“Marvellous. Just as long as it isn't another stripper in the coffee room.”
“Yes. They got Superballs a stripped when he left to take up the CS job in the Met.”
“Chief Superintendent Balstrop, you mean?”
“Yes. They got him a stripper and a cake and sent him home pissed as a fart.”
“That wasn't a stripper, sergeant. That was Constable Bridges on traffic who opened an evidence bag of cocaine seized from a vehicle. She got carried away by the party, followed by a dishonourable discharge and a six-months suspended sentence for possession.”
“Oh.” Peters went quiet for a moment. “I did not know that.”
“Now you do.” White indicated right and pulled up in a small gravel car park. A wooden sign for walkers and tourists indicated the path up to Moot Point. White turned off the engine and climbed out. He stood for a moment in the lee of the open car door, his hands on the small of his back as he stretched muscled knotted from driving.
Peters stretched as well. “I'll just be a minute.” He pointed to a stand of trees.
White nodded. He opened the boot of the car and changed his shoes for boots. They might not be elegant, but he was damned if he was going to ruin his good pair in the Hobb's Wood mud. By the time Peters returned, still zipping his fly, he'd locked up the car and was ready to hike.