She awoke in a bed that was once too cramped but now felt strangely empty; suddenly she wasn't used to having so much space again. She turned off her alarm and sat up, shivering in the cold room; for a few months she'd had a giant furnace sleeping next to her, and most nights she'd slept naked just to be comfortable (and whenever she felt too tired after sex to bother putting on pyjamas.) She had almost forgotten it was autumn, and resolved to dig into her cedar chest for a comforter before she went to bed tonight.
She climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom, limping a little with the stiffness in her right hip that always arrived on time in the morning. There was a time when she couldn't even walk without someone holding her up, and that someone was either her mother or Joe. Even a couple of weeks ago she was still using a walking stick to get around, so this independent movement felt like freedom to her, even if it meant the end of Joe's residence in her bed.
A quick shower to wash off the night's sweat and grime and warm up, because her shower stall was too small to enjoy a lingering soak. It hadn't stopped her and Joe from enjoying themselves in it when he was here, though; Joe found the tight fit oddly arousing, since they had to be right up against each other the whole time, wet and soapy. He'd washed her hair for her and bathed her when she had no strength to stand and wash at the same time. Now it only reminded her of his absence, so she was in and out as fast as she could go.
Combing her hair out was still a challenge, as she didn't have as much range of motion anymore when elevating her left arm or extending it behind her. Physiotherapy, to bring strength and limberness to her damaged muscles, had been a long and painful process. She palpated the ugly scar that marred her otherwise smooth, freckled skin. She did this every day. The doctors had offered plastic surgery to make it disappear, but she turned them down. This scar and the one at her hip were her badges of honour, reminders of the terrible shootout that had resulted in so many deaths, although she was the only police officer to suffer life-altering injuries, and she had been off-duty at the time.
She was well aware her actions had initiated the firefight; she'd taken the first shot against the man with the rifle who'd been there to kill Logan Davenport, the teenage boy who was kidnapped and about to be ransomed.
Here was the detail that sometimes troubled her at night, when she allowed herself time to think about it, a detail she told no one about; a detail only one other person knew, because she was the only one with her at the time: she didn't warn the man with the rifle that she was police and she had her gun aimed at him. She just shot as soon as she realized he had a sightline on Logan as he was being escorted out of the boat by his captors. Anyone would have told her she'd still done the right thing, that she'd saved Logan's life, and that she would have only endangered herself with the man with the rifle, whose name she didn't even know, if she'd announced herself first; the man would have surely turned the rifle on her, and it still would have caused everyone else to start shooting. Still, she'd gone against procedure, and if her superiors had known, she might never have gotten the medal that rested on her fireplace mantle, and may have even been disciplined or dismissed from the RCMP.
Her phone rang. Odd, it was quite early to be getting a phone call; she had no idea who could be awake at this hour. She stumble-walked into her bedroom, still wrapped in a towel, unplugged her phone from its charger on the night table and checked the screen. It was Lauren. It was as if her thoughts had summoned her, the one other person who knew she hadn't called out a warning before she'd shot.
"Lauren?" she answered. "Is everything all right?"
"Good morning," Lauren said, rather more chipper than Joanie would have expected at this hour. "Everything's fine, well, at least as fine as it can be."
"How come you're up so early?" Joanie asked. "I at least have to be at work soon. You're on sick leave, aren't you?"
"I wouldn't say sick leave," Lauren said. "I'd say more like immobility leave. I can still do paperwork from home. Rachel's bringing it to me. I can answer emails and administer the company without being in the office."
Joanie shook her head even though Lauren couldn't see it. "Is that what you're doing now? I'd have thought you'd be enjoying some well-deserved time off for a while."
"I find I've gotten used to being constantly busy. Joe's solicitousness is starting to get on my nerves, and I thought I'd never say that; he does so much for me around the house, I'm going stir crazy from boredom."
Joanie had come to enjoy her calls with Lauren over the months Joe was living with her. It was inconceivable, Joe's wife and his mistress becoming better friends since Joe moved in with her, but Joanie and Lauren had a bond forged in the heat of battle; they were with each other in their darkest time, and they often talked about that time, and Lauren listened to Joanie when she agonized about her actions that day, as many times as she needed, and every time Lauren reassured her she did the right thing.
During those calls, Lauren would often refer to the time she herself had to make a split-second decision to hurt somebody in order to save others. When Lauren and Joe, and their friends Rachel, Al and Sunny, were thirteen, they called themselves the Lawrence Street Detective Club. They'd gotten themselves involved with a boy being abused by his father, and their interference wound up getting Rachel held against her will by the father in the family's house. The others had broken into the house and, when the father heard them and moved to do them harm as well, Lauren had sliced off his penis with her grandfather's samurai sword. What his penis had been doing out of his pants, Lauren didn't feel the need to explain, letting Joanie come up with her own dark possibilities. Lauren still had that sword; it was in her office at Justiciar Security and Investigative Services, because she didn't want it at home in case the kids got their hands on it. Apparently she didn't see the irony that she was a kid herself when she used it, but the late Seventies were different times.
"Are you calling to complain about how much Joe is doing for you now that he's back at home?" Joanie asked, pretending to be hurt to cover up that she was hurt. "Is that really why you called?"
"No," Lauren said, and she could hear the smile in her voice. "I just called because... I don't know, I couldn't sleep, and I was just hoping you'd be up. I thought maybe... I don't know, I could do the same for you that you did for me, in case you're missing him."
Joanie felt the sting of tears in her eyes. "Thanks," she said, clearing the lump in her throat. "That's nice of you. It's kind of lonely here now. I never wanted anyone living with me, because I didn't want them missing me when I was gone for the long hours. I didn't realize I'd be the one missing them now that they're gone."
"Well, I'm sure Joe misses you, too. I'll send him over on Sunday, if you're free."
"Oh! Already? Are you sure?"
"You can't go cold turkey with him. Even I know that."
Joanie chuckled.
"And anyway, he's not touching me," Lauren went on. "He's too afraid to hurt me."
"So, what, you think he might as well touch somebody?"
Lauren huffed. "No. I can feel his frustration and need him to leave the house so he doesn't drive me crazy. Anyway, Rachel's more than willing to touch me where I need to be touched, and she's gentle enough not to break me."
"So, Rachel and her family are still living with you?" They were supposed to move out; that had been the condition for Joe to return, but things had changed after the accident that had Lauren recovering at home. Moving out was supposed to put some distance between Lauren and Al, Rachel's husband, with whom she'd also been having an affair, with Rachel a willing participant in their shenanigans. It was an unorthodox relationship; Lauren had first cheated with Rachel, and that had been the justification for her allowing Joe to see Joanie. The arrangement might have worked for everyone, if Rachel hadn't invited Al to join in on her fun with Lauren; that had been a bridge too far with Joe, who wouldn't tolerate another man touching his wife. When a fire destroyed Rachel and Al's house, and Lauren and Joe invited them to stay with them, the tension between Joe and Al had become unbearable. If Joanie hadn't gotten injured in what had become known as "The Battle of Barnet," and Joe hadn't moved in with her to take care of her, he might have sent Al to the Emergency Room. The situation hadn't entirely resolved itself, either, except...
"Al's still in a coma," Lauren said. He'd been in the same accident that had injured Lauren and kept her at home; he'd taken the worst of the damage. "We didn't want her and the kids to be alone right now. Joe's already redesigning the basement to make a suite down there. He's getting Logan to help him, it's doing a lot for the boy's self-esteem." Logan and Emma were Rachel and Al's adopted kids.
"You're a good friend, Lauren."
"We're the LSDC," Lauren said. "We don't leave our own behind."
"Do they know if Al will come out of it?"
"That's the thing. We've learned his body is healing remarkably fast, that everything should be in place for him to wake up, but the brain's a mysterious thing. The trauma of the accident might have forced the brain to power down for a reboot. It's up to Al when he wakes up, apparently."
"That's hopeful, anyway. Give Rachel my hopes for his speedy recovery."
"Yeah..." She trailed off.
"Lauren? Are you okay?"
"Can I ask you something, off the record?"
"You have me intrigued. What is it?"
"Did Joe tell you anything about the night after the accident, the Sunday?"
"Like what?"
"Did he tell you when Jasminder Bains, aka Naira Sandhu, visited Al in his room, and I caught her hiding something behind her back?"
"Yes, he did."
"Did he tell you what Naira Sandhu, the real one, told Sunny about why she was on the run?"
"He didn't need to. The story was all over the news."
"Did he connect the dots for you?"
"What dots?"
Lauren paused. "I feel like a heel for asking, but... you know the names Naira revealed were members of the RCMP, of which you are a member..."
"And like I told you, it's a nation-wide force, with thousands of members, and those names are not in any circles I run in."
"Okay, granted, but... you must hear talk... maybe communication on staff email or message boards... do they ever talk about what they were working on, whether the technology was advanced enough to be injected into the blood?"
Joanie sighed in frustration. "Is this the real reason you called me?"
"No, of course not!" Lauren said, sounding hurt, but Joanie could also hear a smidgen of guilt in her voice.
"To answer your question, no, there's been no communication about it. The project was such a secret, and the news story was such a scandal, that it's now going to a Royal Commission; everyone's keeping their heads down, and anyone who had any knowledge of it has lawyered up and isn't saying a word until they're subpoenaed by the Commission."
"Okay."
"Wait, Lauren, are you implying this woman, Naira or Jasminder or whatever her name was, injected something into Al that is causing him to heal faster than normal?"
"What if she did?" Lauren said. "What if it's doing that, but it's also doing something else, something unforeseen? What if it ends up making things worse?"
"Look, I can see why you're worried. He's your friend and, um, lover."
"I'm not just worried for myself, you know. Rachel's my best friend and lover, and I don't know how she'll cope if she loses him. And aren't they your friends?"
"Well, yeah, I suppose... look, the doctors are monitoring him constantly, right? Doing tests? They'd be on top of any new developments, I'm sure. My only advice is to wait and see."
Lauren sighed in resignation. "Yeah, you're right. Look, you probably need to get ready for work, I shouldn't take up any more of your time."
"I'm glad you called, actually. It brightened an otherwise gloomy morning."
"Me too. Have a good day today, and stay safe."
"Not hard when you're behind a desk all day."
"Still studying for the detective exams?"
"Yes, but I'm hoping I can get out in the field sooner."
"You and me both. Take care, Joanie."
"You too."
She hung up. Joanie put down her phone and dressed quickly in sweats. She would change into her uniform at the detachment. Because of Lauren's phone call she had less time to eat breakfast, so she filled a travel mug with coffee and grabbed her lunch, which she'd made the night before, from the fridge and snagged a few granola bars from the cupboard before heading out the door.
She drove over the Port Mann Bridge from Coquitlam, took Highway One to the 232nd Street overpass in Langley, followed 232nd Street until 49th Avenue, turned right and drove until she hit 223rd Street, turned right again, and then arrived at the detachment. She entered through the secure staff door in the rear, said hello to fellow constables as she clocked in, then changed in the women's locker room.
In the briefing room for roll call, she took a seat near the back, next to Constable Fatima al-Rashad, the only other female police officer at the detachment and the only officer she knew who wore a hijab; she felt a particular protectiveness over her, like a mama hen, and she hoped when she was allowed to get back in the field that she might pair with her.
"Hey, Sergeant," Fatima said, smiling more mischievously than she had a right to this early in the morning.
"What's with the shit-eating grin, Constable?" she asked.
"Did you check out the new transfer?"
"Huh?" Joanie looked around the room but didn't spot anyone unfamiliar. "Who are you talking about?"
"Constable Patrick Marinville. He was born in New Brunswick, so he speaks both English and French fluently. I'm fluent in French myself since my family's from Tunisia, so we've already had a few deep, Gallic conversations."
"Fatima," she warned, "may I offer you some big sisterly advice?"
She raised an eyebrow at her and said, "Are you going to tell me not to fraternize with my brothers in arms and risk being sexually and/or racially harrassed and having to navigate the toxic white male infrastructure of this force to get justice?"
"In a nutshell, yes."
"Relax, we're just talking. I'd never be able to take him home to my family, anyway; they'd be too worried he'd spontaneously combust the first time he heard them speak Arabic."
Joanie chuckled and said, "Okay, as long as you keep things professional."
Fatima nodded, but she wasn't looking at her. She was looking toward the doorway. Joanie turned to see what she was looking at.
This must have been Constable Patrick Marinville.
Joanie couldn't stop looking at him.
He was enormous. Seven feet tall, at least, with a heavyweight boxer's build, but without the boxer's battered face. Brown hair buzzed close to his head. He looked sculpted from marble. In his uniform, he looked formidable enough to bust through walls like the Kool-Aid man.
Constable Marinville's eyes met hers, and she realized she was staring. She blushed, cleared her throat, and stared straight ahead, relieved the Captain had entered the room and the roll call was about to begin.
"See what I mean?" Fatima asked sotto voce.
She nodded dumbly, not looking her way in case she saw what was on her face, because she had a sinking feeling she'd met the first person for which she'd be willing to break her fraternization rule. It was a good thing she was already in a relationship, as unorthodox as it was, or else she'd be in real trouble right now.
Hi there! Thanks for finding this book! This is the fifth novel in the Terribly Acronymed Detective Club series, and the first to feature voices not belonging to the original five members of the Lawrence Street Detective Club, Rachel, Al, Lauren, Joe and Sunny. I thought it was time for the new members to shine, and Joanie is getting a start with Chapter One, since a lot of what happens in this book involves her.
If you liked what you read so far, hit "Vote" to send this title up the ranks. If anything doesn't ring true, let me know in the comments; I strive for authenticity.
In the next chapter, another new voice will feature, and her baggage is going to cause a lot of problems for the LSDC. Click on "Continue reading" to find out who it is.
Each book in this series should hold up as a standalone, but it might help to read the previous books in the series to get some background. The first in the series is "We Find What Is Lost":
https://www.wattpad.com/story/233732301-we-find-what-is-lost-a-novel-of-the-terribly
The second is "Rude Awakenings":
https://www.wattpad.com/story/245260993-rude-awakenings-a-novel-of-the-terribly-acronymed
The third is "Err On The Side Of Violence":
https://www.wattpad.com/story/255904211-err-on-the-side-of-violence-a-novel-of-the
And the fourth is "The Hero Next Time":
https://www.wattpad.com/story/274256499-the-hero-next-time-a-novel-of-the-terribly