The window came down as I approached and DI John Gallan eyed me warily. He was an honest-looking guy a couple of years younger than me, with a decent head of curly black hair that I would have thought was beyond regulation length, and a face that bore enough laughter lines to suggest he was good company.
'What I've got here is of the utmost importance,' I told him when I reached the window, sounding like a character in Mission Impossible.
'So you said on the phone,' he replied, staring at the bag, then back at me. 'What is it?'
'It's information that relates to an old murder investigation. Someone was tried for the crime and convicted, but didn't do it.'
'Why come to me about it?' Gallan asked, making no move to take the bag. 'Why not just drop it at a police station?'
'Because I've read about you and some of the cases you've worked on, and I think you can be trusted. I also think you'll give the contents your full attention. Especially when you see the name of the person involved. It's important that it's in the hands of an honest man.'
'How did you get hold of this information?'
I couldn't help but smile a little at that. It was a typical copper's response – trying to find out as much as possible. I'd have asked the same thing in his position.
'Let's just say circumstances led me to it.' I handed the bag to him through the window, and he placed it on the seat beside him.
'And that's the best I'm going to get, is it?'
I nodded. 'That's it. And it's also the end of my involvement.' I stepped away from the car. 'Anyway, thanks for coming. And Merry Christmas.'
'I'd wish the same to you,' he said, watching me with a thoughtful expression on his face, 'but I don't know who you are. You might not deserve a Merry Christmas. Do you?'
I thought about it for a second. 'I don't know,' I said at last. 'I think that depends on your opinion.'
'Well, my opinion is that if you're a good man you deserve one, and if you're a bad one you don't.'
'That reminds me of something an old friend of mine would have said. Well, from what I've heard, you're a good one, so enjoy it.' With that, I turned away and started walking.
'You still haven't answered my question,' he called out after me, but I kept going, and soon afterwards I heard him reverse down the track the way he'd come.
The problem was, I couldn't answer his question, because I genuinely didn't know.
Twenty years ago, it had all been so different. All so black and white. I'd been a young probationer then and on the way up, dreaming of a future I could shape through my own efforts. I'm not sure if I was ever an idealist, but I honestly did think I was doing the right thing, and even though it's a long time since the police have been looked at by their peers in a positive light, I was proud of what I did. I thought it was a better job than being a businessman or a computer programmer. Less money, but much more to it. I think I dreamed that one day I'd get married and have a couple of kids; that I'd rise through the ranks until I was a DCI or even a DCS; that I'd stand up for my fellow coppers against government interference; that I'd tell the Home Secretary that he had to cut back on the paperwork and give us the freedom we needed to bring the bad guys down. That people would sleep safely in their beds, knowing that men like me were looking after them.
Never once did I dream that I'd be a murderer.
But then you don't, do you?
When I got back to my car, it was beginning to get dark. I started the engine and drove away without looking back.