Nervous glances at each other greeted her question. ‘The DSI said he wanted to see you as soon as you arrived.’ Fisher’s lanky frame emerged from the back of the group. It suddenly occurred to Johnson that this was the first time she had noticed him since her arrival.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll go see him as soon as I’m up to speed.’
‘Er, sorry, ma’am, he really was quite insistent.’
She knew from his defiant look that she would get nothing sensible from the others until she had been to see Potter. ‘Fine,’ she replied tersely and headed straight for his office.
She considered knocking but knew the commotion outside would have signalled her arrival so, instead, she burst in through the door.
‘Good morning, Stella,’ he said, shuffling some papers on his desk to imply he had been busy doing something.
‘Guv, you wanted to see me?’
‘Yes, please sit down.’
Johnson was irked by his apparent formality, as though their encounter last week had never happened, but did as requested.
‘I understand you were passed fit for active duty yesterday.’
‘Raring to go.’ She tried on what she hoped would appear a warm smile.
‘I’ve seen the report and it has noted some concerns.’
‘Concerns, guv?’
‘Yes, well physically you seem to be in surprisingly good shape, but the psychologist said that, although she could find no concrete reason not to pass fit, she was troubled by your keenness to get back to work, not helped by the fact you had scheduled it the same afternoon as McNeil’s funeral.’
Johnson decided that the best response to this was to provide none at all.
‘Perhaps I wouldn’t have read too much into it had it not been for our… chat last week.’
‘That’s not fair, guv!’ Johnson could feel her cheeks flush with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. ‘It was the morning after, and I was… I was…’
‘No, Stella, what I am saying is that it was understandable given the circumstances. Perfectly understandable. What I am finding hard to believe is that in a matter of a week you have got over the terrible trauma you suffered.’
‘Who said I have got over it?’ Johnson sat bolt upright in her chair. Much as she wanted to show herself ready to work, she didn’t want this. Irrespective of her personal feelings for McNeil, she had been attacked in her own home, stripped and tied to the bed and had to watch a colleague of hers die in front of her. She doubted anyone could get over that, especially not in the space of a week.
‘You did,’ Potter replied flatly, sifting through the papers on his desk to find a copy of the report. Then he read out, ‘I now just want to move on and put all this behind me.’
Whatever it takes, Claire’s words rang in her head once more. ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she said quietly.
‘Look, I don’t doubt your sincerity but, regardless of the report’s overall judgement, I need to know that returning to work is the best thing for you, Stella.’
Tears started welling in her eyes again. But she would not allow herself to be shamed by them; Potter’s concern, however misguided she found it, was something that needed to be addressed. She could tell him what it had been like to be sat alone in her hotel room, waiting for news of Brandt’s capture that never came. She could tell him how awful it had been to return home yesterday, to find what had happened there had been scrubbed away as though it had never occurred. More than this, she wanted to ask him how it was fucking possible in 2018 for a wanted serial killer to simply disappear without a trace. She wanted to know what the hell he and the others had been doing over the last week whilst she had been lying awake at night unable to stop the sobs that wracked her body.
‘I need to be here,’ she said finally.
Potter nodded slowly. ‘Okay then. Look, something’s come through that I want you to look into.’
Johnson’s eyes lit up. This could be the breakthrough they required. She snatched the piece of paper he held in her direction, skimming over it in an effort to absorb the main points as quickly as possible. Confused, she started again and read it more carefully. ‘Guv, there’s a mistake here.’ Potter’s face remained expressionless. ‘This can’t have anything to do with him, just look where it is…’
‘This is a different case, Stella, but one I need you to look into.’
‘What the fuck?’
‘DCI Johnson, whilst I am… sensitive to how things are at the moment, that outburst was way out of line.’
She would be damned if she was going to apologise. How could he do this to her? Of all people, he must understand her need to catch Brandt. He had even spoken about his guilt about not stopping her putting herself in danger. ‘You can’t do this, guv!’
‘I’m afraid I can, and I have to do what I think is right. The report clears you for duty, but it is my decision what duty that is. I need not tell you how important it is we catch Jeffrey Brandt and I won’t do anything I think may jeopardise the investigation.’ He crossed his arms. ‘What’s more I don’t think it would be healthy for you to be involved now.’
‘This is bullshit though,’ she cried, waving the piece of paper. ‘This is some micky mouse drug related thing that should be given to one of the DCs.’
‘We’re a bit stretched at the moment.’
The reasonableness of Potter’s tone made Johnson want to lean over the desk and smash his face in.
‘Take it or leave it. No one would blame you if you realised… erm, decided that this was all too soon. It’s not as though you haven’t accrued enough holiday that you still need to take.’
She couldn’t resist the urge to slam the door on her way out, despite knowing that Potter would somehow use it as justification that he had made the right decision. The way the detectives, so welcoming when she had arrived, busied themselves as she stalked across the room, was all the confirmation she needed that they had known she wouldn’t be returning to work on the Brandt case.
Having unsuccessfully tried to calm herself on the way back down the stairs, she headed straight for the car park. She needed a cigarette and a chance to think this through. To suggest she was livid with Potter would be an understatement, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of just driving out of there. That way, even if she did subsequently return to work, she would never be allowed on the case. Her only option was to prove him wrong; follow his orders and demonstrate that his reservations were unwarranted. Although Potter was discreet, she remembered the odd indication he had given her of the intense pressure he was under by the top brass. She didn’t need the furore the attack on her had created in the press for her to imagine how much greater that must be now. If there were no further developments, it wouldn’t be long before he was begging her to be back on the case.
Johnson re-entered the station, burying her anger and frustration under the knowledge that she was doing the right thing in the circumstances. ‘Andrews,’ she called loudly across the duty area. She had to bite her tongue when he continued writing his sentence before looking up.
‘Get me one of your boys, I need to take him on a little errand.’ She was sure he couldn’t fail to see the parallels with when he had provided McNeil. He was opening his mouth to respond to her but something about her expression caused him to turn away instead.
‘Fiona, go and see if PC Barnes has finished his break.’
Johnson had continued to glare at Andrews but stopped when the person she saw out of the corner of her eye failed to move. It was the woman who had been eyeballing her at the funeral.
‘Problem?’ Andrews asked.
‘No, Sarge,’ she replied coldly. Without further response she walked slowly towards the staff canteen area.
Moments later, with Andrews seemingly busy filling out his log book once more, and Johnson wondering whether she should find Fiona Strachan and ask what the fuck her problem was, a tall black male emerged holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee. ‘You wanted me, Sarge?’
; ‘DCI Johnson needs someone to accompany her on a case.’ Much as she still regarded Andrews as a pencil-pushing little twat, she couldn’t help but admire his professionalism.
Barnes’ face lit up. ‘Certainly, sir,’ he replied with such enthusiasm that if he had then snapped to attention and saluted, it wouldn’t have come as a great surprise. ‘Hello, ma’am,’ he said approaching her. ‘I’m Simon, but everyone calls me John.’ He seemed uncomfortable with Johnson’s blank look. ‘You know John Barnes the footballer? World Cup 1990 and that rap?’
‘Let’s go,’ she said simply, turning on her heels and heading for the police cars. She couldn’t help but smile when he headed straight for one of the marked Ford Focus panda cars. ‘No, PC Barnes, we’re undercover,’ she teased.
‘Really?’ he responded, again taking on that look of an excited child. His face dropped. ‘But I’m in uniform. Have I got time to go and get changed?’
Johnson shrugged. ‘If you like.’ She was in no hurry and would use the time to spark up another cigarette. Much as she still was angry about what Potter had done, at least this was better than hanging around at the rented flat that she had already taken such a dislike to. She was also grateful for the fact Barnes appeared nothing like McNeil. It wasn’t so much the fact that they looked entirely different; even on their first encounter McNeil had displayed a maturity that belied his relative inexperience. Normally someone like Barnes would drive Johnson mad, but his persona was a welcome contrast and she promised herself that she would try and be patient with him.
‘Wow,’ he said, returning a few minutes later in jeans and black hoody, regarding the BMW M4 Johnson was stood next to. ‘My uncle had one of those, although it was an older generation than this. I think it was an M3. Went like shit off a…’ He paused suddenly. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’
‘Shit off a shovel?’
‘Yeah, yeah, that’s it!’ His look of guilt instantly fell from his face.
* * *
Moments later they pulled out of the car park; Johnson unable to resist applying just enough throttle to provoke a squeal of wheel spin. ‘Where are we going?’
‘St. Ann’s.’
‘Okay,’ he replied nervously. Nottingham was famous for its gun crime, but the reality was it tended to be localised. For most people the city was a nice place in which to live but, similar to London, there were certain pockets where things were unpleasant. St. Ann’s, to the east, was notorious for this and Johnson had spent quite a bit of time there in her early years in CID. This was one of the reasons why she had been so affronted when Potter had given her the case. Crimes that warranted their attention in St. Ann’s were usually gun or drug related and, aside from muggings and burglary, they were often restricted to the people involved in illegal activities. Naturally, Johnson had applied herself diligently to these cases, but they weren’t the ones she looked forward to investigating when she got promoted. She had joined the force, in much the way Claire had described McNeil’s motives, to protect those people who led ordinary, decent lives. Of course, there were plenty of such people who happened to live in St. Ann’s, but experience had taught Johnson that, more often than not, the victims of crime in this area, even if they happened to have a clean record themselves, were unwilling to cooperate with the police. She had initially put it down to fear of reprisal but had come to see it more as some kind of fucked up code that many of them followed, as though the authorities were worse than the criminals. Whilst Johnson accepted that the police had to take some responsibility in the creation of this situation, she would leave it to the community liaison officers and other do-gooders in the force to try and address that.
The crime scene was as Johnson expected. A rental house that had been used as a drug den; its unkempt garden and peeling front door barely any worse than the properties surrounding it, but squalid and bare inside. Each room was given over to mattresses and tatty armchairs which, by the looks of the debris scattered, had largely been in use when the shooting had taken place. It had only been the noisy fleeing of its occupants that had caused a local resident to anonymously alert the emergency services. The ambulance arrived to find a young white male lying unconscious following a shot to his abdomen. Even Barnes’ enthusiasm waned as they made their way door to door, unsuccessful in their attempts to gain any further information as to what had happened or who else they might speak to.
The house itself was registered to a woman who had yet to be tracked down, so, with little more that could be done there, they headed for the hospital to check on the condition of the victim. Johnson couldn’t help but wonder whether Potter’s insensitivity at providing her with a case that, not only had required her to take a new recruit like she had with McNeil, but also would see her back at the Queen’s Medical Centre, was deliberate. Perhaps she was right; this was all part of a test to see whether she was genuinely ready to return to work. Nevertheless, it did not stop the apprehension she felt arriving there. Fortunately, they would be visiting a different ward, but she was sure she would be recognised by some of the staff. As long as it wasn’t either of the nurses she’d had run-ins with, it wouldn’t be so bad, but it did make her wonder why Barnes had not mentioned what had happened to her.
‘Are you aware of who I am?’ She asked as she pulled into a parking space.
‘Ma’am?’
‘I mean, do you know what happened?’
‘Of course, ma’am, and I’m really sorry. I didn’t like to mention it before and seem like I was prying. You seemed all ready for business, so I thought it best to just focus on what we were doing.’ The concern was evident in his voice.
‘It’s fine and, to be honest, I’m grateful for that. Er,’ she paused, wondering whether she really wanted to ask the next question. ‘Did you know PC McNeil?’
‘Darren? Yes, I knew him. It’s not as though we trained together; he started a good while before me, but we went on some of the same jobs.’
‘Were you friends?’
‘Er, yeah sort of. We didn’t really socialise or anything but we both went out for the usual Friday or Saturday night drinks if we weren’t on shift. He stopped coming to those though…’
‘Why was that?’
‘I dunno, it was after he started working with your lot. I reckoned he had started going out with them instead.’ Johnson wasn’t surprised by the old notion of the plain clothes/uniform divide but, as far as she was aware, CID didn’t specifically socialise unless celebrating a particular occasion. She always assumed that it was because they tended to be older and were therefore more likely to have families.
‘How do you feel about what happened?’
‘Well, I guess it seemed normal.’ Barnes must have noticed the shock on Johnson’s face and gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Oh shit, sorry, I thought you meant him not going out with us anymore. You mean what happened to him? Well, it’s dreadful really. I guess we know it’s a risk of the job, but you never really expect it to happen to one of you, do you?’
‘And what do people think of me?’ Johnson was surprised she cared, let alone had enough courage to ask the question.
‘Well, of course it’s terrible what happened to you too…’
‘No, I mean, do they blame me?’
‘Jesus, no, why would they?’
‘What about PC Strachan?’
Barnes shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘That’s a bit different though, ma’am.’ Johnson waited, using silence to encourage him to qualify his statement. ‘She had a bit of a thing for Darren.’
‘Were they an item?’ She instantly regretted using a term that made her sound so old.
‘I don’t think so but…’
‘But what?’ Johnson failed to hide the urgency in her voice.
‘Well, things could get a little messy late on when we were out.’ He paused, thinking. ‘Look, I don’t know whether anything happened between them, it’s just that Fiona kept talking about him no longer coming and even texted him a few times when we were out to tr
y and get him to join us.’
Johnson didn’t know why she cared so much. As Barnes had said, McNeil had stopped socialising with uniform once he had started working with her, so it’s not as though anything that happened between the two of them wasn’t before she had started developing feelings for him. It didn’t stop the faint pang of jealousy she was experiencing. They both clearly had a past but the thought of him with someone else only served to highlight the fact they had done nothing more than kiss.
With regrets of their night in Canterbury entering her mind once more, she opened the car door and started marching towards the hospital entrance, making Barnes run in order to catch up. She regretted broaching the subject and was determined that any remaining conversation between the two of them would be limited to the details of the case they were investigating.
Having been directed to the right area they were stopped just as they were about to enter the victim’s room. ‘You can’t go in there!’ An officious voice caused them to turn around. Fortunately, it wasn’t a nurse Johnson recognised, and by her expression it appeared she didn’t know who she was either.
‘DCI Johnson, and this is PC Barnes,’ she said, trying to hide her irritation. ‘We’re here to see Craig King regarding the incident last night.’
‘You can’t go in,’ the nurse repeated, albeit a little more calmly. ‘He’s only just waking up following surgery.’
‘Please, madam, we just need to ask him a couple of quick questions,’ Barnes said, flashing her with a dazzlingly smile. ‘It really was a nasty incident…’
‘Well okay then,’ she said with a good-natured huff. ‘But just two minutes mind, and I’ll be in there to remove you.’
‘Two minutes,’ he said.
* * *
Despite his apparent grogginess, Craig King instantly recognised Johnson and Barnes for what they were. ‘It was nothing,’ he mumbled. ‘Just a misunderstanding.’
‘What was nothing?’ Johnson asked, stepping forward to indicate to Barnes that, despite his success in gaining them entry, she was going to take it from here.
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