The air in the CIB room was sombre to say the least. We had all walked back to the office lost in our thoughts. Mine were turbulent, chopping from anger to disgust to disbelief to horror. My hyperactive imagination could almost feel the slice of steel below my belly, and I couldn’t help but wince as my hands, yet again, cupped the precious cargo. I felt a reassuring wriggle within.
‘Well, that’s about the most horrific thing I’ve ever heard in my life.’ Otto had been around for a long time and had spent considerable time serving overseas, so coming from him that was saying something.
His words broke the ice, and a torrent of comments and exclamations washed around the room. The overwhelming theme was utter disbelief that something so awful could happen in good ole New Zealand, let alone boring Dunners. Dunedin was pretty much Grand Conservative Central. The most exciting things that happened here usually involved drunk students or the ever-present illicit drug scene. This was the kind of abomination that happened in violent, lawless countries, not here. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Not that I wanted to. I was tired and emotional, and afraid my voice might betray me. The banter stopped as suddenly as it started with the arrival of DI Johns – he who must be obeyed.
‘Right, everyone. As you can imagine we are going to be under immense pressure to find whoever did this, and fast. The people of Dunedin are going to be nervous and scared until we get this monster behind bars.’ He didn’t need to point out the obvious, but never missed an opportunity to make a dramatic speech. ‘And it’s not just pressure locally. We’re already fielding calls from international media outlets. The scrutiny will be intense.’
He paused, as if waiting for comment, or acknowledgement. None came.
‘Do you understand?’ he asked, real slow. I resisted the urge to eye-roll.
A murmur of obligatory ‘yes, sir’s’ and ‘uh-huh’s’ circulated the room.
‘As I said in the station briefing, Detective Smith will be in charge of the operation, and in a moment he will allocate the lead roles.’ Now that he was in a small room with the less-impressionable detectives, rather than leading the briefing to the full cast, The Boss spoke with a little less theatre. A little.
‘The majority of you will be involved in this case, but Detective Shephard, you will be dealing with current cases that are not so urgent.’
What the…? I had already interviewed a potential witness and set the ball rolling for them for support and follow-up statements. Why the hell was I being excluded now? Dick Head Johns had a history of keeping me away from the coal face in investigations and giving me the shit jobs, but I’d thought we’d all grown up a bit and started moving on from there.
‘I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand. I’ve already been active in the case from the first callout, why am I not able to continue?’
‘Well, given that you are only going to be here for another few weeks and are on light duties, your time is best used elsewhere, finishing up cases rather than starting on a new one.’ It was semi-reasonable logic, if your idea of logic involved taking a passing glance at a situation and that glance happened to be myopic. I wasn’t about to get shelved that easily. And anyway, I was pretty sure he’d be expecting some pushback. I didn’t want to disappoint.
‘But given the pressure we are under to get this murder solved, as you stated clearly in the briefing, and we’re going to be very much in the spotlight, isn’t it better to have as many detectives working on the case as possible?’
The rest of the room went conspicuously silent, and I could sense everyone holding their breath to see the reaction to someone questioning The Boss’s decisions. It didn’t happen often, and when it did, the results weren’t always favourable. I don’t know whether it was the pregnancy thing, or the lack of sleep thing, or that I’d simply run out of fucks to give when it came to The Boss, but I was in a ‘don’t just accept it’ kind of mood.
The Boss drew in a large breath that made his nostrils flare.
‘Detective Shephard, given your imminent departure for maternity leave, there is no point whatsoever you starting on a new case.’ His tone was careful but tinged with something else. Condescension? Always. But this time with a pinch of … what was that? Concern? Before I could figure out the angle, he dropped the clanger. ‘I also don’t believe, because of your own advanced state of pregnancy, that you would be able to remain objective and emotionally detached from this case.’
The vacuum created by everyone behind me sucking in air almost pulled me backward. I felt a wave of heat rush up my face as my brain absorbed the statement, replaying the words in my head. I couldn’t remain objective? What the actual fuck? My eyes flicked over to Paul and took in the startled look on his face. He gave me a slight shake of the head, his eyes widening with warning. When my eyes found their way back to The Boss, Smithy, standing behind Dick Head Johns, was mirroring Paul’s micro-message. For once they were in agreement. The Boss bore the expression of someone who fully believed they were right, and were being reasonable.
I inhaled deeply and started to count to ten before I had a crack at showing him just how reasonable I thought he was being. By the time I reached five I’d taken in Smithy’s waist-level, hidden hand gestures: You, me, talk. I wanted so badly to ask Johns if that meant he was going to stand Paul down from the case too, because he wouldn’t be able to be objective, being the father of the offending bump and all. I wanted even more badly to ask if that meant every time a bloke was killed, none of the male detectives would be allowed on the case because they couldn’t be objective, because, you know, they all had penises, just like the victim. But at ten I let out the breath I’d been holding, bit my tongue and sucked it up. I was here to win the war, not the battle.