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“You’re right. I’m not. Just to my car, there.” She pointed to a battered white Corsa. “I don’t know what to say. Send me the bill for the mending and cleaning.”
“How many dry-cleaning bills have you had?”
“Three. And it’s only been a week.”
Charlie felt his anxiety lift, leaving calmness in its place. Because there was now nothing he could do to appear professional. He smiled at the woman. “Let me help you get him back to your car,” he said. “Then I suggest you go home and google dog trainers.”
Once in the car, the dog settled as if assaulting passers-by would never occur to him.
“Thank you,” the woman said. “Now, your suit …”
Charlie shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’ve got others.” He turned back to the police station with a wave.
When he got there, he rang the number on the notice board.
No one answered.
There were lights on, a patrol car in the car park and he was sure he had seen a face in one of the windows. He walked back around to the car park, stood next to his own car, then banged very hard with his fist on the roof of the marked patrol car.
The alarm was deafening. But it worked. An inconspicuous door at the back of the station building opened and a woman in uniform appeared. She didn’t move from the doorway, just shouted for him to get away from the cars. Charlie flipped his warrant card folder open and held it up as he walked towards the door. He was by the door when the alarm stopped, the silence as shocking as the noise had been.
“DS Rees,” Charlie said. “You should be expecting me.”
The police officer looked at his torn and muddy suit and blushed crimson. “Yes, Sarge,” she said. She didn’t move. She stood as if frozen to the ground, her arms stiff by her side. She must have been about thirty, Charlie thought, taking in the bleached blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, with a fringe caressing the top of perfectly groomed eyebrows. Make-up gave her face a flawless skin, and she was girl-next-door pretty. But fear came off her in waves. The hands by her sides were clenched into fists, and as he watched, the colour drained from her face leaving it ashen. He smelled sweat beneath the scent of deodorant and body lotion.
“Constable?” Charlie asked. “Were you planning to let me in?”
“Yes, Sarge.” Her voice squeaked, then cracked. “PC Margaret Jellicoe, Sarge.” She moved, visibly un-sticking her feet from the ground, and moving backwards into a clean but tatty passageway.
There was a loud hammering from the front of the building. Jellicoe flinched. The hammering continued.
“We… we’ve been told to keep the door locked,” she said.
“Really? By whom?” Charlie asked.
“Superintendent Kent.”
Charlie weighed the statement and found it wanting.
“I don’t think so, constable. You’ll have to do better than that.”
Jellicoe looked around wildly. “He did, Sarge.”
Charlie heard the crunch of feet on gravel. “Hello, hello,” said a voice from behind him. He turned to see a very tall, very broad man, dressed in a tan suit that must have been made for him, because no off-the-peg suit would be large enough. As Charlie had done five minutes before, he held up a warrant card. “DC Eddy Edwards, seconded from Wrexham,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“DS Charlie Rees,” Charlie said.
“DS…?” Edwards’ eyebrows rose as he looked Charlie up and down, taking in the torn and muddy suit.
“Come in and close the door,” Charlie said, without acknowledging the look. “Constable Jellicoe here is going to explain what’s happening. I think coffee would help, though. Where can we brew up? Constable?”
“Through here,” she said, and led the way to a break room overlooking the car park. The light was on, showing a fridge with a kettle on top, next to a battered stainless steel sink. A shelf above held a disparate selection of mugs, a jar of the cheapest instant coffee, a bag of sugar and a box of tea bags. Teaspoons drained next to the sink. There were two coffee tables, each with a couple of battered chairs, padded and upholstered in blue to match the carpet, foam showing through on the corners.
Charlie filled the kettle and took three mugs from the shelf. He turned to Jellicoe. “Is there anyone else here?”
“No, sir. Not in the morning. There are only five of us, sir.”
“Seven now,” Charlie said. “Who wants what?”
