The Judgement Book by Simon Hall Page B

city.
    ‘We’ve all got them, you know,’ Adam mused.
    ‘What?’ Dan asked, a little thrown by the pronouncement.
    ‘Guilty secrets. Everyone has. I certainly have – look at the ways I’ve connived with you on some investigations.’
    ‘You’re talking about Freedman, and why he killed himself?’
    ‘Yep. One moment of weakness. Giving in to himself. It gets found out and that’s it, life over.’
    ‘We’re hardly talking the same degrees though, are we? We’ve always bent the rules for the right reasons. Catching criminals.’
    ‘But what we’ve done has been illegal. And it’s certainly been an abuse of our positions. For both of us it’s hardly the way we’re supposed to work.’
    ‘What we’ve done has been harmless though, surely. In fact, more than that – it’s for the greater good.’
    ‘As no doubt Freedman thought what he was doing was harmless. No one suffered, no one had to know. All I’m saying is that we all have secrets. I think that’s what rankles with me about this case. Freedman was a good man, he made one slip, and that was it. If there was any comeback, it should have been between him and his wife, and no one else. Not some threat to make it a national scandal.’
    They stopped at the bank by the post office for Dan to get some money from a cashpoint. The detective took off his jacket and even loosened his tie. The phenomenon was almost worth a news story. The wonders of the magic of the weekend.
    ‘Where do you fancy for a drink?’ Adam asked. ‘I’m not fussed about sitting outside. I don’t want anyone overhearing us.’
    Dan thought for a moment, then said, ‘What about the Ginger Judge? It’s about the best Plymouth’s got and excellent if you want to be discreet. It’s where the lawyers go to talk about cases over lunch. You can see them all glancing over their shoulders before they speak. It’s like animal behaviour, better than going to the zoo.’
    They walked on, past the 1970s court complex, a squat, two-floor block of concrete and glass. Adam stopped to admonish a couple of young lads on skateboards who were trying to use the side of the building as a ramp. He waved his warrant card before they had a chance to loose off any abuse and they slouched away. An old man shook the detective’s hand, congratulated him, saying too few people intervened these days. It had become a walk-on-by society. Dan nodded his agreement.
    ‘Nice place,’ said Adam, as they pushed open the Ginger Judge’s door. There was a scattering of people at the tables, mostly men. Dan noticed nearly all wore the pinstripe suit and striped shirt of the lawyer’s uniform. Some even boasted red braces too. It was the classical case of the professional bubble; what was accepted within a career was comical to the rest of the world.
    Dan picked a table in the corner farthest from the door, got the drinks, a couple of pints of guest ale from a brewery on the Isles of Scilly. He’d first met the beer when he was in the Scillies doing a story about the islands’ vulnerability to climate change and rising sea levels. When he was unwillingly moved from Environment Correspondent to Crime he used to feel a powerful tug of nostalgia at thoughts of his previous professional life. No longer.
    The lurid underworld of lawlessness had him hooked.
    He had his new existence to thank for meeting Claire too. The memory of his early clumsy, stumbling chat-up lines made him wince. How life can change in one brief moment. Environment to crime, one job where he was getting stale to another where every day held a surprise, and, that great wonder he thought would never come, finally perhaps even finding a partner.
    Dan often tried to stop himself thinking it, scarcely dared to hope, as if it might frighten away the elusive prospect of happiness. He could have thanked that prostitute he paid for an interview, a transgression which gave Lizzie the excuse she was looking for to switch his job.
    From the ridiculous