Chapter 3 – Homes

Ash, which was how she thought of herself now as she rode alongside her new partner, checked out the driver. Scribbs was painlessly threading the car through the thick traffic, being careful to spare the paintwork, yet not afraid to blow the hooter loudly and make a rude hand gesture at other drivers who disliked her driving style.

"Smooth, Scribbs," Ash told her after she cut off a red motorcycle and a black taxi simultaneously.

Scribbs grinned as she cracked her gum. "Told ya' my dad drove a lorry."

Ash grabbed the door handle and held on when Scribbs made an especially hard left turn. "I bet he was never late for a delivery."

"Just mine," Scribbs laughed. "He was in Crete when I was born. Deployment. Royal Navy."

"Ah."

Scribbs laughed. "My driving bother you?"

"No, just…" she winced after a close shave with a boxwood hedge, a post box, and the red motorcycle, in that order, which had caught up with the speeding police car.

Scribbs gave the rider a friendly wave and engaging smile, which pulled alongside at the next stoplight. The man flipped up his dark visor to thoroughly inspect them.

The rider was lean and togged out in tight jeans, black boots, and a thick black leather jacket. Gloves covered his hands though it was warm day. The black helmet he wore was full wrap-around with a narrow slit of a visor.

His eyes flicked across Ash like she wasn't even there but he fixated on Scribbs' oval face and clipped blonde hair. The hair had grown out enough that brown was showing. Time for another dye job, Ash mused. The rider looked hard at Scribbs but then as soon as the signal changed to green, he dropped the clutch and sped away in a cloud of burnt rubber taking a turn ahead at high speed.

Nice bum, thought Ash as the cycle sped away before it disappeared. A Kawasaki bike, she added to the mental list; fairly new. Dual stainless exhausts; must have a large motor. No cargo bins, but a blue backpack was strapped across the seat, obscuring most of the number plate. From what Kate could see, the first letters were XM. She shook herself for such was the way her mind worked – always cataloging things and people.

"Huh," Scribbs muttered.

"Huh what? You know him?"

Scribbs shook her head slowly. "Don't think so."

"Probably just entranced with that skintight t-shirt you're sporting, Scribbs."

Scribbs chuckled. "Well, if you got it, flaunt it, not that I've got that much." She bounced on the seat while she looked down at her slender chest. "Blokes don't seem to complain, mostly. You? Got a bloke?"

"Not at present. You?"

"No," Scribbs sighed. "Seems like most of the good ones are gone." She chuckled. "Or they like bigger chests."

Ash rolled her eyes. "Let's not talk about guys."

"Fine."

All gone, or they don't fancy police detectives, mused Ash, based on her most recent dating experiences.

The roadway went down to two lanes after the next turnabout then suddenly it was very residential. Large two and three story houses lined the street, all sporting showy porticos and well maintained lawns. No brick pads in front of these homes, for they all had honest-to-goodness tarmac driveways and actual grass.

Ash checked the address in the file. "787 Medford Circle. Every notice how all the good neighborhood streets are named Circle, Way, or Drive? The rest get stuck with Street or Avenue." She wrinkled her nose. "I wouldn't mind living here though."

Scribbs nodded at the next house. "There. 787." The home was a stately faux Tudor with massive wooden trim framing cream coloured stucco sections. "Bet you anything those timbers are Fibreglas and not real wood."

"Bet a coffee you're wrong."

"Taken." Scribbs pulled into the drive and stopped. "Right. How do we do this?"

"Whatcha' mean?"

"Good cop – bad cop?" Scribbs said, meaning one of them ought to be nice while the other asked the tough questions.

"Oh," Ash sighed as she popped her seat harness and opened her door. "Let's just play it by ear."

They walked to the door and beheld a massive wood door, glistening with new varnish. "Nice," Scribbs said, but then she pushed the buzzer and darted to the right to inspect one of the trim timbers.

That left Ash feeling the fool when the door suddenly opened and she was looking at a middle-aged man. She opened her badge folder. "Mr. Browning? I'm Detective Inspector Ashurst," she said as she held out her badge.

The man had deep blue eyes, wavy ash-blonde hair, and his chiseled features seemed to fit his tall frame. "Oh, right." He turned his head to see Scribbs scraping a fingernail down his house. He cocked his head at Scribbs. "She with you?"

Kate blew angry air from her nose. "And this is Detective Sergeant Scribbins."

Scribbs jumped out of the planting bed below the front window. "Sorry. Just… I appreciate houses, is all," she answered brightly.

Mr. Browning looked at them both disapprovingly. "I suppose you'll want to come inside," he groaned.

Ash grimaced at him for a tenth of a second. "Or we can stand right here in your doorway and your neighbors can chin-wag about how the police are speaking to you once again."

"Come in then," he grunted.

As he backed out of the door and walked away, Scribbs had leave to mouth the word 'wood' to her partner when Browning's back was turned.

Kate sighed. Gonna be one of those days she thought to herself.

Scribbs smiled at her and cracked her gum as she entered the home.