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police force with a monthly commission payment on top of that if you make the targets. We’re overcome with debts to collect on behalf of our clients, Mr Turpin. We need an enforcer. Someone to make the rounds.’
    A flicker of concern passed across Mr Turpin’s face.
    ‘Have you already taken another job?’ Mirabelle said.
    ‘He hasn’t and he’ll be there,’ the woman in the floral overall interrupted. ‘Thank you, Miss …’
    ‘Bevan.’
    Bill turned to his wife. ‘But, Julie,’ he implored, ‘whatever shall I wear?’
    Julie looked at him as if he was a mad man.
    ‘A suit will be fine, Mr Turpin,’ said Mirabelle. ‘This weather, of course, you need to be warm so wear something heavy. And shoes you don’t mind walking in. You’ll be out most of the day. There’s a lot of legwork. The collections are all over Brighton and in some of the outlying areas as well.’
    Mrs Turpin’s eyes dropped to admire Mirabelle’s elegant high heels.
    ‘I always wore a uniform before,’ Bill said.
    ‘A suit is a uniform, in a way.’ Mirabelle’s voice was comforting. ‘When I saw your story, I knew you’d be perfect for the job. An ex-police officer knows how to deal with people and Detective Superintendent McGregor has given you a glowing reference. We just need you to take no nonsense and get the payments in. After Christmas is one of our busiest times. You look like someone who can handle himself.’
    Bill nodded. Mirabelle could see that once he’d made up his mind, he’d be immovable. What she didn’t know was that Bill Turpin was already considering the possibility of taking a dog with him on the job. Something with a touch of Doberman Pinscher might be useful – a breed with a bit of backbone. It was another German dog, of course, but they were magnificent animals and could really stand their ground. This time he’d keep it on a lead but without a muzzle. Debt recovery, he knew, was a serious business. Still, it looked like he’d earn more than he had on the force – he’d hit whatever targets they liked.
    ‘Rightio, Miss Bevan. Thank you.’ He reached out to shake Mirabelle’s hand.
    ‘Glad to have you on board, Mr Turpin. See you on Monday, nine sharp.’

Chapter 4 
Manners are love in a cool climate.
    By the end of the afternoon the paperwork was whipped into shape and a route had been prepared for Bill Turpin to start on. Vesta regarded the line of figures.
    ‘I added it all up. We’ve got more than five hundred quid to pick up next week. I hope this new bloke knows what he’s doing.’
    She laid everything neatly in a pile next to the bank of pot plants that had incrementally built up over her time in the office. Vesta had decorated the place over Christmas – newspaper bunting and a jaunty sprig of mistletoe at the window. That was all gone now but the pot plants were in robust health and almost taking over the tops of the filing cabinets. One or two of them still had the vestiges of festive red ribbon taped to their pots. Things had changed since Mirabelle ran the office on her own – for a start the place smelled of Camp coffee and toast most of the time. It felt lived in.
    ‘Do you think Lindon will be all right?’ Vesta asked. Mirabelle smiled indulgently. ‘They’ll look after him.
    McGregor said he’d keep us informed. Police business takes time. Well, we know that!’ She tried to change the subject.
    ‘What are you getting up to this weekend?’
    Vesta kept up an active social life and many of her clients from her last job at Halley Insurance were still in touch. Car fanatics to a man, they made sure her weekends were busy with rallies and day trips up and down the coast followed by late-night meals in Sussex’s finest restaurants. This weekend, however, Vesta was staying in Brighton.
    ‘They still got Scrooge running at the Regent,’ she replied, inspecting her perfect pillar-box-red nails. ‘I love the organ music there. Alastair Sim is a darling. And it’s