“Bloody hellfire, Guv. I wish I lived in a place like this.”

Dave Wilson whistled under his breath as he took in the view.

“Not a chance, Dave,” Reg Makepeace said. “Blokes like us never end up in places like this. Just ordinary, decent, hard-working coppers.”

“You missed out ‘honest’, Reg. Honest as well.”

“Of course, Sergeant. Of course.”

They stood at the edge of the drive and surveyed Joe Samson’s domain.

Acre after acre of perfectly manicured garden rolled away in tiers. The lawns were such an even green it was hard to believe they were real.

Wilson bent down and brushed the grass with the back of his hand.

“Real,” he muttered. “Figures.”

Beds...

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