Whitechapel: Misunderstandings

Chapter 1

A heavy London rain barreled down against the windows at the Whitechapel division of the Met as Detective Constable Emerson Kent sat at his desk and quietly gazed out with his chin resting in his hands.

Shit. How the bloody hell am I supposed to ride home in that mess, he thought to himself and sighed.

He considered whether or not it would be wiser just to leave his scooter at the station overnight and take the Tube back to his flat. But then again, that meant he'd have to walk at least a half mile in the pouring rain from the metro stop to the council estate where he lived with his two flatmates.

Apart from the obvious inconvenience this sour weather wreaked on his commute, it wasn't doing anything to help his mood either. Kent had just finished interviewing a young Pakistani woman who had been brutally raped the night before. And now, sitting at his desk, he couldn't get his mind focused back to filling out the incident report.

The young DC was exhausted both emotionally and physically.

Kent couldn't deny that this had been happening quite a lot with him lately. Over the past few weeks, he had sensed himself becoming increasingly withdrawn and depressed, and he couldn't concentrate on anything at work for more than a few minutes at a time. With all that had happened in Whitechapel and his own life over the past three years, he had finally reached his emotional limit.

"You're just overworked, love. You need to take some time off and go stay with your sister for a few days or come up to Hampstead and stay with me. I'd love to see you," his mum had suggested over the telephone when he'd confessed to her about how he was feeling.

There wasn't anything at that moment that Kent would've needed more than to escape to the safety of his mum or his twin sister Erica. But he knew it wasn't possible, especially with the way things were just now at the station. Lately, it seemed as though there was a horrifying new crime occurring almost every day in the East End, and Kent was too duty-bound to his job to just escape on a whim.

When he first joined the police force, he'd been warned about some of the things he would be exposed to; but like most new constables, he thought that he was ready for anything. Yet it wasn't very long before he realized that nothing could have prepared him for the endless cycle of depravity and viciousness he witnessed almost constantly in Whitechapel.

The older, more experienced detectives on the squad always seemed so hardened by years of grisly crime scenes. He would often notice how their eyes seemed to glaze over when they surveyed a brutalized body, as if it were nothing more than a dead animal on the side of the road. But it was always different for Kent. He couldn't help but imagine the fear and dread that each of those victims must have felt in the moments before their deaths, much less the agony that awaited their loved ones.

"You can't let it affect you, lad," DS Miles would always say to him. "If you let stuff like this haunt you, then you'll lose all your effectiveness as a good copper."

In a way, Miles was right. Kent sometimes wished he could be as cynical and disillusioned as the older sergeant. But no matter how hard he tried, he could never bring himself to ignore the pain and agony that all those victims must have felt. It was never worse than when he had to interview a crime victim and ask them to recount the horrifying details of their ordeal. Seeing the pain in their eyes was almost too much for him to handle and it was all he could do not to reach over and comfort them in his arms.

At night, he would often even find himself driving aimlessly around the East End streets on his scooter, looking for a dark, empty car-park where he could let his tears flow freely. While other policemen drank their pain away at the pub or took it out on their wives at home, Kent would sit against a dirty brick wall with his face buried in his arms, crying away all the ugliness and despair he had encountered day-to-day. But it wasn't just the horrors of Whitechapel that drew out his tears.

He would also cry out of loneliness for a man he could never have and it was slowly chipping away at him, piece by piece.

To make matters worse, this man could no longer even look at him without contempt in his eyes. He no longer offered that warm, friendly smile of encouragement that had always made Kent practically buckle in the knees. For the past four months, every time they would pass each other in the incident room or survey a crime scene together, he could almost feel the man's indifference hit him like a cold chill. Kent had always regarded himself as a fairly good reader of people's emotions, and as far as Detective Inspector Joseph Chandler was concerned, the writing was on the wall.

Kent let his eyes wander from the drenched world outside down to the top of his desk where he noticed a single paper clip in front of him. He usually kept all of his spare paper clips in a neat pile inside the drawer, but this solitary clip had somehow found its way onto the top of his tidy desk. He reached for a blue marker and distractedly began to coat the silver clip in deep color as he tried to push away the recent memories that still haunted him.

He still couldn't believe he'd had the nerve to accuse Morgan Lamb of conspiring with Luke Watney to murder three innocent people. But at the time, he desperately wanted to believe that there was something more sinister about her than what she appeared to be; and he desperately wanted Chandler to believe it as well.

But it was no use. He knew that his DI was falling in love with her.

Kent could have never admitted to it openly back then, but he was undeniably jealous of that woman's blossoming relationship with his DI. Just as she'd said he was. When he saw the way that Chandler looked into her eyes, Kent knew she could offer him everything that he couldn't. And just as with all those other beautiful women who came before her, he felt so invisible as far as Chandler was concerned.

The young DC shut his eyes and tried to ignore the painful memory of the night he'd watched Chandler offer Morgan a ride home from the station after her attack in the car-park. He had watched helplessly through a window as Chandler chivalrously opened the door of his car for her before they drove away into the darkness together.

His heart broke that night.

And so had any hope of ever receiving back any of the love and admiration he'd so eagerly and freely offered his DI.

"You're prepared to stop at nothing to keep him for yourself, aren't you lad?"

Kent cringed with embarrassment and guilt as he thought back to the final words that Morgan Lamb uttered to him in the witness room the day she was murdered.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," was all he could reply, dumbfounded and unsure if he'd heard her correctly.

But he knew deep inside that she saw right through him as she simply stared back at him with a coldness in her eyes that sent a chill up the back of his neck. That was the last time he saw her alive.

And now since her death, Chandler hardly ever spoke a word to him other than to give an order. Kent knew that Chandler must have despised him for his open contempt of Morgan. It was painfully obvious in the way that his DI practically castigated him for his accusations against her. But in all honesty, he couldn't blame his DI for feeling that way. He wouldn't have been surprised if Chandler had probably even blamed him for Morgan's death. He was, after all, the one who left her alone and vulnerable in the witness room with Luke's unbalanced mother nearby…

"Oi, Kent! Back to planet Earth." Kent was jolted out of his thoughts as Miles briskly walked by on his way to Chandler's office.

He took a deep breath and tried to get back to concentrating on his report, but it was no use. How could he possibly endure another day of this? The toll this job alone was taking on his emotional state was enough to send him off the rails. But seeing an uncertain future stretch ahead of having to work for a man he worshipped but who couldn't bear the sight of him, was almost more than he could handle.

Feeling overpowered, Kent rose from his desk to stretch his legs and get a drink of water from the dispenser at the other end of the incident room. DC Riley was standing near the water dispenser glancing over a file as he approached.

"Is everything alright with you, lad?" she whispered as he topped off a gulp of water. "I've been worried about you lately."

Kent tried his best to appear nonchalant and let out a small, insincere laugh. "Yes, everything's fine. I'm just tired."

Riley replied with a silent, concerned look that all but said she didn't believe him.

"Look, I've just been going through some personal stuff lately, that's all. I just need to get through the next few weeks and I'll be fine," he said.

"Well, if you're sure… Listen, I know we just work together and all that, but if you ever need somebody to have a good cry over a pint with, I'm here. Understand?" She gave him a warm smile and a light squeeze on the arm. "You're a sweet lad and I want to help if I can."

Kent watched her silently as she returned to her desk. For a brief moment, he felt reassured. He desperately needed a friend right now—someone he could talk to and confide in about everything he was going through. His flatmates Liam and Jeffrey were all good and well, but they always seemed too wrapped up in their own drama to be of much help. And even if they were willing to listen, he knew they wouldn't know how to help or what to say to him. And he knew that if he ever told Riley—or anyone else at the station—about his secret, his job could be in jeopardy, much less his reputation with his DI.

Kent felt lonely and exhausted as he surveyed the rest of the incident room. DC Mansell and Cooper were having a laugh about something which he probably wouldn't have found remotely funny, and Miles was in the boss's office presumably talking about a case. Like most of his days lately, Kent couldn't wait for his shift to end so that he could go home to his flat and sleep the evening away.

Joseph Chandler hadn't heard a word that Miles was saying. It usually wasn't his nature to tune people out, particularly those who worked for him. He'd always been rather proud of the fact that he was so involved with his team and the cases they investigated. But lately, he couldn't focus on the job at hand, and his obsessive disorder was getting worse.

Miles prattled on as Chandler methodically tapped his finger on the lid of the miniature tub of Tiger Balm that he always kept nearby. The small canister had become his only friend and solace, especially since Morgan's death. For the days and months after her brutal murder, he often found himself sitting alone, reflecting on his own past and future. It seemed as though everything he touched and everyone he became involved with only ended up damaged or destroyed in the end.

When Morgan first came into his life, he saw her as a savior—someone who could finally help him heal his emotional and psychological wounds. Apart from Miles, she was the only person who could see through his rigid façade and understand his inner demons. But that all but disappeared in a matter of minutes almost four months ago.

And now faced with the hopelessness of her death, he couldn't bear to be reminded of her or the deliverance that could have been. He had even permanently removed the rubber band he kept on his wrist which she'd given him to keep his disorder under control. It was just another reminder that he was now beyond any help.

This is all so useless, he thought to was more determined than ever that for his and everyone else's sake, he was better off alone.

And to make matters worse, his own team was coming apart. Mansell and Riley were constantly bickering lately; and Miles was more distracted than ever with a new baby at home. Even Buchan was becoming unhinged. Being cooped up in the station's basement with nothing but historical files of the area's most horrifying crimes was beginning to take its toll on the older man.

Poor man, he thought to himself. Despite Buchan's helpfulness in many of their cases, Chandler had sometimes regretted bringing in a civilian to do a job that should have been filled by an experienced policeman. Buchan was undoubtedly diligent in his job performance. But like any civilian would have been in his position, he was too lost in his own theories about crime and history to be of any sort of long-term usefulness.

And apart from that, Buchan was beginning to take the frequent horrors of their reality all too personally. Chandler could freely admit that he himself was guilty of this at certain times during his tenure in Whitechapel. But his personal guilt was more or less due to his own failure to protect the victims and bring justice to the perpetrators. Buchan on the other hand, saw his own guilt as a personal crusade of some kind.

And then there was Kent…

Chandler glanced up at Kent through his office window. The young DC sat quietly at his desk and appeared to be daydreaming as Chandler gazed at him for a moment and pondered where he went wrong with his young detective.

When Chandler was first assigned to the Whitechapel division, Kent was like a young puppy, eager to jump through hoops for its master. During those first few months when all the other DCs would roll their eyes and laugh behind Chandler's back, he could always count on Kent to be front and center, hanging onto his every word. He knew that Kent was the only person in the entire station who had taken him even remotely seriously. And despite Kent's young age and inexperience, Chandler had really come to see him as a valued member of staff.

But then something changed.

At the time, Chandler suspected that Kent had been jealous of Morgan; but for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. Surely Kent didn't view Morgan as any sort of threat to his own career? Could he have been angry for want of attention… like a child who feels neglected by its parent?

Chandler felt a slight pang of regret. Deep down, he knew he had become distracted by Morgan and had carelessly overlooked his team as a result. He'd always known that Kent, in particular, was loyal and dedicated to his career and the young DC thrived on consistent praise and approval. He needed it to excel at his job properly and up until then, Chandler had been more than happy to offer it to someone so deserving. But then Morgan came into the picture and Chandler had begun to feel his self-control slipping. He knew that he failed the very people who depended on him the most and when Kent accused Morgan in the way that he did, Chandler couldn't help but take it as a veiled attack on his own failure as DI.

When Kent had confronted him in the incident room all those months ago about his obvious attraction to Morgan, Chandler felt like he was hit in the face by a wall of betrayal. At the time, he couldn't believe that one of his subordinates would have the gall to accuse him of being sidetracked by a silly attraction to someone who could have very well been a dangerous threat. Especially someone potentially connected to three brutal murders. But in hindsight, he realized that it wasn't betrayal on Kent's part that had upset him so much. He was the one who betrayed his young DC by fraternizing with a witness and possible suspect.

Kent had been right all along; and deep down, Chandler knew it. But like he was so often prone to do with others, Chandler let his own ego cloud his judgment and he took it out on the very person who was trying to save him from making a terrible mistake. And to make matters worse, it had taken him three bloody months of wasted time to come to this realization.

Chandler felt ashamed sitting at the pristine desk in his private office as he carefully studied his young DC sitting alone in the incident room. Something about the look on Kent's face made him feel so unworthy and ungrateful of his DC's esteem. He gazed at Kent and pondered over how much he would have been willing to give up in order to be able to take back the last four months…

"…Have you not heard a bloody word I've said?"

"I'm sorry, Miles. I've just had a lot on my mind lately," Chandler replied distractedly.

"Not you too?!" The hard-nosed sergeant was almost red in the face. "What the bloody hell is wrong with everybody around here lately?"

Chandler was taken back and almost defensive, "What in God's name do you mean?"

"First it's Kent and now you."

"It may have escaped your notice, but everyone's been under rather a lot of stress lately, including me… Especially me, in fact."

Miles thought for a moment and softened his tone, "Look boss, I know it's none of my business but you've got to move on. Whatever happened between you and Morgan is in the past. It's done. Time to start `afresh. Stewing in your own juices isn't gonna bring her back. It's time to wake up and realize there's always plenty of other fish in the sea, if you'll pardon my French."

"I'd rather not discuss this if it's all the same to you, Miles," Chandler replied coldly, averting his eyes.

"I'm just saying… it can get better if you allow it to. I'm sure there's someone out there right now who's perfect for you. But you just gotta open your bloody eyes first."

"Thank you, Miles," Chandler replied with annoyance as Miles got up to leave.

Just as the sergeant reached the door, Chandler spoke up, trying not to sound conspicuous. "Uh, Miles… what did you say was the matter with Kent?"

"God if I know. He seems distracted and moody lately, poor lad. Like something's weighing on his mind. Must be over some girl or something."

Chandler briefly returned his gaze to the young DC in the outer office. "But he never dates… at least not from what I've seen."

"Well, how the hell should I know? He doesn't say a word to anyone anymore… Just sits there with dead eyes."

Chandler glanced down briefly at his desk, then returned his attention to his DS. "Well, why don't you try having a chat with him and find out. Maybe he needs support of some kind."

"You could try talking to him. You are his boss, sir."

Averting his gaze again, Chandler said quietly, "I'm not sure that he would open up to me. He'd probably much rather speak to you."

"Why wouldn't he want to talk to you? He completely idolizes you. As far as he's concerned, you're the friggin' rock star of the universe!"

"I highly doubt that," Chandler replied with a half-hearted laugh. But inside, this statement pained him greatly because he knew it was true. Or at least it was before his brief affair with Morgan. He felt like such a disappointment in Kent's eyes, which logically, seemed completely ridiculous. He was Kent's superior...his boss. He shouldn't have had to feel like his success or failure as a detective inspector depended on the approval of his subordinates. He certainly didn't feel that amount of responsibility toward Riley, Mansell, or McCormack. And to a certain extent, not even Miles. Chandler looked up to Miles as a sort of mentor, a teacher. But he certainly didn't feel like he needed to impress his sergeant. With Miles, it was more of a competition for authority. If anything, he'd always felt threatened by the older man.

But there was something different about his relationship with Kent. The young DC made him want to be the best detective inspector he could possibly be. Chandler wanted to be the hero in his DC's eyes and Kent's blatant worship of him only fueled that desire.

"I think you ought to gather the team 'round for short confab," Miles went on. "Give 'em a kick in the pants and tell them to straighten up and fly right. Just what they'll need."

"Do you really think I should?" Chandler asked hesitantly.

"Yes I do. It'll be just what the doctor ordered."

Chandler looked down in thought for a few moments with a worried expression on his face while Miles studied him curiously.

"Ech, this whole friggin' place has gone barmy and I need a malt scotch." Miles waved his hand behind him dismissively and walked out.