Drop the gun.
Bang.
Don't be so stupid mate, I said drop the gun!
Bang
No Evan! Stay where you are!
Bang.
Louis awoke with a start as the noisy vroom of a vacuum cleaner tore into his fitful sleep. Utterly disorientated, he rubbed his aching eyes with the palms of his hands and was pleasantly surprised to feel a duvet shifting under his arms. Well... at least he'd made it to bed last night. That would make it twice in one week – an impressive personal achievement, if he did say so himself. The poor couch would be getting lonely, as would his desk chair at work.
Stretching his arms up against the headboard, he rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tightness of too many long nights spent hunched over a computer. Maybe he could convince Mullet to get him one of those massage chairs – out of 'Duty of Care' of course. Good posture is key to good health and good health is key to minimising the dent that long-term sick pay makes in the staffing budget.
Thud. The pitch of the vacuum cleaner suddenly changed and it was only then the noise from downstairs finally registered in his brain and Louis realised what it meant. With a groan of dread, he yanked the alarm clock off the night table and keened pitifully at the angry red 09:38. Shit, shit, buggering shit, I'm late! So, so late. Mullet's going to have me head on a block! He ran a hand through his hair and groaned at how greasy it felt. Fuck, I need a shower and a shave – there's no way I can get away without. Fuck, fuck, Mullet's going to fire my arse. Scrambling out of bed, he promptly tripped over his discarded work trousers from the night before and nearly brained himself on the en suite door. Fuck. He hastily kicked the offending item towards the wall. However, it brought up a whole new question; do I even have anything to wear today?! Cammy won't have done anything because I still haven't got the washing machine repaired and I completely forgot about the dry cleaners... Buggering, buggering fuck! Oh well, one issue at a time.
A two minute shower, a hasty shave and a quick scrub of his teeth later, Louis tore back into his room and almost ripped the cupboard door off it's hinges. Please let me have a clean shirt, please let me have a clean shirt, please let me have a clean shirt he silently begged as he rifled through the hangers. Jumper, jumper, waistcoat, jeans, another jumper, a hideous orange top he wouldn't be seen dead in, fuck, fuck, fuck. He dropped to his knees and ransacked the bottom shelf desperately, praying somewhere in the mess he would find something that had fallen off the rail. After a fruitless minute of nothing but odd items he yanked the whole mess out onto the floor. Amid the tangle there was a clean but very wrinkled light-purple shirt. It would have to do.
Camille got the fright of her life as he barrelled into the kitchen three minutes later. "Oh Mr Tomlinson!" She gasped, switching off the vacuum and clutching at her chest, "You scared me. I thought you were long gone!"
"Sorry Cammy," he apologised, "I accidentally slept in and am now running very, very late. The Super is going to have my balls on a platter."
"Not much change there then," she chuckled, putting a hand on her full hips. "Do you have time for a spot of breakfast before you go?"
Louis made a pitiful noise as he glanced at the kitchen clock. 9.50 am. He should have been in the briefing twenty minutes ago. With traffic, he was lucky if he would make it to the station within the next twenty minutes. Needless to say, he had no time to even scratch his bum. He made a sweeping grab for his shoes – wincing at how scuffed with mud and god knows what else they were, far from the polished perfection his boss expected. "I wish I did. You know I live for your omelettes Cam, but I just don't have time. I'll have to grab something later at the canteen – God help me. Nearly died of heartburn the last time I had one of their bacon butties."
Cammy threw her head back and laughed heartily, her short greying ponytail bouncing along with her chin. "Okay." She said. "Well, while you run about like a blue-arsed fly I'll make you a cuppa to go."
Louis grinned and blew her a kiss, "What would I do without you?"
"I shudder to think," she replied, making for the kettle. "This house would definitely be a ruin. By the way, I'm heading to my daughter's later on. Would you like me to drop some clothes at the laundrette on my way? You must be getting low on clothes by now." The 'I can tell by the state of your shirt that you're in trouble' was silent but also incredibly loud.
Finishing with his laces, Louis stood up and swooped down to press a kiss to her cheek, "You're a lifesaver, love. There's some money in the box on top of the fridge. Take as much as you need and a little extra for your trouble."
~*~
As Louis was swearing his way through the heavy morning traffic, Richie Taylor was returning home from the job centre. He had a handful of applications in his back pocket but he hadn't a hope of getting anything this side of Christmas. Most of the holiday positions were filled by mid-November – just when he'd been let go. Now no-one was hiring until the New Year and he'd almost used up all of his Job Seeker's Allowance. To say he was troubled was an understatement. Of course, his phone had been burning a hole in his jeans all the way home but he dared not make the call just yet. Once you took that first step down the abyss it was hard to get out again, even if you didn't go far. Plus he couldn't end up in prison again. He just couldn't.
Trudging across the concrete forecourt, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket to escape the morning chill, he sniffed noisily and hacked a loogie to the cobbled wall. It glistened vulgarly against the crumbs of glass and algae, like a shiny jewel floating on a concrete cesspit. With a small hitch he jumped up the two steps to the lower walkway, heading for the stairs. With the lack of wind and the air sagging with frost, the stench of piss, vomit, weed and alcohol was almost over-powering – a crude testament to the amount of human filth that resided there. For a long time, now, the blocks had been an eyesore. Hulking brown brick shells with their thick brown-walled balconies and stained concrete encased stairs – they were the epitome of deprivation. Most people had stopped attempting to make the best out of a bad situation years ago and some were content, now, to just make it worse. For example, the withered wreath on one of the ground floor doors had already been tainted with milkshake. No doubt by a group of kids on their way to school this morning. It was their usual signature - half the school windows were usually plastered with it.
It hadn't always been so bad here. Growing up, sure, the residents had been depressingly poor, as they were now, but you would never have felt the crunch of glass underfoot or hear the rolling clicks as you accidentally kicked a needle down the stairs. No, back then there had, at least, been a sense of community – an empathy of one poor man to another. Now you would sooner get a knife to the gut than a quid for the week's shopping. If they weren't so strapped for cash Richie would have had his maw and little brothers out of there by now. It was a bitter pill to swallow; at twenty four, with only a scraping of piss-poor GSCE passes and no steady job, he had little to bring to the table. It wasn't from the lack of trying though. His criminal record was testament to that. Or, at least, it was a testament to his desperation.
As he reached the top of the stairs a blur of black suddenly hurtled past and it was only at the last second that Richie fondly reached out to make a grab for the retreating hood. He would recognise those orange trainers anywhere. Above them a window opened and an aggravated voice called down, "... and make sure you're back by tea tonight! I can't afford to keep wasting food because you decide you can't be bothered to come home on time!" Slam. The window was closed.
Richie raised an amused eyebrow, feeling a sense of déjà vu from his own childhood. "Alright there bruv?" He let go of the hoodie so the lad could turn around.
The dishevelled teen, who had defensively spun around ready to swing, broke into a grin of relief. "Rich!" he breathed, enveloping him in an unexpected hug. "God you scared me!"
As they pulled away, Richie flicked Gavin's cap upwards so he could see his face properly, "You skippin' again? I thought we talked about this."
Gavin shrugged, playing the innocent, "Got a free period." It was a total lie and they both knew it.
"Get to fuckin' school," Richie sighed, tugging the cap back down. "And give Mum a break, yeah? She's still struggling with Nan's passing. So be home at six thirty for dinner. We got stuff to talk about anyway."
"Fine, whatever," Gavin huffed and, with that, the fifteen year old stalked off with all the swagger of a kid who thought he was untouchable and the height of cool. With fondness, Richie shook his head and carried on up the stairs. He wasn't too concerned; despite his current lack of interest Gavin had brains in his head – maybe not as many as his twin but enough that he had decent prospects.
His mum was fixing her tatty work pinny around her waist as he let himself inside the flat. Once pretty with glowing cheeks and brown pixie hair, now sallow-faced and going grey without elegance, Paula had long lost her good looks to stress and hard-living. Aged before her time, Richie always felt infinitely sad when he looked into her heavy tired eyes. Her struggles had been for the benefit of him and his brothers and he would be eternally grateful. "Hi Mum." He greeted, making a beeline for the kettle.
"Morning love, any luck at Gregson's?"
"Nah," he lied, "nothing going right now – he took my number though, said he'd call if a job came up."
"That's something I suppose," she sighed as she slipped into her coat. "At least you've still got the depot. We'll need that money to tide us over to the New Year now that the shop is shutting early for Christmas."
Richie grunted, "Yeah..." He hadn't had the courage to tell her that he'd been released from there almost a month ago. While it had only been two nights a week and a pittance pay, working at the local delivery centre had given him enough to help his mum cover the rent of the flat. With the rent due in a week's time and no money in his bank account, he was getting desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures. He shivered at the thought of what he knew he had to do; there was no escaping it now. He literally had no other choice and if it kept a roof over their head... it was worth the risk. It was definitely worth the risk... "What time you on to?" He asked.
"Six," she replied, before kissing his cheek, "so be a doll and get tea started tonight."
"Sure maw," he replied quietly, wondering if he was even going to be here at that time. No doubt there would be hell to pay if he wasn't. It's worth it, he told himself. It's worth it. So why did he feel so sick?
~*~
Down on the forecourt, Gavin glanced up at the flat, making sure nobody was watching before he leapt over the railing and jogged down the back alley. The bus that went past the school left from Penny Street, the other side of the flats, but he had no intention of catching it.
As he came to the main road a blue van honked it's horn and he smirked, jogging down to meet it. The back door of the vehicle opened as he approached and he grinned as six familiar faces peered out of the gloom.
"Oi oi," he greeted, clambering in.
"Alright mate!"
"Gavie!"
"You made it! Awesome!"
Gavin took a seat on the cramped metal floor as the door was pulled shut. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."
"Nice one, nice one," Kev rallied, sharing a high five before the van took off with a squeal.
~*~
With a gut-load of dread, Louis stuck his head around the front door and scoped out the lobby. Silent and empty. Perfect. He slipped inside and started to sneak quietly across the floor towards the stairwell. If he was lucky he could creep up to his office and make it look like he'd been there a while. That way he could pretend he'd missed the meeting because he was waylaid by enquiries. Maybe he could even-
"Aha!" A face popped out of the reception window.
Louis jumped a foot in the air and clutched at his heart desperately, "Fuck me, Johnnie!" he swore. The elder desk sergeant launched into cascades of laughter to which Louis set him with an indignant glare, "Not funny! I nearly messed meself!"
"That's what you get for not answering your phone!" Johnnie crowed, waggling a chastising finger. "Mullet's been on the war path all morning looking for you."
"I know, I know," Louis groaned, "I slept in and missed his precious briefing." Even though there was a chilly draft in the lobby, Louis unbuttoned his coat and slipped it off, hoping it would make it look like he'd been here a while, should the main man spot him. "It's his fault anyway," he grumbled, "we're down two detective sergeants and three constables and he hasn't bothered his arse to sort it out. We're all having to work double shifts to make up. Yesterday I started at eight am and I didn't leave here until two o'clock this morning! I'm bloody knackered."
Johnnie smiled, "Well then, it might please you to learn he's done something about the staffing issue."
"Oh?" Louis feigned interest. Despite his grumbling, the last thing he wanted to do was wet nurse a newbie for the next few days. He had too much to do. There was the overhanging spate of burglaries on the small high-street businesses, which had been going on for months now. Whoever it was had experience as they left little forensic behind and the bastard seemed to be able to get around all the cctv and surveillance systems. Until the thief slipped up or someone caught a visual they were pretty snookered in catching them. Then there was the spate of arson attacks on cars – particularly out on the Eastfield estate. Again, little forensic to go on but it was likely to be bored youths. Then there was the unknown they'd fished out of the reservoir last week – the post mortem was inconclusive as to the cause of death and, therefore, it was impossible to determine whether it was a crime or not. So they were in a bit of a limbo. If they could figure out who he was then they might be able to determine if there were any prior health issues that might explain his fatal swimming session but searches, so far, had proved fruitless. On top of that, he had so much paperwork to get through that it was in danger of falling through the floor of his office and into the interview rooms below.
Johnnie leaned heavily on the desk and set him an indulgent smile, "Yeah, two new faces. Man and woman. Both in civvies – so definitely CID bound. No names, though. Mullet whisked them off upstairs the moment they arrived. However," Johnnie lowered his voice, eyes twinkling with mischief, "I think one of them might be to your interest."
Okay, now that had Louis's attention. Denton CID tended to be the dumping ground for the retirees, the demoted and the career driven women who knew the fastest way upwards was to climb the ranks at the crappier stations. Don't get him wrong, he didn't judge people's worth by their looks, gender or age and he had always made life-long friends with whoever joined the team. It was just... Louis rarely got 'interest' of the male variety in Denton CID – probably because Mullet didn't trust him to remain professional. Not that he had ever given Mullet cause to think that. Despite some of his other transgressions, Louis was pretty professional with his love life. He preferred the long game rather than the express one and that's why he didn't have a string of awkward work relationships – unlike some of the others in the office. It was also one of the reasons he hadn't been on a date for over three years... Plus, he would never date someone who worked under him; he'd seen too many people get burned, usually unfairly. Not that people hadn't tried to set him up in the past, despite his protests that he was happy as he was. The acceptance of his sexuality was maybe one of the few positives about Denton Police – nobody cared he was gay. Nobody. For a station full of old men and heterosexuals they were remarkably accepting – especially when half the town seemed stuck in the 1970s. In fact, as he rose from DS to DI and solidified his place in the Denton family, he was subjected to the same teasing about crushes and attractions as all the straights were and, quite frankly, he couldn't be happier or more grateful. When he'd aired his thoughts to Arthur Hanlon he had only received a nonchalant shrug in return along with a vague, "we got over that in the 90s - we've had to adjust to a hell of a lot weirder things since then. Like mobile phones. Do you know they don't even have buttons anymore, just tiny letters squeezed into the bottom of a touch screen – how they expect you to type quickly and accurately when your finger is the width of three of the letters is beyond me-" Arthur Hanlon everyone; purveyor of technological common sense since 1958. He was also one of Louis's many beloved adoptive father figures, just like Johnnie Johnson. Talking of which... he trotted over to the lobby window and tapped the desk with his fingers, "Alright, Johnnie, spill."
The sergeant smirked and leaned closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Well, the scuttlebutt around the canteen is that he's the Deputy Chief Constable's nephew."
"Spare me the goss," Louis huffed, flapping an impatient hand, "give me the details?!"
"Well... he's of average height."
"Mmm." Louis liked average height, it saved his neck.
"Lean, like a swimmer."
"Mmm." He liked swimmers – had a really hot poster of Mark Foster on the back of his locker door.
"Short curly hair."
Curls were cute. "Keep talking."
"Quite a handsome face, if I do say so myself."
Louis tutted at the fifty-four year old, waggling his finger, "Oh you are naughty, Johnnie, what would Edith say?"
"But the sinker..." Johnnie continued, slow and syrupy.
Louis leaned in closer, with bated breath, "Come on," he pushed, "don't tease."
"Constable's nephew, right?" Johnnie's voice was so low it was almost sultry, "Untouchable, right?" Louis nodded eagerly. "Well, he swaggered in here all tight trousered and sans tie, with his shirt unbuttoned past his nipples and his black snakeskin boots squeaking loudly against the lino, and it was all Mullet could do to pretend he wasn't having a coronary."
"Oh my god," Louis groaned blissfully at the mental image, "Good-looking and offensive to Mullet's delicate sensibilities; my day is made already."
Johnnie snorted and straightened up, "Good. You better hold onto those thoughts because Mullet's coming for you."
"What?!" Louis whipped around in alarm. True enough. He could see the formidable shadow of the Super through the glass door as he made his way down the stairs, glare firmly etched into his brow. "Fucking hell," Louis ran a hand down his rumpled shirt and tried to flatten his wild, un-brushed hair. "Do I look innocent and contrite?"
"Never," Johnnie cackled before slamming the window closed.
"Bastard," Louis hissed before straightening his back to attention. Always best to go on the offensive when dealing with a pissy Superintendent. "Ahh," he said loudly, as the door opened, "Good morning Super! Sorry I'm late. I had to attend an unexpected-"
Mullet cut across him sharply, "I'll hear your excuses later. My office now." With that he turned on his heel and let the door fall shut in Louis's face.
"Arsehole," Louis grumbled tetchily as he reached out to open the door again before scampering up the stairs like an obedient dog.
~*~
Unlike the rest of the forsaken 1980s monstrosity of a building, Superintendent Mullet's office oozed executive opulence. From the perfectly pristine leather bound tomes on the shelf to the gold leaf trim on the massive oak desk, the place screamed the height of pomp and efficiency. Louis hated it with a passion. Then again, his own office looked like a squatter's den. Many a time it had been over-hauled but within weeks it would be back to it's usual chaos. Mullet had long given up reprimanding him for it.
As the Superintendent strode behind his desk, Louis made a beeline for the fish tank. He tapped at the glass fondly and made kissy faces as the fish all rushed to greet him. In his experience, if he was in for a bollocking it was best to make a fuss over the pets first. There was something about it that seemed to suck some of the ire out of Mullet's tantrum. Louis figured it was because it made a cute, harmless picture that drew out the human side of the Super.
"Ahem!" Mullet cleared his throat.
Louis spun around with a contrite smile, "Sorry, Super! Got distracted there, you know how much I love animals." Mullet's eyes glanced sideways and Louis suddenly realised they weren't alone in the office. At once his face flooded with heat. Oops, how embarrassing, he hastily stepped away from the tank. As he did he clocked the black snake-skin style boots first - almost insidious against Mullet's expensive blue Wilton carpet. As his eyes travelled upwards, past slim-fit black trousers pasted onto slender masculine legs, Louis's heart sped up a little. The man wasn't tall but the slightness of his legs gave him the allusion of height. Louis's eyes travelled up further and snagged momentarily on the silver buckled belt, which was looped around a very trim waist – clearly more for aesthetic purposes than a need to hold up the trousers. Which, nice; the person clearly had a sense of style. Once upon a time Louis did too but long shifts and limited time to go into London had turned him into a M&S workwear mannequin. Not that there was anything wrong with that. M&S's suits and shirt sets were quite nice and fitted well. Newcomer was definitely not wearing M&S though. Louis's eyes travelled higher to the white shirt, which was... practically indecent. Something tugged hotly in Louis's stomach as he took in the way it hugged it's owner's taut torso and gaped in a long v down his sternum. One slip and a nipple would pop free. Louis stared at it hard, daring the material to move. Christ, this man clearly had balls – one more button and the line between hot and vulgar would have been crossed. But wait... what was that? He stared harder through the thin material at the black splotch, no splotches... was the man's chest littered with tattoos? Fuck me. His eyes shot upwards in surprise, needing to put a face to this lovely outrage, and he was immediately set upon by the greenest of amused eyes. Louis's heart skipped a beat. And then another. Fucking hell, Johnnie had not been joking. Green eyes was definitely good-looking. He also wasn't a fresh-faced college grad that was way too young for him to be ogling. While his smooth skin cried youth, the crinkles by his eyes and the set of his jaw belied the man's true age – definitely mid thirties. Talking of jaws, that fucker's was so sharp it could cut glass. Louis watched, fascinated, as the bones shifted, the joints moving like crank pins, so strong, so strong. It was then Louis noticed the smirk – ahh, so the newbie had attitude too. Interesting. He met the man's eyes again. Amusement was still there and... was that mischief? Louis felt his own mouth curve up into a smile. Oh, this was going to be very interesting indeed.
Mullet's voice broke through his thoughts tersely. "Detective Inspector Louis Tomlinson meet Detective Inspector Harry Styles."
Detective Inspector? Louis startled a little as he automatically walked over and shook the man's hand. A DI; now that was unexpected. It also made him curious. They were short on DCs and DSs, not DIs. He and Jim Allen were more than enough to cover that level. So why was Harry here? "He is on loan to us from Lexington," Mullet explained, "and he has kindly agreed to temporarily fill one of our vacant DS positions for a few weeks. I must stress, however, that although he is filling in as a sergeant, he is to be treated with the respect of his proper rank, which is, of course, Detective Inspector. Do I make myself clear?"
"In other words, we've not to treat him like a dogs' body," Louis replied, throwing a small wink to his left that had the newcomer's lips twitching.
Mullet grimaced, "Exactly that. Now, Harry will be working with you as Jim Allen has opted for the DS and DC combo from Tappingham." Trust Jim to leap for the numbers, Louis grumbled inwardly, not that he was unhappy with getting Harry. Even having one person would help greatly, plus Jim was looking into a serial rapist so he needed the foot soldiers more than Louis did right now. "I trust you will get him up to speed quickly," Mullet was saying. "Our crime-rate figures are looking rather sick at the moment and it's been mentioned at county. We really need to make a move on these burglaries and arson attacks."
"Of course," Louis nodded, trying to sound engaged. Not that he wanted to make a good impression or anything. Honest. "I'll set him up with the files while I finish the crime statistics. I assume you need them for this afternoon?"
"Or earlier if possible. I have a meeting at CountyHQ this afternoon and I would like to take them with me." Louis internally danced the mamba – county meeting meant no Super until tomorrow, you dancer.
As they made to leave, Mullet called Louis back with a hiss, "Tomlinson. Just so you know, Harry is the Deputy Chief Constable's nephew. I trust I don't have to explain how important it is to treat him appropriately."
Louis smiled sweetly, "Of course, Super. Didn't you know appropriate is my middle name?"
Mullet's look said it all.
Harry was waiting for him patiently outside the office. Louis set him an impish grin. "So, you're the Deputy Chief Constable's Nephew, no wonder you've made DI already."
Harry raised an eyebrow but there was a curve to his lips that belied his amusement as he challenged, "You're no greyling yourself, mate. Who might you be related to?"
Oh yes, we're going to get on just fine, darling. "Alas," Louis sighed dramatically, "I had to slog away and get here on the merit of me actions... and also the fact that Mullet had to promote someone and I was the only one suitable at the time." Harry chuckled, probably guessing it was more the former than the latter but Louis was too humble to admit it. "So..." Louis indicated for Harry to start walking, "you're from Lexington then?"
"Yeah," said Harry, "been there about two years. I'm originally from Cheshire though, Sandbach Division – took my DC exams there. I was recruited to the Met after a few years, rose up the ranks to DI and then decided I needed something a bit homelier. A maternity cover came up in Lexington so I made a snap decision to apply. Got the job and haven't regretted the move since. In fact, I was kind of dreading going back to the Met when DI Sallis returned but literally days before my time was up another one of the DI's went off on long-term sick leave. I was asked to stay. Fast forward to three months ago and he finally returned to work. Only, there's no space for me at the Met just now so I'm kind of in limbo at Lexington – hence my secondment here." He cleared his throat, "what about you? I'm guessing from your accent you're not Denton born and bred?"
Louis laughed, "Nah mate, you're right. Grew up in Yorkshire - so not a million miles from you really. I joined the police at 18, quickly worked my way up to Detective Sergeant and then got transferred to Denton when I was twenty-five. Mullet promoted me to DI four years later and, five years after that, here I am."
Harry smiled, "So you're thirty four then?"
"Almost thirty five," Louis confirmed. "You?"
"Thirty three in February."
So they were pretty close in age. Louis felt his smile widen. Silly attraction aside, he would love to make a friend out of this. As a detective, maintaining friendships out-with the work environment was difficult, especially when nine times out of ten you would only get half-way through a night out before being paged back to work. That's why most of his friends were work colleagues – many of whom had either ten years on his age or ten years off. It was also why he was single.
"Has Mullet offered you temporary housing or is he expecting you to drive from Lexington everyday?" Lexington was only fifteen miles out of Denton but the drive would be a pain in the arse after a while – especially if it had been a long day.
"He's given me a room in Police Housing," Harry replied, "which I'll use for work-nights but I'll head back to Lexington on my rest days."
Louis took a sneaky glance at Harry's hand but it was closed and facing away from him so he couldn't see if there was a ring. "Won't your partner have something to say about that?" He asked casually, deciding that asking was probably the best approach anyway.
Harry snorted as he held the stairwell door open, "That was the least subtle attempt at fishing I've heard in a while. And to answer your question, I'm divorced and currently single."
Louis snapped his head around in surprise, divorced? That... he wasn't expecting. He said as much.
"To be honest," Harry sighed, "it was technically an annulment. We weren't married long enough for it to count. He was a lying, cheating bastard and I only found out after signing my name – hours after, I might add. The judge sided with me after hearing the details and, on top of fining him for his antics she made him pay my legal fees as well as compensation for the wedding expense. So that was something."
"Shit, I'm sorry mate – that's harsh," Louis didn't know what else to say.
Harry shrugged, "It was eight years ago, I've long moved past it. Still, it makes for an interesting piece of personal trivia." He tilted his head curiously, "what about yourself?"
"Technically single," Louis replied and then decided to be honest, like Harry had been. Anyway, the lad would probably find out sooner or later – and it was always better coming from Louis than the gossip mill, "although you could also say unofficially widowed."
Harry's face sobered immediately, "Oh... wow, shit. I'm so sorry."
"Nah, it's fine," Louis waved him off. "Like you it happened a long time ago. I've had a few relationships since but, unfortunately, nothing has stuck. It's one of the perils of the job."
Harry nodded before hesitating, "Um... can I ask why it's..." he trailed off awkwardly.
"Unofficial?" Louis finished to which Harry nodded again. "We were engaged," Louis explained, "only days from our wedding when he died. Hence the unofficial title. It's the main reason I ended up in this hell-hole."
"In other words, it happened in Yorkshire and you transferred to the first available position, which was here?" It was a statement rather than a question.
Louis shot him a crooked smile, "You should be a detective with those deductive skills. Here's my office."
"Funnily enough... oh, fucking christ!" Harry cut himself off with a cry of alarm, his mouth hanging in horror. Mullet had given him a vague warning (and apology) that Louis wasn't the most organised officer in the force but... wow. Every available surface was covered in stacks of paperwork – many of which seemed to have had mini avalanches making it look worse than it probably was. There were empty cups dotted about wherever there was a space and empty sandwich boxes too. The bin in the corner was actually over-flowing, vomiting paper and more rubbish onto the messy floor. And the walls, with their paper-laden pinboads, looked like a serial-killer's shrine.
Louis breezily stepped across the clutter and dropped into his chair, spinning around like a bond villain. "Sorry about the mess?" He knew his obvious amusement suggested he was anything but.
"I don't know whether to scream or call Health and Safety," Harry choked out. A movement out the corner of his eye made him squeal, "Oh my god, is that a rat?!" He took several steps back.
Louis all but cackled as he stood up. Moving some of the sheets away he pulled out a small vibrating device. "My pager actually. I wondered where the hell it had gotten to. Looks like it needs a charge." He proceeded to dig around his desk for the cable. "In all honesty, it's not usually this bad in here. PC Baxter was in the process of installing a new filing system before he was transferred," he indicated the back wall where several flat pack filing cabinets were sitting, unassembled. "I haven't had the time to finish the job though."
"Yeah, um..." Harry gingerly stepped over the threshold, "we're going to have to do something because I need a desk." He could just about see there was a second one under the mountains of paper. "How about you get on with your paperwork and I'll make a start in assembling those cabinets. Once we've got a clear workspace you can get me up to speed."
Louis shrugged, "Yeah, that works for me. Give us a shout if you need a hand."
~*~
As the day wore in and the winter sun dropped low in the sky, Karen Adams yawned as she locked up the front door. Not much more to get through though. An hour at the leisure centre, a pit-stop at Sainsbury's, dinner and then an early night; and boy, did she need that early night. The weekend trip to her parents had been exhausting and had had a knock on effect ever since. She desperately needed a few extra hours kip tonight to make up for it. Pocketing the keys Karen took a moment to look the street up and down, hoping to see the familiar outline of her eldest son winding his way up, dribbling a football with his feet. Nothing. Just the gentle sway and flash of Christmas lights in the wind. She sighed. They would have to have another talk with him. This was the third time in the same number of weeks that he had not come straight home from school or texted to say where he was and/or what time he'd be back. Okay, so he was in secondary school now but that meant nothing. He was eleven for Christ's sake, he wasn't even a teenager yet! He still had to stretch to push letters into the Post Box! He still liked to play with his toy rocket ships! Going out on his own after school without alerting anyone as to where he was and what time he would be back was not on. Nor was ignoring her calls and texts. Oh well, she just hoped he at least had his keys on him.
"Come on Mum! We're going to be late!"
Groaning, Karen hitched up her handbag and hurried down the steps to the car. As she slid inside, dumping her bag on the passenger seat, she twisted around to the back to make sure all seatbelts were on. "Now you're certain you've got your costume Emma?" She checked.
"Yeah mum."
"Hat? Towel?"
"Yes!"
"Goggles? If not you'll have to do without. I'm not buying you anymore this year."
"I've got them! Promise!" Her seven year old whined.
Karen then turned to her other son, who was utterly engrossed in his phone, typical, "Sparring mitts, Declan? Punching pad?"
"In my bag," he muttered distractedly.
"Good," she sighed, turning back to switch on the engine, "let's go." As she slowly started to reverse down the drive she added, "Oh and Dec? Can you text your brother and remind him that if he hasn't got his keys then he should go to Marie's?"
Her request was met by another grunt.
"Was that a yes?"
"Mmm."
Kids.
~*~
"Tea?" Louis held up the steaming mug like an alter offering. He actually felt pretty bad for the effort Harry had just had to expend in tidying up his office. It had been a monstrous task but the lad (and himself eventually) had done an astounding job. Not only was all the paperwork completely gone but the desks had been washed, the computer equipment sanitised, the blinds dusted and the floor vacuumed. Even the walls looked pristine now that the pin boards had been de-cluttered. In all the years Louis had been in Denton the place had never been so tidy. It was only now that he realised it was actually a pretty pleasant office under all the crap.
Harry took the mug with a grateful, "thanks," as he watched Louis perch himself up on his – spotless! - desk.
"Did you get yourself logged-in alright?" Louis nodded towards the computer next to Harry, which was reflecting the Holmes 2 logo.
"Yeah, no issues actually..." Harry replied, sitting back, "was pleasantly surprised to find the system is running off Windows 8. I was expecting XP to be honest."
Louis sniggered, picking up his own mug of tea, "Not the first time that's been said. You can thank Mullet for it – he'll do anything to improve Denton's crime figures, even splurge on the latest technology when the budget allows." He took a slurp from his mug, "So... we've got about an hour left of the shift, do you want to go over the current cases?"
Harry nodded, "Sure, if you give me the basics I can read up on the system tomorrow."
They were half-way through discussing the arson attacks when a loud knock startled them out of conversation. Johnnie Johnson put his head around the door. His face was grim. "Louis, I just got a phone call from a distraught motorist. She says she's found a child's body – thinks it might have been a hit and run but isn't sure. She says there are weird marks on the body. Charlie Alpha 1 is en route, as is the police doctor, but we're going to need a senior officer on the scene until we know for certain. Unfortunately, Jim's in the middle of an interrogation right now so it falls to you I'm afraid."
Louis sighed, why did he always end up with the harrowing cases? Nothing was harder than having to tell a set of parents that their child was dead. Reluctantly he stood up and reached for his coat, "Where are we heading, then?"
"About half way down Forest Road – opposite the west entrance."
"Any reports of a missing child?" Harry asked, as he too reached for his coat.
"Nothing yet," Johnnie replied, glancing between them, "but the kid might not have been dead long enough for his parents to have missed him."
Louis nodded, that was a good possibility. "Okay Johnnie, tell Charlie Alpha 1 we're on our way."