PEEL-BEHIND THEIR EYES. Book 1 (Complete)

Chapter 36. Eye of the storm

Constable Loftis placed his sports bag at the bottom of his locker ready for a trip to the gym once his shift was over and withdrew his jacket from the hook. As always he enjoyed doing up the silver buttons of his uniform, it gave him a real sense of authority, but more than that Loftis wanted to be a detective.

Out the corner of his eye, he noticed the locker room door swished open and in sauntered Constable Jameson with a self-satisfied look plastered across his face. With everyone watching Jameson ran his fingers up and down his lapels and took the opportunity to twirl as his colleague's wolf whistled at his dapper suit. Loftis hid his resentment behind a humorless smile as he like the other officer's congratulated Jameson on his inevitable promotion. Loftis couldn't help but feel a jealous twinge at Jameson's luck and thought,

"It had to be luck, I'm as good an officer as he is, better in fact. We were both in the briefing room yesterday, yet for some reason Peel let him shadow a Detective all day and orders me to make the bloody coffee and operate the photocopier. Now here comes Jameson less than twenty-four hours later all suited and booted. It's not fair. I want to be a detective more and Jameson doesn't care either way and turns up late all the time. Where's the justice"

Jameson walked past him, gave him a nod and made his way to the briefing room. Loftis all but choked on his resentment as he followed.

"That OK, I've got other options anyway" Grinning to himself he dug out his phone and checked for messages.

____________

Sitting in his secondary office Peel watched through the window to the adjoining briefing room and watched with a critical eye as his people busied themselves. A quick glance at his watch told him he had a couple of minutes before the scheduled 8pm update, just enough time for a small one, he told himself, hair of the dog as the Saxons used to say.

The draw to the desk now open Peel reached in and removed the bottle of scotch and unscrewed its lid. Its alluring smell wafted up and caught his nose but still feeling the ill effects of the previous night's excesses it also turned his stomach.

With the lid tightly replaced Peel held the bottle up and with a slight sense of shame let it slip from his grip into the wire mesh of the waste paper bin to land on top of the morning papers he had already discarded. He wouldn't have his life dictated to by a drink, not today at least, he needed his wits about him. For the moment he felt good about his decision to forgo the drink but knew that later he would regret it more.

Mason and Muck glance at each other, Mason with a proud fatherly expression and Muck with a more relieved look, both of which Peel noticed and thought.

"Christ, it's like having parents that really care, how annoying"

Peel voiced his mind.

"Well fuck what the papers say, that's PRs problem, not mine. If I find the bastard who leaked the story they're going to get my foot up their arse all the way to the jobcentre. And if I see that reporter Denise Shreds I'll beat the leak from her"

Muck shook his head "Boss, that would just spur her on. I think that since she lost her job at the Evening Post she's gone all gung-ho as a freelance journalist. And anytime your name appears she just grabs hold and doesn't let go"

With a tired sigh, Peel agreed "Yes I know, but she runs me up the wrong way. She tried to get me to do an interview once, she wants to write a book about the Grimsby Gouger, my father's failure to catch him and his suicide. Since then she hasn't left me alone"

Shaking his head, he said, "Forget about her, what's next?"

Muck rested his notepad on his knee and flipped a page "The commissioner has requested your presence in his chambers at 10am sharp, he wants to talk to you about the blood and hair DNA results in the Meredith case"