Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
M ac
“The boss wants to see you,” Shari informs me as soon as I walk into the large office space at the station. I sigh, giving her an eye roll that makes her chuckle, and divert from the trajectory of my own private office—one of the few perks of being a detective chief inspector—to another across the room. I’ve still got my bag slung over my shoulder, and I’m clutching my coffee from the cart outside, which in my opinion is the best coffee in Oxford. The first cup of the day is always something I look forward to, that small moment of quiet to enjoy before I get sucked into the usual chaos, so to have those precious minutes interrupted has the potential to put me in a bad mood. And depending on the reason for the summons, a very bad one.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” I walk through the open door and close it behind me.
Chief Superintendent Clement Fortescue looks up from the report he’s reading and fixes me with his usual supercilious stare. Always being passed over for the promotion he thinks is his by the nature of his birth—minor aristocracy—he looks down on everyone below him as if they’re not fit to shine his boots. I’m pretty sure connections got him to the rank he is too, because it certainly wasn’t hard work or intelligence, but unfortunately they haven’t got him any further.
“Terrible business this,” he states, and because I’ve had my coffee time interrupted and I think the chief superintendent is a prick of the highest order, I reply insolently.
“What business, sir?” Well, not so insolently as to be downright rude and omit the sir; I know when to cross the line and when I can dance along it. Thankfully he has skin thicker than a bull elephant, though. Either that or he really can’t tell when I’m being belligerent; I haven’t decided yet. He just continues.
“The Winstanton case. It’s just not good for the force.”
I can’t see any point to why he’s called me over here, and wasting my time is one of my biggest bugbears, so the chances of me being in a very bad mood for the rest of the day are increasing with every second.
“Not good that he’s a criminal, or not good that he got caught . . . sir ?”
He turns his head away and snaps it back to me.
“Well... well,” he blusters, as he metaphorically picks his jaw up from the floor. “That he’s a criminal, of course,” he adds quickly, but it’s too late. I’ve seen through him and he knows it.
“Yes it is,” I agree and pull the door open. I don’t care if he has anything else to say. I can’t stand another moment in his presence. He doesn’t stop me or call me back as I thread my way through the desks of the other detectives in the department, proving he had nothing useful to say in the first place. When I reach my own office, I shut the door behind me with a slow click and sink into my chair. I finally take a sip of my coffee but now it just tastes like mud.
I rest my head in my hands and take several deep breaths, getting control back. I will not let that prick get to me. He’s everything I despise about certain areas of the force. Back when Winstanton used to be our chief constable, Fortescue was firmly in his pocket, and his words a few minutes ago tell me all I need to know—Fortescue doesn’t believe Winstanton has done anything wrong.
I was assigned to the drugs case several years ago, where Winstanton was injured and retired officially from the force before being elected our police and crime commissioner. Although there were arrests, and we managed to convict half the dealers in the known drugs ring, I soon found a few threads to organised crime that led back to Winstanton rather than away from him, and I’ve been slowly investigating them ever since. In fact, I’ve been investigating everything to do with Winstanton. I always had a feeling he was crooked, a gut instinct right from when I joined the force, though it’s brought me no pleasure to be proven right. Evidence has always been hard to come by as Winstanton has always had plenty of people, knowingly or otherwise, who’ll cover for him.
Forgetting that I’d already declared my coffee undrinkable, I pick it up and take another swig.
“Fuck!” I spit the mouthful back into the cup. The seriously bad mood is descending. Despite having a separate office, none of us have privacy as all the walls and doors are half glazed. I look up and see Shari staring at me with a concerned expression. She’s only been in my department for a few months, and I have no idea why she seems happy to work with a grumpy old dog like me. But so far she’s proven to be a hard worker, a smart thinker, and I’d rather have her with me than half the other detectives in the department. She also learned very quickly how important coffee time was to me. She rises from her desk—one of the set of four that are closest to my office—the very same desk I occupied when I first joined the force years ago, showing that nothing ever changes or gets updated.
“Everything okay, Mac?” she says, poking her head round the door. “Do you want me to fetch more coffee?”
“No,” I say bluntly. “Your job is not to get me coffee.” I’d established early on that I wasn’t one of those guys who expect their juniors to run around for them—that she was here to learn the job, not to fetch and carry for me—but Shari is both charming and stubborn, character traits I admire.
“Not even if I’m going for myself?” She flashes me her brilliant smile, one I’ve seen her use with great effect on both criminals and witnesses. Yes she is an asset and she’s going to be an amazing detective. I try to stare her down, convinced she’s only using this as an excuse to get coffee for me, probably because she doesn’t want to have to put up with me in a foul temper all day. She looks back at me without blinking for a full minute, then swallows and rubs her throat. “I’m very thirsty.” Yes, very stubborn. She’ll go far.
I concede as I still want my coffee. “Okay, but I’m paying.” I pull out my wallet and hand her a note. She flashes me another smile as she whips the money out of my hand and is gone. I huff a laugh in her wake, more than a little pleased that I’ll finally get my coffee.
Half an hour later, I’m caffeinated and just finishing writing up a report. I was wrong about things never changing, though the only thing that has is the amount of admin that’s increased exponentially from when I was a junior over fifteen years ago. I open up the database and pause, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. It can’t hurt, can it? To take a look. All morning I’ve managed to distract myself from thinking about Levi. Not easy when I can feel the effects of where he managed to land some blows on me—areas that were showing colourful bruising this morning. Even harder when I can see those expressive, stormy eyes and beautiful lips every time I close my eyes. Not to mention how perfectly his body fit against mine in those few brief seconds when we kissed. I type an L and pause again. He’s going to be in the station tomorrow making a statement. Looking him up, finding what we have on him would be part of the investigation, wouldn’t it?
I finish typing his name, but still don’t press enter.
I jump as my phone buzzes on the desk next to me, and I snatch it up. I have a message; I’ve been summoned.
I delete Levi’s name and shut down my computer, releasing a deep breath. I know I would just have been using the case as an excuse. I’d have been looking him up for my own purposes and I would have despised myself. I’m not that sort of cop. As I grab my bag and exit my office, I also try to convince myself that I made the decision not to go through with it, and that it wasn’t just the fact I needed to be elsewhere. Yeah sure, Mac, you keep believing that. I really suck at trying to be a good person sometimes.
I walk the short distance to the private member’s club, trying to clear my head of everything Levi and failing miserably. I need to, though. I will not jeopardise this case for anything. I run lightly up the wide stone steps to the entrance of the old building and give my name to the hall porter. He asks me to sign the massive visitors book before showing me to a room I’ve become familiar with over the years.
“Detective West, Your Honour,” he announces before withdrawing.
The Honourable Mrs Justice Wren Thorpe Vale puts down the book she’s been reading and rises, crossing the small library with elegance, and greets me with an air kiss to each cheek. I’ll never get used to it, but I’ve given up trying to discourage her. She’s a powerful woman and I owe her a lot, mostly my career, so I never refuse her. She takes my hand and leads me back to where she was working, then sits and waves me into a wingback chair opposite.
She always looks immaculate, whether she’s in her club, presiding over court, or taking her dogs for a walk—an activity I’ve been invited along to several times over the years, and one I enjoy far more than sitting here in this ancient institution. I dislike the idea of private member’s clubs; they’re exclusive, and the very type of establishment that has allowed people like Winstanton to get away with everything he has for so long. I tolerate this one because I know Wren—as she always insists I call her when we’re alone—uses it as a force for good. But still, the whole idea of them leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Too many deals done behind closed doors for my liking.
“So Mac, what have you got for me?” she asks, crossing her legs in her navy trouser suit and giving me her full attention.
I fill her in on the latest developments of the case. Justice Wren Thorpe Vale has been my mentor for the last ten years. I have no idea why she decided I was worthy of her patronage, but I’m glad of it, as I’m sure I would never have made it to chief detective without her influence. Not because I’m not capable, there’s barely a more experienced detective in our department, but I can be a little abrasive, and well, with people like Fortescue in charge, who can blame me.
I need both hands to count the number of times he’s tried to stop me investigating Winstanton. I’ve been warned off the case, been told to drop it, been threatened with my job... but eventually, in every instance, Fortescue has backed down, and for the last few years has ignored my involvement completely. Not that he’s made is easy either. He’s given me extra work—all the worst cases and a lot of boring, menial ones. He thinks it riles me, and of course it does, but there’s no way on earth I’m gonna let him know that. Assigning Shari to me was one of his little ploys to annoy me, thinking I’d consider it below me to take on a fledgling detective, but that’s the way he would think, and I’m proud to have her on my team.
Now I’ve finally made an arrest, he has no choice but to allow me to work on the case full time, but given his attitude this morning, he’s still not going to be supportive.
As I leave my session with Wren and walk back to the station, I realise I didn’t mention Levi as a possible witness. But that’s probably for the best.