Please allow me a little licence on this one. I've no idea if the Met's IT system can do what I've suggested (although you'd think it should) & also I've relocated SOCA into New Scotland Yard to suit me ... because I can!

Tuesday – Sun Hill CID

The heat wave still hadn't broken, unlike the air conditioning which had the week before with so far sight nor sound of the engineer to repair it. Mutiny was on the cards if he didn't pitch up in the next day or so. All the windows were open, but they seemed only to let more warm air into the building, not that it needed more since the arrival of the new DS in CID. Behind his desk, Max pined for the peace of the long holiday weekend, even if that meant he had to endure the crassness of Tara's boyfriend. Richard's eye-popping reaction at each priceless utterance had given enough light relief to make it bearable. Instead, he stared at the computer screen with narrowed eyes, the scant contents of Georgie Fleischmann's file on the PNC already imprinted in his mind so there was nothing new to be gleaned, but it helped solidify his determination to take his mistrust of the man a step further. A step that he wouldn't be able to take back and might not earn him goodwill but he knew it was the right thing to do if even Sondra wanted the man out of their lives.

He printed off two copies of the details from the screen and peered up and out into the eerily quiet CID office, pondering who to bring on board. He needed to be discreet but effective. Grace. She wasn't likely to gossip. Mickey. Max couldn't be so sure about his ability to hold his tongue but he had to admit there was no one better at cajoling information out of the lower end of the social spectrum. Those with most to lose and of little value to their criminal masters but inevitably swayed by the prospect of a little quick cash to pay a few bills or feed a habit. But keeping this quiet was paramount, he'd have to get them to do their digging without the other knowing, or talking. If Millie found out, or Richard for that matter … well, he didn't like to think too much about those consequences.

"Grace, a word please."

Grace looked up at him and sighed. "Yes, Guv." She hated having to report directly to Max Carter and having realised after her few years at Sun Hill that her career was unlikely to progress further under his leadership, was already looking into the other options. The new DS had only galvanised her intention and a move back to New Scotland Yard was her favourite, although that brought its own dilemma.

Yet in his office, Grace had to admire the neatness and order with which Max operated. Nothing was ever out of place, nothing personal on display. His relationship with Millie Brown was well known, albeit with a degree of disbelief, but there were no photographs or mementos to show her existence in his life. It was as if he inhabited two completely separate worlds and it irked her to admit they had that in common, the concept that they could share any character trait was galling.

"I want you to look into this man." He shoved a copy of Fleischmann's details her way, barely looking at her.

Grace studied the information intently, hoping to make this as brief as possible. "What am I looking for?"

Max paused, the truth was he didn't know what he was hoping to find, but there had to be something and Grace was meticulous enough to find it. "Anything … anything that seems suspicious." Grace raised an eyebrow at his answer and he knew it sounded weak. "This man is at the centre of something big, he needs money, a lot of money, urgently, and not for the first time. I want to know what he needs it for and who else is involved. Check all his financial records, everything for him and any business he has an interest in. Check his family and anyone else he is playing with and check their finances as well. I want to know where the money is going."

"Right. What about where the money is coming from?

"No, no need, that's not important."

She eyed him warily, "okay, well I've got-"

"I want it by tomorrow, Grace."

"But-"

"Tomorrow," he interrupted firmly, forcing Grace to nod in mute acquiescence and turn away to the door. "Oh, and Grace?"

"Yes, Guv?"

"Keep this to yourself, will you?"

"Of course," but he caught the questioning look in her eyes and could only hope that this wasn't going to backfire.

Mickey was also at his desk but Max waited before co-opting him on his mission. Fortunately it wasn't long before nicotine withdrawal took hold and Mickey rose to satisfy his habit in the yard. Max gave him a minute or two before following him down and joining him leaning against the guard rails overlooking the ramp.

"Mickey, everything okay?"

"Er, yeah, Guv," Mickey replied, wary of Max's unusual concern.

"Good," silence fell for a moment. "I need you to do something for me." He produced the same details he'd given to Grace. "Find out what you can about him."

"Georgie Fleischmann? Doesn't have a couple of betting shops on the other side of Canley?"

"Yeah. And the Parisa Bar, amongst other interests."

"He's got a daughter, hasn't he?"

"Has he?" asked Max feigning ignorance.

"Yeah, oh what's her name? All tits, teeth and fake tan … Carly, that's it. Carly Fleischmann." Mickey chuckled. "I threatened to bring her down the station once. She was laying into a bouncer at a club with her handbag. Like little and large, it was. Turned out he worked for her Dad but didn't know her and tried to refuse one of her mates entry. She's hard, good luck to any bloke who tries to take her on."

"Hmm," Max felt strangely uncomfortable in his deception, Millie had never said much about Carly but he understood enough to know that they were not friends. "Well, it's her father I'm interested in although he might have got her involved. Any whispers about deals or any difficulties he's having, I want to know. But keep it discreet, I don't want him to get wind that we're interested."

"What do you think he's up to?" Mickey took a drag of his cigarette and Max envied his weakness, the craving never really subsided, especially at times like these.

"I don't know, but I do know he needs money and I want to know why."

"You and the others."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Manson had a go for a while, but gave up on him in the end. Couldn't get anywhere near him."

"I'm not having 'a go', I want him and I'm not 'giving up'." The sudden vehemence in Max's tone startled Mickey. He opened his mouth to ask why it was so important to him but swiftly thought better of it. Sometimes it was better to swim with the tide rather than against it.

"Okay, I'll see what I can do."

"Remember, Mickey, keep it quiet. Not a word to anyone but me."

No more than a few miles awat at New Scotland Yard, a clipped voice called across the room. "Guv?"

"Yes?" The DCI didn't look up from his new iPhone as he crossed over to her. His son had coerced him into buying it against his better judgement, it was far too complicated for what he needed. He smiled. The boy was canny, or at least thought he was, he knew it would be his before the week was out.

"He's accessed the Fleischmann file again. Do you want me to deny future access?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Nope." He pressed a button and the screen went blank, he peered at it closely. "What the …?" The DS reached up with easy familiarity to take the foreign device from him, touched a button bringing it back to life and handed it back.

"But-"

"He's the best chance of a lead we're going to have. Let him run with it."

Max thumbed through the pages of notes he'd taken when Manson had left for the Serious and Organised Crime Agency the year before. Endless details of cases, informants and other random pieces of information that had made it clear he had no intention of returning to Sun Hill, no matter how temporary the secondment had purported to be back then. Max had noted with satisfaction at the time that he wouldn't have handed all this if he planned to return, but he didn't ask. Finally he came to what he was looking for and picked up his mobile phone, weighing it in his hand as if it embodied his conscience. The number seemed to dial itself and within seconds it rang.

"Hello?" a smooth voice answered from a train station, judging by the incomprehensible announcement in the background.

"Charlie Hammond?"

"Who wants to know?" the tone wasn't any friendlier.

"Detective Inspector Carter, Sun Hill."

Hammond paused as the station announcer made another attempt at making herself understood. "Ah, Mr Carter, I've been expecting you."

I'm not bloody 007, thought Max irritably, and I doubt very much you are Blofeld, or was that Goldfinger? With a mental shrug, he turned his attention back to the man on the other end of the line. "Have you? That's nice. I want to meet. Got a few questions for you."

"About what?"

"I think you probably know."

"Maybe," he replied with a chuckle, relaxing out of character. "Alright, when?"

"No time like the present."

"In a hurry?"

Max bristled at the mocking note in Hammond's voice but chose to ignore it. He needed information from the man, not his good opinion. "Meet me at the bridge over the canal at the end of Ashling Street. You know it?"

"Yeah. I'll see you there, Mr Carter, an hour. Now don't be late." Max cut the call and took a deep breath, shaking his head wondering what he had done to deserve a casino-owning wannabe James Bond villain as an informant.

His exasperation only increased as he left the still haven of his office. The room beyond had filled and with it came a heated tension, although this time it had little to do with the weather. Detective Sergeant Tommy Leighton was leaning over Stevie's desk as she sat back in her chair with her arms folded defensively and Jo stood by her side, equally defensive, verging on the obstructive, Max thought. CID had been short of a DS for some time but Max had deliberately waited, scouring the Met for what he wanted and thankfully Meadows had been too consumed by the attentions of Commander Kennedy to be interested in the politics of personnel. Eventually he found what he was looking for in the form of Leighton. His dark good looks and charming Northern Irish accent were nothing but illusory window dressing, in reality he was tenacious, shrewd and utterly ruthless, almost immoral. Max had long believed Sun Hill CID needed shaking up, to be harder and more focussed on getting the required results rather than being a bunch of wet social workers helping the community, that was best left to uniform in his opinion. CID was there to kick down doors and arrest the bad guys, make then confess and get them banged up. But to do that alone was impossible. He needed an ally, another pair of eyes and ears, and hands. Someone to deliver the unpleasant truths and play a game when it didn't suit Max to do the dirty work himself. Tommy wasn't interested in making friends, which made him ideal, although it had occurred to Max that perhaps he'd better watch his own back as well.

He thought about intervening to settle the squabble, but only for a split second before turning on his heels and silently leaving the kids to it.

"Charlie, this is a surprise."

The man chuckled at the other end of the phone. "Now I don't believe that for a second. I know how you lot operate."

"What is it, Charlie?"

"Your Mr Carter wants to see me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really."

"And?"

"I've said I'll meet him in an hour."

"That's good."

"What do you want me to tell him?"

"Answer anything he asks, but er, don't tell him we're still in contact. I want him to think he's running this, for now anyway."

In the narrow strip of shade, Max leant back against the railings overlooking the canal next to the bridge, wondering why he'd agreed to meet Hammond during the hottest part of the afternoon. He watched the passers by in their shorts and t-shirts and thought wistfully of his new 'Family Brown' uniform, even more wistfully of the weekend gone by. The temptation to close his eyes and recall Millie beneath, and above, him was powerful, but the thought of Hammond creeping up on him was enough to keep him alert to the matter in hand. He didn't have long to wait before a snappily dressed man in his sixties descended the steps and took up position at the railings.

"Mr Carter, I presume?"

"Yeah," Max acknowledged with a short upwards jerk of the head, immediately recognising Hammond from an obbo a year or two back.

Hammond regarded him with a degree of amusement for a moment, "shall we, er …" he lifted a hand toward the path alongside the river, suggesting that they take a walk, "you never know who might be watching."

"Are you always this suspicious?"

"I am when I'm talking to the cops."

"You do this often?"

"Only if it suits me."

"Okay, well let's cut the crap, what do you know about Georgie Fleischmann?"

"What do you want to know?" he stopped in mid step and Max stared back at him balefully, this was going to be painful. Hammond raised his hands in askance, "seriously, what do you want to know? Georgie goes back a long way, there's a lot to say about him."

Max tipped back his head and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, perhaps for all his play acting, Charlie was going to be straight with him.

"I want to know what Fleischmann is into and why he needs money."

"Needs money? Where did you get that from?" Hammond glanced sharply at Max.

"Not important."

Charlie shrugged of Max's curt rebuttal of his questions. "Georgie's was on a roll a while back, flashing the cash. Doesn't make sense that he needs money. Although, I noticed he's had an unlucky streak at the tables lately, so maybe …"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe the spending has been for show, maybe he's in deeper than any of us know about. He bought that girl of his a flash new Porsche and of course he set her up with that massage parlour not long back."

"Massage parlour?"

"Yeah, beauty salon or whatever it is, where the girls go to get their nails done, you know the thing."

Not really, thought Max. Millie occasionally mentioned an extreme form of bikini waxing, but as he stopped listening when she went on to elaborate he didn't know much more about it, other than he liked the result. And as for nails, he was only interested when he could feel them gently scoring his back. Max felt himself drifting with those thoughts, his body temperature rising with them, and had to blink to bring himself back to the less appealing prospect of talking to Hammond who was now studying him with concern.

"Heat getting to you?"

"Er, no… so, there's no sign that he's in trouble?"

"I didn't say that. He's on edge, so my lads have said."

"Your lads?"

"Yeah, a couple of them do a bit for him on the side, I like to know what's going on and my boys are very loyal."

"Go on."

"So, he's had several foreigners in his clubs lately, not just for drinks. Comings and goings into the back rooms, all very hush hush. No one's allowed to ask questions, but each time they come and go Georgie looks a bit paler, a bit quieter."

"Do you know who they are?"

"Nah, they're not local, if you know what I mean."

"No, Charlie I don't know what you mean."

Hammond sighed, "there ain't much humour in you is there, boy?" Max didn't flinch at either the jibe or the derisory tone, leaving the older man without any choice but to continue, if only to bring this unpleasant interview to an end. "Russians, so I believe. A new lot, the last Eastern Euros scarpered a while back after your lot were tipped off. Probably by one of this lot. That's how they work. It's not like the old days …"

"Save the nostalgia, Charlie. You're not in The Krays."

"Now you're wrong there, Mr Carter, I was. Had a walk-on, blink and you'll miss me, but I was there, for authenticity apparently. Actually, I'm a bit of a film buff, in my spare time."

"Really?" mumbled Max, without interest. "But what I would like to know, is why Manson had you down as his go-to man on Fleischmann in the first place. No one else talks about him, why you?"

Charlie grew serious for the first time, taking a deep breath and looking out over the canal. "Because he's had it coming a long time, he made a lot of trouble for me in the past. He's greedy and doesn't know when to stop. And these Russians he's got mixed up with now are a nasty bunch. Had them in the casino the other week," he shuddered, "I don't like to turn away business, but unlike Georgie, I'm not a greedy man and they are trouble I don't want."

"What do you mean?"

"Shooters, Mr Carter, they had shooters. And that's what I believe our Georgie has got himself into. All because he's greedy."

Charlie Hammond's declaration of Fleischmann's greed and whatever it was that they came to blows over niggled alongside the fact that he had stayed clean since his conviction back in '79. Handling stolen goods. He hadn't been inside for long, seven months in the end having squared up as a model prisoner on a first offence. 1979, Max mused. He must have known Richard Brown back then. His fingers twitched over the keyboard. He clenched his fists in an effort from stopping them doing what they so desperately wanted to type, but gradually he lost the battle.

Richard Brown DOB 24.09.1954

14.05.1979 Questioned in respect of handling stolen goods, no charge.

He cursed inwardly, it wasn't what he wanted to see. Co-incidence perhaps? No, the case numbers matched. No wonder Richard hadn't wanted Max to ask questions, maybe there were still answers to be had. But Max told himself sternly that there was no way Richard could be involved, and even if he had been, it was water under the bridge. The debate raged internally. Requesting this file to be sent to him, it would be a paper file held in archives somewhere, could result in uncovering more than he wanted to but there was no alternative. If there was nothing Max could find in Fleischmann's present, he'd have to go back to the start and work his way forwards.

"Now he's requested the paper file on Fleischmann's conviction, I take it you want him to have it?"

"Yes," the DCI replied with a faint smile, everything was going according to plan.

The Detective Sergeant spun round in her chair to face him sternly. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

He sighed, he'd hoped to avoid explanation until Max had fully taken the bait, but he was nearly there. "Carter is involved with Fleischmann's Goddaughter. She's also in the job."

"I don't understand. Won't that cloud his judgement? It'll be a conflict of interest."

"Not for Max. If anything, it'll make him more determined to prove himself right. And, he'll be able to get closer than we ever could. If he's interested in Fleischmann already, he won't let it go until he brings him down. All we have to do it let him get on with it."

The DS frowned. "But we've put in so much work and you're going to let him-"

"Be patient, Sergeant. There's a long way to go yet."

Apologies for the lack of Millie, but never fear, she'll be back!