Homes as shorthand for plot

Seasoned Billites knew that any call to a posh riverside flat, all beech-effect block flooring and Alessi fruit bowls, promised a businessman and his waspish wife – the former being evasive because at the time of the robbery he was with a prostitute. Likewise, if the police needed to question any chap who lived in one bedroom of a halfway house (always the ground floor, first room on the left), he was obviously a reformed paedophile who was just trying to put his life back together if only you lot wouldn’t keep harassing him about fings he knows nuffing about, Mr Perkins. Business premises were no different. Sun Hill High Street consisted entirely of dodgy cab firms that might as well have been called THE OVERHELPFUL BOSS IS HIDING SOMETHING CARS or SHE’S RUNNING GIRLS FROM THE BACK ROOM TAXIS, punctuated by a smattering of failing antiques emporia whose owners took it in turns to stage robberies for the insurance. And the local newsagent, CCTV ON THE BLINK DURING RACIST ATTACK NEWS.
Duty solicitors

Bid farewell to one of telly’s great supporting-artist gigs. The duty solicitor was always the most entertaining player in the doubles match that was The Bill’s suspect interview. On one side, two exasperated detectives. Facing them, the suspect, all gold teeth and contempt. And next to him someone in a suit, silently gurning their face off. Ironically, the accused would be the one repeatedly saying “no comment”, when the poor extra playing the solicitor was the only one in the room contractually obliged not to speak. The suspect might turn to his brief for advice, allowing us to enjoy “Duty Solicitor’s No” – consisting of pursed lips, knitted brow and an ostentatious shake of the head. But no comment.
Shrink-to-fit chases

Chases were surely an editor’s best friends. Episode a tad underwritten? Have a long pursuit scene. Tight for time? Keep it short. Hence one chase would involve an epic, seemingly intercontinental pursuit, during which a suspect with a full set of parkour proficiency badges evaded capture by springing off balconies and bounding over rooftops, while the next consisted of a hefty nonce ducking out of his back door straight into the welcoming arms of Tony Stamp. Bill fact: the only legitimate narrative reason for a long chase on foot was to give the suspect a chance to dump a gun in a bin.
The Jasmine Allen estate

Sink estate in excelsis, wrong uns’ playground and home to around two-thirds of Britain’s reported crime, the Jasmine Allen generated so much repeat business for Sun Hill’s finest, you sometimes wondered why they didn’t just move the cop shop there. In this lawless zone, it was imperative that police always adhered strictly to procedure. If you spot a suspect from a distance, never approach him unseen. Always shout “Oi!” from a distance of at least 20 metres, giving him a fair headstart (see also: chases). Cars must always be parked near a group of contemptuous youths on bikes. After failing to find a suspect at home, await approach from neighbouring cardiganed busybody. And if you look through a letterbox, you are guaranteed to see someone unconscious in a pool of blood on the hall floor.