Page 13

Twisting the valve towards the coldest setting, he doused himself in freezing water then stepped out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around his shoulders, he flopped onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

A car engine revved outside, making him sit up and pad to the front window. It was Blake, in his black SUV with the fancy lights and two exhausts. Not that Pember had been snooping whilst sorting out the recycling… absolutely not.

He watched as the car pulled off the driveway and sped in the direction of the police station.

No wonder the guy is never home to receive his post.

Sighing, Pember slumped back onto the bed, lit a pine-scented candle to mourn the loss of his dignity and waited for the sun to rise.

Hanging up his coat, Pember watched as Wallace bustled around the lab with a stack of Petri dishes balanced precariously between his hands.

Duncan loitered in the corner, coffee cup clutched to his chest and bed hair sticking up at all angles.

Maya, on the other hand, rushed towards him with an excited twinkle in her deep brown eyes.

“They’ve found a body,” she said, gripping his shoulders and shaking him.

Pember swallowed. “Th-they have?”

She nodded rapidly. “They think it’s a murder. Major Crime are down there now.”

Pember glanced at Duncan, who shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “Can you tell she’s a fan of true crime?”

Pember huffed, turning back to Maya. “But that’s… bad, right?” Because her broad smile gave him the impression it was a good thing.

Maya nodded again. “Oh, yes. Absolutely terrible. Awful. But exciting. Not every day we get a murder.”

“Sounds like work,” Duncan muttered, rolling his shoulders with an audible crack .

Pember blinked and sucked his bottom lip. “So, like, a murder murder?”

Maya cocked an eyebrow. “Well… yes. A murder murder. Not a metaphorical one. Some alpha’s been hacked up above a chippy. Blood everywhere, apparently.”

Whether it was his sleep deprived brain dulling his emotions, or the contradictory reactions from his colleagues, Pember almost felt as though he were in a topsy-turvy dream.

Clearing his throat, he dropped his satchel onto the desk. “Which chippy?”

“The Cod Father,” Wallace piped up, sliding a briefcase out from within a locked cabinet.

“And you, young Pember, are going to be my stooge for the day.” He handed Pember a forensic camera from the rack.

“May, Duncan, load up the van with extras of everything and we’ll meet you at the scene.

Hopefully this has all just been a big misunderstanding. ”

The two nodded and began bustling around the office, collecting extra swab kits, evidence bags, knife tubes, chemicals and the like. Wallace nodded as he stepped back, eyes running up and down Pember’s frame.

“Hm. Hmm?” he hummed, pulling a long high-vis coat from the locker. “Here,” he said, handing it to Pember. It had Crime Scene Investigator embroidered in black lettering across the back, and Pember suddenly felt very excited indeed.

“So,” Wallace said as Pember hurried behind with a camera around his neck, rucksack on his back and the heavy briefcase clutched in both hands.

He tripped and stumbled across the uneven tarmac, and was already out of breath by the time they reached the van at the other end of the car park.

“This is what we refer to as ‘the golden hour.’”

Pember puffed out his cheeks, sliding open the side door and carefully placing everything inside. “Right,” he said, thinking back to the training materials he’d been sent in the post. He’d had to hide it all, of course, to stop his mum from finding out.

Wallace nodded, helping him slide the van door shut.

“It’s the period immediately following an incident report, with the goal being to preserve life, secure evidence and minimise evidence being lost or destroyed.

Remember it, because you’ll probably be quizzed on your actions if you’re ever called to court.

” Wallace threw Pember the keys. “Can you drive? I need to go through the paperwork.”

Pember nodded as they both climbed into the van.

“But,” Wallace continued, “I think it’s safe to assume that preserving life has gone out the window. The report that came in this morning states that the victim had been badly mutilated. A knife, they reckon.”

Pember shivered. “Had rigor mortis set in when the officers found him?”

Pressing the clutch, he put the van into gear. It lurched forward with a groan, and he panicked that he’d forgotten how to drive. Thankfully, the motions of steering and pedal control had come back to him by the time they reached the main road.

“Partial. The attending officers were able to roll him into the recovery position.”

Pember raised an eyebrow. “The recovery position? Did they actually think?—”

Wallace shrugged. “People do funny things in the heat of the moment. Even police officers. Probably thought he might suddenly rise from the dead, like Jesus. Or they were new. Let’s not be the nine o’clock jury, eh?”

Pember huffed. “I wasn’t judging. At least they tried, I suppose.”

“Indeed. Apparently there was blood coming through the ceiling in the chippy, which led to the owner calling it in. Have you ever studied bloodstain patterning?”

Pember shook his head.

“You should, it’s fascinating. All sorts of maths involved.”

As Pember glanced across at the older beta, he imagined him laughing maniacally in a lab, tossing about defibrinated horse blood like some kind of serial killer Santa Claus. He struggled to fight back a laugh as he turned onto a roundabout.

They fell into comfortable silence. Wallace read the papers and Pember focused on navigating the twisting ring roads around the town of West Newton.

They cut through the heart of acres upon acres of bright yellow rapeseed fields, the acrid cabbagey smell making Pember sneeze.

The bees would be having an absolute field day.

“So, are you local too, Wallace?” he eventually asked.

Wallace’s white eyebrows ruffled, and he rubbed his beard like a wizened old mentor. “I hail from Torquay. I’m technically on loan from Exeter University—have been for the last seven years.”

Pember looked across at him with surprise. “You’ve come all the way up from the coast? Surely you’d rather be paddleboarding or seal spotting.”

Wallace chuckled. “Honestly? I wanted to get as far away from my ex-husband as possible.”

“O-oh,” Pember said, letting his eyes slip back to the road. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

And that was the end of that.

Following the satnav, they eventually located the right street.

It wasn’t easy to miss, given the dozen or so police cars parked at odd angles and the scene tape stretched across the road.

Despite the red-brick Victorian Era terraced houses lining each side of the street, the area had fallen into disrepair over the last decade.

The once-cobbled road was littered with potholes, and banged-up cars were parked either side of the narrow two-way road with parking tickets stacked on top of one another.

The victim’s flat was the one at the end—Zayne Stewart’s, a second-floor two-bed flat that had been converted sometime in the last forty years to accommodate the fish and chip shop beneath.

A weary looking officer took down part of the tape and waved them through.

The gathered crowd parted like the red sea, giving Pember a little pang of self-importance.

However, it was quickly squashed when he noticed Blake standing on the edge of the cordon with the collar of his trench coat pulled up.

Lily was at his shoulder, holding a clipboard and quickly scribbling notes.

“Oh Christ,” Wallace said, pointing towards the far end of the road. There was a gathering of twenty or more people, and it looked as though the officers were struggling to contain some kind of fight. Tay and Johnny were there, pushing back the crowd to stop them from crossing the cordon.

“The victim’s family,” Wallace continued.

“Heard the officers shout up on the radio for extra support earlier. Oh, here. Almost forgot.” Wallace leant across and tucked a black police radio into the large pocket of Pember’s coat.

“You probably won’t need it, but it’s good to listen out for updates. ”

They pulled up behind Duncan and Maya, who had already arrived in a much larger van. As Pember turned off the engine and opened the door, Wallace placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Listen, lad, I know you haven’t been with us long, and I had hoped to break you in more gently. But just stick with me, okay? Do as I do. Walk where I walk. See the people over there?”

Pember’s gaze flicked back to the crowd and he nodded.

“Not our problem. Let the police deal with it. We’re here to get in, do the job and get out. Try not to let your emotions get the better of you, but I appreciate that might be difficult. If you need to step out, just tell me, and I’ll ask one of the others to take over.”

Pember let out a breath, trying to steady his growing nerves. He wanted to say, ‘What the fuck? What the actual fuck?’ It wasn’t normal. Casually pulling up to the scene of a murder was not normal. In fact, it was totally, utterly abnormal.

Instead, he settled on “Thank you” and gave Wallace a gentle nod. “I’ll do my best.”

Wallace smiled back. “That’s all I ask.”

Stepping out of the van, they were hit by a wall of noise. There were people everywhere. Police, members of the public, people with cameras who he guessed were journalists. There was an ambulance left abandoned amongst the chaos, with no paramedics in sight.

“Please!” a woman cried, followed by wails and screams. “Please, my son! Let me see my son!”

Pember swallowed, keeping his head down as he approached Maya and Duncan.

“Bloody hell,” Duncan said, pulling his coat tighter around himself. “It’s a bit intense, isn’t it?”