Line of Duty and the rule of law

Do people in public office ever abuse their power? Everyone remembers Richard Nixon desperately flashing the V-for-victory sign before boarding the presidential helicopter on the White House lawn — a reminder that no man is bigger than the law. 

“Public trust can only be maintained when wrongdoing is held to account,” Superintendent Ted Hastings tells his superiors in the latest season of the BBC drama Line of Duty. A commanding officer of the Anti Corruption Unit (AC-12), Hastings is committed to catching “bent coppers” and upholding standards in public office. Jed Mercurio, the writer, shows us once more that while justice slows you down, digging for the truth until you run out of fight is not a bad way to live. The search for the identity of H, the head of a network of corrupt cops, was at the heart of the series. Double-crossing threads of the plot highlight that vulnerability can be a form of courage and that no one is safe. So who is H, aka the Fourth Man, and why should we care?

A formal investigation was launched in the UK last week into whether a donation to Conservative party funds that was used to refurbish the prime minister’s flat in Downing Street should have been formally declared. You all know the story. Although the rule of law existed in ancient Greece, the phrase itself is traced to 16th-century Britain and later on to John Locke, who stressed that freedom means being subject to laws that apply to everyone. We expect the law to be consistent in principle, that the government, law enforcement officials, judges and politicians as well as private actors are accountable under the law, which should be applied evenly. Taken a step further, the personification of the state should be treated like a moral agent.

So what is it that makes Line of Duty so irresistible? There is a richness to the drawn-out interrogation scenes that form the core of the series. Everything. Is. On hold. A cassette beep, the sound of water being poured in a glass, followed by an air-horn kicking off the interview. Each episode is layered with strong plotting and a cascade of fast-paced dialogue, brimming with acronyms. Classified information is often leaked, inevitably leading to car chases and shoot-outs. Men in balaclavas jump out of vehicles with guns. But a constant feature of all seasons in this very British police drama is the constant citations of the law, from officers quoting AC-12 regulations to references to common law.

There is nothing diluted in a police procedural. The pleasures of dense story-telling interlace with the reflection of the society we live in. The concept of line of duty is associated with responsibility and authorisation and so is the television series. We’re all standing in the same line, accountable for every infraction or unexpected turn, even when our actions were not necessarily the end result of our intentions. “I would prefer to have invented . . . a lawnmower,” said Mikhail Kalashnikov.

Spoiler alert: the show may have reached unprecedented levels of complexity but H turned out to be the dullest cop. As in any detective book or police procedural, episodes end in cliffhangers and the only catharsis it brings is the restoration of order, even if this means going on the witness protection programme. As they say about tea, the good is in the warmth.

Do people in public office abuse their power? Following his repeated misspelling of the word “definitely” as “definately”, the identity of the Fourth Man has finally been revealed. But it turns out he was just a pawn and the shattering point made in Sunday night’s conclusion of the series is that the true culprit is never one man but institutional corruption within the police. In times of crisis, the rule of law resembles one of the early Wright brothers planes — we all need to run along, holding the wingtips.

This is the latest in a series of columns on where culture meets the news. Follow @FTLifeArts on Twitter for our latest stories first