It had been a relatively calm evening in the station until that moment. The day shift had drawn to a close, and the night shift had not yet begun, so I was alone on duty. If it were not for the portly, old figure of Nick the desk sergeant, I would have been the only soul in the station. Despite his plentiful figure and round, jolly features, he rarely offered good company and I found myself wishing that Scratch or Black Donald were about. Likely, roguish lads though they were, at least I could have played cards with them. Neither Nick or I were taken of a wife or father to what follows, which I cynically fancied was why we…