I am reading a photo romance, of the kind they used to print in Jackie. Except that it's not a romance at all, but a rather grim detective story, possibly by Ruth Rendell. It appears that a young woman has just been condemned to death for a crime she did not commit. The two policeman in charge of the case are discussing the situation. The more senior, a tortured and aesthetic Adam Dalgleishy type, sits behind his desk and explains to his junior that although they both realise (too late) that the woman is innocent she has been duly convicted, and there's no way they could ever persuade a judge or jury to reverse that verdict, no matter how compelling the new evidence may seem to them. It's just one of those times when it's lousy to be a copper.