Detective Inspector Judas Iscariot was sitting at one of the plastic tables in the Yard’s canteen, minding his own business. He was counting the coffee circles that had been burned into the table’s surface over and over again. The clock on the wall above his head goaded him with every tick and every tock. He was sitting as far away as possible from the ‘Instant Response Team’ that had taken up residence at the tables nearest the doors. He loathed their over exaggerated muscles, on-trend tattoos and wooden heads. It wasn’t just that they were noisy, arrogant and liked to wear their veins on the outside, looking like surface-level skin spaghetti stuck on with cellophane; it was their utter belief in the power of their weapons that got on his nerves. Guns and steel were formidable weapons, bu
