Chapter Two Ghosts in Uniform
Chapter two
Ghosts in Uniform
Sat in a too-hot interview room at the back of Worthbridge Police Station, Nathan Carter did what he’d been trained to do.
Held it the fuck together.
He focused on the clock. The scuff marks on the floor. The sharp edge of the table. Anything but the truth. Which was that he was hanging by a thread.
Didn’t matter. Couldn’t show it. Years of service had drilled that into him. Keep calm. Breathe. Don’t let the panic win. Tactical breathwork, hostage protocol, situational control. He’d nailed all that under fire. Could pull a wounded lad from a convoy under shelling without breaking stride.
But this?
Well…This was di fferent.
This was his son. Fourteen. Slouched in the chair beside him as if he could shrug off the entire world. Alfie wouldn’t even look at him. Wouldn’t speak. Christ, the lad didn’t even know him. Not really.
And Nathan didn’t know how to fix that .
He could rebuild a carburettor in the dark. Clear a room in under sixty seconds. But this? A kid who won’t speak, won’t look at him? No fixing that with a wrench or a weapon. Fucking hopeless.
Still, he held the line. Didn’t let none of it show. Until he looked up.
Clocked the man through the reinforced glass.
Freddie Webb.
Nathan’s chest tightened.
No. Couldn’t be.
But it was. Clear as day.
Didn’t matter that he was in uniform now.
Patrol vest, duty gear, dark hair slicked back as if ready to brief a squad or break up a pub brawl.
It was still Freddie. Same eyes. Same walk.
Still too fucking handsome for his own good.
That hadn’t changed. Bit more rough and stubble but if someone fed a search term into a computer for ‘bastard who ruins your sleep,’ it’d spit out a photo of Freddie Webb, smirking in hi-vis and looking like sin wrapped in regulation blues.
And Nathan had to watch him walk in as if this was any other shift, any other day. While all he could see was the past. Pulled tight, rough-edged and unfinished.
He ground his teeth.
And hated how he noticed everything there was to see about Freddie Webb.
Hated that his hands remembered the shape of Freddie’s shoulders before his brain did. That he could still hear how Freddie said his name in the dark, with that fucking smirk tucked behind every syllable to make it sound filthy without even trying.
But that was over.
Fifteen years gone. Whatever they’d been was dead and buried under uniforms, years, and mistakes Nathan still couldn’t bring himself to talk about.
Now Freddie was here.
Not a friend. Not a ghost.
The arresting officer.
And Nathan? He was the fuck-up in the chair beside a kid who wouldn’t meet his eye.
DS Bowen settled into the chair opposite, placing a slim folder on the table. “Apologies for the delay. We wanted the arresting officer present before starting. This is PC Freddie Webb. He was first on scene.”
Nathan nodded once. Said nothing. Not even a blink.
Then Freddie looked at him.
And all that training? All that discipline? What was it for? Certainly not for when he desperately needed it.
But the red light on the recorder blinked to life with a soft beep and DS Bowen leant forward, pulling Nathan from his fucked-up past to his clusterfuck of a present.
“This is a voluntary interview under caution with Alfie Carter, aged fourteen, conducted at Worthbridge Police Station. Present are Detective Sergeant Angela Bowen, PC Freddie Webb, Youth Offending Officer Calvin Harris, Mr Nathan Carter as appropriate adult, and the interviewee.”
Beside him, Alfie slouched in his chair, arms folded, chin down, eyes locked somewhere in the middle distance. His hoodie was still up, a scab on his cheek, a fleck of blood dried at the corner of his mouth. He looked older than fourteen. Harder. And far too used to this .
Nathan had seen worse in his life. In uniform. In combat zones. But nothing had ever cracked him open the way the sight of his kid in handcuffs had. His kid . The one he’d barely known for most of his life.
Now they were here .
Across the table from Freddie Webb.
The world had a sick sense of humour.
DS Bowen flipped through paperwork with the calm detachment of someone who’d done this more times than she could count.
Beside her sat a younger officer in uniform, tapping quietly on a laptop, gaze fixed on the screen.
Nathan hadn’t caught his name and didn’t care to ask them to repeat it.
Because all he could hear was Freddie’s voice, ripped straight from the past, furious, and gutting.
“You’re a fucking coward, Nate. A fucking coward!”
It echoed as if it hadn’t ever stopped.
Because, yeah. He was.
He’d faced enemies most people couldn’t imagine.
Walked into gunfire without flinching. Taken every dangerous mission thrown his way.
But when it came to the one thing that mattered, he’d run.
No amount of medals could make up for that kind of cowardice.
He’d never expected them to. Maybe that was why he’d kept collecting them.
Bowen looked up. “Are you his father, Mr Carter?”
“Yes.”
“With parental responsibility?”
“Yes.”
The word sat awkwardly in his mouth, as if he’d borrowed it.
True on paper, but strange out loud. Because it didn’t quite fit yet.
And even worse that Freddie was right there listening to it.
Heavy. Unblinking. As though he could see right through the formality.
Because saying that in front of him felt as though every scar tore open all at once .
DS Bowen spoke to Alfie. “Alfie, before we begin, I need to remind you that you’re being interviewed under caution.
You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.
Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”
Alfie gave the slightest hint of a nod.
“Please respond aloud for the recording.”
“…Yeah. I understand.”
Nathan stayed put, even as every muscle in him itched to grab the kid by the collar and force the words out.
But he wouldn’t. He’d spent his whole life making sure he wouldn’t become that man.
His old man. Fists first, questions never.
No chance. Not now. Not with Alfie. Even if every stupid decision Nathan had made so far had been with Ron Carter in his head.
Bowen continued, “Alfie, you were brought in this morning following an incident at the Worthbridge seafront skatepark. Multiple witnesses report a physical altercation between yourself and another group of boys. One of them sustained a split lip and minor bruising. Can you tell us what happened?”
Alfie shifted in his seat. Silence stretched.
“You’re not under arrest, Alfie.” Bowen attempted to dip into his line of sight. “You haven’t been charged. We want your side of the story.”
More silence.
Then, finally, “They were saying stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“That I don’t belong.”
Nathan felt that land like a stone in the room.
“Why would they say that?”
“I dunno.” Alfie shrugged. “Probably ’cause they run that spot. Don’t want no one else muscling in. ”
“Run that spot for what?”
Alfie snorted. “As if you don’t know.”
“I’d quite like to hear it from you. What you know.”
He rolled his eyes. “The skatepark. Their patch. Their turf. Whatever.”
“ Were you trying to take their patch?”
Alfie let out a humourless snort. “I’ve been here, what, five minutes? I don’t have a patch. Went there to skate.”
Bowen glanced towards Freddie. “PC Webb, can you confirm? Did you conduct a search at the scene?”
Freddie gave a small nod. “Yes, ma’am. Performed a Section one search under PACE on location.”
“And what did you find?”
“Nothing of concern. No controlled substances, no weapons, no cash. Just a mobile phone, a skate tool, and a bit of loose change.”
Bowen looked up. “His behaviour?”
“Initial refusal to engage.” Freddie was all procedure. “Declined to give his name.” Only then did he flick his gaze to Nathan. Brief. But it hit with the quiet efficiency of an SAS takedown.
So Freddie hadn’t known who he was dealing with at the time of arrest. But he knew now .
Had seen Nathan the second he stepped through the door.
Still, he’d said nothing. No declaration of prior connection.
No conflict of interest raised. Even Nathan knew he should declare their history.
Maybe not all the complications that came with it, but at least say he knew him.
Had known him. Back when life had been carefree and simple.
But no. He walked in. Took his seat. Sat across from them, as if this was any other job. Why?
To observe? Judge ?
Call fucking karma ?
“He raised his voice.” Freddie was back to the script. “Verbally confrontational. Settled once handcuffed. No physical resistance.”
Bowen nodded, pen scratching. “Thank you.”
Nathan stayed still, breathing through his nose, the way he used to in briefing rooms before deployment. Right before a mission when everything in his body screamed move , but he had to wait for the green light.
He wanted to say something. Not to excuse Alfie, but to explain. Give the room some context. But this wasn’t the time. And Freddie being the one giving the account made the air feel ten degrees hotter.
That voice hadn’t changed. Clipped. Even.
That low, quiet way Freddie had of being furious without ever raising it above room temperature.
Controlled anger, polished sharp. Nathan could still hear it.
Feel it. And he flexed his fingers beneath the table.
Old habit. Bleed off the tension where no one could see.
They weren’t in a war zone. Weren’t in bed. Weren’t anything anymore.
But fuck if this didn’t feel as dangerous.
DS Bowen leant back in her chair. “Alright, Alfie. We’ve established you weren’t there to take over anyone’s turf. So tell me, what led to the assault?”
Alfie gave a half-hearted shrug.