Chimera | H.S Mature

2.

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*Samantha's POV*

Murmured voices and booming laughter could be heard behind me as I scurried down the hallway, the meeting room slowly emptying out as everyone returned to their offices or disappeared into the lift for lunch. My office was located at the very end of the hall, a small box room sealed away in to the corner from prying eyes and egotistical males. It was barely large enough to house my desk, a small bookcase and a filing cabinet, but as I collapsed into the cool leather of my desk chair and spun to face the window, I let out a soft breath of content because no matter how small my office was, it was still my office. 

The sun glinted through the floor to ceiling window before disappearing behind one of the small grey clouds that littered the sky. London was bustling, tourists shuffled from photo opportunity to photo opportunity, from Downing Street to Victoria Embankment, men in sharp suits, and joggers weaving between the crowed, and well-dressed ladies, arms laden with shopping bags went about their business. London was alive with the sounds of life, and for a moment, I forgot where I was and what I had just signed up to do.

The wall shook beside me as the door to the adjoining office was slammed closed, and with a roll of my eyes and a huff of frustration, I turned my back on the crowds below me and returned to my own reality. I brushed several scrap sheets of paper from the edge of my desk and into the bin, taking one last sip from my bottle of water before discarding it as well. Like the rest of my office, the desk was small, worn and empty. Scattered before me were the remnants of old cases, my desk phone, several black pens and a 2 year old card from my mother which read 'congratulations on your new job'. My laptop remained in its case, dumped on the floor where I had left it this morning.

I straightened up the paper and pens. Barbra should be arriving any moment.

"Hello dear" she chirped. Never one for knocking, she strolled into the room, a thin manila folder tucked neatly under her arm.

"Morning Barbra, how are you?" I asked. My formalities were never wasted on Barbra, as the wife or Mr Parsons, I felt it necessary to treat her with the up most respect, not least because on more than one occasion my politeness had got me in good favour with her husband.

She shot be a quick 'I'm fine' before taking a seat in the rickety chair opposite me. Barbra was a tall, thin woman who, if upon introduction hadn't informed me she was in the late stages of her 40s, I would have assumed was 21. She had soft brown hair which shaped the gentle curve of her face and a bright smile which was always ready to greet me each morning from her position behind the reception desk.

"I was told to bring this to you dear," she said, pushing the folder gently towards me. "Eric said you've taken this case on alone? Very brave. About time someone showed these boys that you aren't just a pretty face eh?"

"Yeah, well none of them were exactly bursting with enthusiasm at the thought of this one" I said, lifting the lid on the paper folder and internally deflating at the sight of the three flimsy, almost blank pages before me.

"I'm not surprised, hear there is some big serial killer case from Lewisham. They're probably al holding out for that one" she said, glancing around the room and brushing a crumb from the desk top.

"Well this girl deserves someone to help her" I mumbled as I flicked through the pages before me.

"Of course she does dear, and I have great faith in the fact that you will be that person". I flashed her a small smile. Well, at least that makes one of us.

"There is nothing here Barbra, these pages, they're practically blank!" I exclaimed and she sighed gently, reaching over the desk to take the sheets from me.

"I know," she said, flicking through them once before stacking them nearly and placing them back in the folder. "They couldn't get much out the girl when she came in the other day for an interview, still pretty shook up I would imagine. The boy who came with her couldn't help much either, her brother, I think she said. That was all she could give them. I expect you might get more out of her now that the initial shock has passed, she might have had time to remember some more. If not I'm sure you'll be able to coax something out of her, young girls like her tend to respond better when they are dealing with women" she explained. For a receptionist, Barbra, it seemed, knew more about the ins and outs of Scotland Yard than I did myself.

"How do you know all this? I didn't think Mr Parsons had been involved with this case at all?" I asked. She smiled gently, shifting forward in her seat and placing her crossed arms on the table.

"I've worked here for 15 years my love, you get to know the workings of a place after 15 years" she winked. It occurred to me that perhaps, sitting behind that desk in the foyer provided Barbra with the perfect vantage point for observing the comings and goings throughout the departments. Perhaps her eyes were not always glued to her computer screen as I had always assumed.

I smiled softly at her and nodded. With a quick drum of her manicured fingers against the table she rose gracefully from the chair and adjusted her knee-length pencil skirt.

"I'll fetch you the girl's contact details shall I? See if out can bring her in again and get some more out of her". With a sharp turn, a swish of hair and the rustling of fabric she left the room.

I sighed at her departure and returned to the case folder, the name of the girl I was about to meet printed neatly in ink across the front;

Daniella Styles 

The three sheets of paper within her folder consisted of a stamen from her, her brother and a time log of when the incident was reported, when she arrived at the station and when she believed the incident took place (around 11.30 of Thursday evening based on the time she arrived at her brothers apartment).

Daniella's statement was brief, the few questions she did answer were short, one liners which even Sherlock Holmes would have trouble making anything from. Her brothers were slightly more detailed, but all he could really describe was the state his sister was in when she arrived back at his apartment.

I was startled from my analysis by the ringing of my desk phone.

"Hello?" I asked.

"Me dear" Barbra chimed, I have the contact details for you.

I quickly scribbled down the details on the corner of one of the sheets, an email address and a mobile number, and thanked Barbra before hanging up. Deciding the mobile number was probably the easiest, and quickest, way to get hold of Daniella, I tried that first.

The call was answered after three rings.

"Hello?" A male voice rasped down the line.

"Hello, I'm looking for a Miss Daniella Styles, is she available?" I asked.

"She's actually asleep at the moment, could I take a message for her?"

"Yes Sir. My name is Samantha White, I am the detective at Scotland Yard in charge of Miss Styles' case. I was wondering if she would be available at some point within the coming days to return to the station for a further interview?" I said. As I spoke, I could hear my father's voice in my head, mocking my attempt at formality.

"Oh, oh yes of course. I could wake her and we could be in in say, 2 hours' time? Is that too soon?" he hurried, eagerness leaking from his voice as he spoke.

"No of course not, Mr..." I hesitated, realising I actually had no idea who I was talking to. Rooky mistake number 1 Samantha.

"Styles, Harry Styles. I'm Daniella's brother" he said.