Fantabulous, a slang term meaning excellent, wonderful, is a blend of fantastic and fabulous.
Perfect. Pressing her ID tag against the wall, she waited for the familiar buzz and click then pushed open the door.
The office looked exactly as it did when she’d left it, different mug shots, same crimes. It still housed the same half a dozen desks, basic furniture and creaky swivel chairs. The same drab blinds hung limply from the windows, the functional blue office carpet was littered with a smattering of crumbs. The air was warm and stale given that it was too cold to open the windows at this time of year. Her colleagues barely lifted their heads as she walked past.
She recognised Yvonne Townsend, who she’d always found frosty, and Damien ‘Richie’ Richardson, who was chatting animatedly as his colleagues hung on his every word. ‘So I said, “the short answer is no, and the long answer is fuck no!”’
A burst of laughter followed. Sarah cast an eye over his leather jacket which hung from the coat hook in the corner. He was still a biker then, but he now sported a neatly trimmed black beard. She glanced around the office. It seemed that there had been a fair bit of turnover as she didn’t know the remaining officers. She watched them return to their desks, banter over, ready for work. Their sergeant, nicknamed ‘The Ballbreaker’, had taken over from Sarah’s husband. Her eyes flicked up as Sarah stood before her and cleared her throat.
Sergeant Gabrielle – Gabby – Bassett was of African-American and French descent. At fifty, she was ten years Sarah’s senior, and wore a permanent expression of vague annoyance. Sarah had met her before when Gabby had conducted a home visit to check on Sarah’s welfare. She had not expected a warm welcome. She just wanted to get through the day.
‘That’s your spot.’ Gabby pointed at the coffee-ring-stained desk shoved against the wall. It was only a couple of feet from hers. When Sarah had started this role, she’d had a view out of the window. Her sergeant obviously wanted to keep an eye on her.
‘Oh, OK.’ Sarah pulled out the swivel chair. Her stomach was swarming with butterflies, like a kid on the first day of school. The kid who had been marked out as unpopular before they’d even begun. She caught the side glances from her colleagues, heard whispers from the back of the room. The atmosphere had taken a nosedive the second she walked in.I’m in my bubble,she told herself, as she sat at her desk. It was one of the coping mechanisms her therapist had taught her in the course of the year. But her beautiful rainbow bubble popped at the sound of her sergeant’s voice.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I was going to log on, check my emails.’
Gabby looked at her indignantly. ‘You don’t need to check your emails. I’m right here in front of you. Come, talk to me.’ A low ripple of murmurs rose from the corner of the room. Her head bowed, Sarah approached her sergeant and was handed a folder of paperwork. ‘There’s lots to do. You can’t sit on your backside all day.’
Gabby silenced the whispers with a glare before returning her attention to Sarah. ‘Take a job car and start taking statements. You can brush up on the details case by case.’
Sarah’s heart sank as she flicked through the paperwork. ‘Reports of a prowler,’ she said. ‘Do we need a statement for these? Last night was Halloween.’
‘Are you questioning my authority,MsNoble?’ Gabby said, one eyebrow raised.
‘No, Sarge.’
‘Well, as it happens, I agree with you. But the DI has decreed that the good residents of Upper Slayton need a bit of hand-holding today. It’s the perfect job to help you find your feet.’
Sarah nodded, relieved at least that her sergeant had agreed with her. ‘Here’s your trolley.’ She pulled out the small suitcase on wheels. It contained a portable printer and notebook computer as well as pens, paperwork and everything she needed to take statements. ‘I don’t expect to see you until this evening. We’re not exactly in a hurry for these.’
‘Um …’ Sarah stalled. It seemed a waste to use her as a statement taker when she was a trained detective. She knew she was on restricted duties, but she thought she’d be dealing with more pressing matters than Halloween pranks. These were the words Sarahwantedto say, but they failed to materialise.
‘Yet despite the look on my face, you are still here.’ Gabby drummed a red-varnished nail on her desk. Clearing her throat, Sarah signed out the keys of an unmarked car before turning to leave. Why had her sergeant pushed her out the door the minute she stepped inside?
‘Good riddance,’ somebody muttered in her wake. It seemed rock bottom had a basement.
It was a relief to reach the car, although she was hit with the stale odour of takeaway food and forbidden cigarettes the second she opened the door of the Ford Focus. Some things never changed. She familiarised herself with the paperwork as she sat behind the steering wheel. The brief was to reassure residents of Slayton who had reported a prowler in the area last night. Sarah sighed. Halloween was the one night of the year in which kids were allowed off the leash.
Slayton was an odd town, fractured by events of twenty-five years ago. After the shootings, children were monitored, doors and windows locked. But why, when the perpetrator of previous monstrosities came from within? Then gated communities began to pop up, along with private security firms which still patrolled the area today. ‘Choose safety for your family,’ was the slogan on the signage for Upper Slayton, and it appeared the PR spin had worked. The town’s population doubled to eight thousand residents. As residents of Lower Slayton struggled with unemployment, drugs and poverty, the walls of Upper Slayton grew and its houses were priced way out of the market for anyone in Lower Slayton to afford. Still, if you had a clean record, you could get a job as a cleaner, housekeeper or gardener – as long as you knew your place. People in Lower Slayton were low in more ways than one.
Sarah hated the hierarchy, but she couldn’t see things changing anytime soon. Dubbed as the ‘Saviour of Slayton’, Simon Irving of Irving Industries was responsible for many of the gated developments. He was an influential man with powerful friends, including their very own Police and Crime Commissioner. So for now, residents of Upper Slayton would take precedence over everyone else.
It was why Sarah decided to go against the grain and prioritise Lower Slayton today. She slid the printout of the incident from the bottom of the pile and placed it on top. Alerting control via her airwaves, she attached her call sign to the job. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, straightening her fringe over her face. Her first stop was to see Maggie Carter and her son.
9
When Elliott woke with blood on the sleeve of his pyjamas, he knew he had done something bad. He stared at his trainers as his feet dangled beneath the kitchen table. The laces had come undone again. He wasn’t very good at laces. It was easier to kick them off than to try and work out which bunny ear went where. Today he was too tired to do much of anything. The night stories were back.
‘Eat your toast,’ Maggie said, before returning her attention to the dishes in the sink.
He had called his mother Maggie for as long as he could remember. He knew she didn’t like it, but he couldn’t help himself. She was humming the theme tune toEastEnders. She always hummed TV soap theme tunes when something was wrong. Since Daddy went to hospital, she hummed them almost every day. But today he was the cause of her worries. He couldn’t make her feel worse by telling her what he had seen.
He toyed with the medal pinned to his shirt. His mummy only let him wear it at home. He hoped that one day, Daddy would come back. His daddy was a very brave man.
‘Did you know that tortoises smell with their throats?’ His tortoise facts always put a smile on Maggie’s face.
