Hook sees the swastika and sighs. As he starts up the street he feels a strong hand on his shoulder. Turning fearfully he looks into the daunting face of a middle-aged man in a rumpled grey suit, suspicious-looking stains on his tie. His hair’s grey and receding, and he's taller than Hook, well-built but with the scholarly air of a professor, as in a way he is – a professor of crime.
“DI Schneider. How are you?”
“Very well Chris, very well indeed.” Schneider’s whiny accent has always put Hook’s teeth on edge. “What brings you round these parts Chris, back on the grog are we?”
“Well – yes – no.” Hook decides to ignore the question. “How are you, how’s Mrs Schneider?”
The instant Hook says it he remembers and flushes deep purple. Schneider’s expression never wavers; his eyes drill into Hook’s brain.
“Still dead, thanks for asking.”
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