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JIM
In the incident room the blinds on the windows of Fraser’s office were drawn but I could glimpse her
silhouette and Emma’s through the slats. Nobody else might have noticed it, but to me their body
language spoke volumes: Emma had come clean.
I thought I’d feel relieved but instead it was the final straw, and I couldn’t stand to witness it.
I took myself down to the canteen, tucked myself in a corner to try to write up a report on the
morning’s raid with a cup of coffee that would have made British Rail ashamed, but I just got wound
up, thinking about it all, and it was hard to concentrate with every nosy parker who walked past my
table asking me how the case was going.
I went to the men’s room, locked myself in a stall, and tried to get control of myself.
I sat in there on the closed lid of the toilet bowl, my head resting against the partition wall, eyes
shut, breathing through my mouth and trying to pull myself together. I don’t know how long I stayed,
but at some point somebody else came in and the shame of it made me get to my feet.
It was Mark Bennett, undoing his fly at the urinals. He was hyped up; his cheeks flushed red with
excitement.
‘The proverbial’s hit the fan,’ he said, not caring that his piss was going everywhere. ‘Something’s
going on. Benedict Finch’s parents came into reception and his mum made a massive scene and
brought in one of Ben’s school books they want us to look at. They asked for you and Zhang, but we
couldn’t find you and Zhang was holed up with Fraser “not to be disturbed”. Where the fuck have you
been? Got the runs or something?’
I started to answer but he said, ‘So I went and got the book myself, calmed the mother down, but
that’s not the fucking end of it. I took the books straight into Fraser’s office, potential new evidence,
thought that was worth disturbing them for, only now she’s got Internal Affairs in there with her and
Zhang. I gave her the book, but got my head bitten off for interrupting. Something massive is going on,
definitely.’
I washed my hands for show, and he joined me at the sink and then stayed on my heels like a pesky
younger sibling as we went back to the incident room, full of ignorant speculation that made my jaw
clench.
As we entered the incident room, the door of Fraser’s office swung open at the other end and
Emma walked out, flanked by two men. Fraser was hovering behind, but shut the door before I could
read her face. I recognised one of the men: Bryan Doughty, the biggest cheese in Internal Affairs.
Bennett and I stood aside as they approached.
‘Clemo,’ he said, as he passed me.
‘Sir,’ I replied. He was a shark of a man, intellectually and physically well equipped to take a bite
of you. Perfect for the job. He didn’t slow his pace. Emma’s gaze was fixed front and forward.
Even though it was Saturday, about fifteen faces watched them walk the length of the incident room,
Emma’s small frame dwarfed by the men beside her. When they exited and disappeared from sight, I
realised I’d been biting the inside of my cheek so hard I’d drawn blood.
‘I think she’s been a naughty girl,’ said Bennett. ‘Tut, tut, tut. And Doughty’s not going to be happy
about being called in on a weekend either.’ He was buoyant: the sight of someone else’s career ending
in a car crash was actually bolstering his self-esteem.
‘Do me a favour and keep your fucking opinion to yourself,’ I said.
‘What’s the matter with you? Anybody would think you wanted to get into her knickers.’ Brave