Chapter Seven Keep It Brief
Chapter seven
Keep It Brief
On Saturday, Warren was summoned.
Both he and Naomi.
To HQ, under the watchful eyes of Patel, Havers, and the rest of the squad. Naomi stepped inside the briefing room before him. Cool, composed, the way she always was, and cast a glance over her shoulder.
“Ready to be judged by the committee?”
Warren huffed a low laugh. “Always.”
Inside, DI Patel sat with her laptop open and a stack of paper files at her elbow, scrolling with her index finger. Havers was at the back, arms crossed and looking as if someone had pissed in his instant coffee. Maybe they had. Maybe he deserved it.
“Delaney. Beckford.” Patel nodded at them. “Take a seat. Let’s hear it.”
Warren slid into the chair opposite, straightening his spine, and crossed his arms. Naomi sat beside him. She looked fresh, polished. Whereas he felt as though he’d lived ten lives since they’d last sat here. Which was only a week ago.
Patel started with Naomi. “What’s the latest on Vivienne Radley?”
Naomi sat straighter. “Still playing the doting mum, still trying to mask a failing empire in activewear and aromatherapy. Morgan’s in deep. He stays over most nights. Whenever Graham’s away or at one of the other properties. I’ve been in earshot for several of their more… intimate exchanges.”
Havers grunted. “Jesus.”
Naomi didn’t look up. “Vivienne trusts me. I’ve had access to all three properties. Laundry, errands, school run. She’s letting me in properly now.”
“Any contact with Graham?” Havers asked.
“Barely. Saw him once coming out of the Hastings house. Didn’t speak. But…” She hesitated. “He looked at me like he knew me. Could’ve been nothing. Could’ve been instinct. I’ll tread carefully.”
Patel jotted something down. “Anything else?”
Naomi nodded. “Overheard her talking to Morgan. Something about maintenance payments. She’s clearly considering divorce, but there’s a complication.”
“What kind of complication?”
Naomi met Patel’s eye. “She thinks Radley’s got another kid. Somewhere else.”
That landed heavier than expected. Patel paused mid-note. Across the table, Havers shifted in his seat, lips pressing into a tight line.
“Do we know where?” Patel asked.
Naomi shook her head. “No. She was vague. Talking to Morgan, trying to make it sound casual. But it’s playing on her. Might have been the straw that broke her. I’ll keep digging. Could be another thread to unravel. Someone else to follow.”
Havers exhaled. “If he’s got an unlisted kid, we need to know about it. Could be hush money. Could be leverage. Could be someone else he’s trying to keep quiet.”
“Or someone worth protecting,” Naomi added.
Patel nodded. “Agreed. We treat it as a potential vulnerability. Cross-check all outgoing payments in Radley’s financials for the last five years.
Anything that looks like regular support.
Rent. School fees. Transfers through intermediaries.
” She turned to Warren. “You’ve got teacher access now.
If there’s a minor on the books connected to either of them, anything odd in safeguarding, flag it. ”
Warren gave a sharp nod. “Understood.”
Patel looked back at Naomi. “Stay close. Keep the tone friendly, non-confrontational. If she cracks, I want us ready with a name.”
Naomi leaned back in her chair. “Copy that. She’s opening up more. Especially when Morgan’s not around.”
Patel tapped her pen once, then pivoted without pause. “Alright. That’s the Radleys. DS Beckford, you’re up. What’ve you got from Worthbridge Academy?”
Warren leaned back, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, casual on the surface but every word calculated. “Looks polished. Refurb’s fresh, floors gleam, walls still smell like paint. But underneath? It’s all thin ice.”
Patel raised a brow. “How thin?”
“Staff are burnt out. Kids are wired. There’s tension in the corridors, like everyone’s waiting for something to go off. I’ve worked prisons with a calmer energy.”
“Sounds delightful,” Havers muttered.
Patel stayed focused. “And the fire?”
“Still lingering. Staffroom talk’s cautious. They’re grieving something. Safety, maybe. Some blame, some denial, no real unity. I’ve been trying to get a read on what they really think, but no one’s saying much. Not openly.”
“Because?” Patel asked.
Warren shrugged. “Could be trauma. Could be the fact that Radley Enterprises paid for the entire rebuild. New science block, new sports hall, fresh everything.”
Patel exchanged a look with Havers. “Which says more than they think it does.”
“Exactly,” Warren said. “It’s like they owe them. Whole place is walking on eggshells.”
“Good. Keep pressing. Start subtle. If there’s a crack, we need to be ready to push.”
Warren nodded once, jaw tight. “Understood.”
Patel narrowed her eyes. “And the target?”
Warren hesitated.
That was the part he still hadn’t figured out how to box neatly.
Jude Ellison didn’t fit the mould. Not the usual red flags, nor the typical tells.
And that difference was interfering with Warren’s ability to stay detached.
He’d spent the night after the quiz parked three cars back from Jude’s cottage, watching the lights go out as if waiting for him to run out, stupid string music playing in the background, and Jude diving into his arms. Then he’d gone home and tried to sleep, only to end up tangled in dreams filled with dark curls and crooked glasses.
It was weird.
And a problem.
He cleared his throat. “I’ve made contact.
Built rapport. He’s reserved, but not unfriendly.
Quiet, well-liked by staff, trusted by students.
He’s got a finger in every pie in the school.
Quiz team. History Club. Offers lunch and afterschool interventions for students falling behind. He’s literally God’s gift to teaching.”
Patel hummed. “Manipulative tendencies?”
“Nothing overt.” Warren paused. “But…”
Naomi turned. She’d picked up the shift in his voice. She knew him well enough.
“He’s hyper-aware,” Warren continued. “Not jumpy, but watchful. You touch his shoulder, he tenses. Loud voices make him close in on himself. Compliments bounce off. Like he doesn’t believe them. Or doesn’t think he should.”
That landed. Patel and Havers exchanged a glance, silent but weighted.
“And Reid?” Patel asked.
“No evidence of contact. Not yet. But it’s early days. Jude’s not the sort to open up quick.”
Naomi watched him carefully. “You said you’ve built rapport. How strong?”
Warren exhaled. “We’ve got banter. Shared a few jokes. Part of the quiz team. And there’s a history trip next month. Overnighter. So, decent access.”
Patel pointed a pen at him. “Get yourself included.” She then wrote something down. “But gut level, what’s the read on him?”
That was the real problem.
He didn’t think Jude was complicit. But he couldn’t prove it either.
He hadn’t seen inside his house, hadn’t peeled back the layers.
Not the ones that mattered. Everything he had so far was instinct.
And instinct didn’t hold up in a briefing.
And right now? His gut wasn’t telling him to proceed with caution.
It was telling him he wanted to know Jude Ellison.
Not for the job.
But because some quiet part of him thought he might need to.
Which made it worse.
So he swallowed that down. Stuffed it deep beneath the part of him trained to compartmentalise, to detach, to survive. And did what he’d always done when the truth got too close to the surface.
He lied.
“Too early to say. But I’ll keep digging.”
Patel tapped her pen. “Good. Keep the field notes coming. If you can get into his house, do it. Casual drop-in, drinks after work, whatever works.”
Warren nodded, but something twisted in his gut.
He didn’t want to go into Jude’s home.
Didn’t want to rifle through drawers or check his laptop history or weigh how recently he’d washed his sheets and feed that all back to the people in this room.
He wanted… fuck. He didn’t even know.
But he knew Jude didn’t deserve this.
Patel shifted into logistics. Havers muttered something about council funding and school safeguarding measures, the usual grumbling about too many priorities and too few people.
Naomi made a note of Morgan’s last known movements, pen scratching as if she hadn’t heard it all before.
Warren sat back in his chair, gaze on nothing, letting the noise wash over him.
Because behind the practiced calm, the truth buzzed louder.
He’d spent most of the week watching Jude when he wasn’t supposed to.
Noticing the way he chewed the lid of his pen when he was thinking.
The way his sleeves were always half-rolled as if he’d been halfway through the thought and forgotten to finish it.
The small smile he fought not to show when something genuinely amused him.
It was a problem.
Patel stood, gathering up the files. “Let’s wrap it.”
Naomi and Warren filed out together, descending the back stairwell in quiet sync. Outside, the car park glistened with fresh rain, a grey curtain hanging low over the skyline.
Warren’s MG waited near the kerb, already speckled with water. He clicked the fob. “You want a lift?”
Naomi shook her head, rummaging in her bag. “Nah. I’m heading to the station. Vivienne’s off on some spa-date thing with Morgan, so I’m going to make myself useful at her house.” She found her umbrella. “Might be able to catch up with someone.”
Someone.
Meaning Graham Radley.
“Take care.”
“Always do. Don’t wait up.”
“Least I’ll get some respite from you on the other side of the wall on the phone at one a.m.”
“Don’t get jealous.”
“Not jealous.”
“Guess your folks will miss you this weekend?”
“Yeah.” Warren dragged a hand over his damp locs. “Mum’s threatening to strike me off the prayer list if I miss another Sunday.”
Naomi smiled. “How are they both?”
“Good. Same as always.”
“And your sisters?”
“Still trying to marry me off before the year’s out. Sent me a link to a ‘Black Men in Blue’ dating app yesterday.”