Part I: A toast to the past
She had been working on a financial fraud report all day. It was due Friday and she was on a time crunch. Her mind was in a fog, unable to put abstract matters into coherent thought, so when the doorbell rang she almost sighed with relief. The report could wait after all. Joyce Hargreaves rolled her wheelchair down the corridor and, when she opened the door, her face brightened.
"What are you doing here?" she smiled looking into the serene blue eyes of her colleague. "I figured you'd be celebrating Bennet's arrest at the Lamb & Flag with the rest of the team."
Harriet Makepeace curled her lips into a tepid smile. She was a stunning blonde, who never in a million years would pass as a shrewd Detective Sergeant of an elite division in Britain's police force, and yet was the best cop Joyce had ever encountered. She was holding a bottle of Dom Perignon in her right hand, which she lifted, raising her eyebrows as if to answer 'hence the champagne' to Joyce's light-hearted question.
Joyce wheeled her chair sideways to grant her access. It was getting easier to get around in that contraption, but she hit the proverbial road bumps on occasion. Still, she was resilient and determined to regain some of her independence. But most of all, she refused to let the long, gruelling hours she had spent going to psycho-physical therapy last year be a waste. The accident had already cost her a husband and a career as a field agent with S.I.10, she'd be damned if she lost her dignity as well. No, she would make the best of an unfortunate situation.
"Your partner must be over the moon," she said, pulling two crystal flutes from a low level cupboard. "I hear it was quite an arrest."
"That it was," Harry said with cool indifference.
Joyce picked up on her friend's blasé attitude, strange considering the magnitude of the case, but chose not to comment on it, keeping the conversation light. "What has it been… over five years the agency has had its eye on the infamous Andrew Bennet?"
"Interpol has been on his tail since the late 1970s."
"I know," Joyce nodded. "I worked on some transcripts a few years back that placed him in the U.S.S.R near the Afghani border. They lost track of him after that. He was absolutely ruthless. What was he doing in London anyway?"
"That was our doing," Makepeace replied. "We spun a web of lies and he fell right into our trap. Not an easy feat to set up, but it paid off in the end."
"I daresay it's probably the catch of the decade!" Joyce chortled, wanting to hear more about the case. "He's certainly one of the most dangerous arms dealers on this side of the Atlantic."
"Well, not anymore." Harry's tone was clipped. "With Bennet and two of his top aides behind bars his international operation is likely to crumble like a deck of cards. I trust the trial will be quite straight forward given the mountain of evidence we've presented."
"Congratulations on a job well done, Detective Sergeant Makepeace!" Joyce bowed her head with a great deal of respect and admiration towards her colleague. "Let's toast to that!"
Harry lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug and proceeded to open the bottle, wincing momentarily as the cork was released with a loud 'pop'. "Perhaps. But I'd rather toast to your fifteenth year anniversary with the force," she said, filling one of the flutes and offering it to Joyce.
"That's very kind of you." Joyce thanked her with a faint nod and took a dainty sip. "Does that mean you won't be coming to the official party next week?"
"Of course I will!" Harry assured her. She took a seat on the leather sofa, her elegant movements a clear testament to her impeccable upbringing. "The question is, how do you know about it? It was supposed to be a surprise."
Joyce smiled enigmatically. "Oh, Harry… You give me too little credit. Not only do I know about that. I also sense there is something else on your mind besides the success on the Bennet case and my not-so-secret anniversary party."
"What makes you think that?" Harry smirked, breaking eye contact.
"Because I've seen you pop open a bottle of this particular brand only on two other occasions, and both of those had to do with a life altering event."
"How very observant," Harry quipped.
"Yes, I would've made a great S.I.10 detective," Joyce half joked. "So, tell me, Harriet. What's troubling you?"
There was a brief silence. Long enough for the clock on the wall to announce it was quarter to eight, and long enough to erase any chance for a denial. But Harry tried anyway.
"What do you mean?" she asked through a short, sullen chuckle.
Joyce clicked her tongue making a rhythmic sound that spoke volumes. She carefully placed the crystal flute on the coffee table, lifting her eyes to Harry with a 'cut the pretence' glance.
"We've always confided in each other," Joyce began, "ever since the day you joined the force as a green, uniformed policewoman at Snow Hill. I took you under my wing then, and showed you how to be taken seriously in a male oriented job."
"I remember. The first few weeks were plain awful," Harry stated shaking her head. "Men can be pigs!"
"Well, we found the perfect formula to thwart all the disgusting innuendos and stop the unwanted harassment in its tracks, didn't we?"
"A sweet smile and a sarcastic remark," Harry grinned. "It does work on most men."
"On most?"
"Yes, apparently American cowboys are cut from a different cloth," Harry pulled a face, denoting utmost aggravation. "Dempsey is not only immune to those, but seems to thrive on the challenge."
"Oh, I think you handle him quite well," Joyce chuckled. "He is a man, after all. Most men don't have a clue what it is like to be a woman in the force. They either dismiss us completely or are so overprotective, working with them becomes unbearable!"
A shadow of something unidentifiable flickered across Harry's eyes, fast as lightning. Still, it was noticeable enough for Joyce to pick up on it.
"What's wrong?"
"It's nothing," Harry dismissed twirling the stem of her flute distractedly.
But Joyce wasn't about to let her get away with her usual elusiveness. She raised an inquiring eyebrow and prompted a more elaborate answer through a very poignant silence.
"It's… complicated," Harry finally admitted.
"Complicated," Joyce parroted with a soft chuckle. "This has 'Dempsey' written all over it."
When she failed to make eye contact with Harry, she relaxed against the backrest of her chair and took a small sip of champagne. And, just as she had anticipated, Harry caved under the pressure of another prolonged silence.
"I just don't feel like celebrating this particular case," she frowned. "It was gruelling and exhausting. I can't even tell you how many sleepless nights we have spent on endless stakeouts, working undercover, tracking suspects, dealing with uncooperative informants…" Harry exhaled, looking overly tired and worn all of a sudden. "And, yes, it has paid off in the end. But we also got lucky. Last night's operation could've been a complete disaster."
"This line of work is like that," Joyce shrugged. "There are never any guarantees."
"I'm well aware of that, but…"
Harry exhaled, her furrowed brow becoming more pronounced. It wasn't like her to back down from taking chances in her line of work. In fact, she had become bolder, had been taking bigger risks ever since she had been paired with her American partner. And the results had been staggering.
"But what?" Joyce encouraged.
"Why does every case have to end up in a bloody war zone?!" Annoyance had found its way into Harry's tone. "He just runs off, takes matters into his own hands and damn the consequences!"
"Ah…" Joyce nodded in understanding. "So it is about Dempsey!"
"He's just so… so… self-absorbed!"
"That is part of his reputation."
"And what about my reputation!" Harry shot back.
Joyce was taken aback by the anger in her colleague's voice, so she began to tread carefully. "You said it yourself, Harry. He doesn't work like us, or think like us. Except last time we talked about this, you sold it to me as a positive."
"It is!" Harry then backpedalled, "It can be."
"So what has changed?" A sudden thought seeped into Joyce's brain. "You're not thinking about quitting again, are you?"
"No." Harry bit her lower lip, deep in thought.
"You can always put in a request for a different partner," Joyce said, believing it not to be that great of a suggestion. "Except, one, you already tried that a while back, and two, you seemed to paint him as the perfect partner not so long ago."
"I know," Harry conceded quietly. She set her jaw, eyes fixed somewhere on the coffee table, her mind far away. "I need your advice on something. I don't know who else to turn to."
There was trepidation laced in those words, something completely foreign to Harriet Makepeace's usual demeanour. Joyce leaned forward on the chair, eyebrows creased. "Of course, darling. I'm here for you. Whatever you need."
A sad smile made its way to Harry's face and disappeared almost as fast as it had formed.
"I don't think he's ever going to forgive me."
Nice to see this site is still active and full of fanfic. Nice to see also the standards of the stories are still very high. :-)