by Jack Probyn
Once the coffee machine finished, Jake found himself a seat on a small armchair so old and dirty that when he sat down, a plume of dust billowed in the air. Fighting to keep his dust-induced sneeze down, he took a sip of the coffee and instantly wished he hadn’t — it was bitter, too hot and made him gag. But it was enough to perk him up in the morning, even if it was going to haunt him in a few hours’ time after the contents had mades its way through his stomach.
Jake bent forward to place the cup on a wooden table in front of him that looked older than the building. He’d seen that type before and, for a moment, wondered whether all police stations shared the same coffee tables as those commonly found at doctors’ surgeries – whether the public services budget extended as far as differentiating any of them. He didn’t think it likely.
Someone called his name from behind, distracting him from his thoughts.
‘DC Tanner.’
He flinched, almost knocking the cup to the floor, then composed himself before rising from the chair.
DCI Pemberton, a slim, experienced-looking woman with a lob haircut, stood with her hand extended. She was dressed in a full suit with trousers and a look on her face that told him even though she was happy to see him, he’d already taken too long in addressing her. Jake, in a frantic rush, as if he’d just locked eyes with a celebrity, wiped his hand on his trousers and took hers. With his other hand, he brushed his black-and-grey-striped tie down, centred it and pushed it deeper into his collar.
‘Thank you for joining us,’ Pemberton said. Her grip was powerful and firm, and she spoke with a certain authority he hadn’t heard in a while.
‘Thanks for having me as part of the team. I hope to learn a lot, and hopefully I can be of some assistance!’
‘From what I hear, you already are. I’ve heard some exciting things about you. You travelled far this morning?’
He shrugged. ‘Only Croydon.’
‘Park all right?’
‘Just about. And I thought I was here early this morning.’
Pemberton’s gaze turned towards the building’s entrance and then back to Jake. ‘It’s a free-for-all in the mornings. You should see the amount of fights that have broken out. We don’t have designated spaces, but having said that, if you park in mine, I can assure you that your days with us will definitely be numbered.’
A P45 threat within the first minute. Well done, Jake. At this rate you’ll be gone by lunchtime.
‘Good coffee?’ Pemberton asked.
Jake glanced over his shoulder at the bead of brown liquid abseiling down the length of the cup. ‘Yeah, it was nice, thanks.’ He rubbed his cheek, massaging his fingers over the small scar that prohibited any facial hair from growing around it.
Pemberton smirked, drawing Jake’s eyes to her mouth and then down to her shirt collar covered in make-up residue. ‘You’re a superb liar,’ she told him. ‘You should fit in fine here. Come on – I’ll take you up and show you to the rest of the team.’
The rest of the team. The cliques at school. The university accommodation where all the bonds had already been formed.
Pemberton started off towards a set of double doors at the back of the lobby. Jake shot one last look at the cup of coffee, checked he hadn’t left anything else behind and followed. At the door, Pemberton scanned her card, and they both waited until a green light flashed above the reader.
Then she led Jake through a myriad of corridors and offices until they eventually stopped by a lift at the back of the building. Pemberton pressed the button, then, once inside, chose the fourth floor. Jake stood slightly behind her, his head craning at the red bar above the doors that moved from left to right as they climbed the building.
A surprise yawn attacked him and broke free, stretching his mouth wide open and filling his brain with oxygen. He threw his hand over his mouth.
‘Boring you already?’ Pemberton asked with a smile that put him at ease a little.
‘Not at all. Hardly slept last night.’
‘Nerves?’
That and everything else going on.
‘The opposite.’
‘I think you’ll find Surrey’s a little calmer than the mean streets of London. We don’t have that much going on.’
Jake disagreed. ‘There’s always something going on.’
CHAPTER 3
IRONY
For the first time in their career, The Crimsons were ready on time, and things were beginning to settle in place.
‘Even the sun’s out, lads!’ Danny Cipriano shouted from the garage doorway, soaking up the rays as they beat down on his face. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of birds singing, a welcome break from Michael’s heavy metal music, which always threatened to make his ears bleed. He exhaled deeply. ‘Today’s going to be a fucking good day.’
‘Don’t be a tit,’ Michael, his younger brother retorted, coming to a stop by the back of the van, his broad shoulders and thick arms almost as wide as the door he was standing in front of. ‘You’ll jinx us if you ain’t careful.’
Danny scoffed. ‘Since when did you believe in all that bullshit?’ He shut the garage door and returned to the van’s rear.
‘Ever since you came up with the idea for that—’ Michael pointed to the device laid flat in the back of the Transit. It was covered in a piece of tarpaulin, and to the unsuspecting eye it looked like nothing more than a square box. But the reality was far more deadly.
Danny turned to his brother, making no attempt to hide the smile on his face. ‘You should feel my cock right now. I’ve got such a hard-on.’
Michael looked at him in disgust. ‘If you don’t shut up I’ll punch you in the cock. Freak. Now help me with these.’ Michael hurried over to a storage unit against the garage wall. Resting atop it were three sub-machine guns – Mini-Uzis, to be precise. Their preferred weapon of choice for proceedings: compact, comfortable, capable of firing rounds at a rate of 950 a minute. The perfect machine for the job.
As Danny was about to pick one up, Luke, the youngest and smallest of the brothers, stepped in from the other side of the garage. The three of them were suspended in a moment of darkness after he’d shut the door, while their eyes were left to adjust to the weak beam of light hanging overhead. Luke walked with one arm in the oversuit and the other rummaging around the waistband, rearranging himself.
‘Don’t know what’s going on with me this morning, but that’s the third time I’ve been.’
‘Told you you shouldn’t have had that curry last night,’ Danny replied.
‘You’re the one who broke the tradition.’ Luke stopped in front of his brothers. He may have been the smallest and scrawniest of the three, but what he lacked in size and strength, he more than made up for in speed – the way his little legs spun, it was like watching a real-life version of Road Runner.
Danny threw his hands in the air, looking between his brothers. ‘Seriously, since when did you both become superstitious?’
Neither of them chose to answer. Instead they offered him an admonishing glance and then turned their attention back to the guns. Danny picked one up and bounced it in his hands, gauging the weapon’s weight. It felt lean. He opened the cartridge, checked that the magazine clips were full and then shut it with a satisfying tsck that sent a wave of euphoria rolling over his body.
Less than an hour to go. Less than an hour until he got to use them. And the irony was the Mini-Uzis weren’t even the deadliest thing they were taking with them.
CHAPTER 4
INITIATIONS
The lift doors opened and revealed Jake’s new home for the foreseeable future. Jake Tanner, Major Crime Team, Surrey Police. He liked the sound of that – there was a certain ring to it.
The beating heart of the building stretched sixty feet wide and nearly eighty deep and bustled with life. To his right was a series of offices. Closed-off. Private. Beyond that, in the far-right corner, was an even larger office space. Jake recognised it as the Major Incident Room, the h
ub of any large-scale investigation, and through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he saw a wooden table in the centre, making the room look like a horseshoe. Surrounding the table was a series of corkboards hanging from the walls, a television and portable whiteboards on wheels in what was left of the available space. The other side of the office housed the rest of the Major Crime Team.
Jake counted another twenty bodies in the department, busy tapping their keyboards and mice, hunched behind their computer screens. A lot of new names and a lot of new faces to remember. He soaked in the atmosphere. There was a liveliness to it, a raw energy that enthused him.
‘Welcome to Major Crime,’ Pemberton said, casting her gaze out at her well-oiled machine. ‘I’ll introduce you to the important people first, and then I’ll let you get settled in.’ She lifted her wrist and checked her watch. ‘If we’ve got time before the mid-morning briefing, we’ll see about taking you into town to get a flavour of the place and maybe a coffee.’
Jake thanked her with a smile and a nod. Just what he needed – more laxative.
Before Pemberton conducted the tour, a door behind them opened and a man exited, brushing past her. He was tall and well dressed, wearing an expensive designer suit judging from the texture of the material. Possibly Boss, Gant, something Jake couldn’t dream of owning, let alone afford. A thin line of hair that looked like it was an early attempt at Movember sat above his top lip, and his Adam’s apple was the size of a golf ball. The man looked no older than early forties, yet there was something about him that immediately startled Jake; he just didn’t want to admit what it was.
‘Elliot.’ Pemberton flagged him down with a wave of her arm. ‘Glad to see you finally arrived this morning.’
‘Sorry, guv,’ Elliot said, standing with his hands in his pockets, tilting backward slightly, crotch thrust forward. ‘Parking was a nightmare. Some Mini Austin Cooper parked in my spot.’
The knot in Jake’s stomach tightened. He cleared his throat. ‘That’d be mine,’ he said sheepishly.
Elliot turned to face Jake, scowling down at him. And then his expression flipped on its head and he burst into a laugh. ‘It’s all right, mate.’ He slapped a firm hand on Jake’s shoulder and kept it there. ‘Can’t argue with someone who’s got a wicked car like that. Always wanted one myself. You’re only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!’
If Jake had a pound for every time he’d heard that, he’d probably still be nowhere near as rich as Michael Caine. He chuckled awkwardly and stood still, allowing Elliot’s hand to remain in place.
‘Elliot,’ Pemberton began thankfully, ‘this is Temporary DC Jake Tanner. He’s joining us from Croydon on a probationary period for now. But from what I’m hearing, he’ll be with us for a long time.’
Jake’s cheeks flushed at the praise.
‘Fresh meat, eh?’ Elliot removed his hand from Jake’s shoulder and extended it for him to take. He did. ‘Bet you’re glad to be getting away from the city, eh? Welcome to the best team in the country – and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. If you need anything, you can come to me. Oh, and don’t call me Elliot – only the guv can get away with it. Everyone else just calls me Bridger.’
Jake immediately felt a sense of calm around Bridger, like the man had the ability to wrap his arms around him with the same strength as his handshake and lead him along the right path, put him at ease.
‘I’m excited to get started,’ Jake said, this time believing it.
Pemberton swivelled on the balls of her feet and addressed Jake. ‘Elliot’s one of our best detective sergeants and will be your immediate senior. Anything you need, he’ll be able to help with.’ She turned back to Bridger, and said, ‘Get yourself settled. I’m going to show Jake around and then we can take him and Danika out for a coffee.’
Jake’s ears perked up. ‘Danika’s here already?’ He craned his neck in search of his former colleague and Croydonite, the one friendly face in the office he could depend upon. ‘I thought she was due tomorrow?’
‘Apparently not. We’re happy to have her though. We could do with the help right now.’
Pemberton ended the conversation with a smile and started leading Jake through the office, firstly showing him where everything was – the toilets, the kitchen and the supplies room – and then to his desk, which was situated in the far-left corner of the office, beside the communal printer and photocopier.
‘Danika’s sitting next to you, but I don’t know where she’s gone right now,’ Pemberton added.
With the brief tour concluded, it was time for Jake to meet the rest of team. First on the list was DI Mark Murphy, a man who looked as though an entire tub of hair gel – or perhaps it was superglue – had been rubbed onto his head to keep the short quiff he’d given himself in place. Also attached to his head were a pair of headphones. As Jake and Pemberton approached him, he finished what he was doing and slid the headphones down to his neck.
Pemberton introduced them to one another.
‘So this is the whiz-kid?’ Murphy asked, leaning back into his chair and bouncing on the support, testing its durability.
‘Nothing like that,’ Jake remarked. His eyes leapt between Murphy and Pemberton.
‘Anybody told him about the initiation yet, guv?’
Pemberton seemed to ignore the question, but Murphy continued anyway. ‘It’s customary for the newcomers to make everyone in the office a drink on their first day.’
Jake was no stranger to initiations. The word alone was enough to trigger his gag reflex. He recalled signing up to a bunch of different clubs and societies at university, and each had contained an initiation process featuring one thing: booze. And a lot of it. In a bizarre way, he felt more prepared for that than anything else. And he was in no position to decline it either.
Fifteen minutes later, Jake found himself in the kitchen, ten mugs in front of him, the kettle boiling beside him. Four black, six white, two with sugar, the rest without. Perhaps in another life he could have been a barista.
The tour had finished after he and Pemberton had spoken to DI Mark Murphy, and Pemberton had allowed him some time to wander around the office and introduce himself to the rest of the team. It was comforting to know that the most important people within the team were Murphy and Bridger. It was familiar and reminded him of his time in Croydon, where the only people he’d needed to impress were the Detective Chief Inspector and Detective Inspector.
As he waited for the kettle to finish its boil, Jake repeated the names of his new colleagues in his head. He was almost certain that one of them would escape his memory, but he would never forget their faces. Names, he wasn’t so good at; faces, on the other hand, he was usually excellent with. Not only was it helpful for catching criminals, it was handy when he recognised someone he’d known from secondary school in the supermarket, so that he could find ways to avoid them at every possible aisle.
He finished repeating the names for the third time when the door to the kitchen opened. Bridger was standing in the frame, frozen, the handle swallowed in his hand, as if caught in an uncompromising position.
‘What’s happening in here?’
Jake glanced down at the mugs of coffee and then back to Bridger.
‘Oh, you haven’t, have you?’ Bridger stepped into the kitchen and placed a hand on Jake’s back. ‘I was wondering if you’d fall for it or not?’
‘Fall for what?’ Jake asked, realising there was something he should know but obviously didn’t.
‘Mark… he does this to everyone so he can see how you react.’ Bridger leant across Jake and killed the kettle. ‘These people are adults; they can make their own drinks. Anyone tells you otherwise, you can send them my way.’
Jake smiled and laughed, but it wasn’t enough to hide the humiliation he felt.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Bridger continued. ‘Because I want you to grab your things – the guv and I are taking you and Danika into town, show you what Guildford’s all about.’
&
nbsp; Bridger removed his hand from Jake’s back and left the room. Jake didn’t mind Bridger’s physicality; it reminded him of the way his dad used to console him, congratulate him, hug him. And it had been such a long time since he’d last felt that, he almost didn’t want it to stop.
After Bridger had left, Jake grabbed the mugs from the counter, returned them to their respective owners and headed over to his desk to retrieve his things. The Holy Trinity: phone, wallet, keys. Without it, he felt naked.
‘About time you got here, no?’ a voice asked behind him as he logged in to the computer, testing the details that had been left on a Post-It note beside his keyboard.
Jake looked away from the monitor and saw Danika, his closest friend from the Met during his brief spell in Croydon. They’d worked the same streets together, and now they were working in the same office together, compounded by their mutual desire to progress through the plainclothes ranks. She was dressed in a white shirt that was tight against her chest, and a black blazer that hugged her shoulders and arms. It matched the colour of her hair, which, for the first time since Jake had known her, was tied in a ponytail, leaving two thick strands of hair framing her face.
‘I was beginning to think you’d got cold feet,’ she said. Her voice was thinly laced with a Slovenian accent that had assimilated over the years since she’d moved to the UK.
‘Traffic was a nightmare,’ he lied but then realised she’d see right through it.
If she did though, she gave no indication. Instead, she set a piece of paper on her desk and stood with her hands on her hips.
‘Busy morning?’ he asked before giving her a chance to say anything.
