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Ross waited to be reconnected with an officer he’d walked the beat with in Lambeth when they’d first passed out of Hendon Police College as probationer constables.

‘If it’s you on the line, Ross, it can only mean trouble,’ were Wainwright’s first words, ‘because leopards don’t change their spots, particularly Irish leopards.’

‘Especially when it comes to protecting one of their cubs.’

‘Let me guess,’ said Wainwright. ‘Artemisia Warwick, the daughter of your boss.’

‘I’m her godfather,’ said Ross.

‘A nice kid,’ said Wainwright. ‘Spent most of her time taking care of one Robert Hartley.’

‘The elder son of Simon Hartley?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ replied Wainwright. ‘I decided not to clap them both in irons, but I will be sending them home with a slap on the wrist. What I didn’t tell them is that, given half a chance, I would happily have joined them on the other side of the barricades.’

‘Me too,’ admitted Ross. ‘Let’s just hope Arte gets home before her father does.’

‘I only wish I could say the same for young Hartley,’ said Wainwright, ‘who had every right to protest his father’s innocence.’

‘Agreed,’ said Ross.

‘Will you be telling her father?’ asked Wainwright.

‘I don’t always tell the Chief Super everything,’ admitted Ross, ‘especially when he doesn’t need to know.’

‘If you did,’ said Wainwright, ‘you’d have been locked up years ago.’

•••

Artemisia saw him crouched in a corner on the floor. He was about her age, maybe a year or two older, sitting with his head down, arms tucked around his legs, quietly sobbing.

She sat down beside him. ‘They don’t lock you up in England for throwing eggs at policemen,’ she said gently.

‘My father’s locked up in one of their prisons for a crime he didn’t commit.’

‘You’re Simon Hartley’s son?’ said Artemisia, unable to hide her surprise.

‘Yes … Robert,’ he mumbled incoherently.

‘Artemisia, but my friends call me Arte,’ she replied. ‘I’m so sorry about what’s happening to your father.’

‘You know about my father?’

‘It’s one of the reasons I was at the protest,’ admitted Artemisia. She looked up to see an officer talking animatedly on the phone. ‘You want to hear the bad news?’ she said, hoping to cheer him up. ‘My father is in charge of the Saudi Minister’s protection.’

‘I could kill him,’ said Robert.

‘My father or the Saudi Minister?’ asked Artemisia, as she placed an arm around his shoulder.

‘The Minister,’ said Robert, ‘though I must admit, I may have thrown an egg at your father.’

‘Me too,’ said Artemisia, laughing. ‘Do you think we’ll have to spend the night in jail?’

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Robert. ‘It’s the least I can do for myfather,’ he added as the officer put the phone down, walked across and smiled at the two of them.

‘Right, you two, shove off.’

‘But I want to be charged,’ said Robert, ‘and put in prison.’