think I’ll be a hindrance?’
‘It isn’t that . . .’
‘Do you remember Operation Julie a few years back – the drug syndicate that was busted in Wales? Two of the investigating detectives sharing a cottage in Blaencaron and working
undercover were getting nowhere with the locals until they discovered they were regarded as a couple of homosexuals. Things soon changed when they shipped in a policewoman to act as a secretary to
one of them. It has to be a woman, don’t you see?’
He was silent.
‘Then you think I’m not good enough.’
Still he said nothing.
‘I’m part of Bravo Squad.’
There was little love lost between Customs and Excise Drug Investigation Units and the police Drug Squads – both organizations were too busy trying to grab the glory for themselves –
but there were two Customs teams well respected by every police division in the country: Bravo and Charlie squads.
If she belonged to Bravo, she had to be good.
‘I was involved in “Operation Wrecker”.’
She was good. In 1979, an eighteen-month investigation by Customs and Hampshire police had resulted in one million pounds’ worth of cannabis seized and twenty-three arrests in the
South.
‘And I was there when they brought in the Guiding Light.’
One and a half tons of hashish worth £2 million on the streets had been its cargo. The final take after more raids on various locations – again in the South – had amounted to
nearly ten million pounds’ worth of cannabis.
‘And when I say involved, I mean involved. I wasn’t there to make the tea and take notes.’
He held out a hand towards her. ‘Okay, you’re good at your job.’
‘There’s more.’
‘I believe you.’ He gulped his coffee. ‘I didn’t mean to offend. All I’m saying is that this . . .’ he waved a hand around the caravan ‘. . . is no
place for a woman. They shouldn’t have sent . . .’
‘You’re not afraid I’m going to seduce you, are you? Because if you are, you needn’t worry on that score. You’re not my type.’
‘That doesn’t mean you’re not mine.’
Some of the anger left her. ‘I can take care of myself.’
‘I wish I could say the same for me. It’s kind of cramped in here, you know. We could get in each other’s way.’
‘I’ll try to think pure thoughts.’
He grinned, but she could still feel his unease. He was worried about something and it was more than just the male/female or Customs/Police relationship. She wondered if it was anything to do
with his reputation. Did he believe in it himself? She’d had little time to find out much about him, but a contact she had in the Yard’s CID had filled her in on his general background.
She had dismissed her contact’s insinuation as nonsense. Stupid nonsense. But was it affecting him? She hoped he hadn’t become full of neuroses because of what amounted to no more than
just bad luck.
‘We’re worried, Kelso.’
He looked at her curiously.
‘’79 and ’80 were great years for drugs busting. Our combined forces virtually wiped out trafficking in the South of England, but we know it’s still coming into the
country. We’re still the major staging post for the States and Europe. So how is it getting in?’
‘The whole coastline of England is ideal. It could be anywhere. Probably everywhere.’
‘No, the east coast is the most ideal. Heavy shipping lanes, a short hop across the Channel, lots of isolated areas to bring boats and light aircraft into.’
‘And lots of coastguard patrols.’
‘But they’re getting through. Admittedly, we’ve stemmed the flow, but it’s still a big problem. And every indication is that it’s a problem that’s
growing.’
‘Where does my investigation come into all this? It’s kind of low-key, you know.’
‘Most of our leads have come through minor events; a small slip by a trafficker, information picked up at pop concerts – or freak “accidents”.’
‘Like the one in this town? The Preece
‘It isn’t that . . .’
‘Do you remember Operation Julie a few years back – the drug syndicate that was busted in Wales? Two of the investigating detectives sharing a cottage in Blaencaron and working
undercover were getting nowhere with the locals until they discovered they were regarded as a couple of homosexuals. Things soon changed when they shipped in a policewoman to act as a secretary to
one of them. It has to be a woman, don’t you see?’
He was silent.
‘Then you think I’m not good enough.’
Still he said nothing.
‘I’m part of Bravo Squad.’
There was little love lost between Customs and Excise Drug Investigation Units and the police Drug Squads – both organizations were too busy trying to grab the glory for themselves –
but there were two Customs teams well respected by every police division in the country: Bravo and Charlie squads.
If she belonged to Bravo, she had to be good.
‘I was involved in “Operation Wrecker”.’
She was good. In 1979, an eighteen-month investigation by Customs and Hampshire police had resulted in one million pounds’ worth of cannabis seized and twenty-three arrests in the
South.
‘And I was there when they brought in the Guiding Light.’
One and a half tons of hashish worth £2 million on the streets had been its cargo. The final take after more raids on various locations – again in the South – had amounted to
nearly ten million pounds’ worth of cannabis.
‘And when I say involved, I mean involved. I wasn’t there to make the tea and take notes.’
He held out a hand towards her. ‘Okay, you’re good at your job.’
‘There’s more.’
‘I believe you.’ He gulped his coffee. ‘I didn’t mean to offend. All I’m saying is that this . . .’ he waved a hand around the caravan ‘. . . is no
place for a woman. They shouldn’t have sent . . .’
‘You’re not afraid I’m going to seduce you, are you? Because if you are, you needn’t worry on that score. You’re not my type.’
‘That doesn’t mean you’re not mine.’
Some of the anger left her. ‘I can take care of myself.’
‘I wish I could say the same for me. It’s kind of cramped in here, you know. We could get in each other’s way.’
‘I’ll try to think pure thoughts.’
He grinned, but she could still feel his unease. He was worried about something and it was more than just the male/female or Customs/Police relationship. She wondered if it was anything to do
with his reputation. Did he believe in it himself? She’d had little time to find out much about him, but a contact she had in the Yard’s CID had filled her in on his general background.
She had dismissed her contact’s insinuation as nonsense. Stupid nonsense. But was it affecting him? She hoped he hadn’t become full of neuroses because of what amounted to no more than
just bad luck.
‘We’re worried, Kelso.’
He looked at her curiously.
‘’79 and ’80 were great years for drugs busting. Our combined forces virtually wiped out trafficking in the South of England, but we know it’s still coming into the
country. We’re still the major staging post for the States and Europe. So how is it getting in?’
‘The whole coastline of England is ideal. It could be anywhere. Probably everywhere.’
‘No, the east coast is the most ideal. Heavy shipping lanes, a short hop across the Channel, lots of isolated areas to bring boats and light aircraft into.’
‘And lots of coastguard patrols.’
‘But they’re getting through. Admittedly, we’ve stemmed the flow, but it’s still a big problem. And every indication is that it’s a problem that’s
growing.’
‘Where does my investigation come into all this? It’s kind of low-key, you know.’
‘Most of our leads have come through minor events; a small slip by a trafficker, information picked up at pop concerts – or freak “accidents”.’
‘Like the one in this town? The Preece
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