The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

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       54

      Sometimes you had to do things for a person’s own good. Billy knew this to be true. When he was little and he had used swear words, his mum had washed his mouth out with carbolic soap and water.

      ‘It’s for your own good, Billy,’ she had told him while he gagged and struggled. ‘You don’t want to grow up using words like that, now do you?’

      And he didn’t. Oh, Max and the boys used bad words all the time, but he wouldn’t do it. His mum had taught him that standards were important, and he knew she was right.

      That was why he was standing in the police station now. The desk sergeant was looking at him as if he’d just landed from Mars.

      ‘I want to report someone running a …’ He paused to get his words straight … ‘a disorderly house.’

      ‘Really?’ The sergeant looked at him. Clearly a nutter. Rigged out like Sherlock Holmes, for God’s sake. With a sigh the sergeant pulled out a sheet of paper and started taking down the details.

      ‘Where?’ he asked.

      ‘Upper Brook Street.’

      The copper’s eyebrows raised. ‘That’s a nice area, son,’ he said. ‘Not much disorder around there, I shouldn’t think.’

      ‘Oh, there is. Posh people, too, going in and out.’

      ‘Who’s running this disorderly establishment then, son?’ asked the sergeant.

      This would give the boys in the back room a laugh, at least. Poor simple sod, probably a figment of his imagination. He looked shot away with his long face and his vacant eyes, his deerstalker pulled down low.

      ‘Miss Annie Bailey,’ said Billy with a tremble in his voice.

      He hated to do this. He’d wrestled long and hard with his conscience about it, but it was for her own good. He reminded himself of that. She couldn’t go on like this, doing bad things with all these men. She really couldn’t.

      ‘And do you have any evidence to substantiate these claims?’ asked the sergeant with a sigh.

      ‘I’ve got it all written down,’ said Billy, rummaging in his briefcase. ‘In my book.’

      He placed the book on the counter. The sergeant opened it. There was nothing but illegible scrawl in there. Page after page of it.

      ‘I’ve been keeping watch outside and noting down times and things,’ said Billy. He looked down at the open book and at the sergeant’s face. ‘No, no. Not at the front. At the back.’

      The sergeant turned to the back of the book. There, in neat handwriting, were clear legible details of people entering the building, people leaving, times, dates, everything. The sergeant’s mouth dropped open. He was looking at the names of cabinet ministers, bankers, lawyers – even peers of the bloody realm.

      ‘You see?’ said Billy in triumph.

      The desk sergeant took a breath. ‘Have a seat over there, son,’ he said at last. He picked up the book and the sheet of details. ‘I’m just going through to have a word with my superior. Hold on. I’ll be back in a jiff.’

      Billy sat down, knees together, his briefcase hugged tight against his chest. This was hard, one of the hardest things Billy had ever done. But you had to protect the ones you loved. His mum had taught him that. Even if what you did seemed harsh, even if they had to suffer for it, their best interests were what counted in the end.

      He loved Annie Bailey. He always had. He was doing this for her.