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‘Someone to see you, Emilia.’

The words were a godsend. For the past hour, she had been staring at her screen, willing the prose to come together, aware that she was already three days late filing her piece.

She had promised her editor a double-page spread on county lines, to break open the predictable and depressing story of exploitation and coercion, but this morning the words wouldn’t come.

She was exhausted, distracted and tense, having heard nothing yet from her nemesis.

She had primed the trap, laid the bait, so why hadn’t he contacted her? Did he not want the gold?

Looking up from her computer, she turned to her junior colleague Daisy, who had her phone clamped to her ear.

‘Who is it?’ Emilia enquired.

‘Helen Grace,’ her colleague returned, raising an eyebrow. ‘Says she hasn’t got an appointment or anything, but she’s very keen to talk to you about a potential story.’

‘Well, a change is as good as a rest, so ask them to send her up, will you?’ Emilia said, rising and hurrying towards the meeting room, snatching up her notepad as she departed.

‘We really must stop meeting like this, Helen. People will begin to think that we’re friends.’

The former police officer smiled, but in truth she looked pale and drawn today.

Emilia had been surprised by her visit, her old adversary having been in the building only a couple of times in the last ten years, but she was even more disconcerted by her demeanour.

Normally so powerful, so commanding, the ex-inspector looked restless and uneasy, bereft of her usual certainty and vigour.

She was putting a brave face on it, however, responding to Emilia’s enquiry briskly and soberly.

‘I’ve got something for you, a story that I think might become a major local issue.’

‘What are we talking?’

‘Corruption, exploitation, human slavery. Seemingly blue chip, bona-fide local companies using slave labour to cut costs and boost profits.’

Emilia nodded, noting the parallel with the story she was supposed to be writing. What had gone wrong with the modern world? Why were people so swift to exploit the most vulnerable members of society these days?

‘I don’t know how wide it goes,’ Helen continued. ‘But I can give you a company name and that of its chief executive. I think exposing their illegal practices will create a lot of local interest. It could really put your paper front and centre in the fight against modern slavery.’

‘And might benefit you too?’

It was said as a tease, but Helen shrugged it off.

‘What are you up to, Helen? Don’t tell me you’ve got your badge back?’

‘No, no, nothing like that. I’m just a concerned citizen.’

Now it was Emilia’s turn to smile. She was clearly nothing of the sort, but the journalist was happy to let it go.

‘So, who is it?’ she asked, picking up her pen.

‘Rachel Firth, CEO of—’

‘Regus Cleaning,’ Emilia overlapped. ‘I know her. Young, pretty, cocky with it. Have you spoken to her?’

‘Yeah, we had a chat at her flat in Ocean Village. Nice place. Pity it’s bought off the back of other people’s misery.’

‘Specifics?’

‘Whoever she’s sub-contracting her big council gigs to is using illegal workers to collect hazardous medical waste.

It’s an international “workforce”, but the majority of them appear to hail from central Asia.

I can send you pictures that I took late last night at South Hants hospital.

These women are clearly working under duress in the most appalling conditions. ’

‘Did you put this to Firth?’

‘Sure. She obviously wasn’t having any of it, but the van used to transport these women was registered to her company, so …’

‘You’ve photos of the van too?’

‘Oh, yes,’ the former police officer returned, with uncharacteristic relish.

‘And, what, you want to turn up the heat up on her, smoke her out …?’

‘I want to rattle some cages and I can’t think of anyone better qualified to do that than you, Emilia.’

‘You’re very kind.’

The journalist placed her hand on her chest with faux humility.

‘Well, it looks we have a deal, Helen.’

‘How quickly can you get on to it?’

‘If you send me everything you’ve got now, I can get it up on the website tonight, with a full-page spread in tomorrow’s edition.’

Nodding her gratitude, Helen rose, departing swiftly.

As the journalist watched the former officer go, she reflected on the strange state of their relationship.

For so long arch-enemies, were they now becoming allies?

Shaking her head, Emilia returned to her desk, all thoughts of county lines a distant memory. She had bigger fish to fry now.

But as she sat down, her phone buzzed violently in her pocket. Extracting it, she felt a shiver of excitement as she spotted a text from an unfamiliar number. The message was short and sweet:

‘Where and when?’

Smiling, Emilia leaned back in her chair, a broad grin spreading over her face.