Clover made her way to Scotland Yard, waiting for a car to pass through the gates, and then crossing into the courtyard of the police station. She went to the large door and opened it, making her way into the hallway.
The main hallway led to smaller hallways, each leading to offices filled with papers, typewriters, etc. The floor made her Oxford shoes squeak as she searched for the Chief Inspector's office. She kept her hands to her side, the leather bag strap slung over her shoulder.
Simply just go in, hand the letter, and leave. The last time they met was during the interview, and it was odd to say the least. He didn't seem welcoming, unlike Mr. Poirot.
The first few days haven't been too bad. Mainly just getting the mail, chatting with Miss Lemon, and accompanying Mr. Poirot on cases. She always felt so useless, mainly just there to interject small commentary that was counteracted by Poirot. She knew he didn't do it out of malice; he liked to think aloud, she noticed, and talking to her helped him do that.
Both of them were incredibly kind, but she just got off on the wrong foot with the Chief Inspector. And it seemed like they would be interacting a lot more, so it was best to just keep her head down and say a quick hello.
After a while, she was lost. She decided to flag down a secretary and ask her where the Chief Inspector's office was. The woman was a bit older, and probably took pity of Clover (Clover's expression did look a bit frightened, now that she thought back on it). She walked her to the office and left with a goodbye.
Clover knocked, but no response.
Finally, she heard the typewriter jam and a loud "Blast it!". So, the Chief Inspector was inside. She tried knocking again, and the voice told her to come in.
"Bad time?" she asked, closing the door behind her and digging the letter out of her bag.
"Not really. Just this damn typewriter. Tough to type on it. I don't know how those blooming secretaries do this daily."
She shrugged, "Here's the letter Mr. Poirot wanted me to give you. I'll be going now."
"How is Poirot handling the case, anyway? Haven't heard much from the Belgian."
Clover shrugged. "Mainly just pacing around and working the 'grey cells.'"
Japp laughed, "Sounds like the man. Oh, confound it!"
He groaned, crumpling up the piece of paper and tossing it into an overflowing wastebasket.
"Don't you have a secretary for this type of stuff?"
"She just got married. Not coming back any time soon. So I'm stuck with all the bloody paperwork until we can find someone. You wouldn't be interested, would you?"
The color leaving Clover's face, she prayed, was enough of an answer. But in case he didn't get the signal, she laughed nervously. "Kinda working for Mr. Poirot at the minute. But I'll pass the message along."
"You okay, there?"
She gave a forced smile. "Yep."
Japp talked while he grabbed a piece of paper and reset the typewriter. "You've been a bit nervous since I got in. I may not be as smart as Poirot, but I'm not bloody blind."
Clover was at a loss for words. Japp chuckled.
"Contrary to what Poirot tells you, we at Scotland Yard do have some brains."
"Didn't doubt it for a second."
He stopped typing and circled around to the front of the desk. "I know that we got off on the wrong foot." He held his hand out. "I realized I forgot to apologize for weirding you out. Forgive me?"
She shook his hand, and Japp went back to typing, albeit with a few muttered curses under his breath.
Clover was about to leave, but she felt bad for her new friend.
"If you want a tip, try placing your fingers like this. I see Miss Lemon doing it all the time."
She took the typewriter and turned it around, so the keys faced her. She placed her fingers lightly on the second row, with her thumbs on the key that created spaces.
"And then from there, you can use your other fingers to reach the other letters. Might need a bit of practice though. Some of them are hard to reach. It'll take a while, but then your typing should get better."
To show off the technique, she typed down a simple sentence. Japp watched closely, even mimicking how her hands looked.
"That would help a lot."
"Yeah, chicken pecking doesn't really get one far in life."
"Chicken pecking?"
"It's what my teacher called it. What you were doing." Clover used her hands to show the action. "Silly name, I know."
"Brilliant. Let me have a try."
He placed his hands on the typewriter and tried to type a sentence. He then showed it to Clover. It did take him a while and there was an error or two.
"Much better. There's classes on this stuff if you want."
"Hold on, I'm not taking a class for secretaries. That stuff's for w-"
"Pardon?" Clover crossed her arms.
Japp stopped himself. "Apologies, force of habit. But the Chief Inspector in a class full of secretaries and whatnot? No thanks."
"Unless you want to keep chicken pecking, go ahead. I've gotta go."
Clover made her way to the door, but Japp stopped her.
"Poirot's rubbing off on you, I'm afraid. Same stubbornness. Fine, I'll take the class."
"I could get you the flyer, if you want. I'll give it to you the next time I see you."
"Fine then. Just promise not to bring this up among the others. The officers'll have a field day with the insults."
"Boys," Clover rolled her eyes as she repositioned the bag strap on her shoulder, "Go figure."
But then she rubbed her hands. "Blackmail on the Chief Inspector? How tempting!"
Japp raised a hand. "Williams, don't you dare. Remember that if you pull any funny stuff, Poirot'll be the first to know."
Clover looked dejected, "Very well then. Truce?" She held out her hand.
"Truce. I can't believe I'm making a deal with a measly assistant."
They both shook hands.
"Odd. We're both connected by our general fear of Mr. Poirot," Clover noted.
"The man can be terrifying. Yet a case study all the same. The stories I have on him."
"Pray tell," Clover grabbed a chair and sat down.
"There was one time I arrested him, and Hastings had to come bail him out. That was a fun day, for me at least. Still have his fingerprints and record."
"What for?"
"Breaking and entering. But it was for a case, I was later informed."
Clover clapped her hands quietly. "The greatest detective in the world turned to a world of crime for a moment?"
Before Japp could answer, she saw the time on the clock on the wall.
"I'm late; Mr. Poirot'll probably wonder where I am. I've gotta go. Nice talking to you and I'll get you the flyer."
She ran out and Japp closed the door behind her.
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He was called to the crime scene and walked into the office building, making his way to the second floor. The room was finely decorated with a large desk covered in blood as the victim laid in the seat, their head resting on the face.
Poirot and Clover were already there. After getting the debrief, he theorized about the crime with Poirot.
In the meantime, Clover pulled out a flyer and handed it to the Chief Inspector. Japp opened it up and saw that it was for the typing class.
Unfortunately, Poirot was ever too vigilant and saw Japp reading the paper.
"Chief Inspector, is that from the victim's desk?" he asked.
Japp folded it hastily and placed it in his coat pocket. "No, no, just something for Emily."
"Madam Japp is learning to type? A valuable skill, indeed."
"Yes, very valuable, for women and men," Clover added, glaring at Japp when saying the last word.
"Why, I oughta-"
Poirot interrupted them. "Mes amis, shall we focus on the task at hand?"
Japp and Clover both glared at each other. Seems like Clover won this round. But Japp would get her on the next one.