by Clare Revell
“Thanks, but there’s no need. I didn’t mind helping out.” She shot him a grateful smile. “But I can’t stay long. As I said, I have plans for tonight that can’t be broken.”
~*~
The pub was packed. Isabel often passed the large thatched-roofed building on the banks of the River Wheble on the bus but had never been inside. By the time she and Zander arrived, the whole squad was there. Everyone wanted a pint, bar her, Zander, DI Holmes, and DS Philips, who turned out to be the DI’s partner. She sat quietly, sipping her orange juice, uncomfortable with the rowdiness around her.
DI Holmes leaned across the table. “Are you all right?”
“Long day, sir. I’m sorry about earlier, I…”
He cut her off. “We’re off duty, so drop the sir. One thing you need to learn about the way I run things, Isabel. This,” he waved his glass, “is social. Work is off limits. If I need to yell at you for whatever reason, it’ll be done in my office during work time at the moment the incident or whatever occurs, or I find out about it. It’s then dealt with and over.”
“OK.”
He nodded to her glass. “Orange juice?”
“I don’t drink. It’s not against my religion or anything. I just…prefer not to drink.”
“It’s fine.” The DI smiled. “I wasn’t complaining. Dane, Zander, and I don’t drink, either. We all go to the same church. Along with several other police officers. It’s a standing joke that Headley Baptist is the safest place to be on a Sunday.”
Isabel’s phone beeped. She pulled it out.
I’m waiting outside the pub. Where R U? We’re going to be late.
Her heart sank as she read Farrell’s message. She could hear the disapproving tone of his written words. He wasn’t happy. How she wished she could say she was still working in her office at the police station, but he knew she was here in the pub.
How he knew that, she had no idea.
She typed a rapid reply.
Be there in just a minute. Sorry.
“I have to go.” She tucked her phone away and drained her glass. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Grabbing her bag, Isabel pushed to her feet and then ran to the door before anyone could stop her.
Farrell sat outside the pub, car engine running, his face creased in anger, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry,” she apologised as she slipped into the car. Best get her apology in before he could say anything. “I couldn’t get out of it. It’s a work tradition when someone starts a new job.”
“I see,” Farrell muttered. Tyres squealed as he pulled onto the main road without looking first. “I booked a table at Lancini’s. Hopefully, we won’t be late.”
Isabel hoped so, too. Lancini’s was a trendy restaurant in the centre of Headley Cross. It was very expensive and only held tables for a few minutes past the booked time. If they lost the booking, and the deposit, Farrell would get mad. And he had a nasty temper, which she really didn’t want to deal with today.
Making it with barely a minute to spare, she eased into her chair and put her bag by her feet.
As always, Farrell ordered for the both of them. The main course came and went before he spoke a word. He ordered dessert and then picked up his glass of lager, studying her over it. “Have you recovered the paintings yet?”
Hiding her surprise, she reached for her iced water. There was no way the forensics would be back this early. It wasn’t even five hours since he’d called them out to the gallery. “I can’t comment on that. It’s an ongoing investigation. But it’s early days yet and besides, if we had recovered them, you’d be one of the first to know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d changed departments?”
She stared at her hands. “I meant to, but you didn’t ask, and it never came up. I changed police stations as well. Today was my first day.”
“I didn’t ask?” He raised his voice. His hand shot out, knocking her glass from her hand and into her lap, in what could only be a deliberate move. “Why should I have to ask?”
The ice-cold water made her jump. She grabbed a serviette, trying to mop up the mess. Heat surged through her. Had they been at home he might have reacted differently. She’d been able to calm him down in the past. Affection of any kind had been hard to come by over the years. Her mother died when she was young, and the care system hadn’t been the best environment to grow up in. So even though Farrell blew hot and cold, what love he offered was better than the alternative of being alone.
She kept her gaze downwards, hoping to deflect his anger. “Don’t shout.”
He threw his serviette to the table, lowering his voice. “I shouldn’t have to ask. I expect to be kept informed as to what you do and where and when. You know that.”
She shook her head. She didn’t need this, not tonight. She was tired of having to explain every move she made. “I’m not being spoken to like this.” Rising quickly, Isabel grabbed her bag. “I’m going home. Enjoy the rest of your dinner.” She made it outside the restaurant and almost to the bus stop two shops down, when someone gripped her arm, swinging her around.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” Farrell hissed. Blue eyes glinted ice and fire in the same stare. “I’ll drive you home.”
“I’d rather make my own way tonight. Besides, you can’t just walk out without paying.”
His grip tightened before relaxing. “Wait here.” He spun on his heel and strode back inside Lancini’s.
Heart pounding, scared by the way his mood had escalated so fast, Isabel quickly flagged down a passing taxi and headed home. Once there, she sprinted inside and fastened the latch, fingers shaking as she slid the chain across the door. She leaned against it for a moment trying to think straight. She was a cop. She knew what to do in situations like this. But being in it and responding in uniform were two entirely different scenarios. The old adage of a frog and pot of boiling water would prove the point wonderfully.
She toed off her shoes and ran to the bedroom. She peeled off her wet skirt. At least it was just water and not red wine. She’d learned the hard way not to drink anything other than water in Farrell’s presence. Ironically, she’d discovered not drinking was far more pleasurable. She pulled on a sleeveless dress and padded to the kitchen to put the kettle on.
Her meal lay heavy in her stomach. Somewhere she ought to have indigestion meds. As she searched the first aid box, the doorbell rang. Sighing she headed down the hallway. Not sure who it was, she double checked the chain and opened the door as far as the chain would let her. She peeked through the gap. Farrell! She started to close the door, panic spiking.
A furious Farrell stood on the other side. He inserted his foot between the door and the jamb. “Let me in. We need to talk.”
It wasn’t a question.
She swallowed, heart beginning to pound again. She pushed the door against his foot. “T—There’s nothing to say.”
She broke off with a muffled scream as Farrell shoved the door hard, breaking the chain. The door swung open and bounced off the far wall. A loud bang reverberated in the quiet, ground floor maisonette.
Isabel scurried backwards, away from the impending danger. Her hand scrabbled for her phone on the table by her bag.
Farrell slammed the door behind him. His eyes glittered and his fists clenched as he stalked towards her. “I said we need to talk!”
3
Next morning, Isabel paused in the doorway of the meeting room. It was empty. Was she really that late? She looked at the wall clock and compared it to her watch. Groan. She hurried down the corridor to the squad room.
Zander sat alone in the room. He scribbled something, closed the folder, and dropped it heavily into the tray on the right-hand side of his desk. He paused at her footsteps, stared pointedly at the clock, and then turned his attention back to the computer screen.
She crossed the room slowly and plunked her bag on her desk.
“You’re late!” He didn’t shift his gaze from his work
. “I was trying to decide if you were sick or had transferred back to uniform.”
“Sorry. I spent the night over at Gran’s, and then missed the bus.” She eased into her chair. Her whole body ached, despite two warm baths and almost a whole tube of arnica cream smothered all over her bruises. The house mother in charge of the group home she’d lived in as a kid had insisted it was the best thing for them.
Once Farrell had left, she’d taken refuge across the road. As always, the old lady had taken her in, comforted her, and not asked questions. Of course, she’d offered Isabel the usual advice, but didn’t push the issue.
Isabel sucked in a deep breath, immediately regretting it. Her chest was way too painful, but nothing was broken. She knew that—the pain was different. “What did I miss?”
“Other than the bus? Morning briefing, forensics. The report is here.” He held it out to her, not taking his eyes off the screen.
She took the file from his hand. “Thanks. Anything I need to know?”
“Try reading it. Short version is nothing out of the ordinary.” He scowled at the computer, jiggling the mouse. “The prints match the people who work there. We need to run the employee list today and check pawn shops in case the thief doesn’t know their true value and tries to hock the paintings. It’s an outside chance, but the Guv wants the I’s dotted and T’s crossed.”
“OK. Want some coffee?”
He held out his cup, still not glancing up. “Yes, please. A little stronger than yesterday and lay off the salt.” His tone changed to teasing. “I know my father likes salt in his coffee, but it’s not for me.”
Isabel seized the cup and crept over to the kettle. Her partner hadn’t looked at her once. Probably a good thing. She gazed at her reflection in the window and cringed. She’d run out of concealer and didn’t have time to get any en route to work. She made the coffee and carried it back to Zander, placing it on his desk.
“Thanks.” He picked it up and sipped it, still not averting his eyes from the computer. “Better. You’re learning.”
“I, uh, need to pop out,” she said, reaching for her bag.
Zander’s head jerked up. She averted her face just in time.
“You only just got here!” His irritation was more than evident.
“Yeah, well, I have to go to the chemist.” She shouldered her bag, edging away from the desk.
“There’s a packet of painkillers by the kettle if you have a headache.”
“No, I have to go. I—I won’t be long.”
Zander frowned. Rising quickly, he crossed the small space between them and pushed her hair from her face. The lines on his forehead deepened, and his eyes widened at the sight of the bruise tinging the skin around her eye. “What happened?”
She pulled her hair back over her face. “Nothing. I fell.”
“Sit down.” He gently pushed her into her chair and pulled his across, sitting beside her. “Have you seen a doctor?”
“No. Really, it’s nothing.” Isabel tried to get up, but Zander’s stare pinned her to her seat. “I just need to go to the chemist and get some concealer.”
“That’s rot. Stay right where you are, and I’ll get you some tea. Don’t move.”
Isabel sighed and leaned back in her chair. She rubbed her wrists and closed her eyes for a moment.
A cup clinked beside her and he sat down. “Tea, hot and sweet. Drink it.”
“I’m all right,” she whispered, wishing he’d stop fussing. “Just clumsy.”
Zander’s cool hands cupped her face. “Let me see?” Soft fingers pushed her hair behind her ears and then gently brushed the bruises.
She winced, raising a hand to push his away.
His breath hitched as he glimpsed her wrists. “Isabel?” His hands caught her arms, shoving back her sleeves, exposing the finger shaped bruises on both her wrists. His scowl returned. “OK, that is no accident.”
She tugged free and yanked her sleeves down over her hands. She’d deliberately worn this shirt, despite the heat. “Just leave it.”
Zander gently held her hands. “No, I won’t. Who did this to you?”
She shook her head. She’d ended the relationship and thrown him out.
“I…look, Isabel. Anyone else came in like this and we’d investigate, right? It’s assault, plain and simple.”
She sighed. There was nothing plain and simple about this. Yes, she’d been called to domestic abuse before, but this was different. This was…her. She knew better. She knew how to protect herself. She hadn’t and therefore she was to blame. “I upset him, but he apologised, promised it wouldn’t happen again.”
“Your boyfriend did this? You know this isn’t love, don’t you? Nor is it acceptable in any shape or form. You ended the relationship, I trust?”
She flinched and ducked her head. “I…”
“Why ever not?”
Her hand moved to shield her face. “Don’t shout. I ended it, not that he believed me.”
Zander inhaled deeply and put his hands on his lap where she could see them. “I’m not shouting,” he said quietly. “I’m worried about you and furious with him. He can’t be allowed to get away with this. You need to confront him, press charges.”
“No.” She looked up, sudden panic rippling through her. Didn’t he realise what would happen if she did? “I can’t.”
“Then I will.” He grabbed the file off Isabel’s desk. “And we’re off his case as of now.”
“Zander, please…”
He pushed to his feet. “Drink your tea and don’t move.”
“Where are you going?”
He waved the file at her. “To dump this on someone else’s desk.” He shot her a grim smile. “Then we’ll go get you that concealer.”
She buried her face in her hands. She’d ended it or tried to. As she had before. But Farrell was a very hard man to say no to. His jealousy knew no bounds. But as much as she liked him, loved him, he’d pushed her too far last night. She wouldn’t be the punch bag girlfriend. She’d told him as much. But pressing charges, making this official, was something she couldn’t do.
~*~
Hackles raised, Zander had to fight to control his instinctive urge to run out and arrest Farrell, lock him up and throw away the key. His fingers tightened around the file as he stormed across to the DI’s office in the corner of the squad room. He tapped on the door.
“Come.”
DI Holmes and DS Philips were sitting on either side of the desk, cups in hand, going over the reports. “What’s up, Zander?” DI Holmes asked.
“Can I have a word?”
“Sure. Take a seat.”
DS Philips rose. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Zander sat on the spare chair. “Stay, Sarge. It’s about Isabel and this case.” He dropped the file on the DI’s desk. “The art gallery theft. We can’t do it.”
“Why not?” DI Holmes frowned. “All that fuss yesterday about not having a proper case to work on and you turn down this?”
“Farrell Vixen is Isabel’s boyfriend. Or rather ex-boyfriend.”
“Conflict of interest, then?” DS Philips asked.
Zander shook his head. “If only it were that simple, but it’s not just that. She had a date with him after the pub last night. It’s why she left in such a hurry. This morning she comes in over an hour late and covered in bruises. She claims she fell. But we’re talking black eye, finger marks on both her wrists, and probably bruises elsewhere judging by the stiff way she’s holding herself. No way was that a simple fall. She’s covering for someone and I reckon it’s the boyfriend.”
DI Holmes frown deepened. “Where is she now?”
“Squad room. Waiting for me to drive her to a chemist for some concealer.”
The DI shook his head. “Dane, get the police surgeon down here now. Zander, is she pressing charges?”
He shook his head. “She doesn’t even want to talk to me about it.”
“She will talk to me.” DI Holmes ros
e, strode to the door, and flung it open. He stared over to where Isabel sat, cradling the mug of tea, waiting until DS Philips had left before speaking. “Isabel?”
She slowly raised her head, immediately pulling a curtain of hair over her face.
DI Holmes’s grimace deepened further. “Can I see you in my office? Now.”
Isabel’s figure drooped further. She rose and trudged across the room.
Zander stood beside her as the DI shut the door. He pulled out a chair for her, and Isabel sat, once more tugging her sleeves over her wrists.
DI Holmes studied her. “Zander told me you were hurt last night. And before you berate him for it, he had every right to tell me. I can understand that you don’t want to say anything, get anyone into trouble unnecessarily. However, this can’t go unreported.”
“It has to,” she whispered. “I made a mistake and it upset him. It’s my fault.”
Zander groaned in frustration. “Can you hear yourself here? Every domestic abuse victim who comes in here says the same. It wasn’t him it was me. I fell. I walked into a door. I asked for it. You’ve seen it. I’ve seen it. You probably even got called out to it several times as a uniformed officer.”
DI Holmes put a hand on Zander’s arm. “Zander, that isn’t helping. Go and wait by your desk for Dr. Chandler, and send her straight in.”
Shaking his head, Zander headed to the door. He sent prayers heavenward that Isabel would at least talk to the DI if he wasn’t in the room. If not, then he’d deal with it. His gut roiled, as it did with every domestic abuse case he’d handled. But this one was personal. If he had anything to say about it, there was no way that menace would ever lay hands on her again.
~*~
Isabel wrapped her arms around her middle as DI Holmes shut the door and crossed back to her.
He sat on his desk and gazed at her. “Isabel,” he said softly. “Whatever you tell me stays between us. You don’t have to make an official report, you don’t have to press charges, but I need the truth. I can’t have one of my officers coming in, obviously hurting, and not do anything about it.”
