I guess that’s why I refused to believe that Mike Buckingham could get mixed up with the scumbags who peddle dope to teenagers and  school kids.

Mike and I joined the police force at the same time nearly fourteen years ago. We didn’t see eye to eye at first. I thought he was a bit heavy-handed. Too macho. The sort who’d hit first then ask questions later. But by the time we’d gone through basic training together we were more like blood brothers than police buddies; ready to provide the sort of back-up you need when you’re facing a bunch of louts waving baseball bats, or some weirdo pointing a shotgun at you from five yards away.

It was inevitable that we’d opt for the plainclothes detective branch of the Force. Probably from watching all those television shows about Columbo, Kojak, Sherlock Holmes. Mike was more the Kojak type – brash, confident, take no prisoners. But I tended towards the Hercule Poirot style, using the ‘little grey cells’ to puzzle out who did what and why. That’s why we made a good team. Brains and brawn. Beauty and the Beast, as Mike used to say.

Whenever we interviewed suspected criminals we used the ‘Good Cop…Bad Cop’ routine. I played the quiet, friendly cop, willing to listen to the man’s story, and Mike did the hard stuff, screaming at the guy, telling him what a shit he was and threatening him with everything from a black eye to a kick in the balls if he didn’t confess to the crime.

Like the time we brought in some gorilla who’d beaten up his wife and kids. Mike really went to town on him. Slammed him against the wall. Kicked him in the groin where it hurts most. Then ‘accidentally’ broke the fingers on his right hand; the same hand that the guy had used for punching women.

It was all against the rules. But Mike ignored the rules, especially when dealing with sadistic bastards who got their kicks from bullying defenceless women and kids.

Maybe that was because his own wife, Nancy, was defenceless through illness.

For years she’d suffered from severe arthritis attacks which left her biting her lips with the pain. Mike often went home after working late to find Nancy hunched up on a chair, with beads of sweat on her face and tears in her eyes. The doctors said there was no cure for arthritis. Just pills to help soften the pain.

But Mike was convinced there must be some specialist in the world who could help Nancy, if only they had the money to find him. Year after year he watched this woman --this kind, saintly woman-- suffer torment in silence. It was unfair. Unjust. While crooks made money from drugs, prostitution, pornography and enjoyed everything that money could buy – the best doctors, best hospitals – Nancy had to accept her life as the wife of a poorly paid policeman.

I’d been to their home many times. Met Nancy and their ten year old son, Bobby. They were nice people. Good people. Made me feel like one of the family. But I sensed that Mike was ashamed of the area where they lived; that big, concrete apartment block with graffiti on the walls and the stink of urine in the elevator. And the drug addicts who hung about waiting for their next fix.

‘The whole area’s like a cess pool,’ he told me. ‘ I hate all the junkies and dealers. I want to wipe them off the face of the earth. Make the place safe for kids and families. It get real angry when I think of the gang bosses living in their luxury apartments while my boy has to walk past the dealers who hang around the schools and amusement arcades like vultures waiting for their next victim.’

That’s why he’d volunteered for the anti-drug squad. And why he got a reputation as a maverick cop. A one-man crusade against the pushers on his patch.

The word soon got around that Mike Buckingham took no prisoners. He’d shoot first and ask questions later – when the crook’s body was lying at his feet, getting colder by the minute.

At first the authorities turned a blind eye on his method of cleaning up the city. They were glad to watch the number of drug-related crimes fall month after month. But I knew questions were secretly being asked about Mike’s methods and about his unofficial sources of information. Even though I was no longer working as back-up on his team, I had to warn him.

‘So what do they want?’ he asked as we sat in his car, away from prying eyes.

‘Do I sit back and do nothing? Wear kid gloves when I’m interrogating the dealers? Tell them not be naughty boys?’ He looked at me with anger in his eyes. ‘You know what slime-balls they are, Frank.’

I nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. But don’t overdo the heavy stuff.’

He gave an ironic laugh. ‘So what do I do when I’m facing some slob who’s out of his mind on drugs and thinks he’s indestructible with a baseball bat in his hands?’

I shrugged. ‘Count to ten?’ I said jokingly.

‘And meanwhile he creases my skull and laughs as he’s doing it. Come on Frank. You know what it’s like with these dope-heads.’ He paused. ‘Or have you forgotten since you’ve been promoted to the higher ranks?’

It was said with a certain degree of bitterness, and I knew he resented my moving up the promotional ladder after years of being his buddy and his back-up. He felt I’d deserted him. And I guess it hurt.

Looking back, I sometimes wonder whether that conversation was the start of a change in his outlook on life and on the job he was doing. He changed from being a persecutor of gangland bosses and instead turned his attention to the small-time pushers of dope. The little men who sold small packets on street corners rather than the big-timers who arranged shiploads of cocaine.

That’s when the serious rumours started. Rumours suggesting that Mike may be cooperating with the big boys. Accepting bribes in cash or drugs in return for turning a blind eye on the big operators.

When the Chief Superintendent called me into his office I knew it wasn’t simply to talk about the weather.

‘I’d like you to spend some time with the drug squad.’ he said. ‘ Out on the streets. Where the action is.’

I knew exactly what he meant but I asked innocently, ‘Any particular reason?’

‘There’s a rumour that something big is about to happen. A large shipment of drugs. Very large.’ He paused. ‘And it’s just possible that someone in the Force is cooperating with the enemy…if you get my meaning.’

No names were mentioned. No accusations. But I certainly got the meaning.

When I told Mike I’d be working with him again as his back-up, he just shrugged. ‘You’re the boss.’

‘Like the good old days,’ I said hopefully. ‘Beauty and the Beast. The perfect combination.’

‘No…Not really.’

It was said with such sadness that I was tempted to tell him that our friendship was more important to me than any rumours about him. But I think he realised that when he said, ‘You’re just doing your job, Frank. It’s not personal.’

I didn’t have to tell him about the large shipment of cocaine which was expected to arrive any day. He already knew about it.

‘This Thursday,’ he said quite casually. ‘Duggie Jordan’s organising it. There’s a warehouse about six miles out of town. The lorry arrives around mid-night.’

I didn’t ask him how he got the information. I assumed he’d tell me if and when he wanted to.

‘ I arranging an unofficial welcome party,’ he said with a grin. ‘Would you like to join in?

‘As your back-up?’ I asked hopefully.

He gave a sad smile. ‘If you still trust me.’

I wanted to tell him that I’d always trust him, no matter what happened. But I didn’t say it in so many words. I just hoped he already knew it.

The warehouse stood all alone in the middle a muddy field with no other buildings within a mile of it. The dirt track leading up to it was just about wide enough for the lorry that was trundling up to the large metal doors.

We stayed hidden in the field, close enough to see the cars that arrived with five burly passengers.

We waited, giving them time to unload the contents of the lorry.

‘I’ll take a closer look,’ said Mike. ‘To make sure Duggie’s there. Keep the team here until I’ve reached the warehouse. There’s a side window I can see through.’

Before I could object to this move, Mike took off like a ferret seeking out a rabbit. I signalled for the six other policemen to stay put while I trailed a few yards behind Mike, expecting him to wait until we were all in position.

But he didn’t wait.

Having seen all he needed to see through the window, he moved towards the side door and then quickly into the warehouse itself.

I ran like hell after him, not bothering whether anyone saw me. Simply wanting to give him the back-up he needed.

Everything happened so quickly I find it hard to say who shot first – Mike or Duggie. I told the Chief Superintendent that Mike shot in self-defence. But what I didn’t tell him was that as Mike walked quite coolly into the warehouse Duggie started to say something like ‘Hi Mike. Didn’t think you were coming …’

And that’s when the first shot exploded.

All the members of my team agreed that it was self-defence. That Mike was simply trying to defend himself against five crooks who all had guns. And as neither the police nor the public had any sympathy with a piece of shit like Duggie Jordan, no one bothered to dispute my statement.

Mike was awarded a medal by the police authorities for his bravery in this action. And I was asked to make the presentation to his widow, Nancy.

It meant a lot to her. Much more than the substantial pension from the police force that would help her to move away from the city and away from the drug pushers who might one day be a temptation to her son.

‘I’m sure that’s what Mike would want,’ I said.

‘He always said that one day we’d get out of this place. Go somewhere far away when he retired. Somewhere that’s good for Bobby. And for me. That’s why he opened a bank account in Bobby’s name. To give him a chance in life.’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘He kept it a secret. Even I didn’t know how much there was in it.’ She paused. ‘Twenty thousand pounds. He must have been saving from the day Bobby was born.’

I said nothing. Just tried to keep the surprise off my face.

‘He only told me about it a few days ago. Said he wanted me to know in case anything should happen to him.’ There was a worried look on that innocent face as she asked, ‘Do you think he had some sort of premonition, Frank? Fate?’

I shook my head. ‘Just a coincidence,’ I lied.