Jack Meadows stared at the file that laid on the desk before him, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his mind deep in thought. He hadn't known, none of them had really known, except Banksy, and that was only because Neil Manson had almost cracked and had needed an out and Jacob Banks had been the nearest and most astute – that and Neil had somehow known that Banksy wouldn't say a thing to anyone.
Thing was, Jack admitted to himself, thing was he should have known. They all should have known. Neil should have felt able to let his superior officer know what he was going through, should have felt he could talk, take the time he needed. Should have. Those two words rang loud in Jack's mind as he stared at Neil's file, the file lying atop the files of the other officers in CID, none of whom, Jack was fast realising, he really knew at all. Not that he needed to know them, mind you, but it would help. It would make a more cohesive unit, a more balanced unit if they understood each other a little more, if they felt they could talk to each other, go to each other with a problem, instead of bottling it up.
Jack ran his eyes over the files once more. Neil Manson, quiet, effective, intelligent, divorced father of one. Father of one very sick child who was currently in remission. That was all Jack Meadows knew. Grace Dasari, intelligent, perceptive, quietly efficient and extremely thorough. Max Carter, emotional, astute, sharp both mentally and verbally. Terry Perkins, bulldog, determined, strong and capable. Mickey Webb, perpetual grin, energetic, effective and enthusiastic. Stevie Moss, pocket rocket, determined, energetic, impish and grinned a lot. So many people he thought he knew, and in reality from a work perspective, he did know them. From any other perspective... Jack scooped the files together, his tired mind returning to the question as to whether he even needed to know anything more about them – and then onto the fact that his next in rank, his Detective Inspector, had felt unable to come to him and tell him how sick his child was and to take any time off to be there for the boy – the files were swept into a drawer and the drawer was locked as Jack got to his feet and grabbed his jacket, a tentative decision made.