When Inspector Christopher Yarrow arrived at the police station that morning, he parked his car and, as he did most mornings, stopped to chat with the night duty Sergeant, Sgt. Dave Armitage, whom Yarrow had known for years. Many a time they had been for a pint in The Dog and Bacon, or Armitage’s local, The Castle on Digby Road.
Although Armitage seemed ageless, he was actually nearing his retirement and dreaded it more and more with every passing day. ‘What am I goin’ to do, Chris?’ he often asked. ‘I mean, I don’t play golf, a game for ponces and Chief Constables that is. I hate the bloody garden, no way I’m goin’ to be growin’ prize leeks like Arthur Millward did when ‘e retired and how long did he last before he keeled over, eh? I’m fed up wi’ watchin’ the Rovers lose every bloody
