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The trip to the police house was uneventful. I hopped a couple of transit tubes which deposited me just five minutes walk from the station. I rapped on the desk briskly, attracting no more than a mild glare from the grizzled old Sergeant on duty. He managed to drag his attention away from the report he was reading - not even having to use his finger to follow the words - for long enough to grunt in my direction. "What'd'ya want?" "PI Gask to see Captain Luncardy," I responded brightly, "I have an appointment, I'm told." He seemed more than a little impressed with this claim, standing up straighter, although his reaction stopped short of demonstrating any respect for me. Just a professional attitude, for a certain kind of cop, when presented with a scruffy-looking citizen with an unlikely story. He reached for the desk phone, dialled a couple of digits and then held the receiver to his head with the impression he wasn't prepared to wait long for an answer. He didn't have too. There was a click and a muffled interrogation from the earpiece. "Front desk here, Captain. There's some private dick out here asking for you." I didn't catch the response, but the Sergeant certainly did. "Yes, Ma'am. Right away, Ma'am." He returned the phone to its rest and looked at me more closely, as if suspecting that I had somehow managed to get a hook into the Captain; some bribe or blackmail that he would be able to winkle out just by giving me the hairy eyeball treatment. I ignored it. In my line of work I get glared at on a regular basis; just one of the more minor risks in the job. Better than dodging bullets, anyway. "The Captain will be out shortly," the old Sergeant said eventually, "She asks you to wait for her here." "Sure, no problem," I said airily, winding up the chirpy-ness one more notch just to irritate him, then turned to settle myself with every appearance of comfort on one of the hard wooden benches the police use to decorate their reception areas. My backside had barely brushed the scarred and battered woodwork when Luncardy herself emerged from the connecting door. I stood politely and took off my hat, all the better to smile wryly in her direction. Captain Harriett Luncardy was a tall skinny Goblin who habitually dressed in well-cut but distinctly mannish suits and shirts. She exuded a brisk no-nonsense manner which accurately reflected her approach to police work - and probably to life in general, if she even made such a distinction herself. She was widely respected - if not much liked - in the force as a hard-working and incorruptible officer, a talented cop who believed in leading from the front. I stuck out my hand, just to see what would happen. Something to my surprise, she grasped it, briefly but warmly, in a conventional greeting. I could practically hear the sound of the old Sergeant's jaw hitting the floor behind me. I ignored that, too. "Gask, you old rascal," Luncardy said, sounding amused rather than surprised at my appearance, "You look like you've been busy. More than busy, maybe. Yeah, you look like you could really use a coffee." She was right, of course. Without waiting for me to answer, she set off for the main door, leaving me to scurry after her, stopping on the threshold for me to catch up. "Come on," she said, "The coffee shop's just down the street."
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Part 5