Tales from the Triverse

Conspiracies

Early shift
On duty: DC Nisha Chakraborty & Zoltan Kaminski

London.
1973. August.

Lola yawned and stretched her arms, leaning back on her chair. The SDC office was about to change over for the day, which meant she would be on her way home any minute. Her bed beckoned. She could practically hear it calling out to her.

The night had been uneventful, especially by 1973's standards. She'd filed some reports, run through some open case files with Yannick and put up with some of the usual edgy banter from Frank Holland. Everyone said he was good at his job, that he got results, but his attitude rubbed Lola the wrong way. No matter how many cases he'd closed, there was a rottenness at his core that she could feel seeping into the office whenever he was there. Like it was going to rub off on her and everyone else. He had that wandering man eye, too, always roving up and down and over her when he thought she wasn't looking. Sometimes even when she clearly was. That leeriness she'd encountered elsewhere in the force, and during her training, but it was blessedly absent from the SDC for the most part. Except for Holland.

Fortunately for everyone, he'd gone home an hour earlier, as had Hobb. How that woman put up with him, Lola couldn't begin to fathom.

She yawned again. "Right," she said, mostly to herself. Standing up, she wearily pulled on her coat and hooked her satchel over her shoulder.

The door to the office swung open and Kaminski and Chakraborty arrived, waving cheerfully. Kaminski grunted a hello then disappeared immediately into Bakker's office.

"You heading off?" Chakraborty asked, emptying her bag unceremoniously onto her desk. Lola caught a glimpse of a metal hip flask among the make-up, notepads and pens.

"Just going to nip to the loo," she said, "then I'll attempt to get home without collapsing in the street."

"Long night?"

"Easy night, but that just makes it more boring and last longer."

Waving, Lola pushed open the other door to the back corridors, then headed to the women's wash room. She grimaced as she entered a cubicle and locked the door. Still, she'd bet the men's was in an even worse state.

A couple of minutes later she opened the cubicle door to find Chakraborty leaning against the sink. "Hi, Lola."

"Oh, hey." She washed her hands as Chakraborty stood to one side. "You been there a while?"

"Just got here," Chakraborty said, smiling.

She was being weird. "You're being weird," Lola said, drying her hands.

"Yeah, I don't mean to be," Chakraborty said. "Back to the office, then."

Lola frowned and looked at the other woman quizzically. Sighing, assuming that her tiredness was making her misunderstand the conversation, she opened the door and walked back into the corridor towards the office. A hand gripped her shoulder.

Turning, she found Chakraborty with her other hand held up, a finger to her lips. She pointed in the other direction, away from the main office. Again, she emphasised the apparent need for silence.

What had at first seemed silly, or amusing, started to slide into something more sinister. Lola followed dutifully, as Chakraborty led her to the rear stairwell, then up to the top floor of the building. It was unused, other than by rats, and was used primarily for storage of ancient filing that wasn't so confidential that it had to be moved to Scotland Yard. Chakraborty led her through a couple of doorways, past dusty cabinets and shelves, until they reached a pile of boxes stacked high to the ceiling. Pointing to a small gap at one side, hidden from view until Lola got close, Chakraborty shuffled around the stacked boxes and disappeared.