A/N - thanks to everyone for their messages and their reviews. As always it is much appreciated -x-

Chapter 4

Road to Nowhere

After the meeting with the Commissioner, Ironside went straight back to his office. There was a subdued and solemn atmosphere that had permeated the department, everyone spoke and moved quietly, as if they were on edge. The reason was obvious, as it happened before every police funeral. This would be the tenth that Ironside had attended during his career, and it never got any easier.

Alone in the room, he changed into his black suit and black tie, and mulling over the meeting with the Commissioner. It was no worse than he'd anticipated. Sewell had been anxious but that was only to be expected in the circumstances. The whole case was frustrating, not least because he had decided to play his cards very close to his chest. At the moment, with so little to go on, it was his smartest option.

Corrupt cops: he hated the thought of men on the force using power for their own gain. It was sickening, an affront to everything he personally stood for, as well as being a slap in the face for the people of the city, people they were supposed to protect, not exploit. He was going to do everything and anything he had to, he promised himself. However many were involved, however far it went, however much it cost, he was going to get to the bottom of this.

Once he'd changed, the Chief sat down at his desk. There was only one new report: a summary of the morning of the shooting. Reese must have put it on his desk while he was with the Commissioner. Ironside skimmed through it eagerly, but it was quickly apparent that Reese hadn't managed to find out much. In the hour between Burwell setting the detail and the men leaving, almost everyone on duty had left the office at some point, even if it was just for a quick smoke in the corridor.

Ironically, considering what happened later, the one who hadn't moved was Brown, as he'd spent that hour working on the reports that the Chief had given him to finish, too engrossed in the paperwork to even speak to anyone else. Of the other ten men (not counting the two sergeants and Jimmy himself) they had all been missing for varying amounts of time. At least eight of them had spoken to Officer Carelli at some point who, according to Carl, had rambled around the office and the corridors restlessly. He'd had plenty of opportunities to get a tip out of the building, either on his own or via someone else.

Angry, Ironside closed the report and tossed it back on the desk. It told him nothing. Carl might have tried to disguise it, but it was all too vague. So either no one remembered, which was unlikely, or Reese had been too cautious in his questioning. The summary did nothing to help the investigation. Somehow, in that hour, Carelli had found a way to tip off the suspect and he had no idea how he'd done it.

Once again, the Chief thought through his reasoning, checking his instinct against the facts. The simplest solution was that Carelli was helping the suspect escape. The bullet in the back, the gun in the holster, those were hard to explain any other way. Add to that Brown's statement about how desperately his friend had wanted to swap their places, and that added up to a crooked cop.

The idea that he would have to go to a funeral and hear Carelli praised for his valour and his honesty left a bad taste in the Chief's mouth. It was hypocritical and Ironside didn't want to have to do that. But, as he'd said to the Commissioner, he only had ideas and leads, and nothing more. Throwing mud at the memory of an officer, a beloved son and brother, on the day of his funeral was unkind and insensitive, even if the man had been on the take. And, as he kept on telling himself, he had nothing in the way of genuine proof.

After the funeral it would be different, he knew that from the previous times. The department would give a collective sigh of relief, life would go on, and the unpleasant, unfocused and nervous atmosphere that had been hanging over everyone would start to dissipate as they all got on with their jobs. Hopefully, anyone else involved in corruption would relax a little as well, thinking that they had gotten away with it. And if that happened, it should be more straightforward to gather evidence.

There was still one piece he was missing and Ironside had already decided to speak to Murray himself and tell him about his suspicions. If they talked it over then he could get Brown back off the bench as soon as the Commissioner agreed. He had to push as quickly as he could. He had to know what Brown would do next and if his own instinct about the man was correct.

He needed good men at his side, and it was time to take Sergeant Anderson into his confidence as well. It was too much for just Carl and himself to take on. He needed both his sergeants working on this.

Ironside sat at his desk, mulling over the possibilities and what his next move should be for a long while, using the time to think through various scenarios, until it was finally time to leave for the funeral.

Then, with a final check of his suit and tie, Ironside stood and walked out of his office, and took the lift down to the garage, still deep in thought.

Carl and Andy were waiting by his new black Plymouth Savoy, talking quietly to each other.

Both had only been promoted last year. He didn't usually have his own sergeant to do all his legwork, he had a whole department to do that, but Reese and Anderson were the only two who could even start to keep up, and he often asked them to work with him.

They were very different men. Andy looked older, even though he was younger by a few months, and had the classic look of the hard-working, stoic, bland policeman about him. By contrast Carl was much more relaxed, with a warm manner and a tendency to the flamboyant and sarcastic that Ironside hadn't quite manage to get rid of yet. His raw, New York accent stuck out in the department as much as his snappy comebacks. But whatever the differences in their personalities they both were dedicated and trustworthy cops and they worked well together as a team.

When they noticed him, they nodded in greeting. As Andy moved towards the driver's side, Ironside stopped him.

'Carl, you drive,' he said gruffly, getting in the front passenger side. Reese gave the Chief a confused look, one that was mirrored by Andy's expression. Then he smirked as if he'd won something, and held out his hand for the keys, which Anderson grudgingly passed over. Still smirking, Carl got in the driver's seat, and Andy took the back seat behind him.

Slowly, Reese backed the car out of the parking space and then drove off, out of the garage, taking a left and heading out of town to the cemetery.

No one spoke for the first few minutes, Carl concentrated on the traffic and Andy sat in silence.

The day was bright, but the air was heavy with heat and humidity. The city felt like it always did, full of life and bustle and movement and noise. Ironside stared at the people on the streets as they drove along, all going about their daily business as if there was nothing unusual about today.

At last, he gave an almost silent sigh, and half-turned towards Sergeant Anderson in the back seat.

'Well, what do you have for me?' he asked, looking straight at Anderson. 'Did you find him?'

The sergeant shook his head.

'No, Chief,' he replied. 'There's nothing. Burwell's informant has vanished. No sign of him anywhere. Not a whisper since that night. Nothing!'

'His rooms?'

Anderson shook his head again.

'Just as you'd expect,' he said. 'It's as if the man just upped, walked out and his left his whole life behind. There one minute, gone the next. The Mary Celeste had more life in it.'

Ironside gave a louder sigh. That clinched it. One of their best informants disappeared. He was either at the bottom of the Bay or he had taken a permanent vacation somewhere less dangerous. This was going to get messy, and what the Chief needed now was men he trusted working with him.

'That's not a good sign,' he said, noting Anderson's frown. 'I was afraid this would happen.'

'And it's one less lead to follow up,' Carl added. 'We're running out of angles on this one, Chief.'

Andy looked back at him, an expression of curiosity on his face. He glanced towards Carl then back to Ironside.

'Is there something going on, Chief?' Andy asked, still glancing between the two other men.

'I have a problem, Sergeant Anderson,' Ironside began. 'A big problem.'

Other men might have made an attempt at a joke, but Anderson was never one to make light of police work. Carl, however, had pursed his lips slightly, presumably thinking of a clever comment. Ironside had made a point of not encouraging him, although it hadn't always been a success. This time the Chief ignored him.

'The shooting?' Andy suggested.

Ironside gave a thin smile and nodded. Anderson was always quick on the uptake even if he didn't have much in the way of a sense of humour.

'What's wrong with it?' Andy asked. 'There's more to it? I mean, it looks like a straightforward case of someone being in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

'Depends on which "someone" you mean,' Carl muttered.

Andy took another quick glance to Carl, who was too busy concentrating on driving to notice.

Sticking to the bare facts, Ironside told Anderson what they knew about the shooting, including the coroner's report, the gun still being in the holster and the main details of Ed's statement. As he spoke, Ironside watched as Andy's expression changed from curiosity to confusion, and then to anger.

'Are you saying what I think you're saying?' Anderson asked as soon as the Chief had finished speaking. He glared at Ironside, and the Chief looked back, waiting. The silence stretched out, the sound of the engine and the noise of the other traffic filling the space between them.

'You're saying this was a set up?' Anderson said. 'That Carelli knew where the suspect was going to be? And wanted to be the one to take him in?'

Ironside said nothing, but kept looking at Anderson. Under the Chief's heavy gaze, Anderson shook his head.

'You can't mean-?' Andy stopped and gave a deep, uncomfortable frown. 'He knew and he wanted to be there. But not for the reward?'

Ironside still said nothing, but saw the expression on his sergeant's face change again as the truth dawned on him.

'You think he was helping the suspect escape, don't you?' he said angrily. 'You think that Carelli pushed Brown into swapping so he could let the suspect go, but got a bullet in his back for his trouble?'

Ironside gave a terse nod, as Anderson scowled at him, still angry.

'And just how long have you suspected this?' he asked, turning his scowl to Carl, who kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road. 'You both have known for days, haven't you?'

'Sergeant!' the Chief said sharply. Anderson glared at him for a moment, then looked to the floor. 'This is not a question of who knew when.' He waited until Anderson looked back up at him. 'If you had been the one in my office with Brown's statement, then you would be driving and Carl would be sitting there, thinking exactly the same thing.'

After a moment of grudging silence, Andy nodded.

'The point, Sergeant,' Ironside said, 'is that we have to face the fact that Carelli was on the take. And there will be others.'

There was an uncomfortable pause.

'Fact?' Anderson asked. 'Are you certain?'

'Meaning?'

Anderson shifted slightly in his seat, ill at ease, but just like Carl, he wasn't the sort of man to back down from making his point.

'You're putting a lot of faith in a junior officer,' he said. Out of the corner of his eye, Ironside saw Carl nod. 'A lot kinda hinges on Officer Brown. I mean, a shot in the back and his weapon not drawn isn't a good look, but…'

Anderson ground to a halt, looking nervous.

'But?' Ironside demanded.

The sergeant drew a deep breath before replying.

'But the rest of it? That's a long shot. I mean, Brown's not been in the game since the Dayton case, he's almost been suspended twice before this, and he's barely got enough money to keep up with the rent on his room. He's tried to keep it quiet, but everyone knows.' Anderson's face grew dark. 'The way I see it, if there was any one of those rookies who has the motive for crossing the fence, it would be Officer Brown. Not Carelli.'

Ironside shook his head, but Carl chipped in.

'I know you don't want to hear it,' Reese said.

Carl was right, he didn't want to hear it, because they were wrong. He let the silence stretch out again, trying to decide how to approach this. If his sergeants thought so little of Ed Brown, then everyone else was likely to think the same, and worse.

'I don't think he lied,' Ironside said eventually. 'I think Carelli used Brown's grief to push him into agreeing.'

'But he didn't say that,' Reese replied. 'He didn't give a good explanation as to why he agreed.'

'Would you admit something like that to your boss?' Ironside asked curtly. 'Well?'

'Probably not,' Anderson said.

'His statement is true, I'm certain,' the Chief said. 'He could have lied, he probably should have lied considering how that made him look, but he told me the truth.'

There was another, colder pause, and even though Anderson might not have agreed with the Chief, he was still prepared to accept his word about Brown, at least for now. As they sat, the Chief could virtually see the way Andy was sorting through the new information. He waited for the other man to speak.

'So? What's the play, Chief?' Anderson asked at last.

Ironside sighed, looking back round to stare out of the front window. That was a more tricky question than it sounded.

'In the absence of other, more tangible evidence, we are going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.'

'You mean snoop around?' Andy asked. 'Stir up some trouble?'

Ironside saw Carl give a small, ironic smile.

'Because you can always count on Andy to do that!' he said.

'I mean keep our eyes open,' Ironside replied crossly, ignoring Carl's attempt at humour. 'And stir up some trouble later.'

'How?' Anderson said, shaking his head. 'We're going to a funeral!'

Ironside nodded.

'I would take an even bet that there will be more going on at the funeral than you'd expect,' he said. Both men looked surprised but didn't argue with him. He took a moment before speaking again.

'Let's think this one through carefully,' he said. 'Let's think like the suspect. What's he going to do next?'

He paused, waiting for one of them to respond. It only took a second.

'You, what-? You think the suspect will go to the funeral?' Carl asked in an incredulous tone. Anderson also looked confused by the suggestion.

'No way!' Andy said. 'There's no way he'd go to the funeral of the man he's just killed. He's the one person in the whole city who wouldn't go!'

Ironside shook his head.

'You're thinking like a cop,' he said, feeling a flash of anger, not wanting to have to explain everything. They were sergeants in the SFPD, after all, they were supposed to be good at this! 'Think like the suspect.'

'I am!' Andy retorted.

'And if every cop in the State is looking for me,' Carl chipped in, 'for murdering one of their own, I'd stay away from large gatherings of policemen!'

The Chief glared at the two sergeants, forcing himself to keep hold of his temper.

'Think it through,' he said firmly. 'Start with the beginning.'

Anderson gave a surly but subdued harrumph. It was Sergeant Reese that spoke.

'The suspect is here for business,' he said. 'We presume it's business of the not-legal kind.'

'And?' prompted the Chief.

'And we get a tip off that he's in town.'

'And?'

The two men both shrugged at the same time. The gestures made Ironside scowl.

'He's here on business,' the Chief said bitterly, annoyed that neither man could see what he was meaning. 'Judging from the tip, it's big business for him, with some of the big players. He has his reputation to think of as well as his bank balance. He's not going to pull out over something as trivial as a cop killing. He's here to work.'

'But we know he's in town,' Anderson said. 'We know he's here and we're looking for him.'

'And?' the Chief prompted again, this time in a more aggressive tone.

'We're looking for him…' Anderson trailed off.

'There's only a vague description,' Carl said. 'The man is here to work and he can't do that if he knows we know who he is.'

Ironside gave them a grim smile.

'Exactly,' he said. 'He'll show up and check that no one recognises him. He has to, if he wants to get the money. He'll come to this funeral, and he'll check to be sure he's in the clear. After all, if he's been made as a cop-killer, he can't keep on doing business in this town. He'll have to be sure. He'll have to make sure.'

There was a few seconds of silence. Then Andy gave a low grunt and sat back, his arms crossed.

'That's twisted,' he said, his voice full of anger and disgust. 'Using the funeral of your victim to check you're in the clear. How much more twisted can you get?'

'But how can he be sure no one will recognise him?' Carl asked. 'Isn't it too big a risk?'

Ironside gave a sharp shake of his head.

'It depends on what you're risking,' he said.

He lapsed into an uneasy silence. Yes, it was a risk, and how much would depend on what had gone down at the Rum-Runner. But more than that, Ironside was sure he was right. The limited information they had on the suspect suggested he was ruthless and calculating enough to pull something like this off. He was in town to work, and there was a lot of money at stake. He had to be sure he was in the clear, and to prove it to his clients. And what better way than to brazen it out at the funeral? All the man had to do was show up, hold his nerve and he was clean and clear.

'It's still twisted,' Anderson muttered.

He wasn't wrong, but they had a job to do.

'Twisted or not, I think he'll be there,' the Chief said. 'I want you to watch everyone.'

Anderson didn't look pleased at the order.

'It's gonna be a busy funeral,' he said. 'Most of the force will be there. We've only three sets of eyes.'

'There will be a TV crew there too,' Ironside said. 'Maybe this time they can help us instead of getting in the way.'

'It's not Channel 6 again?' Anderson said, looking alarmed.

Ironside nodded as Andy muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath.

'Get yourself to the station after the service,' Ironside told him. 'I want a copy of those tapes before the day is out.'

'They're not going to play,' Andy replied. 'They're not going to like this. Not after what happened last time.'

'I know it'll be tough,' Ironside said. 'But we need those tapes. Whatever you have to do, do it. Am I clear?'

For a moment, he thought that one of them might take the contrary stance, he had been looking forward to a heated exchange of view on something to help release some of his frustration. But Anderson nodded, still subdued.

Carl however was trying and failing to stifle a smile. Ironside scowled at him.

'I have another job for you as well, Sergeant Reese,' he said coldly. 'You can repeat that report on what happened at the office, before you went to the Rum-Runner.'

Carl's face fell.

'But, Chief-'

'I've read what you have to say and it's not enough. There are gaps, big gaps in everyone's movements that morning, before the shooting. I want them filled.'

'But-'

Ironside gave a loud, angry huff.

'I've heard it before, Sergeant,' he growled. 'You're going to say you asked people. That you checked out their stories and you've done everything you could without getting people suspicious?' Carl paused, then nodded. 'Well, I want you to go over it. Speak to every man again. There's more and you have to find it.'

'Someone's gonna notice,' Carl replied with a sigh.

'Are you saying you can't do your job, Sergeant?' Ironside asked curtly, emphasising the final word.

'No, Chief, but-'

'Well, what then?'

Carl pursed his lips, his discomfort very clear.

'People are uneasy. Guarded. No one much wanted to talk about it.'

That wasn't a surprise, but still, he'd expected more and Carl knew it.

'I hope they'll want to be more open now, after this is all over,' the Chief snapped. 'Talk to them all again. Everyone who was there. Be tactful!'

At that statement, Carl gave a tiny, hesitant glance to the side, and paused a fraction of a second too long for Ironside's liking before nodding.

'What?' he demanded.

'Erm…' Carl hesitated again as if trying to figure out how to say what he was going to say without it sounding like it was bad news. 'Well, I didn't exactly speak to Brown.'

Ironside glared in fury at his Sergeant.

'What!'

'He's suspended,' Carl said quickly. 'I couldn't just-'

'Then you should have found another way!'

'But-'

Carl stopped talking abruptly at the sight of his boss in such a furious mood, giving in just before the Chief stared to get properly angry. There was an unpleasant silence. Ironside let it stretch out, longer than necessary.

'Sorry, Chief,' Carl said last, sounding properly chastened.

'I should think so, Sergeant,' Ironside replied. 'We need all the help we can get.'

At that, Carl scowled at the steering wheel, murmuring something along the lines of "this whole thing stinks", but it wasn't loud enough for the Chief to be sure. And besides, Carl wasn't wrong.

'I know this is not going to be pleasant,' the Chief said sharply, still feeling the prickle of anger, 'but this is the job. So do what you were trained to do.'

Both men nodded their agreement, both looking miserable at the prospect. The Chief couldn't blame them, he was unhappy about it too, but he was going to keep pushing. They had no choice.

The silence stretched out as they drove on, Ironside frowning at the scenery as it went past. They were heading out of the city, and now there were less buildings he could make out lines of grey clouds gathering on the horizon.

He gave a mental sigh, acknowledging the feeling of regret that was circling his mind. All of this could have been avoided, should have been avoided. He wasn't a man given to trying to second guess his choices in life, there was little point in wishing things had been different, and you could never tell what would happen as a consequence. But if he hadn't made the snap decision to swap Brown and Carelli maybe they would be doing something else this afternoon. Maybe they would have the man in custody and be getting on with a different case.

He frowned suddenly, as a more unpleasant thought occurred to him: Maybe he'd be going to Brown's funeral instead, and he would have found that much, much more difficult.

He wasn't the kind of man to let people have an easy ride and he pushed everyone in the department in the same way, to be the best policemen that they could be. But he couldn't deny that he'd grown to like Ed Brown, in spite of the mess he'd made in the previous few months. Maybe because of it, as the similarities with his own life were too obvious to ignore.

When Mrs Carolyn Ironside had finally slipped away, overcome by her injuries, Lieutenant Ted Ollinger had been at the hospital with him, someone to help absorb the anger and pain that he'd unleashed in the aftermath. Those were dark, terrible days of grief and loss, and Ted had helped him find a purpose afterwards. The Chief tried to return the favour to Brown after Dayton was arrested, but Brown hadn't been able to accept. Without the anchor of the investigation to help him focus, Ed was lost and couldn't see the compassionate hand the Chief had held out.

For a few months Brown had walked around like his soul had been hollowed out, heading towards destruction, refusing to let anyone close enough to help, at least until the car crash. Ironside had taken the chance to step in before Brown managed to get himself killed. At the time, he'd thought that giving Brown something else to think about would be enough. But after their first spin at Miller's Place, Ironside had realised there was an intelligent and warm personality masked by the shell of grief. He'd found Ed good company, thoughtful and smart, with a quick wit (and the tact to know when to use it). He could make an excellent police officer, if he put his mind to it.

So he'd done what Ted had done for him. He'd pushed. Rather than letting Ed give up, he'd begun to push him with increasingly difficult and complicated jobs around the department, to see how far the man could go. Whether Ed had realised what he was doing was immaterial, as he'd just got on with it, he'd risen to each challenge Ironside had given to him.

In those few months Ed's skills improved sharply. Although his undercover work was still a bit shaky, his observation and attention to detail were as good as any policemen in the department. Just as importantly, since the crash, Ed had slowly started to lose the dark shadows under his eyes and begun the difficult process of rebuilding his confidence. He'd even been seen to give a thin, guarded curl of his mouth; not often and only for an instant, but the Chief had definitely seen enough to think that at some point in the future Ed would be capable of an actual smile, with genuine warmth in it.

'Hey!' Carl's sudden exclamation brought his attention back to the present. 'Isn't that-?'

Ironside glanced ahead the way Carl had indicated, and there was a figure of a tall, dark-haired man trudging along by the side of the road, black pants, white shirt, with a black jacket slung over his shoulder. From his thin build and rolling walk, Ironside recognised him immediately as Ed Brown.

The Chief frowned, surprised. Obviously he'd expected to see Brown at some point, but out here by the side of the road? What the blue blazes was the man doing? Didn't he know there was a funeral to go to?

'Shall I pull over?' Carl asked, but he had already started to brake when the Chief nodded.

'What's he doing?' Andy said. 'He can't think he'll get to the funeral on time if he walks.'

They passed Brown, who barely even looked up, and stopped a short way ahead of him. Ironside wound down the window and leaned out. He saw Brown start as he noticed the car and realised who was in it. Ed hesitated, clearly confused by this unexpected turn of events. The Chief was just as surprised, but was in no mood to linger. He gave an annoyed huff at Ed's inactivity. Generally people got into cars, and not just stand gawping at them. That was no way to thank them for stopping.

'You do want a lift, don't you, Brown?' he called in an acerbic tone.

Brown hesitated. He was red in the face from the heat and high humidity, not quite as smartly dressed as he usual, and obviously flustered. Ironside waved impatiently at him.

'Well, hurry up and get in then!' he snapped, his temper rising at the man's inaction.

Brown reacted to the words, and stumbled up to the car. He opened the back door, looking at the occupants with confusion.

'Get in, Brown! Get in!' Ironside growled, on the verge of losing his temper properly. 'We have a funeral to get to.'

Still looking baffled, Brown mumbled some sort of thanks and slid into the seat behind the Chief, but needed two attempts to get the door shut properly. Carl started the car up again and they pulled off.

'Put the window down,' Carl said as the car gathered speed. 'Get some cool air.'

Brown mumbled something again, and opened the window letting fresh air swirl into the car. Ironside heard Brown give a relieved sigh.

They travelled on for another minute in silence, Reese concentrating on driving, and Andy looking out his passenger window. Ironside turned to look round at Brown, who had tilted his head back and closed his eyes, his hair ruffling in the breeze. He still looked like he'd been on the football field for an hour, but underneath the sheen of sweat and the red of his cheeks, he was gaunt and exhausted. The dark shadows were back under his eyes, and his shirt hung loosely on him.

'Brown?' the Chief said suddenly, and the man jerked upright, alert. He couldn't keep eye contact with the Chief for more than a second then he turned away to the open window. 'What the blazes were you doing?'

This time, Ironside was sure he heard Brown gulp.

'Um,' he said, still not looking directly at the Chief. He hesitated once more, rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture that Ironside had only seen him use very occasionally. 'Well, you see, I didn't have enough on me to get the whole way to the cemetery.' He paused, maybe hoping that would be explanation enough, but no one else spoke and Ed continued, filling the uncomfortable silence. 'The cab driver took me as far as he could and I was gonna walk the rest.'

There was another, deeper silence in the car.

'And what about your friends?' Ironside asked brusquely. 'Are they walking too?'

He had the sudden image of a herd of morose rookies stoically trudging along beside the highway. They couldn't give them all a ride. Brown didn't reply kept staring out of the window.

Anderson flicked a quick look up to the Chief. It was suddenly glaringly obvious what had happened to Ed. The others had left without him and he hadn't had enough cash to pay the full fare. That would have hurt.

The thought made Ironside feel uncomfortable. He hadn't meant to embarrass the man, he was clearly having a tough enough day without help from any of them. Best not to dwell on it.

'Just as well we caught up with you,' the Chief said in a cross tone. It was hard to be certain, as Brown was already red in the face, but the Chief thought the colour grew deeper. Ironside gave a particularly loud harrumph. 'We can't have you young officers wandering around San Francisco like flamin' lost sheep, can we?'

Brown looked up at him, with an air of panic.

'Um-?'

It sounded as if Brown had to force the sound out and it was equally obvious to Ironside that the man had no idea how to respond. He sat, his jacket crumpled up on his lap, staring at the Chief with his mouth open, a faint curl to his top lip and a frown on his face, making him look slightly ridiculous.

Ironside gave another harrumph and crossed his arms.

'Those flamin' cab drivers,' he muttered, shaking his head. 'Taking an officer half-way to a flamin' funeral! That's flamin' cheap!'

He glared back at Brown, his temper rising, choice phrases already forming about the morals of the cab drivers in San Fransisco.

'Did you get a note of his license?' he asked. Brown stared. 'Because that trip should have been on expenses! Can't have our men let down by the cab drivers of the city! Which firm?'

Again, Brown looked panicked and confused, but managed to say something that sounded quite close to "Bayside Cabs". The Chief nodded approvingly. Then he frowned.

'You did get a receipt, didn't you Brown?'

'Um-'

'It'll be logged anyway,' Ironside continued, not giving Brown a chance to continue.

There was a slight noise from Sergeant Anderson, who was presumably going to point out that, first of all, Brown was suspended and so wasn't entitled to claim expenses; and second that the cab drivers had no obligation to do the force any favours, not even for funerals. But the Chief didn't want to hear it, he was in the mood to let his temper out. Besides, Brown had been shamed enough for one day.

The Chief glared at Anderson as ferociously as he could, daring him to say anything. He didn't.

'Flamin' cab drivers!' Ironside snapped.

And with that, he launched into a short but impassioned rant at the tight-fisted and down-right unhelpful nature of the cab-driving community of San Francisco and how different it had been when he'd first started out. No one tried to interrupt him.

The Chief, for his part, enjoyed releasing the pent up energy. He'd already had to fence words with the Commissioner, and he was still annoyed at the man for not agreeing to get Brown back off the bench. The investigation was in danger of going nowhere now Burwell's tipster had vanished. His sergeants were being slow on the uptake. And the ignominy of a young officer having to walk, alone, to a friend and fellow officer's funeral because a cab driver was too mean-spirited to give him a break was the last straw.

He was about to start on about how he thought the cab licensing system should be changed to make it more fair on the customers, when the car slowed. He lowered his voice to a mutter, then let the sentence peter out. Carl glanced across to him.

They had arrived at the cemetery.