“You do not have to say anything but?—”
“What?”
“It may harm your defence if you do not?—”
“Wend?”
“Mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court?—”
“You can’t do this. You always just take me home!”
“Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Johnny let out a breath. It’d been a long time since he’d read someone the caution, but it slid off his tongue like a penguin across an ice rink.
Tucking his boot under Sylvester’s ribs, he flipped him over and gripped his arms behind his back. The handcuffs went on with a satisfying click and Johnny hauled him to his feet, ignoring the fresh wave of shit that wafted through his mask.
Wendy scrabbled to wrap the foil blanket around his waist before Johnny started walking him out of the shop. A cheer rang out as they strolled onto the street, the staff and customers smiling and nodding.
“Delta three six,” he said into his radio, “one coming in. Please inform Sergeant Wilson that she will need to re-open the Dingly Heath custody suite.”
“Copy that, three six.”
CHAPTER 9
SIMMER DOWN AND PUCKER UP
Taylor
Taylor staredup at the long shutter of the holding bay, waiting for it to shudder to life. Running a finger around the inside of his blue latex glove, he pumped his fist over and over until little bubbles popped up between his knuckles.
He couldn’t stop himself from bouncing on the spot, agitated as shit as he waited for Johnny and Wendy to appear with the prisoner. Three days of thirty mile runs in wolf form had barely taken the edge off, and his fangs still ached from the memory of being rammed into Johnny’s flesh.
Being at work didn’t help, because he had to smile and nod and look good to the general public all day, when in reality all he wanted to do was punch something, or binge eat, or rub his face all over Johnny’s stupid face until the other alpha laughed and punched him in the head.
Remembering that he was still meant to be a police officer,andthat the sergeant was standing right behind him, he stopped abusing his glove and pulled his face into a strained smile.
“Don’t look so happy,” Isla said, leafing through a large wad of paperwork. “This is going to take bloody ages because we’vegot no Wi-Fi at this end of the station, no detention officers, and not to mention the nurse is going to have to come over from HQ because of his diabetes.” She let out a long groan. “Plus Sylvester Pearcestinks.”
Taylor flexed a hand again, making the bubbles pop and shred the glove. “It’ll be fine, Sargie. Between the five of us we’ll sort it.”
Isla shook her head. “Amil’s not going anywhere near that guy. You and Johnny will have to handle the booking-in procedure, and I’ll… I’ll just…” She let out a breath. “Try not to fuck everything up.”
Taylor stopped messing with his gloves and looked at her. “Nervous or something?”
She pressed her lips together and stared down at the paperwork. “Yeah. It’s my first prisoner as a sergeant, and I… I just want it to go right.”
She was shifting from foot to foot, looking all anxious and shit, which made Taylor’s fingers twitch even more. Not because it pissed him off, but because he had the sudden and distinct urge to pull her into a hug. She looked like she needed one. He wanted to ruffle that shaved patch on the back of her neck and tell her it was all going to be alright.
“How can this be your first prisoner? You’ve been the sergeant here for, what, four months?”
Isla nodded. “Yeah, but like I said, they prefer that we deal with things holistically. The annual crime rate is less than two percent.”
Taylor blew air into his cheeks and laughed. “Sargie, it’s easy to say you have low crime when you don’t record anything. I might be thick as shit but even I know that.” He slapped a hand across his mouth. “Sorry.”
Isla withered. “I know. I know. I’ve tried telling the superintendent, but he said the order came from the assistant chief con. Our stats make Falkington look better as a whole.”
Taylor shook his head. He may not have been a great police officer—hell, he wasn’t even agoodone—but even he could recognise when someone needed locking up. He had been about to go off on a long tangent about how much he hated inspectors, but instead he pumped his fist some more until the glove finally split completely.
