human being. He was eating a sandwich. The other man was tiny and somewhere between ninety and a hundred and six, and wore a jet-black curly wig that wasn’t on quite straight. It made him look a bit like a freeze-dried Elvis. “Don’t move,” he said. “Or we’ll drop you where you stand.”
Theo stared at him. “You’re not a policeman,” he said.
The old man gave him a wounded glare. “Thirty years,” he said. “Best motor pool superintendent they ever had. And once a cop, always—”
“And neither is he.”
The old man looked sheepish. “That’s my grandson,” he said. “Learning the business, he is. Good lad, very keen.” The good lad finished his sandwich and produced another one from his pocket. “Lunchbox, they call him,” the old man said resignedly, “because he’s always stuffing his face. But keen as mustard, really.”
The boy gobbled the last mouthful and immediately switched to standby mode. Theo lowered his arms and massaged his triceps. “And you’re not armed,” he pointed out. “Are you?”
“Technically, no. But don’t you try anything,” the old man added quickly, “or he’ll do you. He could snap your neck like a twig if he wanted to.”
The boy carried on doing his impression of a radio mast. Theo sighed. “What’s all this about?” he said.
“We got this for you.” The old man poked his glasses on to the bridge of his nose, rummaged in his pockets and produced a matchbox, an appallingly filthy handkerchief, a crumpled paper bag and a folded sheet of paper, which he thrust in Theo’s direction. “Summons,” he said.
“What for?”
“Breach of injunction,” the old man replied. Theo shrugged and stepped forward to take the paper; the old man shrank back, and Lunchbox stepped neatly behind him. Theo took the paper and unfolded it.
“Oh for crying out loud,” he said. “She phoned me.”
“None of our business,” the old man whimpered, “we just do as we’re told, so don’t go getting violent. I just got to say the word, and he’ll do you, like I said.”
Lunchbox was unwrapping a chocolate Swiss roll. “Fine,” Theo said. “So, Janine sent you.”
“The plaintiff,” the old man said.
Theo raised an eyebrow. “No offence,” he said, “but I’d have thought she could’ve afforded better. I mean, look at you.”
“Bugger that,” the old man said angrily. “We’re the best, we are. Twenty-five years in the trade, mate, seen it all, trouble is our business. For crying out loud, Arthur,” he added, without turning round, as Lunchbox took out his phone and started texting furiously, “not when we’re on a job, all right?”
Lunchbox took no notice. The old man shrugged. “Anyhow,” he said, “you’ve got your bit of paper and that’s due service, so there’s no point trying any rough stuff, and even if you did—”
“I know,” Theo said, “neck snapped like a twig.” He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. “Have you two been watching me?”
The old man nodded. “Kept you under surveillance ever since you got here,” he said. “Don’t get out much, do you?”
“You’d be surprised,” Theo replied. “Look, could you please ask Janine from me to make up her mind? Either she never wants to see or hear from me again, or she can call me, that’s fine. Let me know what she decides, all right?”
“Not up to us, is it?” The old man looked vaguely shocked. “You don’t catch us telling the client what to do. You want to ask her something, write to her lawyers.”
“Ah. I’m allowed to do that, am I?”
“Try it and see. Anyhow, don’t let us keep you. Come on, Arthur,” he added, as Lunchbox unwrapped an individual pork pie. “You’d think he’d be as fat as a barrel, but look at him.”
Theo went back inside. Matasuntha had gone, but the powder compact was still on the desk. For some reason, that made him feel happy. He picked it up and went back to his room.
She was there, sitting in the one chair, stirring a cup of coffee. “Hi,” she said. “You didn’t get shot then?”
“Apparently not. What are you doing here?”
As he said the words, he saw that there were two coffee mugs on the desk. “I had every confidence you’d beat the rap,” she said. “Milk and sugar?”
“They weren’t real policemen.”
She grinned. “Thought not. I took the call, remember? And I don’t think there’s many ninety-year-old policemen, or at least not assigned to the SWAT teams. Who was it?”
He explained, about Janine and the injunction, and was rewarded with an appropriately bewildered look. “Your