Free Blood Falls by Tom Bale

when he made them eat their words. Today was going to be a grade-A example of that.
    While he indulged in a little daydreaming about it, the stumbling block to free speech was sitting beside him on the back seat, pretending to admire the passing countryside while sneaking glances at Leon whenever he thought it was safe.
    His name was Giles Quinton-Price. He was in his mid-fifties, a lank-haired wet-lipped twat with a strange honking voice that managed to sound both deep and squeaky at the same time. It was driving Leon spare, but he couldn’t block it out or shut him up. Couldn’t smack him in the mouth and dump him on the hard shoulder.
    Because Giles was a journalist on a national newspaper, writing a feature article about Leon and Trelennan. He and Giles had beenjoined at the hip for two days already, with at least one more day to go. Leon didn’t know how much longer he could handle it, that weird grating laugh and his stupid fucking questions.
    Like this: ‘Got yourself a few personnel problems?’
    ‘Something like that.’
    ‘People! The bane of your existence, I dare say?’
    Leon nodded, thinking: Pricks like you are .
    ‘Still,’ Giles said, ‘a day like today makes it all worthwhile, does it not?’
    ‘You bet it does.’ Leon tried not to sound sarcastic, then realised he wasn’t being sarcastic. It did make it worthwhile, getting his picture taken with the chief constable. A big two-fingers to all the lowlifes back on the Trelawny estate who’d written him off from the start. Even more so to all the filth who’d tried to bring him down over the years. Shaking hands with their boss, making it clear that he and Leon were on equal terms – that was going to taste really fucking sweet.
    And a boost for the business, too. Good publicity meant more money rolling in. Nice clean spendable money. Money you could flaunt, if you wanted.
    All very different from the old days.
    The second call was from Derek Cadwell. Not an employee as such, but quicker on the uptake than Glenn. A man who knew where his best interests lay.
    ‘That foreign bitch was outside the house again.’
    ‘You talked to her?’
    ‘I tried. She refuses to listen.’
    ‘Same here. Sometimes it takes a bit longer for the message to sink in.’
    Derek’s voice lowered. ‘You can’t speak freely? Oh – the journalist’s with you.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘Bugger. We need a proper discussion about this. She virtually attacked me.’
    ‘Get hold of Clive. Arrange a meeting for late afternoon.’
    ‘Thank you.’ There was a pause: more bad news to follow. ‘During our confrontation, somebody else got involved. A stranger. He looked pretty unsavoury. Said his name was Joe.’
    ‘Did he?’ Leon said, aware that Giles was straining to hear the other end of the conversation.
    ‘One of your patrols was on hand. Reece and that other lad. I have to say, this Joe didn’t seem particularly intimidated by them.’
    ‘I wouldn’t worry. Already on my agenda.’
    ‘Really? You know who he is?’
    ‘Like I said, go through Clive. We’ll catch up this afternoon.’
    Leon put his phone away. He knew he couldn’t dwell on it now, but something had to be done with the girl. Nobody else in Trelennan would say a bad word about him, but she was a head case, shooting her mouth off to anyone who’d listen. A sap like Giles wouldn’t necessarily know it was crazy talk.
    And then there was this feller. It had to be the same one Glenn had described. An ex-cop, pitching up at Diana’s with no car, no luggage. Could be on the run, in which case Leon needed to find out why. Leon could sniff out an opportunity better than anybody.
    But Glenn was right about something else. Once a cop, always a cop . In which case this guy wasn’t an opportunity at all, but a nuisance. A threat.
    Forgetting for a moment the image he was trying to project, Leon let out a long heartfelt sigh. In response, Giles tutted sadly.
    ‘The price of greatness is responsibility,’