Stress levels had been building steadily at Mildenheath CID. By now, the whole team was aware of what was at stake. Up until now they’d been able to operate more or less as an autonomous CID department with the Chief Constable leaving them to their own devices as long as they got results. Now, though, they had less than forty-eight hours before they knew the Ripper would strike again and they’d be faced with closure, mergers and redundancies.
For Wendy, it was all about little pleasures. She’d had enough stress to deal with in recent months and years, what with her first serial murder case resulting in the killer being found a little too close to home, her partner being murdered and then the trauma of the miscarriage she’d suffered. Work had been a saving grace for her, allowing her to throw herself into something and have something into which to channel her energy.
She knew that she’d probably personally be safe should Mildenheath CID be merged into county HQ, but that wasn’t the point. She had friends and colleagues who wouldn’t be quite so safe, plus she had a certain affinity for this place. It was where her dad had worked all those years before. It was where she’d worked, where she’d built her career. It was her home. She didn’t want to move to some faceless glass building any more than the others did.
One such little pleasure was being able to at least look forward to her lunchtime snack each day. A new deli-cum-café had opened around the corner from the station, offering something a little bit different from the usual Mildenheath fare. Their gourmet sandwiches were to die for; huge slabs of granary bread filled to bursting with your choice of filling. She’d been slowly working her way through the menu and had even been tempted towards some of the more chic foods, including a chickpea and quinoa salad a couple of days before which had been surprisingly alright. Today, it was the turn of the tuna melt.
Or at least it would have been, if she hadn’t opened the fridge in the kitchen and found that it had gone missing. She’d heard stories from friends up at Milton House about things going missing from fridges (another reason to oppose the merger), but to date there’d been nothing of the sort at Mildenheath. The joys of working with a small team meant that everyone knew — and respected — everyone. Well, nearly everyone.
Just as she was racking her brains trying to remember if she’d actually put it in there or not, in walked Luke Baxter, complete with one tuna melt hanging out of his mouth.
‘Alright, Wend?’ he said as he swallowed another mouthful. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’
It wasn’t the fact that he’d stolen her lunch that upset her most. It was the fact that he’d shortened her name. Only one person had ever been allowed to do that, and that was her brother, Michael.
‘Is that my lunch you’re eating?’ she asked as calmly as she could.
‘Well, no, it’s my lunch technically,’ he replied, flicking the switch on the kettle.
‘Where did you get it from?’
‘The fridge. Didn’t have a name on it. Presumed it was up for grabs.’
‘Since when has anything in that fridge been “up for grabs”?’ she shrieked, her voice raising a good two octaves.
‘Er, since we all contribute to it?’ he replied, almost as a question. ‘The milk, chocolates, orange juice...’
‘But not my bloody lunch!’ Wendy yelled, snatching the tuna melt from his hand and throwing it in the bin. ‘You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?’ she said, putting her face so close to his that she could smell the tuna and mayonnaise. ‘You’re just doing this to be a dickhead.’
‘Oh get over yourself, Wend.’
‘Do not call me that!’
‘Jesus, who put sandpaper in your knickers? Chill out. You won’t last five minutes at Milton House with an attitude like that.’ He turned to walk off.
‘And what would you know?’ she yelled, grabbing his arm. ‘You don’t have a clue how to treat people. You just walk all over them, trying to get what you want. That’s not how things are done here. That’s not how you earn respect.’
‘Well it certainly worked in earning me my Sergeant’s stripes, didn’t it? I seem to recall it taking you a lot longer than that.’
‘Yeah, because I didn’t act like an arse-licking little shit to my superior officers!’ By now, Wendy’s voice had risen to a level which had attracted the attention of the other officers in the adjoining incident room.
‘I think you need to take some time away, Wend. Maybe get to grips with your anger issues. It’s clearly causing you a problem,’ Baxter said, smirking like a Cheshire cat.
‘How fucking dare you—’ Wendy was cut off mid-flow by the imposing figure of DCI Culverhouse wading into the room, his voice flattening the atmosphere immediately.
‘Enough! What’s this all about?’
DS Baxter laughed. ‘I picked up her sandwich by mistake and she flipped out. I think she needs some time away, guv.’
‘What the fuck?’ Wendy was incredulous. ‘He stole my lunch on purpose and then deliberately tried winding me up about it! I’ve had enough of his attitude and the way he treats people.’
‘Stop!’ Culverhouse barked. ‘In case you two fucking numpties hadn’t realised, we’ve got a pretty bloody big case on our hands. The last thing we need is two of our officers at each other’s throats. What good do you think that’s going to do?’
Luke and Wendy looked at each other, not saying a word.
‘Now, I want the two of you to go home. I can’t risk you fucking this investigation up at the last minute. You’ve both completed your actions, right?’
‘Yes,’ Wendy replied, quietly. ‘Just awaiting further instructions and preparing for tomorrow night, guv.’
‘Good,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘In that case, you can both consider your work on the case to be completed.’
‘What? But it’s not finished yet!’ Baxter pleaded.
‘I’m not kicking you off. I’m telling you I don’t have anything more for you to do. Tomorrow night will be a response situation for CID. It’s down to the officers on the ground to take over. We can manage without you both until the morning after. You can spend tomorrow evening, after you’ve both calmed down, meeting up in a pub somewhere and talking through your differences. Because if I’m going to hold this unit together, I bloody well need you both to cooperate.’
‘A pub?’ Wendy said, almost laughing. ‘Tomorrow night? With respect, guv, I’d rather be here working on the biggest case we’ve ever had rather than in a pub. And anyway, if the town’s being shut off we won’t be able to get near a pub.’
‘There are villages. You’ll manage. Now do as you’re told and fuck off.’