Heatwave by Oliver Davies (read any book .txt) 📕

even though the pair had scowled their way through the car ride to the station, I’d seen the badly hidden nervousness beneath it. Maybe it was their first time doing something like this and ending up at a police station, I thought. If it was, I just hoped that they had parents at home who cared enough to give them a good talking to, straighten them out, and give them whatever attention or support they were craving.

“They’re in good hands now,” Stephen said, checking his watch. “How d'you feel about some lunch?”

The police radio chose that moment to sound on my belt, and I gave a short laugh at the timing.

“It might have to be lunch on the go,” I said wryly, and Stephen groaned.

Stephen pulled a disgruntled face at the news that we needed to run off to help with another incident, and I couldn’t help my crooked smile.

“It’s what we signed up for, mate,” I said.

It was going to be a busy summer, I was sure. While people took advantage of the hot weather to drink too much, stay up too late and be generally loud and stupid in the name of fun, we’d be run off our feet trying to uphold the letter of the law. And I wouldn’t trade the job for the world, I thought, however damn hot the weather gets.

Three

A quieter early afternoon gave us a brief respite after the business of the morning, and Stephen and I ate our belated lunch outside on a bench. Despite the brilliant sunshine, it was more bearable out here with the soft breeze than it was in the confines of the station.

I finished up my salad quicker than Stephen and tilted my head back, soaking up the vitamin D on my arms and face. The sound of hurrying footsteps made me open my eyes and look up, blinking in the brightness. A moment later, Sedgwick strode purposefully past us, heading for his car with his partner, Alison Greene, walking quickly to keep up with him. He barely spared us a glance as he went by, and I raised my eyebrows at Stephen.

“Where are they rushing off to? There hasn’t been anything on the radio, has there?”

We’d been keeping an ear out as we ate and did our paperwork upstairs, but the radio had been quiet. Incidents had been minimal, and those that had been called in had been handled by patrol cars nearer to the scene.

“No, nothing. We would have heard.” Stephen shifted his baguette to one hand so that he could tug his radio from his belt. He double-checked that it was on and working and gave me a shrug.

“I wonder what he’s working on.” I watched Sedgwick’s car pull out of the car park and head off. The sirens weren’t on, so it couldn’t be vitally urgent, but Sedgewick had clearly been on a mission when he left.

“I guess we can ask when he gets back,” Stephen said, going back to eat his lunch and filling his cheeks like a chipmunk.

“If we still had Gaskell, I’d just ask him.”

“No reason not to ask Rashford,” Stephen said, glancing over at me. “We’ve been working with her for months already, Mitch.”

“I know, I know.” I sighed. “I still don’t know how much involvement she likes to have with us, you know? On big cases, at least, Gaskell was reasonably hands-on for a Superintendent. He liked regular updates and being kept in the loop on every case.”

Even though Rashford had been our Superintendent since February, when Gaskell had officially handed the position over and retired, I still thought of Rashford as being new. The last proper case we’d had was back in November, and whilst we’d spoken to her many times, I didn’t know what she was like when the stakes were high, and the pressure was on.

“Only way we’ll find out is by interacting with her,” Stephen pointed out reasonably.

“Aye, alright.”

“You gotta talk to people sometimes,” he teased. “I know you’re cultivating the whole grumpy, stoic attitude, but-”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“Maybe not when you’re properly caffeinated.” He looked doubtful. “Though this heat has you like a bear with a sore head, mate.”

“Thanks a bunch. You’ll be the one with a sore head in a minute,” I said, lightly cuffing the back of his head.

He yelped, his free arm coming out to shove me in return, hard enough that I almost fell off the end of the bench. Laughing, I retaliated by prodding him in the ribs, tickling him as he protested loudly. He couldn’t defend himself properly with one hand still occupied with his half-finished baguette, which he was holding protectively up in the air, and he called for mercy after a few seconds.

“Darren! Darren, quit it!”

Laughing, I gave him a final poke in the arm and ceased bothering him. “You deserved it.”

“You’re a terror,” he grumbled, munching his baguette while giving me a half-amused glare. “I don’t know how I put up with you.”

“Nonsense, I’m a delight.”

Stephen polished off the remains of his baguette, and we headed back into the overheated station. The new Superintendent, Arabella Rashford, had sent us both emails about online training courses we needed to renew our qualifications on, so we worked on them after lunch, sweating in the overly warm building.

I leaned back an hour or so later, pulling my sticky shirt away from my chest with a grimace.

“I’m dying for a coffee, but it’s too damn hot.”

“Iced coffee?” Stephen said absently, his focus on his computer screen.

“We don’t have any ice.” I rolled my neck, earning a satisfying crack. “I need a breather. I’ll go and see if Rashford is in.”

“To ask her about Sedgwick?” Stephen asked, looking up with his eyebrows raised.

“Aye, why not?” I shrugged. “I want to know what he’s up to.”

“You nosy git,” Stephen chuckled.

“You aren’t curious?”

“Of course I am.” He grinned. “Go on, go ask her.”

I shook my head at him and headed over towards Rashford’s office. I was in luck, the lights were on