Baby's Got Blue Eyes: Introducing DI Ted Darling

by L M Krier

  The two men nodded to each other, unspoken volumes behind the gesture, and Ted went back to his own domain to assemble his team and get the enquiry under way.

  Rob and Tina had just got back. SOCO were on the case now and door knocking had revealed no one at home who had seen anything. They would need to schedule more house to house at different times of day, just in case of any witnesses. The rest of the team members were also in and waiting on his briefing.

  Maurice Brown, already several pounds overweight, had arrived with a large bag of sugared doughnuts. He did at least hand them round, but Ted noticed that he was still left with three in the bag for himself. Dennis Tibbs, fortunately a black officer with a sporting sense of humour since everyone from the DCI down called him Virgil, which he didn't seem to mind in the least and would not have hesitated to say so if he did.

  Abisali Ahmed, universally known as Sal, intelligent, hard-working, multi-faceted. Finally the baby of the team, Trainee Detective Constable Steve Ellis, shy, extremely geeky and still finding his feet, but by far and away the best of any of them armed with a computer.

  'Right team, settle down,' Ted gave his customary call to order as they fell expectantly silent. Virgil had already started a whiteboard with a photo of Alice and brief details of what information they had so far.

  'First and most important thing is let's get Alice identified for who she really is. She's someone's daughter, sister, girlfriend, maybe even mother, and they need to know the news as soon as possible. Steve, Missing Persons, that's your task. Don't leave that computer until you have some leads for us.'

  The young TDC went bright red at being singled out and spoken to first. Ted was never sure whether it was his rank or his sexuality which made the young officer so uncomfortable, or whether he was just naturally shy and unlucky enough to blush easily.

  'The rest of you, we need some house to house until we get a sniff of something. Sal, sort out a rota to get it covered until we do. Without an ID, a motive is going to be next to nigh on impossible to figure out but does anyone have any early ideas? Especially with what was done to Alice. Any theories on the reasoning for that?'

  Ted's team knew that each of them was entitled to voice an opinion, as long as they kept their remarks within the strict code of respect set by the DI. Maurice could always be relied on to break the code first which he did immediately, spitting sugary crumbs as he did so.

  'A woman-hater, sir. Why else cut off the hair and the tits?'

  There was a long, an extended pause, while Ted's eyes changed from warm rich hazel to a warning shade of green. Eventually even the totally insensitive Maurice realised he had crossed way over the line. He mumbled a hasty 'Sorry, sir,' and much to everyone's surprise, turned and added, 'Sorry, Tina. I should have said breasts. Why cut the breasts off?'

  Ted was staggered but hid it well. 'The remark was inappropriate Maurice, but I think you may have something there. Let's not get carried away and think Yorkshire Ripper, but it's a line to keep in mind. Any thoughts on the hair?'

  Tina spoke up. 'It's possible Maurice might be on the right lines, sir. Shaving the hair off could delay us but it might also be a way to de-feminize Alice, especially if her hair was very much a feature.'

  Ted had heard it all now. The two most diametrically opposed members of his team, the fiercely feminist Tina and the original male chauvinist Maurice, in agreement over something.

  'Right, you know what you need to do, let's do it. We can't give this young woman back to her family alive but let's at least put them out of their misery of waiting for news in time for Christmas. And let's get this bastard off the streets before he goes for a repeat performance.'

  Chapter Three

  Trev's baby was already safely back in the garage when Ted got home later that evening, after what felt like an extremely long day. Trev himself, still damp and fragrant from a recent shower, was sprawled on the sofa, impossibly long legs up on the reclining foot-rest, sporting an over-sized Queen T-shirt and sweat pants.

  Almost every inch of his body was covered in cats, leaving him just enough room to balance a mug of the noxious-looking thick blackish beverage he called tea, with just a cloud of milk, strong enough to trot a mouse across.

  'I cannot move, I am with cat,' Trev smiled up at a weary-looking Ted, picking up a seal-point cat with blazing blue eyes to match his own to make room for Ted to sit. 'Move up, Freddie, let Daddy sit down. You look knackered. Long day?'

  Ted tossed his leather jacket onto the armchair and sank gratefully into the space left by the disgruntled-looking cat. 'Very long. I got a shout about five o'clock, a body found down behind Goyt Bank.'

  Trev had the television turned on to a news channel but had reached out a languid hand to the remote to mute the sound when Ted came in.

  'There's a chicken casserole in the oven. I saw it on the news and assumed you wouldn't want to go out tonight. Sorry I didn't wake up when you went out.'

  Ted leaned back with a sigh as cats started to climb onto him, too. 'You are a mind-reader. And an angel. Maybe a fallen one. What did they say? We're trying to keep a lid on the details for now, we've not got a positive ID yet.'

  'Not a lot really, details were pretty sketchy. Was it gruesome? How many Fisherman's Friends?'

  Ted's eyelids were starting to droop from the soporific effect of quadraphonic purring cats. He held one finger aloft.

  'Come on, Mr Sleepy,' Trev randomly picked up cats so Ted could move. 'No use falling asleep there, go and get a shower while I sort food out. It will be ready by the time you come back down.'

  Ted smiled gratefully to himself as he headed upstairs to the bathroom. He wondered what sort of a welcome home the DCI had had at the end of a long and difficult day. It would almost certainly have been to a cold and empty house, with nothing in the oven for him and his wife yet again out shagging someone or another.

  His relationship with Trev was one of the longest and certainly the most solid he knew of amongst friends and colleagues in the force. The DCI's was a train wreck, Maurice Brown was recently divorced, Rob O'Connell and Sal were resolutely single, though never short of girlfriends. Tina seemed to have a steady boyfriend but there was no mention of marriage on the horizon. Virgil was recently married and already his wife was giving him grief about his erratic hours.

  He and Trev were good. He often thought of the quote attributed to Paul Newman about not going out for a hamburger when there was steak on the menu at home. He never even looked elsewhere, he quite simply loved the bones of Trev and trusted him completely.

  Trev was phenomenally clever, scarily so. He could have had literally any career he wanted, and top universities had been practically fighting over him when he was younger. But then he met Ted and his mind was made up. He loved Ted, cats, big bikes and the rock band Queen, in that order. He trained as a motorcycle technician and landed his dream job, looking after bikes in a big dealership in South Manchester.

  True to his word, Trev had a meal on the table when Ted came back down, showered, refreshed and dressed in comfortable casuals. The food smelt sensational. Trev was a brilliant cook. He was brilliant at almost anything he decided to turn his hand to. He had poured a crisp, chilled white wine for himself, French, a good vintage, and there was sparkling apple juice for non-drinker Ted.

  As Ted sat down and picked up his knife and fork, Trev looked at him and asked, 'It wasn't Rosalie, then? I know that's what always worries you.'

  'No, I'm pretty sure it wasn't. Bear in mind I haven't see her for six or seven years but no, I don't think it was her,' Ted replied.

  Trev reached over and laid a hand on Ted's. 'She may be all right, you know. You may never be put in the position of having to tell Jim.'

  Ted shook his head. 'You know what the odds of a runaway returning are, especially after a long time.'

  Trev squeezed his hand a little harder and said, 'Well, I just hope it's not you who gets the shout on that one,' before picking up his own knife.

&nb
sp; 'All those missing people out there, especially the ones nobody reports. It's too depressing. Let's change the subject. This meal is delicious, by the way, I think you've surpassed yourself this time,' Ted said.

  Trev smiled at him and gave him a cheeky wink. 'I know you only moved me in here for my cooking skills.'

  It was a long-standing joke between them as both knew nothing could be further from the truth. Ted had even mentioned the M-word but Trev wouldn't hear of it. His opinion was that Ted's lifestyle caused him enough of a problem in the work place without taking it to that level.

  'Other than the body, any good news today?' he asked.

  'Jim's found me another DS, he arrives tomorrow. Jim says he may just have a few preconceived ideas about me.'

  Trev groaned. 'Oh no, does that mean you're going to have to go all macho and start beating your chest and swinging from the light-fittings? One of these days I'm going to get one of your team to video it for me and send it to me as I've never seen it yet. Sal would do it for me, I've got him eating out of the palm of my hand, you know.'

  It was Ted's turn to wink. 'Don't make me angry, Mr McGee, you wouldn't like me when I'm angry,' he said in his best Hulk voice.

  'If you're going to start bursting out of your trousers, can you at least wait until we've finished eating? I've spent hours slaving over a hot stove to make you this, you know,' he said, deliberately batting those incredibly long black eyelashes over those intensely blue eyes.

  There was a long gap between the main course and dessert that evening.

  Chapter Four

  It was unfortunate that the new DS, Mike Hallam's unprofessional opening words to his team mates, a measure of how on edge he was, were, 'Is it true that the boss is a shirt-lifter?'

  It was doubly unfortunate that he voiced them at the precise moment the DI left the DCI's office and came silently into the room behind him. Hallam knew immediately from the looks on the faces of the others that he had just dropped probably the biggest bollock of his entire career.

  He spun round on one heel and snapped almost to attention as Ted stood calmly looking up at him.

  'Morning, sir,' Hallam snapped out. 'I'm your new DS, Mike Hallam.'

  Still staying calm and controlled, Ted smiled icily and shook the other man's hand. 'Good to have you on board, DS Hallam, we're a team member down. Just follow me into the cupboard they laughingly call my office then we can get some of the formalities out of the way.'

  Ted led the way to his office, moving quietly and smoothly in his rubber-soled Doc Martens. His existing team were used to his silent but deadly stealth mode and they knew what it presaged. Hallam was about to find out.

  As they got into the office, Ted said, 'I'll just shut the door so we won't be disturbed.'

  Then he pivoted so quickly on the balls of his feet and let fly a karate kick so high and so powerful that Hallam cringed as it shot past him, close enough for him to feel the wind of its passing. The door crashed shut, shaking the whole partition wall, barely drowning out the guffaws of laughter of the rest of the team outside, who had witnessed the Boss's 'kick-trick' on more than one occasion.

  At nearly six feet tall, Hallam towered over his new boss but Ted made no move to indicate the spare chair, which was well out of reach. He wanted Hallam to feel uncomfortable while he made his point. Instead of trying to disguise their height difference, he accentuated it even more by perching on the edge of his desk so the DS had to look down at him whilst he spoke.

  As ever, Ted's voice was calm, measured but commanding. Hallam was ashamed to find himself actually physically trembling, standing there in front of the much smaller man, not knowing whether he was about to get his marching orders before he had even got his feet under the table. He was imagining his wife's reaction if he had to go home on his first day to tell her he'd been booted out of his new post.

  'Mike – it is Mike, isn't it?' the DI began in a deceptively friendly voice. 'I thought it would be helpful if I told you a bit about me and how I run this team before you get stuck in. You're going to have to hit the ground running, with a fresh and nasty murder case on our patch.

  'My dad was a miner, Mike. He was paralysed in a mining accident in his thirties, confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. My mother left him shortly afterwards, because it turned out she liked shagging rather more than she liked her crippled husband and her young son.

  'My dad got quite a bit of compensation for his injuries, because the mine owners were negligent and they couldn't wriggle out of their responsibilities. It was so he could afford proper specialist care for himself for the rest of his life. But I'll tell you what he spent most of it on, shall I, Mike?'

  Hallam didn't dare respond as he feared that by this time his voice would also be shaking, so he merely nodded.

  'He spent it all on martial arts lessons for me, Mike. That's because when your name is Darling, you're a skinny little runt and you've known since the age of ten that you were - what was it you called it, Mike, a shirt-lifter? I prefer gay myself, but let's not split hairs - you need all the help you can get in protecting yourself. Billy fecking Elliott, eh?

  'Especially when you also know from a very young age that you want to be a copper. Because let's face it, Mike, the force isn't exactly known for being all-embracing and welcoming of those, like me, who are a bit different from the norm. There are some officers, aren't there, Mike, even to this day, who take exception to people who are different, without taking the time to get to know them.

  'So my dad paid for me to study judo, and karate and ju-jitsu and lots of others you may not have heard of. I was pretty good at all of them. I've got black belts in four of them. And I still keep it up because sometimes, Mike, I still have to protect myself, and protect my team, from the prejudice of others who are perhaps not very enlightened.

  'My team includes a black officer, and a Muslim officer and a woman officer. And me. And guess what, Mike? We all get along really well. We respect one another, we work together, that's why we are the best team, with the best results, in the whole division.'

  By this time, Hallam was mortified to discover that not only was he visibly trembling, he was dying for a piss, utterly convinced he would soon be out on his ear and having to explain to his wife how he had totally screwed up his transfer on his first day. He just hoped he could hang on long enough to slink out with his tail between his legs and find the bogs before he pissed his pants.

  'I know so many ways to kill with my bare hands that it would take too long to tell you about them all, Mike. So let me tell you a bit about my time in Uniform. Because I was an SFO, Mike. You know what an SFO is of course, don't you?'

  'Specialist Firearms Officer, sir,' Hallam only just had enough control of his vocal chords to get the phrase out.

  'Exactly Mike! The crazies! The ones even the SAS say are too mad to be let loose. But – now here's the very good news for you, Mike - I'm a peace-loving old poofter. I keep cats, I grow lilies. I respect people, so I generally find they respect me.

  'I'm not telling you any of this to brag, Mike. I'm telling you because it's sometimes easy to see a stereotype and not look beyond it. So if I heard you, for example, make a racist comment about our Virgil – it's not his real name, it's a joke, by the way, one he finds amusing, so it's different – or a sexist comment about Tina, or any bulimic gags about Maurice – just for example, Mike – I wouldn't be very pleased. In fact, Mike, I might just have to bounce your arse all the way back to Stretford, pretty sharpish.

  'It's important to me that all my team members feel respected and respect one another. I respect you, and I know you respect all of us and are going to fit in wonderfully with the team. Welcome aboard, Mike, it's good to have you.' He stood up and once more shook Hallam's hand which was by now as damp and quivering as a fish out of water.

  As Hallam scuttled back to the outer office, his new team mates were all at their desks chuckling, having undoubtedly heard every word the boss had said, despite
his measured tones, through the paper-thin walls.

  Maurice spoke up. 'You got the full kick-trick treatment then? Most of us have had that early on, except Tina 'cos she's Mother Teresa, and Steve cos he's too scared to say anything about anyone.'

  Tina chipped in. 'If he's letting you stay, Sarge, he must rate you. You've got the best boss in the force in there, I hope you appreciate that.'

  Maurice added, 'Oh by the way, the bogs are just along the corridor on the left!'

  Hallam scuttled in the direction of his pointing finger and just made it in time to relieve himself and, to his eternal shame, to throw up his breakfast as the adrenaline really kicked in.

  Chapter Five

  DS Mike Hallam was already at his desk when Ted got in and Ted was usually in first, ahead of his team. He was impressed. His little talk yesterday seemed to have had an effect already.

  The DS was still feeling uncomfortable around his new boss, totally unsure of his boundaries, so he made to rise from his seat when his senior officer came in.

  Ted waved him down with a hand and said, 'No need for any of that old bollocks. What are you working on?'

  'Well, sir, I'm trawling through these lists of Missing Persons, see if I can get any solid leads that would be worth following up with a visit. Like you said, the sooner we get an ID, the sooner we can move forward,' he said. Ted was pleased to hear him talking about 'we' – the team talk had worked. 'Must say I'm impressed with the work the TDC's done, very thorough job.'

  'He's a good lad, is Steve. Make sure you tell him,' Ted said. 'He'll die of embarrassment when you do but everyone works better with good feedback, it's a powerful motivator.'

  There was an awkward silence, then the DS spoke. 'Sir, yesterday,' he cleared his throat. 'I was bang out of order. I thought you were going to kick me out on my arse.'