The Enemy

Chapter 13

Chapter 13: March 2018 - The Met

Jim Smith looked worse for wear as he sat down across from him in Mark Ward's office. It must be nearly midnight now. Dartmouth doubted Smith had slept for the past seventy-two hours after discovering him missing from Frankfurt.

"You've broken the terms of your agreement," said Smith.

"I was homesick."

Smith glared. "I'm not amused."

No, he wasn't. He never was. Dartmouth turned away. He had a sharp memory of a day just under ten years ago.

August 2008 - The Old Met

British Probation Officer and Investigator Jim Smith was not amused. He'd handled several high-profile cases for the Met, but this was the most widely publicized of all. He didn't like it one bit. He scowled as the young, sulking man and his mother entered the room and sat across from his messy desk. The boy didn't glance once in Jim's direction. Jim exhaled through his thick mustache and pushed up his glasses.

He would never have taken this case. It was too well-known for his taste. His boss, however, wouldn't let him turn these two away.

All his angry thoughts stuck with him. This boy's father was a crook. A politician through-and-through who would stop at nothing for power. George Howards had threatened innocent children. There was evidence that this boy in front of him knew that his peers' lives were in danger. And, he'd done nothing to warn them. Just one bloody good deed that managed to get him off the hook. Smith reached for a pen and gripped it between his fingers so tightly it almost snapped.

The woman across from him cleared her throat. "Good morning, Lieutenant-Inspector Smith. Thank you for meeting with us."

Jim grunted. It was just past six in the morning. She'd responded promptly to his voicemail for the meeting she'd requested and had shown up via taxi. He slapped the pen down on his desk and rustled up a file. "Let's get this over with. I need coffee." The sooner he could wipe his hands of this the better.

As the boy's legal guardian, his mother filled out the probation and sentencing paperwork. It had already been examined with a fine-toothed comb by the Howards' team of lawyers. There was nothing to which either party could object. Jim regarded the woman's thin, bejeweled hands and fur throw over his glasses as his coffee filtered out. The boy remained still. Jim felt a pressure on his shoulders he hadn't felt in years, but he didn't betray it to them.

The whole country had watched the drama of the Beck Howards' trial unfold. There were others involved in worse ways, but Beck had become the centerpiece. Even Jim had gotten caught up in the trial as Emma Stapleton took the stand and stood up to the sick, evil adults responsible for the events at Charterhouse that May. Jim shook his head. He fought to keep his personal feelings in check. He picked up his mug and took a long, bitter swallow. He fixed Beck Howards in his sights. "Mr Howards—"

The boy flinched.

"I trust this contract is up to your standards."

Beck raised his head and glanced in the contract's direction. He nodded.

"We're very grateful, Lieutenant-Inspector." The woman spoke again. It made Jim angry.

"No," Jim said, sitting down. "I asked Mr. Howards, and I want to hear it from him. Look at me, Mr. Howards."

The boy raised his head. Cold, pale eyes sunken into purpled skin stared back at him.

"I don't know what kind of treatment you've been used to up until this point, but I won't be acting like you aren't the normal punk criminal that you are." Jim took another swallow of coffee. "You got away with bloody murder at that trial. Trust me when I say you'll be meeting every single stipulation of your probation to the letter. I will make it my personal mission not to budge an inch for its entirety. That is a promise, and I believe it's more than you bloody well deserve."

Beck stared back at him, unblinking. He was silent, but he didn't look away. "I'll hold you to that, Lieutenant-Inspector. I would hate to have to report you for preferential treatment."

Jim sat back and linked his hands over his belly. Hmmm. "Right then. So, what else is there you wanted to say?"

"A clause." His mother, Ellison, took out and unfolded a scrap of paper. "It's been notarized and approved, but it's not on file anywhere. No one can know about this. It's a precaution." She swallowed and brought a hand to her chest. "We're worried, sir. People want to kill Beck for what his father did." Her eyes began to shine. "People are hunting us right now. The same people who attacked Charterhouse."

Jim took the paper, and his mouth opened. He read it again. And again.

"Do you know what happens now?" Jim's mustache was completely grey in the present.

"I've broken parole. I've lost witness protection." He said the words, but it didn't feel real. He was Edward Dartmouth and that was it. The other person couldn't be brought back to life.

"Correct."

Ward was staring at him like he was the Easter Bunny.

"Therefore, I'm on my own," Edward said. "I can return to Frankfurt and my life, just without Met support. I understand, and I accept those terms."

Ward crossed his arms.

Smith frowned. "Incorrect." He withdrew paperwork from his weathered briefcase. "You're in custody, Dartmouth." He tossed the papers at him. "You were found impersonating an officer and breaking and entering in a law enforcement building." He raised his eyebrows. "But we can't exactly have you waltz into a public prison." He shared a look with Ward.

"So," Ward said. "We've got a proposition for you."