Flowers of a Wolf

Chapter 2

DAY 12

Rawford turned from staring at the evidence wall and looked at Hammersmith. He'd missed what she'd said. "What?"

"You should go. What you gotta lose?" she repeated.

Detective Sergeant Jenny Hammersmith was Rawford's nominal partner on the investigation. Both sat with the rest of their team, on the second floor of Bishopsgate Police Station or as they all called it, the 'Nick'. It was a few minutes to the 9:30 morning meeting with senior staff. He rubbed a hand along the back of his head, scratching against the stubble below his tightly curled hair.

"What are you Cupid? I have to work with him" he whispered back. "I'll just stick with hunting across Grindr eh."

Hammersmith raised an eye at that. "When are you going to stop fucking about and–"

"I like fucking about, that's the point," he replied.

"Just go. Have a beer after work. Or two and–"

"I wish I hadn't said anything." Rawford had known Hammersmith for five years since she'd transferred from Metropolitan to City Police. Following her mum ain't she everyone had said, the Chief Super. But that wasn't it Rawford knew.

"Oh my Lord, what are you afraid–"

"Yeah Rawford, what are you afraid of eh?" In broke a third voice, jumping out of the hubbub of the investigation room. David Haggerton, principal analyst and a prick as far as Rawford was concerned.

"I don't know, your delightful company fucking off to the other side of the room?" Rawford and Hammersmith both looked at Haggerton. Rawford couldn't help but notice the drop of red jam staining the neck of the other man's jumper.

"Alright ladies," his smirk for both of them, "let's not get hostile."

All three turned at the sound of the door opening. A tall woman entered, uniformed and frowning. The noise in the room fell silent, as all the officers and staff turned and watched the Chief Super walk to the evidence wall, glance along it, then pin up a new mugshot.

Here it comes, thought Rawford. The same thought echoed silently around the room. The Chief Super and SIO for the investigation - Detective Chief Superintendent Hammersmith - their boss and Jenny Hammersmith's mum, usually loved to let the team come up with their own insights and conclusions, and then ignore them all and give them orders. Modern policing at its finest, Jenny had commented more than once to Rawford about her mum.

The Chief Super looked around the room, her hard eyes hitting each of them with their disappointment.

Framing her current mood was the lecture she'd received that morning with her boss, the Assistant Commissioner, from an irate pin-striped Minister on behalf of the PM no less. Standing there in her boss' office giving them both a dressing down. How old was he? Another lanky Etonian, down from his Westminster heights to lord it over them. But she'd bit her lip and focused on telling him as little as possible wrapped up in police-speak. "Over 3000 hours of the Force's resource being spent, 360 interviews to date–the team is working incredibly hard at" blah blah bloody blah. And would you mind dear Sir fucking off back to your club and letting us get on eh?

"Now just so we're all clear Detective Hammersmith–"

"Detective Chief Superintendent Hammersmith," both Hammersmith and the Assistant Commissioner chorused. The Etonian minister gave the barest pause of acknowledgment and continued.

"The Dutch stock exchange has got all the markets a-jitter with its new changes and simultaneously five large firms relocated there from our fair City in the last month. Five. Including Sunside Investments I don't have to tell you. Obviously, the bloody French and Germans are circling too.

"And just what is dominating the news cycles right now? While we're trying to carry out a massive communication campaign? A damn serial killer, here in the heart of our City."

"We don't know that it–" began Hammersmith.

"What, four bodies with bloody flowers cut into them doesn't maketh a series?" the minister retorted with raised eyebrows above his suited frame.

"That fourth victim has only just been confirmed this morning Sir," Hammersmith continued with the facts.

"And do you Detective, Chief, Super, Intendent," each word of her rank spoken with clipped disdain "believe when they get this information–and they will–it will stop the headlines from reading Flower Ripper Strikes London City Again?"

"I'm not paid to speculate Sir." And while Hammersmith cared little for talk about the money markets, the Netherlands, or ze Germans, she did have four dead bodies on her patch at the hands of some psycho killer.

Hammersmith turned away from the memory, returned back to the room, and held the eyes of each member of the investigation team before continuing.

"Right you lot, someone better have something bloody useful, or we'll all get eaten by the vultures circling us on this one." After a pause, her eyes rested on Rawford and Hammersmith.

"You two. Got the report from the post-mortem yet?"

***