Stumbling into Mischief

Five

It was 9:35.

Richard was standing outside Douglas' door. He had been stalling in his and Clare's office since nine o'clock - and still would be if Clare hadn't kicked him out.

Douglas would definitely be in there by now, eating or smoking. He was a chain smoker - always had a cigar between his teeth. And he was constantly eating, too. He was a burger man.

Sometimes, Douglas smoked and ate at the same time. But that was as far as his multitasking talent went.

Richard's hand trembled as he lifted it to knock on the door. He was, quite frankly, terrified of his boss. And he wasn't exactly the bravest of men. He was polite to an extreme extent. If someone punched him in the face and got blood on their knuckles, Richard would probably apologise for making their hands dirty.

Deep down, Richard knew this wouldn't go down well. He wanted to turn and run away, but he couldn't. He was going to do it for Clare. This case meant something to her - he wouldn't ever forgive himself if he ran away now.

Eventually, Richard knocked on the door. It was a dreadfully feeble knock, and sounded extremely Richard-ish.

He considered trying the whole knocking thing again but decided not to when a voice groaned from the other side, "Come in."

Richard hesitated, and then took a deep breath as he fumbled with the door knob, before slowly opening the door. He kept his eyes on the ground as he stepped in, hoping what he couldn't see couldn't scare him.

But it could.

He could feel his boss glaring at him.

The door squeaked as Richard shut it behind. It sounded a little bit like his voice did at that moment. "Sir-"

Douglas made Richard sound like a mouse. "What do you want, Dick?"

He had a habit of calling him that.

"I- I- I... Erm." Richard stuttered, slowly looking up from the ground to his boss - who was sitting with his feet on the desk.

Douglas was frowning at him, looking quite angry already. He was a very big man, with broad shoulders and a shaved head. He looked a bit like a rugby player. Richard hated rugby.

"Spit it out, you twat."

He had a habit of calling him that, too.

"I... I wanted to talk to you about the case of Jessica Bailey - the young woman who went missing Wednesday night." Richard paused. "Myself and DS Brent-"

"Yes, I know. You discovered the body. Congratulations. However, I'm afraid there isn't a knighthood waiting for you just yet, Dick." Douglas drawled sarcastically.

Richard shook his head, looking back down to the ground. Eye contact was proving to be far too difficult. "No. I wanted to know if you've already got a team of detectives investigating it?" He asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah. The same team that were investigating her disappearance... Why?" He asked, picking up a cigar from his desk. No surprise there.

"It's just, well, Clare..." He paused, "DS Brent, I mean."

"Huh? Come on. I haven't got all day, Dick." Douglas interrupted as he lit his cigar. He was bloody impatient.

Richard looked down towards the ground. "She... We. We were wondering if we could take on this case instead? I know it's not as simple as that, but... Please. It really means a lot to Clar- us."

There was silence for a moment.

Richard slowly looked up towards Douglas, who was glaring at him.