The Wrong Man
He'd taken her by surprise twice last week; once, when he had released the story to the press about the Ministry of Defence halting their investigation into the Eric Trimble murder, and again, when he had found them in the pub after work and dignified Brian's question about his military history with a response, albeit an enigmatic one. 'Punched the wrong man'…what did that mean? She couldn't imagine Strickland punching anyone, never mind someone he shouldn't have. She was tempted to question him further about it, but that mysterious reply had made it clear that he didn't want to discuss it.
Sometimes she marvelled at how little they really knew about their boss, probably not even enough to fill a post-it note. Although how much did anyone really know about their boss? Jack knew a lot about her, but that was only because they'd known each other for more years than she cared to remember, and Brian probably knew more than he let on due to his encyclopaedic knowledge of her record, but there was a lot of things that Gerry in particular didn't know about her. Like, for example, that she'd once broken her arm by falling down a flight of stairs (and yes, alcohol was involved), or that she preferred spots to stripes, or strawberries to raspberries.
Anyway, she had decided to thank Strickland for getting rid of the spooks last week. It was Monday morning, and she was on her way to his office now, navigating her way through the endless corridors and the weary employees of the Met to collect the file containing the details of their new case. She reached his office five minutes after setting off from the UCOS basement, having been lured into the canteen by the tantalising smell of coffee, which she had gladly bought. Knocking on the door with her free hand, she waited for the usual 'come in' before entering.
"Ah, morning Sandra," he smiled, retrieving a file from his in-tray and holding it out for her to take. "Your new case."
"Thank you, sir," she replied, accepting the brown manila folder.
"Now, this case has been brought to our attention by a new witness, a student called Millie Baker who believes that her father was murdered by a person different from the one initially prosecuted for the crime. I've told her to come in for an interview at midday, which should give you time to introduce the case to the team and prepare your questions for her."
"Great, thank you. Um, sir, I'd just like to say thank you, on behalf of myself and the boys, for what you did last week, releasing the story to the press. We really appreciate it."
He smiled hesitantly. "It was the only decent thing I could do, under the circumstances."
She nodded. "Well, thanks all the same."
"Is there anything else?" he asked, as she remained standing in front of him.
"No. I'll let you know how we're getting on later today."
"Alright."
She turned to walk towards the door, the file tucked under her arm and the warm Styrofoam cup still clutched in her right hand. Yet she got the feeling that if she ever wanted to ask about his shirt-lived military career, then it was now or never.
"Sir?"
"Yes?" he replied, raising his gaze from the paperwork he had already returned to.
"You know, last week, in the pub, when you said you punched the wrong man, well…what did you mean?"
He chuckled softly. "I thought you might ask about that. I was an Officer Cadet, in training at Sandhurst, and I punched the Lieutenant who was in charge of my regiment. Of course, considering the difference in ranks, I was taken off the scheme immediately and advised to join the police instead."
"Why did you punch him?"
"There was a man in the same regiment as me, called Jason Williams. Over time, it became apparent that the lieutenant was bullying him, making him do extra tasks, pushing him harder than the rest of us when it came to exercises, disciplining him harder when he made the slightest mistake. He was an exemplary soldier, and it was clear that there was no other reason why he should receive this kind of treatment other than the fact that he was black. We made formal complaints against him but no action was taken, so one day, I just lost it. And that was the end of my military career."
"Oh," she murmured, processing the anecdote. "Good for you, sir."
He chuckled again. "It wasn't exactly the defining moment of my career at the time, but in hindsight, I think I did the right thing. And besides, if I hadn't, I would never have ended up here."
"You've done pretty well to say that this was your punishment for punching a man,"
"And you've done pretty well to say that UCOS was your punishment for shooting that dog,"
"It looks like we're both good at making the best out of bad situations," she smiled, and he matched her expression, although there was something behind his eyes which suggested that his smile carried deeper emotions than it appeared.
"Yes, you're right."
"Anyway, I should go and make a start on this case. Bye."
"Bye."
She left his office, pulling the door closed behind her with a quiet click before she began her journey back down to UCOS, her heels clicking rhythmically on the polished floor. So, Strickland was more in their corner than she'd thought, and his anecdote had proved that he was capable of standing up to authority when it really mattered. She had mistaken him for the wrong kind of man.