"I'd still rather have just pummelled that guy into oblivion," Dempsey said conversationally as he pulled up outside the fish and chip shop which Billy had said was owned by his supplier. He was referring to Billy, who had - slightly unfairly - taken on a kind of demonic quality in Dempsey's memory, after selling cocaine to Harry. I'm not over-protective, he told himself firmly. Stuff it, yeah I am. I dunno what I'd do if she got hurt. This thought occurred to him as they approached the shop.

It was a typical example of a chip shop: large glass windows, off-white walls, menu and prices over the counter, greasy metal shelves behind the counter containing pork pies and golden fillets of fish -

Ding.

- and a bell on the door. The shop was sparsely populated - a woman and two men, each in their forties. The two men were sitting on the chairs by the window talking to each other in low voices, while the woman stood by the counter, tapping her long fingernails in a bored manner. As Dempsey and Makepeace entered, a sweating young man emerged from behind the shelves and plonked two packages wrapped in newspaper on the counter.

"Cod an' chips twice," he announced, and the two men stood up to claim them. To the woman, he said, "Two more minutes for yours." He turned to Dempsey and Makepeace. "Hello," he said expectantly, waiting for their order.

"We're just lookin' for Max, is he in?" asked Harry in her American accent.

"'E's in the back, cooking. Ye'll have to wait for 'im."

"No, that's fine, we'll just go in and see him," Dempsey said firmly, lifting up the counter and pushing through the half-door in the front. Harry followed.

"'Ere, wait a minute, you can't do that," the young man protested fruitlessly as they pushed past him and through to the back room. The man hastily closed the counter up before following. "Boss, don't blame me, they just pushed past me!"

A rotund man with a green apron tied around his waist picked up a metal cage and spewed its contents into one of the compartments on the partition in front of him before straightening up.

"Who are they?" he asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.

"Dan Green, Lynda Carlisle," Dempsey said, holding out a hand.

Max shook it. "What are you doing here?"

"We've heard you might be the man to come to for a good time, you know?"

"Tim, get that sausage and chips out," Max ordered. The young man went to do so. "Keep talking," he told Dempsey.

"Well, the girlfriend and I," - he put an arm around Harry's waist and pulled her close to him - "we like a good party, and we've got a lot of friends comin' over next week so we need somethin' to, you know, cheer everyone up. We heard you got some Charlie."

"Might have," Max replied. "How much you paying?"

"Believe me, money ain't a problem," Harry assured him with a fake laugh.

Max looked intently at the two of them, clearly trying to decide whether or not they were trustworthy. In the end, he nodded. "Alright," he agreed. "Wait here. And don't bloody touch anything, I don't want food standards on me back again."

"Remind me never to eat here," Harry murmured as he disappeared through a door at the back of the shop.

"Grease an' sweat ain't your thing, eh Harry?" Dempsey teased as they followed him - how could they not?

"Certainly not," she replied, pulling a faintly disgusted face.

They came upon Max in a tiny room featured a safe, a desk and a chair, putting a small box - about the size of a shoebox - on the desk.

Without further ado, Dempsey pulled his gun out and pointed it at the back of Max's head. "We're the police, by the way, and you're under arrest for possessing and supplying drugs," he informed him calmly.

Max froze, swore, and tried to clamber onto the desk to get out of the window. Luckily, he was very out of shape, and had barely got one foot on the desk before Dempsey and Makepeace pushed him forwards, causing him to fall face-first onto it.

"I'd advise you to come quietly, Max," Harry said. "The Lieutenant here isn't too particular about who he shoots."

Grudgingly, Max allowed himself to be dragged out of the office, through the kitchen area and out to the front of the shop, struggling and protesting his innocence all the way. Harry simply waved one of the white paper bags which had been in the box in front of his nose, and he shut up, knowing they had plenty of proof.

When they got back to SI10, Dempsey dumped Max unceremoniously on Spikings' desk. "Max Weaver, owner of a chip shop and supplier to Billy who sold cocaine to Lydia on the night she died, causin' her to jump off a bridge. You can question him or somethin' but now Harry's goin' home and she ain't comin' back for a few days. She ain't up to it. Compassionate leave or whatever the hell it's called."

"What?" Spikings and Harry said in unison.

"Hey, that's good, you should have an act or somethin'," Dempsey said. "Yeah, Harry's not bein' a good cop at the moment," - he ignored Makepeace's incensed glare - "she needs some time off."

"Makepeace, you've been off so much recently you may as well not be working here, but Dempsey's right. I told you that yesterday."

Harry frowned at the fact that they were making decisions for her, but seeing as she'd been planning to ask for a few days off to organise her father's funeral, it seemed childish to argue.

"As for you, Dempsey, get this man down to the drugs squad and tell them they can finish off the case. You're going to be busy assisting Dave while Sergeant Makepeace is on leave," he said with a smug grin.

-:-

Jack stood as Harry approached the table he was sitting at in the pub. "Hello, Harriet," he said, looking apprehensive. He kissed her on the cheek and smiled nervously as she sat opposite him.

"How are you?" Harry asked.

"I'm…I'm fine," he responded, not sounding it. His grey eyes regarded her uncertainly. "And you?"

"Fine, thank you," she lied.

There were a few moments of silence, followed by a short stilted conversation mostly concerning the weather. When silence fell again, Harry decided she'd better get on with it.

"Listen, Jack…I think you're a wonderful man, I really do, you're so kind and caring, but…I think we should stop seeing each other." There. It was out.

Jack sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I knew you were going to say that."

"I'm sorry, it's just, I…I have feelings for someone else, and while I don't think anything's going to happen it's not fair on you to be in a relationship with someone who can't give you their whole heart. You deserve better than that." You really do, please believe me.

"What if I'm quite happy with this?" he replied flatly.

Harry took his hand. "I'm sorry, Jack."

Jack looked down at their joined hands with a sad smile. "Not as sorry as I am." His gaze found her face again. "Now that's just not fair," he said in a stronger voice.

"What?" she asked, slightly confused.

"Why do you have to still be so beautiful? I'm going to have a hard time convincing myself you're an ugly troll and I'm better off without you."

It was the twinkle of a smile in his eyes that really made Harry laugh aloud. I could so easily have fallen for you, she thought.

"It's your partner, isn't it? The man you've got feelings for."

Harry nodded. "I think I'm in love with him."

"Well if you think you are, the chances are that you probably are," he pointed out sensibly.

They watched each other silently, memorising everything about the other. "Good luck, Harriet. I'd like it if we could still be friends, but if you'd rather just stop talking to me I understand."

"I hope we can stay friends as well," Harry agreed. "Goodbye, Jack."

He rose with her and gave her a last, lingering kiss on the cheek before each left to go their separate ways.