by Jack Gatland
And so he’d kept a low profile. He’d visited the Temple Inn building earlier that day on a whim, but had chickened out of approaching Anjli and Billy when he saw them there. They had enough to deal with without him arriving and ruining their day.
He’d already ruined their careers.
There was a knock at his door; he was in the kitchen, pouring out a mug of tea when he heard it and, mug in hand, walked to the door, opening to reveal Doctor Rosanna Marcos in the doorway.
‘I didn’t realise it was Halloween yet,’ he said, nodding at her wild and frizzy black hair. ‘Trick or treat happens at night.’
‘You’re a funny man,’ Doctor Marcos ignored the jibe, walking past Monroe, taking the mug of tea as she did so. ‘Don’t listen to what everyone else says.’
Monroe shut the front door and walked back into the living room, where Doctor Marcos was now sitting on the sofa, sipping at the tea.
‘Ugh. No sugar,’ she complained. ‘You know I like sugar.’
Monroe bit back the urge to reply, instead walking into the kitchen and returning with the pot of sugar and a spoon, placing them both onto the coffee table in front of her.
‘Is there a reason for your visit?’ he asked, a little too politely.
‘You’re having nightmares,’ Doctor Marcos sipped at the tea, nodding at the correct taste. ‘You’re shouting out names in your sleep. You’re reliving moments.’
Monroe stopped at the door to the kitchen. He had indeed been having nightmares, but he hadn’t spoken about them to anyone. ‘And how would you know this, lassie?’
‘First off, I’m not anyone’s ‘lassie’,’ Doctor Marcos replied. ‘And secondly, I used your sleep app.’
‘The one you told me would monitor my heart rate at night?’ Monroe asked, appalled. ‘You used it to spy on me?’
‘Of course I did, you bloody idiot,’ Doctor Marcos snapped. ‘I’m worried about you. You’ve got multiple cases of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and you’re not doing anything to fix it. So when you sleep, the app also records noises you make in your sleep. You’re quite vocal these days.’
Monroe walked to the sofa and slumped down onto it. ‘It’s the same dream. I’m in the office,’ he admitted. ‘I see Frost. And I know what’s going to happen and I try to change it, but my body won’t listen.’
‘I know,’ Doctor Marcos replied. ‘And it’ll probably get worse before it get’s better. And it doesn’t help that you’re stuck here with nothing to get your teeth into.’
‘I went out yesterday,’ Monroe argued. Doctor Marcos shrugged.
‘You want a medal for that?’ She picked up the mug of tea again, blowing on it. ‘You need to decide what you want to do, Alex.’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Monroe was defensive now, his body language altering as the conversation changed.
‘I mean, I know what you were doing the night Frost attacked you,’ Doctor Marcos said softly, keeping her gaze on the mug rather than at Monroe. ‘I know you were writing a resignation letter. And sure, you can keep on with this lie that you can’t remember, but we both know that you can.’
There was a long moment of silence.
‘Bloody Billy,’ Monroe muttered.
‘Don’t be harsh on Billy,’ Doctor Marcos looked to him. ‘He’s worried about you.’
Monroe nodded slowly. ‘After Birmingham, with everything that happened, I thought I’d lost my edge. That I shouldn’t be out there. It wasn’t a resignation letter, more an ‘I’d like to consider early retirement’ letter.’ He looked at Doctor Marcos. ‘But then everything happened so quickly, and I realised that my job, all this, it was almost taken from my grasp without my permission. And I realised I needed it, Rosanna. I needed to be on the thin blue line, working cases, solving them. And you can’t do that when you’re retired.’
He rose now, pacing as he continued.
‘But it’s out of my hands now. Chances are that they’ll can me. And even if they don’t, there’s talk of the Temple Inn unit being expanded. We’ve shit the bed a couple of times, to be honest, but we’ve nailed some pretty bloody big scumbags. They can’t just remove us. But they’re sure as hell not going to promote us.’
‘You think they’ll bring someone in above you?’ the comment surprised Doctor Marcos. ‘A Detective Superintendent?’
‘I’d say so,’ Monroe stopped pacing as he thought. ‘It’ll be too big for a DCI to run. What I need to do is find someone to take the spot who we can work with.’
‘Why don’t you go for it?’
Monroe grinned now. ‘Christ, woman. I’d hate it,’ he said. ‘Once you wear the uniform, and sit in the office, you never get to play outside.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Did you ever watch Star Trek?’
‘Of course,’ Doctor Marcos replied haughtily. ‘Doctor McCoy was the reason I chose my profession. Why?’
‘Captain Kirk,’ Monroe explained. ‘He was a great Captain, you know? He saved the universe loads of times. And then the show ended and a few years later they did the movies. But now Kirk? They promoted him. He was an Admiral.’
‘I’m loving the fandom here, but I have no bloody idea where you’re going with this,’ Doctor Marcos sipped at her tea as she watched Monroe.
‘Because now the movies had a problem. Admirals don’t captain star ships.’
‘But it’s made up.’
‘Bear with me,’ Monroe held a finger up. ‘Kirk couldn’t captain the Enterprise. So they give him a reason, as Admiral Kirk, to be there. And lo-and-behold, during the film he ends up taking the Captain’s chair again. They do it again in the second movie. And in a way they do it in the next two.’
‘So?’
‘So, the story’s biggest flaw was that Kirk needed to be out there, but they promoted him out of the chair. In the end he’s rewarded for saving the universe again by being demoted back to Captain. Getting him back out there.’
‘You’re Kirk in this scenario,’ Doctor Marcos suggested.
‘I’m a man who needs to be where the action is,’ Monroe admitted. ‘Not behind a desk all the time. I saw that happen to Patrick, Declan’s dad. Once he was out of the field, he lost all interest.’ His eyes brightened. ‘But we could get anyone we wanted in there, I’m sure of it. We need to convince Bradbury that the best candidate is someone we don’t want.’
‘Because then he’ll promote them into the position, and let you carry on in a more reduced role,’ Doctor Marcos nodded at this. ‘So who do we want as your new boss?’
Monroe grinned. ‘I already have that in hand,’ he finished.
Billy walked up Fleet Street towards the City. He’d felt bad lying to Anjli about his role in the central Cybercrime Unit; but at the same time he knew she wouldn’t understand. She was a dyed in the wool beat-cop turned detective, while Billy had grown up in the world of code monkeys and developers.
Now passing St Pauls and heading into Cannon Street, he stopped at the entrance of a large chrome and silver building. Taking a deep breath, he entered, walking up to reception and giving his name. They passed him a small paper printout with his name and an image of his face on it and, after sticking it to his lapel, he followed directions to the fifth floor and the offices of Harrington Finance.
Rufus Harrington was waiting for him as the elevator doors opened, a smile on his face. Wearing an expensive Ted Baker suit, Rufus wore his brown hair shaved at the sides and slicked back, the amount of gel in it making it look like a Lego hair piece as he nervously played with the large masonic cygnet ring on his left middle finger.
‘Excellent, you made it,’ he said as he led Billy past the reception desk and into an expensive-looking day trader’s office, banks of monitors all showing graphs, stock prices and company profiles as the men and women at the desks talked animatedly into headphones.
‘Look, I said I’d chat, but I’m not sure if I’m cut out for this,’ Billy admitted as they walked into Rufus’ office. White walled with a full-length win
dow looking out onto London, it had movie posters in black frames contrasting with the brown leather and black wood of the decor; 300, Inglorious Bastards and The Wolf of Wall Street, all with Gerard Butler, Brad Pitt and Leonardo Di’Caprio staring down at Billy as he sat on a brown leather sofa, Rufus now lounging in a similarly designed armchair facing him.
‘You haven’t told anyone you left?’ he asked.
‘Not yet,’ Billy admitted. ‘It’s easier to move on and then explain.’
‘I must admit, it surprised me when I got your call.’
‘I don’t know why,’ Billy replied. ‘You were the one that told me to get out.’
‘Sure, but then you didn’t,’ Rufus laughed. ‘I meant to get out before the shit hit the fan, not after they covered you in the bloody stuff.’
As if a switch was pressed, Rufus went from amused to serious in the blink of an eye.
‘We could use someone like you in our cybersecurity department. I’d give you your own team, stock portfolio, whatever you needed.’
Billy looked to the side, out of the window, looking over London. ‘It’s nothing personal, you understand?’ he asked. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to be a police officer anymore. It’s just…’ he paused for a moment, staring blankly out of the window before turning back to Rufus.
‘I have these dreams,’ he said. ‘But they’re memories. I’m standing in a warehouse, about to be shot. I’m standing outside a Manor House about to be shot. Always about to be shot.’
‘But you weren’t.’
‘Yeah, but only by the grace of God,’ Billy admitted. ‘Declan jumped in front of the bullet, taking it in the shoulder. If he hadn’t, I’d be dead right now.’
He shivered.
‘I came from the Cybercrime office. I was a DC rank, but I wasn’t a copper in the same way that Declan and Anjli was. And then what I did with Frost and Sutcliffe, how I played them, pretended that I was on their side while gathering information…’
Rufus nodded. ‘I’m afraid that this could be quite a boring job for you then,’ he pulled out a piece of paper, passing it across to Billy. ‘However, stock options included, this would be your yearly salary.’
Billy took the paper and opened it, glancing at the number. He swallowed visibly, and then looked back to Rufus, smiling now.
‘When would you like me to start?’ he asked.
5
Rural Crime
Even though his father had been a Metropolitan Police Chief Superintendent, that had worked primarily out of Maidenhead before his retirement a couple of years earlier, Declan had never visited Patrick Walsh at his place of work. Which meant that as he arrived at the Maidenhead Control Unit, he didn’t know what he should expect.
He’d woken up earlier that day with a hangover, even though he hadn’t drunk anything; he assumed that whatever they had sedated him with had caused this, but it still turned him into a bear with a sore head who had an equally apathetic teenage daughter in the house. To her credit Jess, already showered and dressed, had taken one look at Declan and taken the hint, retreating to her room with toast and a glass of orange juice as Declan half-heartedly tried to eat a bowl of cornflakes. The previous night they’d opted for Chinese in the end, and Declan had picked something stupidly spicy for his choice, probably because he had some deep-seated need to punish himself. Jess meanwhile had ordered some kind of Cashew related tofu dish, pointing out repeatedly every time that Declan took a mouthful of his own tongue-burning mistake of a meal, that Veganism was actually incredibly healthy, and that by looking at her father, she could see that he really needed some health right now.
He’d never felt so old.
He had spent the night with dead friends and nightmares keeping him company; Kendis was there, obviously. Derek Salmon came to visit, and his dad made an appearance, waving business cards with Red Reapers on. Private Tooley, a junior engineer that Declan knew back in the SIS even appeared; the first time that Declan had even considered her for close to fifteen years.
His subconsciousness was really working overtime here.
In the end he’d woken grudgingly, made his way down to the kitchen and tried to eat some cereal, in the end deciding that it was a lost cause, pouring the remaining, frequently stirred yet not eaten mulch into the bin.
Cereal killer.
Declan chuckled at the joke, although the sudden remembrance of the previous day’s conversation with Emilia Wintergreen put a stop to that. And with a new determination he showered and dressed, picking a suit but no tie. He wasn’t officially entering Maidenhead police, and he wanted to show he was a little more ‘relaxed’. A lack of a tie wasn’t much, but it was better than turning up in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.
Jess had seen Declan walk past her bedroom door and leaned out, calling down the corridor.
‘Job interview?’ It was meant in jest, but as he looked back to her, Declan could see that Jess already regretted making the joke.
‘I’m popping to Maidenhead nick,’ he replied with a smile, trying to defuse the situation before it even began. ‘Seeing an old friend of dad.’
‘Can I come?’ Jess’s eyes sparkled with interest. It was no secret that as the daughter and granddaughter of detectives, Jess had decided at an early age to plant her future career prospects on the police force. Declan thought for a moment. It wasn’t procedure, but it could help defuse any uncomfortable situations. And the fact of the matter was, if Declan decided to investigate, he’d most likely bring Jess in to help him, anyway.
‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘But I need to speak to DCI Freeman alone, so bring a book.’
Jess eagerly ran back into her room to grab a jacket and a backpack and, her items gathered together, she followed Declan out of the door. Glancing at the backpack, Declan could already make an educated guess what was in it; a notepad and pen, maybe a pencil, a book, a small bottle of water, maybe a protein bar in case the day meant that lunch was missed, maybe even an iPad or similar to check things on.
His daughter was probably more prepared than he was.
‘Is this to do with the body at the golf club?’ she asked as they reached his Audi. Declan stopped at the driver’s door, looking at her.
‘What do you know about that?’ He replied. Jess shrugged.
‘I stopped off in the High Street before coming here yesterday,’ she explained. ‘Grabbed a drink and a packet of crisps from the shop. They were talking about it in there. Something about a kid found on one of the greens.’
Declan clambered into the car, Jess joining him on the passenger side.
‘I’ll come back to you on that point,’ he said as he started up the car. Pulling out of the drive, he started towards the end of the road, glancing down the alleyway that ran beside his house as he did so.
Karl Schnitter was standing in the alley, watching the car as it drove past.
Declan couldn’t help it; an involuntary shiver ran down his spine. He didn’t want to believe that Karl was anything but a friend. He’d actively assisted Declan when he was on the run.
But Wintergreen’s warning rang in his head and, rather than stopping the car, he pressed on to Maidenhead.
The drive to Maidenhead hadn’t taken long; it was a straight route down the A308 into the centre of the town and the offices of the Thames Valley Police were to the north, off a four-way roundabout that gave a police station and a fire station to the north, and a retail park and fast food area to the south. Parking up, Declan looked to Jess.
‘Best behaviour,’ he warned. Jess smiled in response as they exited the car and walked to the main entrance.
Declan was City Police, and before that had been Metropolitan Police, covering Greater London. The Thames Valley Police, although still connected to the others, was a more rural force, directed into local areas. Maidenhead however would cover Hurley and the surrounding areas, and there was a constant thoroughfare of officers from all Police areas, so Declan wasn’t worried about any territorial issues with
his appearance there. That said, he still felt a little nervous as he walked up to the front desk, behind clear, thick Perspex. There was a Duty Officer there; a desk sergeant in his late fifties, bald and bearded, peppered with white throughout the deep ginger curls. He wore metal framed glasses, but these seemed only for reading as when he looked up to Declan and Jess, he took them off.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked politely. Declan pulled out his warrant card; although he’d been suspended from duty, it had been an injury related one because of his shoulder, and therefore he’d been able to keep this when he returned home.
‘DI Declan Walsh,’ he said. ‘I’d—‘
‘Bloody hell! Paddy Walsh’s boy!’ the desk sergeant exclaimed in delight. ‘I haven’t seen you since you were a lad!’ The smile was genuine on his face as the desk sergeant patted his bald head. ‘I lost all this, but when I saw you last I had a full head of hair, and the beard was just a dream.’
‘Sweeney?’ Declan could only remember one red-headed officer from around the area. Although Patrick Walsh had been a Metropolitan Police detective for most of his career, by the simple fact of living in Hurley, he always seemed to know every police officer around, and often they’d visit when the Walshes held summer BBQs in the house. Desk sergeant Sweeney grinned.
‘Guilty as charged,’ he said as he looked to Jess. ‘And is this the next generation of Walsh detectives?’
Jess grinned in return at this.
‘My daughter, Jessica,’ Declan introduced. ‘Jess, this is Sergeant Sweeney. You know the story about how I locked myself into a pair of handcuffs when I was a teenager? They were his.’
