Sierra Bravo

snapped Birch. "I should have done the job properly. A couple of shots in a dark alley … she wouldn't have come back from that, not in this lifetime."
"Now now, sergeant. Don't give this young trainee the wrong idea about the Peace Force."
"So what happened? What did she do?" asked Harriet. She looked at Birch apologetically. "I don't want to pry, but if this woman is a suspect …"
Birch looked unhappy, but he nodded at Timms.
"She was responsible for Birch getting kicked off the force," said the captain. "She was splashing money around, bribing any number of officers, and he blew the whistle."
"They were as crooked as she was," muttered Birch.
"Yes, but you made a lot of people unhappy."
"Wait," said Harriet. "Dave exposed them, and they fired him?"
"He made the top brass look bad. They decided an early retirement was in order."
"You never told me this!" said Harriet, staring at Birch.
"It wasn't relevant."
"It was a travesty, that's what it was," said Timms.
"Ancient history, like I said," muttered Birch. He gestured impatiently. "If she is back, we must stop her."
"Be careful," Timms advised him. "You're not exactly in the flush of youth. And these trainees are greener than my lawn."
"So we're going to need help," said Birch. "Is there anyone left from the old days? Anyone we can use?"
"Now you're asking." Timms puffed out her cheeks. "You could try the Residents' Association. They'd have records, maybe contact details."
Harriet cursed under her breath. "Sorry, it's just … I've dealt with the Dismolle lot, and they're awful."
"Oh, I agree. But when there's no choice you just have to make the best of it." Timms offered her the biscuits. "Incidentally, I have a favour to ask."
"Sure."
"When you find their grubby little nest I want you to bring me in, okay? I may not be up to the physical any more, but I can hold a gun."
"It's going to be dangerous," said Harriet doubtfully.
Timms gazed at her, her eyes shrewd and sharp. "I spent forty years on the Force, my dear. I know what danger is."
"Sorry." Harriet nodded. "Yes, of course you can help."
Timms smiled at her. "Thank you. Now, take the rest of these biscuits, won't you? I'm sure young Alice will appreciate them."
— ♦ —
Harriet and Birch stepped out of the cab and took a flight of polished marble steps to the head office of the Chirless Residents' Association. Harriet knew they had the right place, because the title was picked out in gold lettering on the doors, and again on the the lintel above the entrance.
"They're not short of a bob or two," muttered Birch, eying the gleaming lettering.
"It's the same in Dismolle," said Harriet. "They've got plenty of money, they just don't seem to do anything with it. Nothing except build grand palaces to rule from."
The doors swept open, and they walked into a cool, spotless lobby. Downlights gleamed off the marble flooring, and there was a lounge nearby with comfortable armchairs and thick carpeting. Liveried robots waited on a handful of guests, who were enjoying coffee and cake. There was a smattering of conversation, the voices hushed.
"I though it was an association, not an upmarket coffee shop," murmured Birch.
"Yes, well, they can't rule on empty stomachs." Harriet led the way to the front desk, where a receptionist was busy with a call.
"No, we can't help you. I'm sorry, but this is the Residents' Association, not a private security firm. And the same to you, sir." The woman banged the handset down and looked at Harriet and Birch angrily. "Yes?" Then she saw their uniforms, and her face cleared. "At last! Our members have been demanding action for several days now, and you've finally showed up."
"We have?"
"Yes. The rates are eighty-five per day, with a twenty credit allowance for meals. Health insurance is not included, but we'll pay for dressings and bandages."
Mystified, Harriet could only stare at her. "What are you talking about?"
"You're the private security company, right? You've come to deal with all these complaints."
"No, we're the Peace Force. We're here to speak with your … manager? Your leader, in any case."
"Oh, that's impossible. Ms Foster is very busy at the moment."
Harriet felt a shiver up her spine. "You don't mean Agatha Foster?"
"That's right."
"But she's supposed to be head of the Dismolle branch!" protested Harriet. She'd had a run-in with Foster before, and the idea of facing the tough old battleaxe again was almost too much to bear.
"She is."
"So what's she doing in Chirless?" said Harriet desperately.
"Our Ms Wilson is on leave, and Ms Foster kindly agreed to step in."
Then Harriet remembered something, and it didn't make her any happier. The last time Foster had come by the Dismolle station she'd insisting on meeting their commanding officer. Since they didn't have one, Birch had put on a high-ranking uniform and covered for them.
"I believe Agatha Foster will remember me," said Birch to the receptionist. "Tell her Superintendent Birch is here, from the Dismolle Peace Force."
The receptionist stared at him. So did Harriet.
"Any time," said Birch. "No rush."
The receptionist grabbed her handset and started talking. Meanwhile, Harriet leaned closer to Birch. "What are you playing at? You're wearing a sergeant's uniform!"
"I'm surprised you know the difference, trainee."
Harriet shut up, and at that moment the receptionist set the handset in its cradle. "She's very busy, like I said, but she can squeeze you in at half past."
"But that's forty minutes!" protested Harriet. "This could be life or death!"
"Well, everyone else made an appointment."
"Fine," muttered Harriet. "Next time an axe-wielding maniac is chopping down your front door, be sure to make an appointment with the Peace Force. We'll attend to it as soon as it's convenient."
Birch led her away, and they took a seat at one of the dining tables. A waiter approached immediately. "Can I take your order, sir or madam?"
"Two coffees, thanks."
"Certainly. And may I see your membership card?"
"Sorry, left it in my other uniform," said Harriet.
"And you, sir or madam?"
Birch gestured. "I don't have one."
"In that case, I cannot serve