Page 23

Maya scoffed. “You’re exceptionally chipper this morning. Did someone get their dick wet last night?”

Duncan stretched his arms above his head. “Better. Spurs won, and I ate a whole camembert without feeling like shit this morning.” He patted his stomach and sauntered into the kitchen. “A happy tummy is a happy Dunny.”

“Morning, both,” Wallace said, gaze drifting to their screens. “Processed already?”

Pember nodded. “Yeah. Is it okay if I start formatting the report? I’ll obviously get you to check it afterwards.”

“Sure,” Wallace replied, his eyes crinkling beneath his white eyebrows.

“And you, May? You’re focusing on the rape case, yes?” Maya nodded but didn’t look up from the screen. “Lovely. Well, Pem, call me when the data’s pulled across and we’ll have a look.”

“Okay.” He nodded, trying not to sound too enthusiastic in Maya’s presence.

She must have picked up on it, because she suddenly straightened and jostled his shoulder. “Up for a drink this weekend?” she said, her face hovering close to his. “Me and a few other omegas are going out in town. Strictly no mates allowed, and we’ll avoid all the shitty places.”

“You mean like, a drink drink? For social purposes?” Pember replied.

Her brows knitted together, but the expression quickly melted away as her eyes went wide. “Oh, oh God, sorry, Pem. You probably don’t want to after everything with that alpha-hole last year. Forget I said anything, we’ll try another time. Go bowling or something?”

Pember chuckled and waved the comment away. “No, a drink sounds nice, actually. It’ll be good to get to know a few people.”

She clapped and jostled his shoulders again. “Amazing! Honestly, I think you’ll get on really well with my friends. They’re nice. No one’s a twat, and we all look out for each other.”

Just then, Pember’s computer beeped and the chart he had open on the screen began to populate. “Wallace?” he called, staring at the numbers. “Wallace, it’s processing!”

“Oi! Wally!” Maya called. “Get your arse in here!”

Wallace appeared in the doorway, and he quickly pulled on his lab coat and pushed a pair of small, round glasses over his nose. “Right then,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “What’ve we got?”

Pember’s eyes skipped across the screen, falling on the three highest spikes in the data. “Luxuriadioxypyrovalerone, benzodiazepines and cocaine,” he said, letting out a breath. “Stimulants and anti-anxiety medication. Odd combination.”

“That is quite the concoction,” Wallace replied flatly. “Love dust and cocaine would rapidly raise his blood pressure, but then a massive dose of benzos? They’d completely kill his buzz. Seems a bit counter-intuitive, don’t you think?”

“Plus he’d have had a raging boner,” Maya said. “The new strain of love dust is strong stuff.”

She wasn’t wrong. Love dust had become notorious in High Enfield, stories of its potent aphrodisiac effects making the news after the press got their hands on the sex trafficking case the previous year.

The silvery powder could send omegas into false heats and alphas into false ruts.

The effects on betas were still being tested, but all in all it meant a bad time for everyone.

“Yeah, but…” Pember’s words trailed off as he ran a finger over the screen. “Look at the amount of benzos in his blood. The value’s almost five times higher than anything else, and the love dust-cocaine combo would exaggerate the effects of the benzos. If he ingested it all in one go?—”

“He’d have hit the fucking deck,” Maya said, slapping her palms together, making Pember wince.

“Hold on,” Duncan piped up. “Isn’t this what the armed robbery guy had in his system? Felix what’s-his-face.”

“Maginty,” Pember replied.

Wallace nodded. “I think we better call Major Crime.”

Not even an hour later, Pember found himself sitting around a circular desk in front of Blake, Blake’s boss and two other sergeants.

The new Major Crime Unit was all glass walls, bright lights and detectives clustered around screens in connecting incident rooms. It was a far, far cry from what Pember had seen of Oliver’s tiny office.

The Domestic Abuse Unit was sorely underfunded, although it did have a fish tank and an unlimited supply of biscuits.

“Morning, Inspector,” Wallace said, dipping his head.

The inspector was a pale, dour man in his late forties. He was as tall as Blake, but skinnier than a matchstick, and Pember wondered if a slight breeze might blow him over. He also had a comb-over that was hiding absolutely nothing.

“Good morning, Wallace, and…” His sharp eyes snapped to Pember.

Pember swallowed. “Um, Pember. Pember McArthur, your—” He was about to say ‘Your Honour’ for some God unknown reason, but swiftly closed his mouth. He glanced at Blake, who was failing to contain a smirk.

“Right.” The inspector raised an eyebrow. “This is DS Mark Matthews and DS Caitlin Vaughan. Blake you already know.”

Pember nodded, wetting his lips. Mark was a dark-haired man with a stained, striped tie, and Caitlin had a severe straight-cut fringe and long eyelashes. Both alphas, if their broad statures and deep scents were anything to go by. Both nodded curtly and returned their attention to the inspector.

“What do we know, Wallace?”

Wallace relayed their findings as the five of them nodded along, and the more he spoke, the graver the inspector’s expression became. “So you’re saying we have a link between the two bodies?”

“Potentially,” Wallace replied, shuffling his papers.

“So, what…” Mark cut in. “A deadly new street drug, or something more sinister?”

The inspector sniffed and cracked his knuckles. “From what you’ve told me, I don’t think we can rule anything out. Given the complexities of our chip shop victim, and how overrun our narcotics department is, the three of you will be taking this on for the moment.”

Mark deflated whilst Blake nodded rapidly. “Thank you, boss. My suspicions about Maginty might be nothing, but I’m not satisfied that he injected the drugs willingly.”

Later that afternoon, Wallace presented their findings to the rest of the department, and Pember was relegated to mouse clicking duty. They’d done their best to include bright colours and easy-to-follow diagrams, but ultimately they were fighting a losing battle.

A detective at the back of the room sheepishly raised a hand. “So, let me get this right, he died of an overdose?”

Wallace sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “No, he was most definitely stabbed to death, what with the one hundred and two stab wounds. Twenty-seven of which were to his heart. The drugs incapacitated him. Not enough to kill him, but enough to make him lose control of his major muscle groups.”

“So, like, paralysed?” another detective with severe cheek bones offered.

Wallace pinched the bridge of his nose. “Probably. There was also alcohol in his system, but again, not enough to sedate him. He was a big lad, not to mention an alpha, meaning his body would have metabolised the drink and drugs quickly. Whoever killed him would’ve had a very short window before his adrenal glands kicked in, raising his blood pressure and giving him the ability to fight back.

Despite all the wounds, he was already in the early stages of a shift before the killing blow stopped his heart for good. Truly remarkable.”

Pember nodded. “Hence the frenzied attack.”

Blake tapped his chin and rose from his position against the wall. “DNA?”

Wallace sat back in his chair. “Duncan’s still running tests on the other swabs. We’ll know more later today.”

“What about fingerprints? Was anything recovered from the chest of drawers in the bedroom?” Blake asked.

Wallace shook his head. “Nothing whatsoever. Certainly, there were scuffs in the dust, but nothing that could be examined. Do we know what was taken?”

Blake nodded. “The CCTV system. The chip shop had poor signal on the ground floor, so the owners had an informal agreement with the victim that it would be situated upstairs.”

“And the killer knew this?” Wallace said.

“We think so,” Blake replied.

Just then, Pember’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “Shit,” he muttered, the phone number for the doctor’s surgery flashing up on the screen. The conversation turned to another detective, so he whispered to Wallace that he’d be right back.

Slipping through the door, he padded down the corridor towards the communal seating area.

“Hello?” he said, slumping into one of the blue fabric sofas. It was extremely uncomfortable and covered in coffee stains.

“Good afternoon, Mr McArthur. It’s Dr Phillips from West Newton Medical Practice. We’ve got you down for a telephone consultation?”

“H-hello, yes,” he replied, chin flicking over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening.

“Great. So, I can see from your records that you’re currently prescribed the suppressant, Cereline, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re… oh, you’re on rather a high dose for your age.”

“Yes.”

“And it says here you recently cancelled the prescription, but then reordered it. Was that a mistake?”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. My mum cancelled it by accident.”

There was a pause, then: “I see… Mr McArthur, you’re on fifty micrograms of Cereline.

That’s the highest dose of suppressants we can legally prescribe.

Usually, that amount is only given to omegas and sigmas with hormonal imbalances, or those breaking a mating bond.

Is there a reason you wish to continue the prescription? ”

Pember swallowed. “I… I’ve always been on a high dose, ever since puberty.”

“Yes, I can see that, but last year you almost doubled your prescription. What was the reason for that?”

He let out a sharp breath. “Do I have to tell you? Surely you can see it in my notes.”

The doctor let out a little huff, as though his reluctance was causing her offence. “You don’t have to tell me anything, sweetheart, but I’d rather you were honest.”