The Noble Fight

Chapter Three;
Names and Faces

"Guv, don't take this the wrong way but, well, you look like crap."

"Yes, thank you for that observation DC Fletcher." Max gave a dry response as Will grinned.

"Long night?" DS Jo Masters smiled as DI Carter passed her into his office.

"Don't you two have anything better to do?" He snapped, but they ignored it.

"You know I've only seen someone that grumpy when they've kipped on my lumpy couch for the ni…" Will stopped. "Oh no, she didn't." He beamed at Jo who caught on and laughed.

Max frowned. "Get back to work."

"She did. Go Millie." Jo laughed.

Max looked up from his desk. "What are you two working on?"

"We're between cases at the moment Guv." Will admitted, the taunting grin still plastered on his face.

"Great, take this." He handed them a folder and Will opened it, his grin falling quickly.

"Old Jack the hobo on the Holbeck?" Will groaned. "This is a uniform job."

"Uniform haven't had any luck. Plus I like to save these kinds of jobs for people just like you Will."

"Great, you just had to push it didn't you? Tick off the DI and we get a smelly hobo." Jo glared at Will as she grabbed her coat from the rack outside Max's office.

"I believe they prefer the term 'homeless persons'." Max called after them as they left, Will having smacked the file down on his desk with huff before following Jo out. With a small hiss of a laugh, Max looked back at the other cases, glancing at a few results from his team before turning his attention to the computer on his desk, his interest in the dark-haired man from the park peaking again. He typed in the name, reading the same information he'd read the day before. Eventually sense got the better of him and he closed the file, going back to work. He pushed down the overwhelming sense of worry. For now.

*

"Oscar, lunch." Millie's voice carried out from the front stoop to the garden where Oscar sat pushing a small toy dump truck around the yard, digging up the dirt in the family's pathetic excuse for a garden. He glanced up with wide eyes. "No, now, go wash your hands." He pouted but stood, rubbing his dirty hands on his pants. Millie cringed as the dirt stuck. Then, leaving the truck behind, he rushed past her inside. Millie stepped back, about to shut the door, when she saw the deep maroon sedan. The windows were tinted so heavily she couldn't tell if anyone was inside or not, but the feeling of being watched was so great she actually stepped down the front stairs to get a better look. Her police sense getting the better of her, she was about to charge up to the car and look in, but a voice from inside stopped her.

"Mum!" Millie glanced back at Oscar who was watching her from the doorway, his hands on his hips as he frowned at her, a cheeky look in his eyes. He was mocking her.

She smiled at him. "Hands?" He held them up. They were clean. "Good boy. Table." He ran off. With one glance back at the maroon sedan, Millie followed him inside and slammed the front door behind her.

*

The colourful figures on the television danced and Oscar was trying to keep up with them as Millie entered the lounge that afternoon sipping a mug of green tea and watching her energetic young son. He looked up at the sight of her and beamed, focusing even more on his dancing to impress her. Millie took a seat and watched him for a while, but the colours on the screen soon gave her a headache and she looked out the window next to her, looking for relief. It was then that her eyes were drawn to the car again. And it had moved.

Putting down her tea, she stood and went to the front door, making sure it wasn't just a trick of the light. It wasn't. The car had moved in the three hours since lunch. It wasn't much of a shift, but enough. Almost like someone had re-parked and tried to park in the same position as before. Narrowing her eyes at it, she grabbed her keys and shut the front door behind her. Oscar didn't notice as she headed down the front walk and out to the sidewalk, walking up to the limits of her property. With a few more steps she had a full view of the car's index and took a mental note. Then, frowning at it one more time, she went back to the house and grabbed her phone, taking it out the back so she could hear over Oscar's music.

The voice answered after two rings, a smiling female voice. Millie frowned for a second, chastising her superstitions, then decided now she'd made the call she'd might as well follow it up. "Hi PC Copeland, this is PC Brown, 212." She gave PC Copeland a chance to check the name.

"Oh yes, Amelia, you're down here as being on maternity leave until June."

"I am. Look, PC Cop… sorry, this is weird, can I have your real name?"

"Jennifer."

"Thanks, Jennifer, look I was wondering if you could run a check for me."

"Sure. A name or a number plate?"

"A plate. It's a maroon Ford sedan. It's Tango, Lima, Whiskey, Four, Four, Tango."

Jennifer repeated the plates then Millie heard her tapping away. "Yeah, it's not reported stolen. Registered to a Mr. William Quinn. 34 Hoskins Road, Canley."

Millie frowned. He lived six doors down from her. "Alright, thanks Jen." Millie hung up on Sun Hill station and put her phone down. It belonged to a neighbour. That was why it was parked in her street.

With a shake of her head, Millie went back to the lounge where Oscar stood dancing along to bouncing numbers, and her tea. She didn't notice the maroon sedan had gone again.