Chapter Text
Thump thump thump.
Rain thundered from above, adding to the monotonous tone that had claimed the morning— the smell of alcohol made my nose wrinkle.
I shut the door behind me, just in case; you never knew who might be listening.
Baldwin was occupied, conspiring with another man I hadn’t met. He was lean and tired-looking. Each line decorating his face spoke of experience.
I approach, taking in the crime scene.
Shards of glass decorated a stained rug—alcohol. Another glass stood nearby, untouched. What I presumed was whiskey; it looked diluted.
Maybe the ice had melted?
I ran a hand along the top of an armchair, the velvet informing me of expense. The fire was still alive, though barely. Whatever had happened here—it was recent.
Then we made eye contact. After a long moment, I tore my eyes from the corpse’s face, focusing on his attire. A charcoal suit, tailored; his top button was undone, cuffs pulled back to his elbows.
He’d been casual…close company.
“Irwin, did you write any of that down?” snapped Baldwin. My lips pursed; was it that hard to get my name right? No—I just wasn’t worth the time.
“No, I didn’t,” I replied in a clipped tone, facing him. There was no point getting angry, but with someone this unbearable? That was a tall order.
“-And why not?” He prodded, invading my personal space. His companion’s brow furrowed, glancing between us.
Usually, Baldwin would have berated me, but not now.
Why? Company hadn’t stopped him before—unless this was someone senior, more important.
“I was-” I began, “I was...”
“Doing something you shouldn’t be,” He growled. Anger threatened to bubble up, and I struggled to keep things at a simmer. I needed to focus on the dead body behind me.
Nodding, I pulled a notepad from my bag and began to take notes at a lightning pace.
There’s no sign of a struggle.” The taller man began, his tone clear and concise. “No scuffle, boot marks, mess...” I watched as he worked; methodical, logic-driven.
“... a friend did this. Someone trusted.” I offered, before I’d even realised my lips were moving. Baldwin shot me a look, but nothing more. He looked small and insignificant by the detective’s side.
The man gave me a fleeting look of approval, maybe even interest.
“Yes. Something like that.” He nodded, extending a hand in my direction, “-Ted Royce. Head of the-”
“... Criminal Investigation Department.” I went quiet. So that’s who this was. How did I not recognise him? I bit my tongue, hard.
“And you are?” He pushed, awaiting my response.
“Oh, Irina. Irina Moraru.”
“Ms Moraru, it’s a pleasure.” Despite myself, I grinned. It was nice—not having to fight to be seen.
“Can we focus on the task at hand? Irwi-Irina.” Baldwin pushed, his annoyance palpable.
I flicked open my notepad - of my own accord, for once, and got to work. Scribbling down every last detail.
-
Photos were taken, samples were snagged, and a plan was soon in place. By lunchtime, I was at the station, typing up a log on the case.
The keys clattered in time with my thoughts—each letter painting a picture in my head.
Mr James Findlay had died in his family home, poisoned. We didn’t know the specifics yet or the location of his family. They were somewhere in the Scottish Highlands.
Some surprise they had waiting for them.
Royce had left the case with Baldwin, which technically included me; I was his junior detective. Though it was debatable how much wisdom he might pass on. He seemed to think I existed to run errands.
Back to the case.
I glanced at my notepad, skimming the mess I’d called notes. Casino was a start— the victim was a regular, after all.
I typed as fast as my fingers would allow—I’d pay for the typos later. I needed to get this finished so I could talk with Mariann.
The door creaked behind me, and my heart sank. Royce had left, leaving Baldwin back in authority. I was back to running for everyone’s lunch orders in the thundering rain.
Still—if he thought his teeth-rotting coffee habits were going to keep me off this case, he had another thing coming.
For one, I’d written up the report and still needed to finish it—two, Baldwin was slow. He wouldn’t be out in the field until the weekend was out, at least. He’d only been in the office today because of the body. That gave me a head start.
-
I peeled wet fabric from my arms, throwing my jacket over the radiator. A vain attempt to dry it before I clocked out later. Thunder punctuated my frustrated thoughts—weather wasn’t going to improve anytime soon.
“I told you it wasn’t waterproof.” A teasing lilt called across the room; Just who I wanted to see.
“Marie, please help with these?” She was already on it, prying boxes and coffee cops from my numb hands. I breathed a sigh of relief, “Thanks, Marie.”
10 minutes later, half the station’s lunches had arrived, and I was about to eat my own.
“If you think you’re getting off that easy, Hen, you can keep dreamin’.” She replied, organising each meal. “Spill.”
“Of course,” I replied, pulling over a chair.