Constable Cockburn smirked and shook his head. What kind of life was this guy living? Had he never seen his mother turn tricks? His father sit at the table, counting the money with his head in one hand but no protest? So delicate, these sensibilities.

The constable’s smirk fell, however, when Crane handed over a watch and suggestion. He pocketed it and grunted an acknowledgment, a quizzical look his way before standing at attention for the sergeant.