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Charlie weaved through the throng, making her way to a discreet table at the back of the pub.

The Cross Keys was not a pub favoured by Southampton Central’s officers and since it was only a stone’s throw from her old HQ, Helen had asked Charlie to meet her here, keen not to advertise her presence in the vicinity of her old stomping ground.

She had the feeling it wouldn’t serve either of their purposes to be spotted together.

Helen smiled brightly as her old friend approached, but her positivity was not reciprocated. Her former colleague looked pale, drawn and distracted.

‘Hey stranger,’ Helen said cheerfully. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Don’t,’ Charlie replied bluntly. ‘I’ve had the morning from hell and there’s little chance of things getting any better before bedtime …’

Helen was shocked by the weariness in Charlie’s tone. On many occasions in the past, Charlie had buoyed her up with her vigour and enthusiasm, but today her former colleague looked angry and despairing.

‘Problems at home?’ Helen asked anxiously, relieved to see Charlie dismiss the idea with a swift shake of the head. ‘Is it Holmes, then? Or the team?’

Immediately, she regretted asking, Charlie looking up sharply, as if Helen had just accused her of something.

‘Why do you say that?’ she demanded.

‘No reason,’ Helen covered quickly. ‘An educated guess, born of long experience, that’s all. You know I don’t talk to anyone at the firm anymore …’

Charlie raised an eyebrow, as if suggesting that the truth might in fact be that the firm no longer spoke to her , before eventually replying:

‘A major cock-up down at the docks, one which made me look extremely foolish.’

Helen desperately wanted to reach out to Charlie, to tell her she was sorry for her plight. But there was no question of her offering any such solace, an awkwardness having infected their friendship since Helen’s shock resignation.

‘Honestly, I feel like we’re just spinning in the wind on this one,’ Charlie continued, shaking her head wearily. ‘Each time we think we’ve got a solid lead, it turns out to be either small fry, or a total bust. We can’t even seem to get close to the problem, let alone get a handle on it …’

‘What are we talking? Drugs? People? Contraband?’

‘All of the above. This morning it was a group of illegals hidden in the back of a Belgian lorry. Except they weren’t, meaning they probably found some other route into the country. For all I know they’re out there right now, in the car washes and nail bars …’

Helen nodded, but said nothing. It was impossible to contradict her old friend, scores of British towns depending on illegal workers to keep functioning.

It was a sorry indictment of modern, convenience culture, a race to the bottom in which shops and small businesses forced exploited employees to work long shifts for meagre pay just to keep their customers happy.

Few shoppers realized that they were helping to fund exploitation and reward criminal gangs and those that did, turned a blind eye.

‘Speaking of which …’ Charlie carried on briskly. ‘I ought to get back to base, so was there anything specific …? Or was this just a social call?’

This time Charlie’s tone had a distinct edge. The two women had not seen each other properly since Helen’s departure, Charlie’s anger and disappointment at what she perceived to be Helen’s ‘abandonment’ of her vocation rendering any such meet-up both problematic and unlikely.

‘Actually, I did want to ask you a favour,’ Helen replied quickly. ‘I know it’s awful timing, but I’ve run out of options …’

And now Charlie’s expression clouded over, her gaze finally landing on the nasty cuts on Helen’s cheeks.

‘What’s going on? You look like you’ve been in a scrap?’ she enquired.

‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ Helen replied, shrugging off her concern. ‘Though I did get a couple of nasty lashes with a bicycle chain last night.’

She lifted her hair briefly, to reveal her bandage, provoking an instant reaction.

‘Jesus Christ, Helen, what happened?’

‘Well, the short version is I witnessed a fight and intervened to help a young woman, but got clobbered for my pains.’

‘Have you reported it? That’s a serious assault and—’

‘I tried, but it’s not me I’m concerned about,’ Helen responded, glossing over her earlier failure.

‘The young woman, who’s probably been trafficked from Turkey or Syria, was dragged off by two guys, thrown into a van.

They’d already beaten her severely by the time I arrived, so God only knows what happened to her afterwards. ’

Charlie’s expression betrayed her alarm, but even so it was with a note of caution that she responded:

‘So how can I help you?’

‘Look, I’m not asking for miracles,’ Helen replied swiftly. ‘But I’ve written down the details here – times, locations, a description of Selima – and I was wondering if you could run it through the PNC to see if anything comes up.’

‘Shouldn’t be a problem, though we are up against it at the moment, so might take a bit of time.’

‘The sooner the better,’ Helen persisted, aware she was seriously pushing her luck. ‘And if you were able to at least mention it to uniform, to keep an eye out for her, I’d be very grateful. She was taken by two young men, driving a white transit van with a broken left brake light …’

‘Look, Helen, you know I’ll do whatever I can to help, but without tangible evidence that a crime’s been committed, I can’t possibly get uniform involved.’

‘I appreciate that, but maybe you can just mention it to some of the more experienced officers? I could really do with their help on this one, because I’m shooting blind right now.’

Charlie nodded sympathetically, but her face said it all.

She would never be as rude or blunt as the desk sergeant, but it would be a hard sell to colleagues whom Helen had first abandoned, then flayed in the local press.

Harder still for Charlie to waste what meagre political capital she had left fighting battles for her former mentor, especially with Chief Superintendent Holmes breathing down her neck.

Helen was clutching at straws and she knew it.

‘Really sorry to have to cut and run like this,’ Charlie said, rising. ‘And I will be in touch if I turn anything up, but in the meantime, you take care of yourself, yeah?’

‘Sure thing,’ Helen promised, swaying slightly as she rose, steadying herself on the table.

‘Are you sure you don’t need to get yourself checked out?’ Charlie asked, delaying her departure momentarily. ‘I know the wait in A&E is never-ending, but if you’re suffering from concussion, it’s better to be safe than sorry.’

‘It’ll pass and, besides, I’m not sure it’s really that anyway. I’ve been feeling terrible for days, to be honest, dizzy, nauseous and so bloody bloated. Who knows, maybe I’m just allergic to civilian life …’

Charlie grimaced at Helen’s joke, but her expression now seemed to shift slightly, a shrewd, almost quizzical look in her eyes.

‘Let’s hope it’s just that. Because if I didn’t know better, I’d say it sounds like you’re pregnant …’

With that, Charlie departed, waving a hand as she went. Helen watched her go, surprised, wrong-footed and, if she was honest, speechless. Of all the punchlines that Charlie could have supplied, she hadn’t been expecting that .