speared another sausage.
âDrugs cause a lot of accidents,â went on Sloan earnestly. It wasnât the only damage they caused, he reminded himself. That was the trouble. There was no end to the criminal consequences of drug dealing. And now all he could do was to sit back and wait to learn the consequences of a dearth of heroin. For all he knew, the absence of heroin could be worse than its presence.
âYouâll have to watch it, Seedy,â advised his old friend. âYouâve got drugs on the brain these days.â
âWe always knew that they were coming in through Kinnisport,â said Sloan, âand now we can prove it, but thatâs all. Customs and Excise pick up what they can but they canât stop all the traffic. No way.â He looked curiously at his old friend. âHarry, if you had more hard cash in small denominations than you could account for, what would you do with it?â
âPut it in the bank,â said Inspector Harpe promptly. âThey could count it, too.â
âNo good. The banks have a legal duty to inform the regulatory authorities.â
âPay off my mortgage, then,â said Inspector Harpe. âAnd buy a bigger and better house.â
Sloan shook his head.
âNo good?â said Harry.
âNo. The conveyancing solicitor could rat on you â should rat on you, come to that â if you couldnât show the dibs had been come by honestly.â
âNew car? Iâve always wanted a Rolls-Royce Silver Cloud myself.â
âA man can only have so many new cars without the neighbours talking.â
âOurs even notice if we have a late night,â conceded Harpe. âThe stock market?â
âYour name goes on the register of shareholders.â
âDifficult.â Harpe screwed up his face. âCould I take it abroad?â
âYou could try,â said Sloan. âA lot of drug dealers do.â
âIâd change it into francs or guilders or something. Big notes, of course.â
âSmurfing.â
âAre you having me on, Seedy?â
âNo. Thatâs called smurfing.â
âSounds like itâs from a kidâs comic.â
âNothing funny about it. It goes on all the time. Weâve been watching that Bureau de Change down by the station for yonks.â
âNo joy?â
âNot yet.â
âIt wasnât drugs at that crossroads.â Harry came back to his own field. âIt was drink. The blood alcohol was way over the limit in the driver who hit that poor fellow Barton, but heâs the one whoâs in hospital still dead to the world. He was lucky not to be T-boned.â
Detective Inspector Sloan sipped his mug of tea. âHe doesnât sound to have been all that lucky to me.â
âHis wife says that his employers are going spare without him,â said Harpe. âHeâs a senior audit clerk with Pearson, Worrow and Gisby, you seeâ¦â
âThe accountants?â Sloan knew Jim Pearson for a busy man but one still with time to lend a hand with good causes.
Harpe nodded. âMrs Barton says they donât know which way to turn, theyâre so busy. Apparently, her husbandâs a real workhorse and accountants need workhorses. Mind you, Seedy,â he added with unconscious brutality, âall weâre doing is holding our horses. Weâve charged the guy who hit Barton with driving under the influence. Just to be going on with, mind you.â
âYou canât do a lot more with everything hanging in the balance,â agreed Sloan, aware that Harpeâs difficulty was a procedural one. âAt least your problem is still alive. Mineâs too dead for my liking.â
âTalking about holding our horses,â went on Harpe, undiverted.
âYes?â
âWe had trouble over at Edsway last night with real horses.â The faintest glimmer of what might have been a smile