by Nic Roberts
“Were you looking for this?” he asked.
Olivia stood up and snatched it from him.
“Just because I made an error in judgement doesn't mean I’m destined to repeat it,” she warned. “Especially a drunken one.”
He followed her through the hall and stopped behind her when she located the bathroom.
“Is that a challenge, boss?” he asked with a sly smile.
Olivia rinsed her mouth under the tap before Andrew handed her an unopened toothbrush.
She glared back at him in disgust.
“I see you fully earned your name.”
She took it from him as he laughed.
“Relax.” The amusement across his face was monumental. “I happened to have bought a few spares for when I travel. Nothing seedy.”
He watched her as she brushed her teeth and then followed her further down the hall to the door where she maneuvered into her court shoes.
“Can I drive you anywhere?” he asked. “Just give me a second to get dressed. I’m not one for letting women wander out into taxis...”
She stopped and turned to him, giving him the full attention that he deserved.
He was much younger than she was. That was the main problem. Still at the start of his policing career. The part where every film and tv documentary series made police work look fun and thrilling and he'd joined for that ride. His eyes were blazing with the innocent cheekiness that only came about with his age, and she could easily see why she'd had a catastrophic lapse in rational thinking and followed him into the taxi. He’d also been her saviour when Samuel Mercer from the Hebden case had tossed her to the side like a rag doll the previous month. Seeing him turn up had given her renewed vigour. Perhaps that had something to do with the soft spot she seemed to have for him.
He was charming. She had to give him that.
“Detective Lawrence is coming to get me,” she answered and watched the frown spread across his chiselled features.
“If he must.” He sighed, frowning at her words. “Can I at least make you a coffee and that breakfast I promised? A Bacon Butty for the road? Give you some clothes to change into?”
Olivia looked back down at her black dress. It did look slightly overdressed to turn up and survey a crime scene with, but anything had to be better than arriving at the scene dressed in Shaw's clothes. Fuck, the thought made her cringe inwardly. She could suffice in swaddling herself in her coat.
“Honestly, I’m fine. Thank you,” she added reluctantly. “Thank you for being respectful.” That statement she actually meant.
He reached up and pulled her coat down from the hook for her.
“I would say call me, but...”
She gave him a warning glare that morphed into a smile when she saw his cheeky grin.
“Now go and put yourself some clothes on, for goodness’ sake!” she scolded before she closed the front door and put that most mystifying event behind her.
2
“Don’t say anything.” The words were out of Olivia’s lips before she had even entered the car. Detective Inspector Dean Lawrence gave her a small look before easing the car back into drive. Olivia bit the corner of her bottom lip, struggling to peel her eyes away from the road and towards her partner.
“Nothing happened,” she muttered, brushing her hair out of her face once again. She wished she had a hairband of some sort to put it all away.
“It’s none of my business,” Lawrence replied. He offered her the end of a phone charging cable and gratefully she plugged her mobile in. “But Duracell? I’m dying to know if he lives up to his name?”
That earned him a gentle smack, but Olivia couldn’t help but realise that it felt good to see her partner’s wry grin. He did a good job of breaking the ice.
“Again, it didn’t happen,” Olivia warned.
Lawrence looked over at her again. I know, his eyes whispered beneath their amused sparkle.
“Regardless, I mean it, it’s completely none of my business,” he said aloud. “I did, however, nose around under your desk and found your bag of spare clothes.”
He nodded with his head to the back seat. Olivia’s eyebrows shot up unbidden.
“You did not,” she admonished, turning to see her rather unstylish Sports Direct duffel bag behind her seat. “Dean…thank you,” she breathed.
“My pleasure,” he replied, another smile dancing across his lips. “I also got a black coffee from the station for you too.” He gestured to the cupholder on her side. “Tim’s finest.”
Olivia almost let out a squeal.
“I owe you one,” she spoke excitedly.
Lawrence huffed before giving a gentle nod, his face back to all shades of seriousness.
“Listen,” he said, his voice lowered a fraction. “Not to get all ‘protective brother’ on you, but I think you should be wary regarding Shaw.”
Olivia turned to him, eyebrow quirked.
“I know how to handle myself, Dean,” she chided, manoeuvring herself so she could reach into her bag to pull her clothes into the front seat. Her younger years as a ballet student had taught her how to change surprisingly well inside the confines of a moving vehicle. She started shimmying the trousers on.
“I know you do, Liv. Sorry, I shouldn’t overstep,” Lawrence mumbled before glancing over to Olivia. His eyes shot back to the road as soon as he realised she was changing in the car.
“Don’t worry, Detective, I won’t flash you,” she teased. “And you’re not overstepping, I suppose. But honestly, I can handle myself.”
Lawrence sighed, brow creasing.
“I know you can,” he admitted, admitted, hands notably flexing on the steering wheel. “I just don’t want him to use you, Liv.”
His concern for her welfare warmed her little, and she gave him a reassuring smile.
“Trust me,” she responded gently. “If one of us were to use the other, it wouldn’t be Shaw using me. I am the superior officer, after all.”
She had managed to pull her trousers over her hips and began slipping her arms out of the dress’s straps, being careful to keep the top of it high enough to cover her chest.
“Just don’t lose sleep over it, yeah?” Lawrence pressed, glancing over briefly at Olivia.
She hummed in agreement, pulling the sleeves of her blouse on. She started buttoning it, gently smiling to herself. Still got it.
“I’ll try my best,” she replied with as much confidence as she could muster. “So, did you end up leaving Susan’s 50th with anyone? I think the last time I saw you, she was trying to set you up with her daughter!”
Lawrence laughed at the memory.
“Oh well, clearly, I stayed at Susan’s and we had a torrid love affair that the Greek poets would have memorialised for centuries had they witnessed it,” he deadpanned.
Olivia gave him another light smack.
“Unfortunately, my love life has been rather dry recently,” he quietly admitted. “I promised myself I’d take a break.”
“The legendary Dean Lawrence, taking a break from dating?” Olivia asked, her eyebrow raised as she finished buttoning her shirt. “How will all the local ladies cope?”
She was well aware of his reputation with women, despite his deep denial.
“I know, what a shock.” He grinned, with an eye roll for effect. “What will all the tabloids have to say?” He glanced over to Olivia again. “That was bloody impressive, by the way.”
“What, spending the night with Duracell and not actually sleeping with him?” Olivia asked with a scoff. “I’m not that susceptible to manly charms, believe it or not.”
“I meant your quick change, Casanova,” Lawrence shot back.
Olivia chuckled.
“Oh. Why, thank you,” she murmured. An image of herself climbing into a taxi crept its way into her mind and she cringed. “So, changing the subject… How many people know I left the party with Shaw?”
Lawrence nodded slowly.
“You want the tr
uth?” he asked.
“All of it,” she answered, not knowing if she really wanted to hear it.
Beside her, Dean took a deep breath.
“Pretty much everyone and their mum’s uncle’s cousin’s dog,” he replied unable to hide his amusement. “I believe Trina was the one who shut the taxi door...”
“Well shit,” Olivia sighed. “I’m going to have to insist you start dating again so that I’m not the staff room gossip subject for the rest of the year.”
n“I’ll think about it,” Lawrence teased. “You’d owe me one though.” He turned down the radio a fraction more. “We’re almost at the o scene now. I guess I should brief you before we get there. Our victim’s name is Simon Fisher. He was a high school teacher a stone's throw from where he lived. Recently separated from his wife, Lydia Fisher. We got the call around 7 a.m. Neighbour left the building to start his shift and saw him—or rather, what’s left of him.” Olivia nodded with each fact. “We’ve got a couple of uniforms canvassing the building to see if anyone heard something in the night or early this morning. Just us on scene today. DC Harris won’t be in, so we’ve been given a PC to help us.”
Their car pulled up alongside the police cordon and Olivia checked her watch. There were already a number of people on site. The ambulance crew had started packing up their equipment, although the medical examiner stayed next to the body, covered in a white sheet. A tent was already pitched nearby with a couple of officers consulting with the forensics team.
She looked across at Lawrence as he turned off the engine. Before she had the opportunity to make a grim or witty remark, a knock came at his window. A young female officer, brown hair pulled messily into a bun, looked into the car, a hint of too much giddiness splayed across her face. Olivia perked an eyebrow.
“Remind me how long it’s been since you’ve taken a break from dating?” she asked with a smirk.
Lawrence wordlessly passed her the coffee he had retrieved from the station before climbing out of the car, ending their conversation before she could press him further. Olivia took sip of the now lukewarm liquid, set it back into the cup holder, and then straightened her clothes as she followed him out of the vehicle. Despite being able to quickly swap out of her evening clothes, she knew her face still held traces of last night’s makeup. Plus, she hadn’t gotten an opportunity to properly readjust her hair. Goodness, even the bright eyed and bushy tailed policewoman standing beside her partner had sussed that out. She could tell by the way she gave her a brief once over.
“Let’s do this,” Olivia declared, pushing confidence through her lungs and out of her lips. Lawrence nodded, stepping forward towards the grisly crime scene.
“Reece,” The young officer smiled, turning to her.
Rhys? For a moment, Olivia’s breath caught in the back of her throat. She gave a perfunctory glance across the scene at hand, surveying her surroundings before facing her colleague again. How on earth did she know about him?
“What...?” she started, but Lawrence rested a firm hand on her elbow.
“PC Bethany Reece,” he said steadily and offered her a raised eyebrow to check she was okay.
She nodded, the crimson heat of her embarrassment overlooked by the Constable in front of her who smiled, oblivious to the comparisons drawn from her name.
“Oh, yes,” Olivia breathed resting a hand on the woman’s arm. “Pleased to meet you. DI Olivia Austin.”
With introductions made, the trio made their way over to the crime scene.
Despite the pit in her stomach and the trip of her heartbeat into a quicker pulse, she knew it was all some foolish cruelty of mismatched wires after a lack of a good night’s sleep.
It didn’t quell the sinking feeling in her chest to know that, though.
3
“Catch us up,” Lawrence ordered, walking with Olivia towards the crime scene. She did her best to shake the name mishap from her mind. Focus on the case. She let her eyes wander, observing a distraught woman near the entrance of the building. She appeared to be in her mid-30s. Close to the victim?
A man appeared at Lawrence’s side with the scene log, which he signed seamlessly.
“The deceased is one Simon Fisher,” PC Reece explained, walking with the detective pair towards the cordon. Her voice made her sound like an overeager puppy, and Olivia pursed her lips in an attempt to not show how greatly this interaction was amusing her. Just what she needed to lighten the mood. “I’m assuming you’ve gotten the details of the fall. I’ll let Dr. James give you the full run down of his findings.”
Shit, Olivia thought to herself. As they got closer, it became more and more apparent that they were approaching the charming new medical examiner that Olivia had been introduced to on the Hebden case. And now I’m showing up like this, after everyone at the station thinks I’ve had a quickie with a fiendish constable.
“…we’ve got the wife over there—Lydia Fisher,” the policewoman continued. “She’s in some sort of shock. She wants to talk with you both once you’ve examined the scene.”
“Great, thank you so much for your briefing, Constable.” Lawrence’s voice was overly diplomatic, and Olivia could tell he was purposefully refraining from using her last name. The woman looked a bit crestfallen at his stoic attitude.
“Well. Let me know if you need anything else, Dean. It’s good to see you.” The last sentence was barely above a whisper. She let her gaze hit the cobblestone until the end of her statement, a hopeful smile dancing across her lips as her eyes lifted up to look at his. He gave her a gentle smile and quick nod before pacing off with Olivia.
“Want talk about it?” she asked her partner without turning to face him.
“Nah,” he huffed. “I should be asking you that, though?”
She sighed and shook her head.
“The name just caught me off guard,” she answered. “That’s all. Coupled with terrible sleep and a slight hangover.”
Lawrence glanced down at her.
“Do you need a break?” He asked. “I can call one of the others to attend instead.”
Oliva stopped him with a hand to his arm.
“Don’t, Dean,” she said firmly. “I’m okay. You know that. It was just an easy mix-up. I’m fine.”
He nodded and gave her a smile.
“I know you are.”
They continued their short walk and Lawrence paused at the tent to pull overshoes and gloves on. Olivia followed suit, the tell-tale snap of latex covering her hands so routine it barely registered to her as something she was doing. She did a cursory glance around the tent to see if she recognised any of the officers. She quickly realised that while the faces may have seemed vaguely familiar, there wasn’t anyone she was close with already on scene.
Does that make it better or worse for the gossip mill? she idly wondered to herself as she led the way over to the body covered by the white sheet. Her heels—still left over from the night before—clicked resolutely against the cobblestone despite the overshoes covering them. What a way to show up to a crime scene, she mused internally.
She winced at the state of herself when Dr. James turned to face her. He stood tall against the grey sky, mostly hidden in his white over-suit. His dark brown eyes held such mystery and depth. His lips perked up into a smile upon seeing Olivia and Lawrence. She felt her lips mirror the doctor’s motions. It was hard to resist whatever magnetism he had about him.
“Greetings, Detectives,” he declared, ushering the pair closer to the body of Simon Fisher. “I’d like to show you some details on the body, if that’s all right with you.” There was such sincerity in his voice it nearly overwhelmed Olivia. She silently thanked the medical examiner for not commenting on her dramatic makeup or stiletto heels as they walked onto the stepping plates.
“Good morning, Dr. James,” Lawrence offered up, gently breaking Olivia’s reverie. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The medical examiner gave a curt nod, bending down to lift the sheet off of
Simon’s corpse.
Olivia steadied her breathing as the sheet revealed a pale white man in pyjama bottoms and a stained old blue robe. His haphazardly splayed corpse was strewn across the paving stones in a way that was subtly unnatural—bodies broke in such strange ways when they landed from a fall. She noted some bone fragments amongst the scattered flesh. Caked blood obscured a fair amount of his already downturned face, although he seemed to be a rather average looking man in his late-30s.
Olivia could feel bile rise in her throat. She struggled with victims who had fallen to their deaths; there was something about it that twisted a knot in her stomach. She shuddered as she thought about the time between Mr. Fisher’s departure into a free fall and his untimely marriage to the cement. How would those brief seconds have felt? Could you still hope for another chance, or did you have to make your peace quickly? Did the time stretch into what felt like eternity, or was it over before you had the opportunity to properly register what was happening to you?
“First, we’ve got some bruising around the victim’s neck,” Dr. James explained, gesturing in the air above the blemishes with a pen to draw attention to the area. Sure enough, subtle welts of purple marks circled Mr. Fisher’s neck like a chain. “It’s possible that some of the bruising could have been caused by the fall, but it seems doubtful that it would appear on his neck, and in such a clear pattern at that.”
Olivia nodded.
“What else could indicate foul play?” she inquired, peering closer to see the bruising better. It definitely reminded her of some of the strangling victims she had seen in her London days, although it wasn’t quite to that extreme.
“There are also some lacerations on his back even though he fell on his stomach,” Dr. James elaborated. His gloved fingers gingerly picked up the bottom of the robe and pulled it up to display Simon Fisher’s back. It didn’t look pretty. Dozens of small cuts criss-crossed Simon’s back, like a modern painting focusing on small red dashes.
