Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Westminster, London - DI Marchant

Café Nero was OK. I’d polished off four double shots, drowning myself in espresso in a vain attempt at kick starting my brain. The café over the bridge would have been nicer, I was sure. Everything would have taken longer to prepare, and been more expensive too, I’m certain, but would probably be at least three times as good. But they didn’t open until a little before nine. So, I mused, picking at something that sort of resembled a chocolate brownie, it was this or something from the break room vending machine. I’d been desperate, but not quite that desperate!

I squinted at my watch, the early morning light feeling like daggers to my bleary eyes. 06:45... I took another swig of my coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste and debating whether I had time for another. No, it wasn't great, but it was doing its job – helping to keep me vertical and at least semi-functional. After the night I’d had, I needed every ounce of energy it could give me to deal with whatever waited for me inside the Yard.

That nebulous feeling of being watched had followed me home, lingering like an unwelcome smell – Unable to relax, I'd found myself peering out into the night more than once, half-expecting to see eyes staring back at me even as I tried to convince myself it was all in my imagination. When I finally crashed into bed I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning for hours with every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of leaves outside my window, seeing me jolting upright, heart racing a million miles an hour.

By the time my alarm went off, I felt more wrung out than when I'd first laid down. The lack of proper rest compounded my already muddled state and left me looking like something from ‘The Walking Dead’. The pounding in my head, that unwelcome souvenir from yesterday, hadn't abated one bit either, if anything it seemed to have invited friends over for a rave inside my skull.

I gave up on the ‘brownie’, washed down another couple of paracetamol with the last of the coffee, and tossed the cup – it was time to get to work. Besides, any more and I knew I’d spend most of the morning stuck in the bathroom, and wouldn’t that make for a great first impression with the new guys.

It wasn’t a long walk, just a few hundred yards round the corner and along the river, if I walked slowly enough, I probably wouldn’t even be all that early.

The familiar sight of New Scotland Yard soon materialised in front of me, its glass and steel façade glinting in the pale morning sun. I paused at the corner, my nerves jangling from too much caffeine and too little sleep. Slowly, deliberately, I turned a full three-sixty, my eyes darting from face to face, seeking whatever it was that had tripped my subconscious alarm.

A weary sigh passed my lips as I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the tension forming there. The street was busy, but nothing stood out. It was just the usual early morning crowd - a few suits mixed in a sea of uniformed officers heading in to the station. Everything seemed perfectly ordinary, and yet…

With a deep breath, I strode purposefully to the entrance, swiped my ID and pushed through the security door - and stopped dead in my tracks. I almost laughed at my own foolishness. Early? I’d be lucky to make it on time!

It looked like a shift change was in full swing. Dozens of officers and staff milled about, filling the space between me and the lifts. Glancing at my watch, I grimaced. No, I wouldn't be late, not on my first day with the new unit. Squaring my shoulders, I waded into the throng. "Excuse me," I muttered, not quite as politely as I'd intended, using my elbows with perhaps more enthusiasm than strictly necessary. A few irritated glances were shot my way, but I pressed on, eventually breaking free of the crowd near the lifts.

I crammed my way into an already full car, muttering apologies as I jostled for space. My finger hovered over the button for the thirteenth floor, somewhere I'd never had reason to visit before. As the doors closed and we started our ascent I crossed my fingers and prayed there wouldn’t be many stops.

***

The doors slid open accompanied by a soft ding revealing a scene that looked nothing like the polished, professional floors I’d passed below. Like every, single floor we’d stopped at on the way up… at least I was the only person seeing this!

I was officially late, but I stood motionless even as the doors threatened to close on me, overwhelmed by the battering my senses were taking – the cacophony of noise coming from the offices around me and the heavy scent of sweaty socks and wet dog.

Sure, the plain grey industrial doors I could see bore the Met’s crest, as they should, but I was certain this couldn’t possibly be the right place – it smelt, and sounded more like a rugby squad’s changing room than a police station.

I looked around for the obligatory directory, hoping beyond reason that it’d indicate I’d got off on the wrong floor or, at least, point me to someone who could tell me where I was supposed to be going. The directory wasn’t any help. Honestly, I don’t know why I’d thought it would be the way the rest of the day had gone.

It was an unintelligible mess. Every time I tried to make sense of the words, a spike of pain lanced through my head strong enough to make my eyes water. All out of options I stepped out into the hallway, reached out to the nearest door and pulled it open.

Well, at least I’d found out what the noise was… Most of it seemed to be coming from a knot of officers standing with their backs to me, cheering and shouting at something in front of them. The rest, I discovered when the crowd's bodies shifted, came from two shirtless apes who appeared to be wrestling each other in what little space there was between a ring of desks that appeared to have been shoved aside. The smell? I didn’t want to think about that.

I winced as the brawlers collided with a desk sending it skidding across the cheap linoleum floor. I hadn’t drunk enough coffee to be dealing with this psycho playground shit.

I took a deep breath, readying myself to yell something loud, and quite possibly crude, as I stepped forward to interject in whatever the hell that was... realising my mistake as soon as the thick, foul smelling air hit the back of my throat.

I gagged and coughed violently, my lungs seemed to be trying to force their way out of my body leaving me a wheezing wreck. It wasn’t the commanding voice I’d been aiming for, but it seemed to be effective. Silence abruptly fell all around me, so absolute I could suddenly hear the blood rushing through my ears in time with my pulse, the sound loud in the stillness.

A new sound slowly registered, quiet footsteps, somebody was walking up behind me.

"Welcome to the MCD, newbie!" a cheerful voice boomed practically right in my ear. I turned, straightening up and found myself gazing into empty space rather than at the person I’d expected to see.

There was a little cough from somewhere near my elbow, I looked down, shaking my head at the dwarf - no, I mentally corrected myself, small person - grinning up at me from well within my personal space. His salt-and-pepper beard was neatly trimmed, and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

I stumbled back a step, but he didn’t seem to notice, continuing his ‘welcome’ with a conspiratorial wink, as if everything I’d witnessed so far was perfectly normal.

"The first rule of MCD,” he practically barked at me, “is that we don't talk about MCD!"

He let out a hearty laugh before quickly adding, "Just kidding. I’ve always wanted to say that. And it seemed apt... The real first rule is, hmm, let’s go with we always work in pairs shall we... that’s much more practical. You don't go anywhere or do anything without your partner, capiche?"

I nodded dumbly, still trying to process what was happening. Despite his jovial manner, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. His smile seemed a touch too wide, his eyes a bit too bright. It felt like a mask, carefully constructed to hide... what?

"Well come on then," he said, gesturing for me to follow. "Let's get you inside and show you where the magic happens!"

I glanced around nervously at the eerily silent officers, feeling more like a lamb being led to slaughter than a senior police officer as I took in the rigid way they were holding themselves and how they were looking at me.

People finally started moving again as we stepped around the makeshift ring and into the maze of desks, but the atmosphere didn’t get any lighter. If anything, it got heavier, more oppressive. No, the jovial atmosphere my guide was trying to project was definitely at odds with the rest of the floor.

Silent, sullen glances and, believe it or not, the occasional sniff followed our progress through the office.

As we wove between desks, I noticed officers hurriedly righting furniture and gathering scattered papers. The two shirtless brawlers from earlier were hastily pulling on rumpled shirts, their faces flushed with exertion or embarrassment – I couldn't tell which.

I couldn't shake the feeling of being sized up, evaluated by each set of eyes we passed. It was as if they were all in on some secret, silently debating whether I was worthy of being let in on it.

Just what, I wondered, had I walked into?