.d.'

'Take care, Jack. And thanks.'

Shepherd spent most of Thursday helping to secure a crime scene in Wembley. Four black teenagers had fired more than two dozen shots at a Turkish takeaway where a rival gang had been buying kebabs. The gang members had escaped unscathed but the owner of the restaurant and his teenage daughter had been wounded. By chance an armed-response vehicle had been in the area but they had been forced to give up the chase after a hail of bullets ripped through their vehicle. The getaway car was later found burned out in Harlesden. Detectives from Operation Trident were on the case and reckoned that it was part of an ongoing drugs dispute between two north-London gangs.

Over a five-hour period Shepherd had knocked on more than eighty doors of flats overlooking the street where the shooting had taken place. Most of the residents hadn't answered, and those who had just said they hadn't seen anything.

The team were given sandwiches and cans of soft drink for lunch. Shepherd sat next to Kelly while he ate. There was the usual banter and ribbing, and no indication that Kelly was in any way uncomfortable being around him. c.o.ker, too, was his usual self. Shepherd was used to hiding his emotions and real feelings while working under cover and knew how difficult it was. He kept looking for signs of tension in the two men and the way they acted, but there was nothing to suggest they were anything other than part of a tightly knit team.

They got back to Paddington Green just after six. Shepherd had taken the Tube to work, and on the way home he stopped off at Marks & Spencer to stock up on groceries. When he got back to his house in Kilburn he made himself two bacon sandwiches and some coffee before going through to the sitting room. He was just reaching for the TV remote when the doorbell rang. He got up, went through to the hall and opened the front door. It was c.o.ker. He was wearing a waterproof jacket and black leather gloves. He grinned. 'Hey, Three-amp,' he said. 'Got any beer?'

'Fridgeful,' said Shepherd, holding the door open. 'Just made bacon sandwiches if you want one.'

He showed c.o.ker into the sitting room and went to get him a can of Heineken. When he got back, c.o.ker had taken off his gloves and was tucking into one of the sandwiches. Shepherd put the can in front of him and sat on the sofa.

c.o.ker held up the sandwich. 'You said I could, right?'

'Knock yourself out,' said Shepherd. c.o.ker had taken off his coat and hung it on the door handle. Shepherd was surprisingly rea.s.sured that c.o.ker had also taken off his gloves. He reached for the remaining sandwich and took a bite. 'So, how did you get the nickname Lurpak?' he asked.

c.o.ker wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'No one told you?'

'I didn't ask.'

'But you're asking now?'

'Yeah, I'm asking now.'

'It's because I'm a b.u.t.ter,' he said.

'A b.u.t.ter?'

'A head-b.u.t.ter,' said c.o.ker. 'We were doing a rapid entry into a house not far from here, as it happens. I was third in. Carpets was first, obviously, and Pelican had nagged to be number two so that she could show us how big her b.a.l.l.s were. So we go piling in and Carpets bundles the guy up against a wall so all's good, and then this woman gets up from behind a sofa and grabs Pelican from behind and starts scratching her. She had these long nails, like b.l.o.o.d.y talons they were, and she was going for Pelican's eyes. We were in a tiny b.l.o.o.d.y flat, not enough room to swing a cat, so I could barely move. I grab the woman and try to pull her off Pelican and she turns and starts spitting at me. Then she tries to knee me in the groin and I'm losing it but I can't use my baton so I head-b.u.t.t her. Bang. She goes down like a sack of spanners.' c.o.ker laughed, then popped the tab on his can of lager and drank.

'Any comebacks?' asked Shepherd.

c.o.ker shook his head. 'Necessary force, mate,' he said. He put down his lager and took another bite of his sandwich.

Shepherd wondered when he was going to explain why he'd turned up on his doorstep. 'Pelican wasn't happy when I hit that slag for her,' he said.

'Yeah, she likes to show that she's one of the guys,' agreed c.o.ker. 'Hates it when we stand up for her. But at the end of the day she's a female and if anyone takes liberties with her then it's up to us to step in.'

'Can't argue with that,' said Shepherd.

c.o.ker sipped his lager, his eyes never leaving Shepherd. He put the can down slowly. 'Get yourself a beer, Three-amp. Coffee's for wimps.'

Shepherd chuckled and went through to the kitchen to get himself a lager. He popped the tab, clunked his can against c.o.ker's and toasted him. 'Down the hatch,' he said.

'Yeah,' said c.o.ker. They both drank. c.o.ker's eyes narrowed as he studied Shepherd perhaps he was trying to work out what was going through his mind. Shepherd smiled back amiably. 'I wanted to talk about what happened yesterday,' said c.o.ker, quietly.

'Yeah, I figured,' said Shepherd.

'You didn't say anything?'

'To who?'

'To anybody.'

'None of my business, Lurpak.'

'But you must have wondered, right?'

Shepherd shrugged. 'If you want a souvenir, it's nothing to do with me,' he said.

c.o.ker laughed, spraying bits of bacon and bread over the coffee-table. 'I like you, Three-amp,' he said, when he'd finished laughing.

'Yeah, I like you too,' said Shepherd. 'Shall we get married?'

c.o.ker laughed again. Then he put his head on one side, watching Shepherd. 'Why do you think I wanted the gun, Three-amp?'

'I have no b.l.o.o.d.y idea,' said Shepherd. 'Why don't you tell me?'

'First I want to know why you didn't go running to the sarge. Or the commander. Or the rubber heels. Professional Standards?'

'Because I'm the newbie. If that's the way things are done, it's nothing to do with me.'

c.o.ker picked up his can and sat back. 'I don't get you, Three-amp. You're not even curious?'

'Of course I'm curious, you stupid sod, but I'm on very thin ice here, aren't I? I like this job, I worked b.l.o.o.d.y hard to get it, and if I don't fit in I could be out on my a.r.s.e.'

c.o.ker studied Shepherd with unblinking blue eyes. Then he nodded slowly. 'Remember that story KFC told you, about the drug-dealer who threatened his family?'

'Wilkes. Yeah, I remember.'

'Yeah, and remember how you said he should have given Wilkes a good kicking?'

'The b.a.s.t.a.r.d deserved it,' said Shepherd.

'No question,' said c.o.ker. 'The thing is, somebody did kick his a.r.s.e. Kicked it good and proper.'

'KFC said Wilkes was in prison in the States.'

'Yeah, he is. But before that he was warned off.'

'By who?'

c.o.ker tapped the side of his nose. 'Need to know, Three-amp. One step at a time. What I can tell you is that it got sorted for KFC, well and truly sorted.'

'How?'

c.o.ker shoved the last bit of sandwich into his mouth and chewed, then washed it down with lager. 'Someone went around to Wilkes and showed him the error of his ways.'

'And that sorted it?'

c.o.ker grinned. 'Oh, yeah, it straightened him out perfectly.' He leaned forward. 'He poured petrol over Wilkes and his wife, took out a lighter and told Wilkes that he had two choices. He could swear to never go near KFC and his family or he could go up in flames.'

'Who was he?'

'The Masked Avenger,' said c.o.ker. 'Wilkes didn't know who it was. The guy was wearing a mask and he told Wilkes that if anything ever happened to KFC he'd be back. Then he gave him a good kicking and went on his way. From that day on KFC didn't have any problems with Wilkes.'

'That's a good story, Lurpak,' said Shepherd. 'Want another beer?'

'Okay,' said c.o.ker.

Shepherd went to the kitchen to get two more cans of lager. He gave one to c.o.ker and opened one for himself. He didn't want to drink but he wanted to appear relaxed. He put his feet up on the coffee-table. 'The thing is, I don't see how what happened to Wilkes has anything to do with what happened at the house. Unless you're going to tell me that you're the Masked Avenger.'

c.o.ker laughed. 'Nah, I'm not the Caped Crusader,' he said. 'I'm more like Robin.'

'A sidekick?'

c.o.ker drank his lager and smacked his lips. 'Yeah, a sidekick. Here's the thing, Three-amp. What happened to Wilkes wasn't legal, no question about that. But it worked. It worked a treat. Wilkes never went near KFC again, and when he did come across him it was "Yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir." And when we saw that it worked, well, that got us thinking.'

'And by "we" you mean...?'

c.o.ker waved the question away as he burped loudly. 'That's for down the line,' he said. 'What I'm telling you now is by way of background.' He leaned forward. 'I know you're a sheep-s.h.a.gger, but you've been in London long enough to see the way things are here, right?'

'I'm not Welsh, Lurpak. And I don't s.h.a.g sheep.'

'You're not from the city, though. And the city is a whole different ballgame. We've got g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers on every street corner, feral kids running wild, no-go areas, knife crime, drive-by shootings, and we've got a criminal justice system that can't cope. We've got beat cops who are so weighed down with paperwork that they're scared of making arrests. We've got fat cops, short cops, cops who've been hired because of their ethnic background rather than their abilities, we've got magistrates who think that burglars and muggers can be punished with warnings and probation, and we've got prisons so full that murderers and rapists are being put back on the streets early. But more than anything what we've got is a criminal population who don't fear the system any more. They know that the cops are powerless, that the judges are weak and that in prison they'll get TV and PlayStations and gyms and the European Court of Human Rights to appeal to if they feel hard done by, all at the taxpayer's expense.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Lurpak, that's one h.e.l.l of a speech.'

'I'm telling you what most cops think. It's just that in the PC world we live in, no one can say it.'

'But I get the feeling you're not just talking, right?'

'Right,' agreed c.o.ker.

'So what's the gun for? Keeping it for a rainy day?'

c.o.ker put down his lager, interlinked his fingers and leaned forward. 'I'm taking a risk, talking to you like this.'

'Not really,' said Shepherd. 'If I was going to say anything about the gun the time to say it was when we were in the room or back at the station. The fact I didn't means I'm in deep s.h.i.t if it comes out now.'

'You could go running to the commander.'

'I could, but then I'd have to explain why I didn't say anything at the time.'

'And why didn't you?'

'Like I said, I'm the newbie. I don't want to make waves while I'm still wet behind the ears.' He smiled. 'Besides, worst that can happen is that I just say I didn't say anything. I can't be punished for that.'

'And that's what you'd say if you were asked?'

'Hear no, see no, speak no,' said Shepherd.

c.o.ker nodded thoughtfully, then drained his can and stood up. 'Okay,' he said.

'Okay?' said Shepherd. 'What does that mean?'

'It means I'm off,' said c.o.ker.

'And then what?'

'I've got to talk to someone.'

'The Masked Avenger?'

c.o.ker grinned. 'Yeah.'

'And then what?'

'Then we'll see what he says.'

Shepherd frowned. 'Lurpak, I don't understand what's happening here. Did you just come to see if I was going to drop you in the s.h.i.t? Or is there something more going on?'

c.o.ker tapped the side of his nose. 'Secret Squirrel,' he said.

'Screw you.' Shepherd drank from his can. 'Screw you and screw the Masked Avenger.'

'Look, we have to take this slowly,' said c.o.ker.

'Take what slowly?'

c.o.ker sighed. 'You're a good guy, Three-amp. I know that. And I want you on board.'

'On board what?'

'I can't tell you, not until we all agree.'

'Who's we?'

c.o.ker tapped the side of his nose again.