Sergeant Henshaw was manning the front desk when Judas entered Scotland Yard. The last two days had been a nightmare, and if he could have put in for a transfer, he would have done just that. The new Commissioner would have rubber stamped his request so fast that the stamp would have rebounded off the desk and more than likely done the man an injury. But the head of the Met was not his boss. His boss was God, and he wasn’t listening to Judas, or maybe it just felt that way – it had been over a thousand years since their last chinwag, after all.
Judas wasn’t having sleepless nights per se, but his night’s sleep was getting more and more interrupted as the week went on. He had picked up the phone and started to dial the number for the witch he had met on the Ley Line Express, but something
