Chapter 2

Alex strolled into the station at 6.30 am, the sound of her heels echoing through the empty corridors. She smiled at the duty sergeant.

"Morning Frank. Busy night?"

"No ma'am. Just one would-be mugger who tried it on with a little old lady heading home with her chip supper. He didn't realise she'd got a half-brick in her handbag though – when we arrived he was out cold and she was sat next to him tucking into her cod & mushy peas."

Alex laughed. "I hope I'm that gutsy when I'm her age!" (If I get that far flashed across her mind).

"I'm sure you will be, ma'am. Oh, no offence meant.…" a worried look crossed the sergeant's face.

"None taken – I hope you're right!"

She continued down the corridor, and pushed through the doors into the CID suite.

"Come on Drake, shift that skinny arse of yours, I'm dying for a brew." called Gene from his office. He was sat with his feet on his desk, flicking through a report file.

"Good morning to you, too, DCI Hunt. For your information I am going to put the kettle on, but because I want to, not because I feel the need to wait on you."

And she flounced off to the kitchen, smiling to herself. They shared a similar exchange most mornings. However early she got in, he was usually there first. She knew why she was trying to lose herself in her work – was he doing the same thing? Though he was as often playing darts as buried in paperwork, so she suspected he was sometimes there just to keep her company.

And she was glad of the company, she reflected, as she waited for the kettle to boil. (Especially his. No, don't go there.) She enjoyed these moments of faux domesticity; the brief feeling of having someone else to look after.

She carried the tea back through to the office and put Gene's on his desk.

"Cheers, Bolly. You know, I think I'll buy you a maid's outfit for Christmas. I can just see you in a pinny."

"In your dreams!" she responded, raising her eyebrows.

"Every night, sweetheart. Now bugger off and let me get on with some work!"

Alex sauntered back to her desk, grinning. She'd got a pile of witness statements to go through from last week's armed robbery, so she pulled them towards her and started reading as she sipped her tea. Whoever had taken the statements had appalling handwriting and an even worse grasp of spelling and punctuation, so more concentration was required than usual and she was soon absorbed in her work. Before long, however, she became aware of the telephone ringing out loudly in reception. She idly wondered where Frank was. Doing the handover with Viv, maybe. It would soon transfer through to CID if it wasn't answered. Sure enough, the phone on Ray's desk began to ring. Alex walked over and picked it up.

"Good morning, Fenchurch East Police Station. DI Drake speaking. How may I help?"

"Morning, love. Have you got a pen handy?" answered a male voice with a strong Irish accent.

"Of course. How can I help?" replied Alex.

"Just to show you lot we're not all ignorant Paddies, I've got a little puzzle for you to solve. Write this down: 'Bringer of sorrow, portent of doom, the bar on the road of nine, at 12.30 BOOM!' " He shouted the last word, and hung up.

Alex looked at the paper in front of her. "Shit!" she thought. Not a good start to the week.