“Are you all right?”
He looked up. Poppy bent over him, her lovely eyes wide in concern and over her loomed her boss, his narrowed eyes full of incredulity.
“Talk to me. Talk to me,” she pleaded.
“Poppy, shut up,” Joe said.
He watched the awareness of what she’d done creep over her face.
“Of course I’ll talk to you,” her boss snapped. “Why wouldn’t I be all right, Constable Field?”
There was a long pause. Joe hoped Poppy could come up with something spectacular, because he could think of no reason why she might have launched herself at the feet of her boss in the middle of the morning inspection, asking if he was all right and pleading with him to talk to her.
“A wasp,” Poppy said. “I saw it fly up your trouser leg. I was talking to the wasp, trying to get it to come out. I have an affinity with insects.”
Joe was impressed. Well, the wasp had been a good idea and then she’d ruined it with the last part. Poppy never did know when to shut up.
The Chief Inspector yelled, “Parade dismissed,” and fled inside, presumably to yank off his pants to check he wasn’t about to get stung somewhere painful. The sound of barely restrained laughter followed him. Joe sat up.
“Are you okay,” Poppy whispered.
“Fine.”
“Poppy, get up. He’s gone now.”
Joe looked at the man standing behind her and took an instant dislike.
“Bzzzzzz. Oh quick, put your hand up my trouser leg. I think there’s something dangerous up there.”
Joe growled.
Poppy stood. “Don’t worry, Graham. Not even a wasp would find anything worth stinging in your pants.”
Ah, this was Poppy’s partner. Now Joe really didn’t like him. The jerk pursued her all the way back to the squad room buzzing in her ear. Joe wanted to squash him.
“I’ll probably be up for a commendation for that,” Poppy said as she walked across to her desk.
Graham snorted in amusement.
“I’m serious. If you ever see a wasp near Jeff, kill it. He’s allergic,” she said. “Anaphylactic shock. Could be deadly.”
Joe watched doubt flicker across Graham’s face and then the guy plonked himself down on the chair Joe was already sitting on. Joe emerged through him, spluttering with fury.
“He sat on me,” he said in indignation.
Poppy started to laugh and didn’t seem able to stop.
“Glad you found it amusing,” Jeff said behind her. Poppy shut up and cringed.
“I wasn’t laughing at you, sir,” she said.
“What were you laughing at?”
“Release of nervous tension. RNT. We all know wasps can kill.”
Jeff turned a look of suspicion into a long, deep sigh. “There’s been a call about kids teasing a flock of ducks that appear to have mistaken London Fields lido for a pond. The swimmers are not amused. Sounds right up your street, Constable. Try not to let them crap on your uniform. The ducks not the kids.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * * * *
“Ducks,” Graham said in disgust. “I’m beginning to think you’re the reason we get all the shit jobs.”
Poppy bit her lip. It would never have occurred to Graham that he wasn’t trusted with anything important. They were the misfits of the division and Jeff wanted them to stay under the radar.
She glanced at Joe in the rearview mirror. He’d left his bike and come in the squad car. He looked fed up and frustrated. Poppy didn’t blame him. Rescuing a few picked-on ducks was hardly the stuff to earn him white wings. Or maybe it was. One feathered friend saving another. Poppy smiled to herself and then sighed. The truth was that a huge amount of her time was spent on paperwork and it was rare that anything exciting happened. When it did, she felt guilty having wished for it.
“Poppy, look out for that cyclist,” Graham said. “Damn, you missed him.”
Ha, bloody ha, she thought and hoped Graham didn’t start on the nipple clamps now Joe was listening.
“So Poppycock, did your boyfriend buy them for you? Do they hurt? Will you show me?”
Shit! Could he read minds? “Give it up, Graham.”
“What’s he on about?” Joe perked up on the back seat.
“They weren’t mine, now get a life and shut up about it.” Poppy pulled into the car park and leaped out of the vehicle before she had to say anything else.
There was a crackle of static from Graham’s radio and Poppy breathed a sigh of relief. That was one guy occupied. The other, however, stood in front of her, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.
“What was he talking about?” Joe asked.
“A 999 call about youths picking on a kid down towards the lido,” Graham said. “If we’re quick, we’ll catch them.”
Poppy set off at a run, Joe by her side and Graham puffing along some way behind.
“Tell me,” Joe said.
“Later,” Poppy whispered.
“On your left,” Joe said in Poppy’s ear.
There was an elderly lady waving at them. Poppy veered in her direction.
“You’re too late,” the woman said when Poppy reached her. “Typical of the police. Never rush anywhere.”
Poppy panted noisily. Did she look as though she’d been strolling?
“The little hooligans have gone. They threw his bag in that tree. He’s climbed up to get it.”
Poppy heard the sound of muffled sobbing. She peered into the foliage and saw a youth in a yellow and black T-shirt lying horizontal, all four limbs wrapped around a branch. He looked like a petrified leopard.
“You can come down now. They’ve gone,” Poppy said.
“I’m stuck.”
“Oh shit,” Graham said, having puffed up behind her.
“What’s your name?” Poppy called.
“Owen.”
“Okay, Owen. I’ll come and get you,” she said.
Graham groaned. “Are you sure?”
“Not a good idea,” said Joe. “You should call the Fire Brigade.”
“Easy-peasy, Graham,” Poppy said. “Give me a leg up to that first branch.”
“Have you ever climbed a tree?” Joe asked.
Poppy ignored him. She’d climbed lots of trees, just none in the last twenty years and none in a skirt. It wasn’t too difficult. Being tall helped and after a few moments, she balanced on a limb below the boy, her head level with his. Owen was thin and weedy-looking with dark hair and wire glasses, but no scar on his forehead.
“Hey, Owen. So where’s your bag?” Poppy asked.
“Up there.”
Poppy saw a gray school bag hooked over a branch six feet above his head.
“My science project’s in it.” He gulped back a sob.
“We’ll get you down first and then I’ll see about the bag.” Poppy climbed a little higher. “Let go with your right hand and take my fingers.”
“I can’t let go. I’ll fall.”
“Trust me, I won’t let you fall.” As Poppy uttered those words, she heard Graham snort and her pulse spiked. Gritting her teeth, she climbed up until she was on the same level as the kid. Poppy wrapped an arm around the trunk and reached out with her other hand.
“Owen, you can do this. You climbed up, you can climb down. Slide your bum along a few feet and grab my hand. Do it a bit at time.”
Poppy glanced down. They were about fifteen foot up. Graham waited, ready to break the boy’s fall, and Joe stood at his side, his dark eyes fixed on Poppy, anxiety written all over his face.
“Be careful,” Graham called.
“I didn’t know you cared,” Poppy replied.
“I don’t but if you rip another uniform, Jeff will kill you and then who’ll be my partner?”
Moments later, Owen had one hand in Poppy’s and other wrapped around the central trunk. He was so frightened, he was rigid. Poppy kept talking, reassuring him. “You’re fine. The hard part’s over.”
“My bag
,” Owen wailed as Poppy helped him to a lower branch.
“I’ll go back and get it,” she said.
* * * * *
Poppy didn’t see what was so funny, but four firemen, Graham, seven random civilians, three dogs, two ducks and Joe were creased up laughing. Well, all right, Poppy wasn’t sure that the dogs and the ducks were laughing but she suspected they were. She hadn’t meant to get stuck. She’d dropped the school bag down and as she turned, a branch skewered her through the back of the stab vest. Owen scampered away, but not before taking a video clip with his mobile. The bloody thing would no doubt be on YouTube tomorrow or one of those funniest home video programs on the TV.
The firemen produced a ladder and then had a long argument about who was going to climb up to free her. They all seemed far too interested in lurking under the tree trying to look up her skirt. Poppy watched in disbelief as they tossed for who went up the ladder. The winner—at least Poppy hoped that was what he thought—climbed up to untangle her. Moments later, her feet were on the ground.
“You can write that one up,” Graham said.
* * * * *
While Poppy did her paperwork back at the station, Joe wandered around hoping to pick up a tidbit that might enable him to perform some sort of good deed. Based on the events of that morning, thwarting crimes at Poppy’s level of policing seemed unlikely to turn his wings white.
Joe had never met any of the people Poppy worked with, though he did know Jeff Garside and had heard her moan often enough about Graham. He felt guilty he hadn’t shown any interest in her colleagues. He hadn’t even listened too hard when she’d complained about Graham. He wasn’t competition so Joe didn’t care. But he was sure she’d never told him what a jerk the guy was. Joe winced. Maybe she had.
While Poppy sat filling in endless forms, including a request for another stab vest, Joe followed her partner to the canteen.
Graham queued for a mug of coffee and a bacon sandwich, and Joe helped himself to the same. He laughed when he saw the sandwich still sitting on the counter after he’d picked it up but the food was solid in his hand. No seeker on the till yelled at him to pay up. That solved the problem of whether he had to pay for anything. No matter what he touched outside of his apartment and Poppy’s, in reality it never moved.
Joe joined Graham at a table in the corner, where he sat doodling on a sheet of paper. Joe looked over his shoulder and groaned when he saw what Graham was drawing. The fact that the prick was quite an artist, made matters worse.
Joe stayed on Graham’s heels all the way to the men’s locker room and watched him fasten the drawing at the end of a line of others which had been taped above the urinals. A row of cartoons showed Poppy in all sorts of trouble. PC Poppy takes a dip pictured Poppy floundering in the Thames, the Millennium Wheel in the background. PC Poppy trying to park showed her sitting in the ruins of a crumpled police car. PC Poppy considers new career as knife thrower’s assistant. To Joe’s horror, Poppy was pictured twice with a knife sticking out of her stab vest. The latest one was PC Poppy hunting for nuts. It was a picture split in two. One half had Poppy up a tree, the other showed her with her hand up the leg of her boss’s pants. Joe’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like her being made fun of.
Graham stood at a urinal and Joe unzipped at the one next to him. He wished he could make his fist connect with Graham’s jaw. The guy was a prick. Then again, maybe not. Joe smirked when he saw Graham struggling to find his dick under the rolls of fat. When Joe washed his hands, he was distracted from his plans to get even with Graham, by the sight of his face in the mirror. Joe turned his head from one side to the other. He looked as gray as a storm cloud.
When Joe found Poppy, she’d been cornered in the corridor by the DI and was screwing her hands together behind her back.
“What did I tell you? No more incidents. If the CSI finds out, he’ll be livid. Another PAR to explain. The fire chief plays golf with him, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think there would be any need to call the fire brigade. The boy’s school bag wasn’t much higher, but I got caught in the branches.”
Jeff was tight-lipped with fury. “We’ve had a call from the local news channel. The little bugger’s sold the video clip to Metro London.”
“Oh no.” Poppy winced.
“As if it wasn’t bad enough having a police constable in my station with the name Poppy Field. Now you’re going to be famous for all the wrong bloody reasons.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Joe’s jaw tightened. Poppy couldn’t help her name.
“I keep giving you one last chance, Poppy,” Jeff said. “I don’t know what it is with you. Ever since the…unfortunate incident—well, you seem incapable of spending a single day out of trouble.”
Unfortunate—fucking—incident? Joe’s jaw ticked.
“Please don’t suspend me.”
The breath caught in Joe’s throat. Suspend her? What the hell for? He clenched his fists.
“When you find trouble, how about trying not to make it any worse.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, I nearly forgot. I had a call this morning from DCS Watson. He wants to see you at Scotland Yard.”
Joe’s ears pricked up. Detective Chief Superintendent Watson had been his boss.
“As soon as you can get over there, Poppy. Out of uniform.“
“Right, sir.”
“And Poppy? Don’t cock up anything else. Not even your nose.”
Chapter Eight
Joe gave a grim smile when he saw the revolving New Scotland Yard sign outside the twenty-story building where he used to work. His father had been based here and at one time, Joe had thought he’d rather clean toilets for a living than follow the same road as his father. But his resistance was based more on not doing what his dad wanted than any deep-seated antipathy towards a career in law enforcement. Trite as it sounded, Joe had an inbuilt desire to right wrongs and protect the innocent. He found forensic science fascinating and the criminal mind intriguing. Investigative work came as second nature and the chance to work undercover had come at a time when he was looking for a new challenge.
He parked his bike in the Chief Superintendent’s spot and waited for Poppy who was using public transport. When he saw her approaching, she reminded him of a schoolgirl on her way to the headmaster’s office, head down, slow steps, grim-faced. Joe had no idea why his ex-boss wanted to see her, but surely it couldn’t be anything to worry about. Poppy saw Joe waiting and her face lit up, though only for a moment.
“Don’t look so petrified,” Joe said, wishing he could give her a hug.
“Are you going to come in with me?”
“Do you want me to?”
Poppy nodded, chewing her nail. He was glad now that he’d decided not to tell her about the cartoons. She was worried enough by this call to the Yard.
“All right. Then afterward, as a treat, we’ll go and look at the two hundred and thirty-six truncheons they have on display,” Joe said.
Poppy laughed.
“I might even get mine out.”
When they reached DCS Watson’s office, his secretary said he was going to be busy for an hour, but wanted Poppy to wait.
“There’s plenty of reading material,” said the short, chubby woman, nodding toward the coffee table.
Joe smiled at the way Poppy’s eyes glazed over as she looked at the titles. He didn’t fancy an hour studying The European Agreement concerning the International Carriage of Dangerous Goods by Road or The Socio-economic Impact of Urbanization and Mobility of Ethnic Minorities on Homeland Security. Joe could have stayed with her but she couldn’t talk to him and he wanted to look in on his old squad.
“I’ll go for a wander. I’ll come back,” he said and air kissed her cheek.
She gave him a worried smile.
The open plan office he’d shared with the other members of the Serious and Organized Crime Command was just down the corridor from the DCS. Joe hop
ed there might be something he could get involved with, some place he could go that they couldn’t. Then he’d tell Poppy and she could make an anonymous call and a good deed would be done.
Joe felt a lump in his throat when he pushed open the door and walked in. It had been his life and it was over. His partner, Keith Worth, stood by the window talking to a young black guy Joe didn’t recognize. Joe started to call Keith and then remembered there was no point.
“Joe?”
For a moment, Joe assumed there was someone with the same name but when he turned, he saw Mal Thomas sitting at a desk in the corner. Mal had died from lung cancer three months before Joe’s demise. He looked terrible, his ash-gray face thin and gaunt, his eyes sunken in his skull. Joe walked over.
“Mal. It’s great to see—” Joe stopped. “Fuck, no it isn’t great and you look like shit.”
Mal gave a wry smile. Joe sat on the edge of his desk.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Mal said. “I’d have thought you’d have done enough good deeds to get gold-plated wings.”
Joe’s chest tightened. “Must have been those copies of Playboy I nicked when I was in my teens.”
Maybe it was. His mother had found them hidden in the cavity at the bottom of his wardrobe. She had the nose of a bloodhound. His father had gone wild with his cane.
“Sorry to hear about what happened to you,” Mal said.
Not as sorry as Joe.
“To be honest, I’m bewildered,” Joe said. “I keep wondering if I’m lying in a coma, dreaming, but then I wouldn’t be dreaming of a sad fuck like you. I take it we’re in the same boat. You haven’t discovered whatever it is you need to do to get your white wings.”
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