He blinked his way into the sudden brightness of the police station, slamming the door behind him. He shook the rain off of his overcoat and rested it back upon his bulky frame. He looked over his shoulder at the storm outside and grunted.

"Need to buy a damn car."

He approached the reception desk calmly. Before the receptionist could ask what he needed he had reached into his pocket and produced his identification. She paused shocked for a second; finally she opened the security door for him and motioned him to go through into the interview areas. He nodded his thanks to her as he passed and pushed through the door almost silently. It swung back and settled back with a click.

She was quickly onto the phone to make the commanding officer aware of the man who had just entered. It was the first time she had seen one of these people before, although she had been aware of their existence for the last two years. The chief constable slammed the phone down, he hated the idea of this man's agency, thinking that it undermined the work that his officers were doing.

The man took a few seconds to look around the area he found himself in. He reached into the breast pocket of his coat feeling for his cigarette packet, He looked at the slightly soggy packet and rolled his eyes.

"Bloody rain."

He lit a cigarette and replaced the packet. Taking a long draw he exhaled and carried on down the corridor. He passed another desk as he walked. He had developed a habit of ignoring the people that passed him in these halls. He had found that if he acknowledged people then they wanted to ask him questions, now he just didn't give them a chance.

"Interview room three?" he asked the sergeant on duty nonchalantly pointing at one of the doors in front of him.

"Yeah, that's right…" He began to reply, the man carried on walking, the sergeant continued after him. "I'll need to see some identification, and you can't smoke that in here." He reached up to snatch the cigarette out of the man's mouth, only to find his wrist in a vice-like grip.

"I have already shown my identification, and you wouldn't be so impolite as to remove this cigarette from my mouth without permission would you?" The sergeant shook his head, mumbling and apology. "That's what I thought." He let go of the officer's arm and again adjusted his coat.

"Dennis Walker?" He asked, as though nothing had occurred between them, again pointing at the door.

"Yeah" the sergeant nodded "though I don't see what you guy's want with him."

"It's not your job to know." He replied without looking back.

He knocked on the door and entered immediately, there were three men in the room. Two detectives and the suspect. The detectives were about to protest as he produced his badge for a second time.

"Out."

They left the room without asking why, there was nothing they could do. The last of the two barely had time to step out before the door was slammed shut and locked behind him.

Stan looked at the man sitting opposite him. 'Black suit, red tie, Yellow shirt, what a prick'. His hair was slicked back over his head. There was a shadow of stubble beginning to appear on the man's face; obviously he hadn't shaved since this morning. He wasn't a bad looking man, Stan supposed to himself, not that he went for things like that. 'Not that there's anything wrong with that' said a voice in his head, Stan smiled as he thought of his friend. Yeah he owed him a drink after this.

"My name is Stan Whitehall." He began as he removed his coat and placed it on the back of one of the chairs, revealing a grey suit over the top of a white shirt and black tie. He sat on the edge of the table and rested his feet on one of the chairs; he flicked off a piece of mud and stood up again at the opposite end of the table.

"There is no need for me to introduce myself of course because after this you won't see me again and the information will be worthless to you." He sat down on the chair and rested his arm comfortably on the back of it. "Your name is Dennis Walker; you are a small time drug dealer who fancies himself as big-time. Last year you made yourself about three million pounds. That is of course not including the money in the assets that have not yet been sold and the acquisition of various new properties."

Walker smiled. "Of course none of this you can prove, so you're wasting my time and your own." He leaned forward resting his elbows on the table. "Shouldn't you be out catching criminals instead of harassing innocent businessmen like me?"

Stan laughed. He took another draw on his cigarette and then brought a small metal box out of his pocket; he opened it and stubbed the cigarette out. He shut the lid and replaced it into his pocket.

"Sorry about that, but since they don't allow smoking in these places I have to carry my own ash tray."

"Oh I get it, you're supposed to be the 'bad boy cop' whose going to try and get some information out of me by threatening me with some sort of physical violence. How see-through. Surely you people can do better than that."

"Kind of un-original isn't it?" Stan replied leaning forward towards the other man. "Of course someone like you is clever enough to see the camera that is in the top corner of the room and you know I wouldn't dare do anything that could be used against me as proof, should you be willing to place a complaint of course." He leaned back as he finished, allowing the interviewee to take the compliment.

"And here, I thought you were all as dumb as the last two that were in here."

"No those two are special cases." Stan pointed his thumb at the door and laughed again. "Now tell me," he began again lighting a second cigarette "What do you think would happen if that little red light on the camera were to stop flashing?"

"The interview would be over." Walker finished cockily, leaning back again in his chair. "Since this nice little chat about cameras seems to have exhausted itself can I go now? I'm a non smoker and that cigarette smoke is playing havoc with my lungs, you can expect to hear from my solicitor."

"Yeah, maybe I will. But first, could you keep an eye on that camera for me?"

The drug dealer rolled his eyes then made an obvious show of directing his gaze towards the camera. Stan again produced his badge; he held it up in clear view of the camera without taking his eyes off the man in front of him.

The light on the camera stopped flashing. Stan saw a momentary look of confusion on the man's face.

"Well I guess the interview's over then." Walker stood up and began to walk round the table. Stan sat as calmly as he always had; only this time the gun in his hand gave his voice a more serious edge.

"Sit down." Once again the tone in the command seemed to dare anyone to disobey him.

Walker sat down again; his confidence didn't seem to be knocked at all by the gun.

"What's that for?" he said in a mocking tone. "We both know you aren't going to use it."

Stan smiled again and pointed the barrel of the gun up at the roof. "You're right, I wasn't going to use it, it isn't even loaded, look."

As Walker moved his head slightly to look at the gun Stan hit him hard on the side of his face knocking him to the floor. Before Walker had time to react Stan had flipped the table over and was crouching over him smiling. It was no longer a kind smile. It drained all of the confidence from Walker's face.

"Now I'm a patient man, however, I have an appointment to go to after this." He paused to take the cigarette out of his mouth. "So we're going to keep this quick, you are going to tell me where you get your drugs from, you are going to give me shipping dates, times, names. Basically you are going to give me all of the information that you have. And after that… I'm going to let you go."

Walker managed to give a surprised look through his newly found fear. The man was stronger than he had expected, he couldn't move.

"I can't tell you all of that man. They'll kill me, you know that."

"Yeah I guess you're right." Stan softened his voice, but didn't move any of his weight off the man; he took another draw of his cigarette, and then seemed to study it slightly before exhaling. "I won't kill you; it's too much paper work. However…" He leaned forward so his face was close enough for Walker to smell his breath. He held his cigarette over Walker's face. "I may blind you slightly. Now, how 'bout you start talking and we put all of this ugly business behind us?"

Five minutes later Stan left the room with all of the information that he needed and headed straight out of the police station without acknowledging anyone he came close to.

The detectives who had waited outside the room hurried back inside to see what had happened. Walker lay unconscious on the floor. The rest of the room seemed to be just as they had left it. The chief constable walked in shortly after as they were checking to see if Walker was still alive.

"Get him to his cell." His voice was calm even though the anger on his face was obvious.

"But sir?" one of the detectives began

"Don't ask questions, just do it." With that he was gone.