St John's Wood, London

"Good morning, Harriet." Her husband's voice comes from the doorway, where he's by his dressing room, selecting his suit for Friday. It's always the dark black wool one with the red waistcoat. Thankfully she's remembered to collect it from the dry cleaners this week. Robert seemed disappointed to find it and she was surprised to see him here. "Party tonight remember."

Harriet nods once and watches as he checked his face closely in the mirror, no doubt looking for any imperfections he would need to take care of. This monster that she married, Robert Makepeace, barrister, friend to many, benefactor and charmer of her friends. And an abusive husband. Not that he'd care to mention the latter to his so-called friends or the circles in which they mix.

"I'll dress up," Harriet replies carefully. If she's out in public she needs to cover up, but she still grips the duvet as he walks towards her and steps in between her legs and cups her face. He won't dare, she prays.

"All the clients will be there and there's a couple of new ones too. You need to look beautiful."

Needs to. She remembers when she was told she was beautiful. Never by him, even on their wedding day. Harriet holds still, not wanting to lean into his touch to encourage him. He hasn't tried to get into her bed for months and has been sleeping down the hall when he's been home. She feels relief, not jealously. He backs up, distracted briefly by some dark thought in his head that she doesn't want to know about.

She stands up, removing him from her space, a faint reminder of the woman she once was. He grabs her arm roughly and squeezes hard. She keeps her face calm but her jaw is clenched as his nails dig into her skin. Then he lets go. "Wear a dress that shows off either your legs or tits. I don't anyone calling you a slut."

SI-10 office

"Belgravia," Spikings looks around his small office as he replies to his newest recruit's question. Not that it helps, Lieutenant Dempsey looks blank until his colleague Fry shows him where it is on the large map which is fraying on the pinboard.

"So this guy… Makepeace, Robert right? How's he involved in all this?" James Dempsey looks at the epic paper trail that has lead to SI-10's involvement. It was contained in elastic bands and it's now in piles on the floor around his feet as he skims over the details, much to his boss's concern.

"He's the barrister for the bank's chief executive and we've reason to believe he's the one whose been signing off the dodgy paperwork. He's in charge of valuing the portfolio." Spikings points the pile at Dempsey's feet. "I want that back in page order."

"… And then there's the pimping." Dempsey finishes, ignoring his boss. He hands around a set of photos and another report which is met with a groan from the assembled SI-10 team, "Hey, blame the scum, I'm just the messenger."

Dempsey leans against Spiking's desk and looks sternly at them. "He's been pimping out prostitutes to his clients which he's illegally brought into the country on false work permits. I've been following the bastard around London at night. And not the nice parts, like Belgravia."

Fry wafts a photo of a long haired women in a jacket, "Is this the wife?"

Dempsey looks puzzled, as Spikings says no. The two men look at each other in surprise. "She's not his wife?" Dempsey looks at the photo again, "I could've sworn it was, the way they're acting with each other. Handsy, y'know. Unpleasant."

"Nope, his wife is Lady Harriet Winfield, as was. Daughter of an acquaintance of mine, Lord Frederick." Spikings peers at the photo, "This looks like Angie Hughes, maybe she's in charge of the girls?"

Dempsey looks back at the photos and nods, "Probably, won't know until uniform raid it tonight, I'll make sure they look for her and bring her in."

"Lady Winfield was at a party months ago, got her photo in a paper." Chas frowns as he thumbs through one of the crispy aged newspapers stacked behind Spikings' desk and then smiles with satisfaction as he passes it to his boss who shows it to Dempsey.

The Lieutenant studies the photo of the blonde woman, her wary face and the look of fear in her eyes. He's seen that look before. He's suddenly aware that the room has fallen silent around him as his colleagues wait for an assessment. He shows them the photo, but doesn't hand it around.

"Wouldn't say no waking up beside her." Dave leers and drops the act as Dempsey glares at him and Joyce sighs heavily. It was the behaviour that he wanted to avoid.

"She's way out of your league," He comments dryly and wishes he was somewhere close to her standards too. He's feeling unsettled by the look on her face which is all but apparent even on a poorly reproduced image in a tabloid. He skims the text below, but the words are all about her husband and he frowns again. It feels instinctively wrong.

"So this bastard has a posh wife, a bit on the side and he's robbing the poor? And he's a Lord?" Dave asks.

Dempsey sighs and tries to act more or less like himself. "I could rearrange his face, starting with the chin, 'cept he ain't got one."

"He's not a Lord, her father is. Lady Harriet inherited the title when her mother passed away. I assume it added to the marriage deal so to speak." Spikings clears his throat, and Dempsey gives a small nod. The Yank is a liability, but he seems to get the bigger picture. Spikings continues, "The plan is to turn up as security at a benefit this evening. Makepeace's partner, one Joseph Turner isn't involved, but it's his name over the door too. He's been assisting our friends upstairs with the evidence. You'll need to look smart, the full works. Read through every single word and memorise those photos. Back here at four so we can get the show on the road.'"

Spikings calls back Dempsey, Chas and Joyce as the wider team shuffles out of his office. "I want you all to keep an eye on his wife. The word from Lord W is that he's been treating her badly, really badly. If we don't nail this bastard, I want her out of there. Joyce, I think she'll appreciate you there."

"Shouldn't it be her choice?" Joyce asks tentatively.

Spikings nods, "Let's play this carefully. It's why I don't want that lot out there..' he thumbs to the outside office, '…knowing her business. We keep this quiet."

"Scum like him that tend to take it out on the nearest punchbag. She's not safe." Dempsey comments gruffly, "What sorta bastard does that to a woman?"

"The sort who we lock up and then we throw away the key." Chas observes, his mouth set in a grim line.

Dempsey thinks of his father, who haunted the wrong side of the Brooklyn bridge and shivers.