By Latimer Road, PC Edward Justice went into the London Transport gents: not for that purpose, nor (since he was uniformed) to trap some evil-doer, but simply to change his socks round from foot to foot. As he did so, balancing carefully on some sheets of tissue he’d laid out on the stone, he read the obscenities upon the wall. One said,
Man, quite young, nice room, seeks friend for punishment.
Please say who and when.
A space was left, and then in capitals:
MEN MEAN A GREAT DEAL IN MY LIFE.
Ted Justice took out the pencil from his black official notebook and wrote under the first part,
Blond, 26, and brutal, NAP 1717.
(This was the number of his section-house.) Then, under the second message, he wrote:
He left the establishment with a stern, penetrating glance at those inside it.
In the street and sun he stood, in official posture, before a haberdasher’s. In the plate glass he examined himself from helmet tip to boot toe, and up again, adjusted the thin knot of his black tie, and patted his pockets down. All present and correct, sir. What they’d make of the man inside, in a moment, he couldn’t tell: but the outward image was immaculate.
He caught the haberdasher’s eyes beyond his own, didn’t budge or change his expression in the slightest, then moved away, authority incarnate. The socks felt better: but tight and sticky, the serge was hot today. Would he make plain-clothes – would he? Think of it! In civvies yet unlike the other millions – up above the law!
‘Not now, lady, I wouldn’t,’ he said to a girl-and-pram combination at a corner and, holding the traffic, he saw her personally across the road. An ugly one, unlike his own, but then for all women he had a quite authentic love: not just the copper’s professional solicitude, but a real admiration and affection. Yes: even for women coppers, and some of them …
He reached the station dead on time, and calm, and spotless. The desk officer looked up and said, ‘The Detective-Sergeant’s ready for you, Ted. Good luck.’