Heatwave

by Oliver Davies

  “Was anyone injured in the accident?” I asked.

  “Yeah, the poor sod who was in that wreck,” she gestured over towards the smarter car, already towed off the road. “Hit his head pretty hard. He’s gone off to A&E for the stitches.” She sent an unimpressed, tight-lipped look over at the teenagers. “Those clowns got off with scrapes and bruises, of course. Bit of whiplash is the worst they’ve got.”

  “Well, let’s at least get them booked, huh,” I said, rubbing my clammy hands on my shirt and turning to give Stephen a nod.

  We headed over to the teenagers, standing around near the second officer who looked to be trying to get answers out of the black-haired one and failing. They were all slouching as if standing up straight was too great of an effort for them, and one was smoking even though he didn’t look to be anywhere near eighteen.

  “Okay, put that out, lad,” I said, walking over and gesturing impatiently at him. “You, with me. Stephen, you get the other idiot.”

  The boy continued smoking, glaring at me with that patented ‘what’re you going to do’ teenage look. I lifted an eyebrow at him and turned to the officer who’d been here before us. He was a tall, lean bloke with an exasperated look on his narrow face.

  “What’re we writing this lot up for?” I asked him.

  He didn’t question who I was before he flatly reeled off the rap list, “Stealing a car, driving underage, driving under the influence, breaking the speed limit-”

  “Aw, come on,” the lad said, looking to be the youngest of the group. The cigarette still hung from between his fingers. “I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “No? You won’t mind doing a test for weed done at the station, then, will you?” The rank smell of the stuff hung around him, as it did the other two, and I knew what we’d found if we took samples from the group to test.

  He swore at me with a glare, his mates looking on and sniggering.

  “Look, you can come to the station, where you’ll have to answer our questions, or you can start talking here and win some brownie points,” I said, already done with their attitude. “Up to you, kid.”

  After a long pause to make clear his unwillingness, he grudgingly complied, sulkily digging out his wallet to show me his debit card and confirm his name. He didn’t have a driving license, nor a learner’s license, so I guessed that he wasn’t even seventeen yet.

  Stephen managed to get his questions answered by the teenager I’d handed off to him, and the one I’d been speaking to finally finished his cigarette and tossed it into the bushes. A great way to start a fire in this weather, I thought tiredly. I sighed, contemplating telling him to go and pick it up or I’d add littering to the list, but I opted to pick my battles and let that one go. Eventually, we got the uncooperative pair of them loaded up in the back of the car to cart them off to the station for tests.

  “Shame that they probably won’t get anything more than a warning,” Stephen grumbled, slamming the door shut.

  “We’ll see if they’ve got any priors,” I said. “They could get a fine or community service. But aye, since those two weren’t driving, what can we do?”

  I looked over at the older, black-haired teenager, who had his arms folded and was still refusing to talk to the other officer.

  “Him, on the other hand, will most likely get landed with juvie, maybe. He was driving, wasn’t he?”

  “I don’t know, actually,” Stephen said. “I was listening in, and he hasn’t admitted that he was driving if he was.”

  “Oh, great,” I muttered. “Someone must know who the driver was.”

  “Those kids do,” Stephen agreed, nodding towards our car, “but they won’t tell, will they? Snitches get stitches.”

  “Nice,” I grunted. “That’s really helpful.”

  I went to talk to the officers to check that they could manage without us if we headed off now, and they assured us that they could. The tallest teen was being loaded into a car as we were leaving, his face settled into an ugly scowl. The recovery team had cleared the road blockage while we’d been dealing with the kids, and the traffic was up and flowing again.

  We climbed into the car, ignoring the two sullen teenagers in the back, and Stephen drove us back to the station, the air conditioner blasting out an artificially cool breeze that felt like heaven on my bare skin.

  It wasn’t a long drive back to Hewford, though there was a heavy dose of morning traffic, and we pulled up outside before long. Stephen and I escorted the teenagers through the lobby to be processed at the back. They wouldn’t end up in custody, but they’d have their prints and photos taken, as well as a hair sample to test for cannabis. Depending on what came back would determine what consequences the kids would end up with and, 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, w
hen 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 inside, and I rapped on the wood. The sign with Gaskell’s name had long been removed and a new one hung in its place, with Rashford’s name and title on it.

  She called me inside, and I stepped in, patting my shirt down and wishing that the heat didn’t make my hair curl as much as it did.

  “Mitchell,” she said warmly, sounding surprised to see me.

  “Ma’am.” I gave her a polite nod.

  “What can I do for you?” She looked at me expectantly.

  “I was wondering whether we could be more use around the station, ma’am,” I said, not sure where exactly to start now that I was standing in front of her.

  Despite the heat, she looked immaculately put together, with her hair in tidy cornrows and her colourful dress looking pressed and professional. I felt sticky and untidy in comparison.

  “I’ve seen Sedgwick rushing around,” I expanded, gesturing with my hand, “and Stephen and I wanted to know if we could help, ma’am. Since we’ve not got anything big on right now.”

  She quirked an eyebrow at me, leaning her elbows on her desk and considering me for a moment. I made sure not to fidget and considered her back.

  “He’s working a missing child case,” she said after a moment. “I couldn’t say whether he’d appreciate a hand, you’d have to ask him. But if you were asking for permission or encouragement, go ahead.” She gave me a brief flash of a smile. “We wouldn’t want you resting on your laurels and getting bored, would we, DCI Mitchell?”

  “No, definitely not,” I said, smiling back at her. “Great, I’ll ask him. Thanks, ma’am.”

  She gave a stately nod and flicked her fingers at me, effectively dismissing me. It was even warmer in her office than it was out in the hall, and I was happy enough to leave. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my forehead and palms before I walked back to Stephen.

  “She said to go ahead,” I said as I flopped down in my seat. “If he wants us to help.”

  Stephen straightened up, looking past him, and I followed his gaze. Sedgwick had come up the stairs and strode inside, looking red-faced and sweaty, his brow deeply furrowed. I couldn’t tell if it was worry or anger, but he certainly didn’t look happy.

  “Speak of the devil,” Stephen murmured, sounding amused.

  “Go ask him if he wants help with his case.”

  “What? Why me?” he protested.

  “Because he likes you more,” I countered. “And I just walked over to Rashford’s office; I’m too warm.”

  “I’d accuse you of being a lazy swine,” he said, reluctantly dragging himself to his feet, “but you’re usually rushing about like a hyperactive squirrel.”

  “Aye, that’s right. I’m doing you good,” I huffed a laugh. “You’re getting your step count up.”

  “Oh shut up,” he said goodnaturedly before heading off to talk to Sedgwick.

  I hadn’t been entirely joking about Sedgwick preferring Stephen. The bloke had had a grudge against me since I’d arrived, feeling like some country bumpkin like me couldn’t be an effective city DCI. I hoped I’d proved him wrong over the last two years or so, but his bad attitude persisted when we were forced to interact on occasion, and I mostly ignored it these days. He was a professional in the end, and he put in the work and set aside his prejudice when it came to getting the job done. Still, it didn’t hurt to send Stephen as the messenger; any opportunity to avoid Sedgwick’s glaring and curt sentences was one I’d take.

  “Well?” I asked Stephen when he returned.

  He picked up his water bottle and swallowed a glug of water before replying.

  “He’s trying to find a missing fourteen-year-old. A kid called Alistair Pumphrey.”

  “And? Are we helping?”

  “He agreed, reluctantly. He’s sent over the case notes.”

  “A miracle,” I muttered, swivelling my chair around to log into my idle computer and load up my emails.

  Stephen did the same, and we read over the work that Sedgwick and his partner Greene had carried out already. The case had been missing for a week now, and Sedgwick had had the case for five days. From what I could see, his investigative work looked solid and thorough, and I leaned back when I was finished, rubbing the stubble on my jaw.

  “Thoughts?” Stephen asked.

  “I feel like the parents could have said more,” I decided after a long pause. “It’s just a feeling, but their responses seem sparse, routine. They’ve answered all the key questions, but they say they have no idea why he’d run.” I shrugged. “Usually, there’s some warning sign with these things if the kid has run away from home and not been kidnapped.”

  “That’s what they think.” Stephen scrolled up through the case notes and reread a section. “Yeah, here. The kid, Alistair, took a small suitcase and a rucksack with him. He claimed to be going to a sleepover.”

  “Aye, sounds like a runaway,” I agreed. I chewed on the side of my thumb as I turned the new information over in my head and came up with a couple of worrying conclusions. “Either something bad’s happened to him,” I ventured gravely, “or he’s serious about staying away, and he’s found somewhere to hole up. Somewhere with food and warmth, too. A week is a long time for a fourteen-year-old to be out on the streets on their own.”

  Even in a relatively safe city like York, Alistair’s parents must be deeply wor
ried for their son, I thought.

  “So, you want to go and talk to his folks then?”

  “Did you have any other ideas?” I asked, genuinely interested in any theories he might have, but he shook his head.

  “I’m good to go and see the parents.”

  “Alright, I guess I better call Sedgwick, so he knows,” I sighed, picking up my desk phone.

  Sedgwick wasn’t over the moon to hear that we wanted to be more involved than just doing paperwork, but he heard me out and gave us the go-ahead.

  “Don’t annoy them,” he added sourly as I was about to end the call. “We’ll need their cooperation in the future.”

  “I’m never annoying, George. Everyone loves me,” I couldn’t help but say, grinning on my end of the phone where he couldn’t see me.

  There was a long pause before Sedgwick grunted noncommittally and hung up without another word.

  I cracked up laughing, and Stephen shook his head at me, though he was smiling.

  “You just can’t help but wind him up, huh?”

  “What can I say? He brings it out in me.” I gave a broad shrug and sent Stephen an innocent look.

  “C’mon, troublemaker.” He got to his feet, picking up his water bottle. “Places to go, work to do.”

  “Isn’t there always?” I said, but I wasn’t really complaining.

  It felt good to have a specific purpose. Moving between short, unconnected incidents certainly kept the job varied, but I really preferred going in for the long haul. There was something much more rewarding and satisfying about completing a serious case that lasted weeks or months, though the toll of those was much higher too.

  We left the station, crossing the hot car park outside and making for the car. The day felt like it was at its hottest and, even though we’d parked the car in the minimal shade this morning, it was still oppressively hot inside.