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The man who walked into the Sandford Police Department’s new offices early on Wednesday afternoon at first glance did not look like anyone of consequence. Just slightly less than average height with shortish amber-blond hair, wearing a windbreaker that looked to be a bit too large for his slender frame and moving with definite purpose, he appeared to be a local with something on his mind. The bored officer on the front desk didn’t even bother to acknowledge him at first; locals with something on their minds meant work, which PC Mark Elwin wasn’t all that interested in at the moment, and he’d discovered that a little bit of ignoring right off the bat when someone came in was a lovely effective tactic for knocking the determination out of that person’s sails. Sometimes they were even so flustered that they left again without saying a word.
Of course, sometimes they didn’t, like now. This particular local came right up to the desk and cleared his throat. Elwin sighed internally; this one must be an angry complaint, joy. “Is there a problem?” he began in a blustering tone…and then he looked up, and lost all of the bluster along with more than a bit of his ennui-induced composure. The otherwise nondescript man had very sharp brown eyes that were absolutely boring into him, and the raised eyebrow over one of them was sardonic in the extreme. Elwin swallowed in spite of himself. “I mean…can I help you, sir?”
His voice had squeaked just a bit on the sir, and the eyebrow went back down. “I’m meeting Sergeant Turner here,” the man told him in a crisp, non-local accent. “Thought I’d have a look ‘round the station while I waited.”
It wasn’t a request, and Elwin floundered for a moment. “I suppose I could, um…” The eyebrow was going back up, and he grabbed hold of the first possibility that came to mind. “I can have someone show you around while you wait, certainly. Trotter!” he bellowed back over his shoulder, hoping the loud authoritativeness of it would make up for the earlier squeak. “Trotter! Get out here!”
A younger officer came out from the rear of the station, looking ruffled and just a bit apprehensive. “You called…oh, hallo sir,” he greeted the newcomer cheerfully. “Is there something we can do for you?”
“There’s something you can do for him – he wants to see the new station,” Elwin told him, settling back in his chair. “This is PC Trotter,” he said to the stranger, gesturing toward the younger officer. “He can show you around.”
The man smiled a cool little smile at him. “I’m sure he could, but I happen to know my way around quite well already. I take it your sergeant isn’t in?”
“No, he’s out at the moment,” Trotter answered at once; he’d gone a bit wide-eyed as he’d realized just who their visitor was. “But I can call him in for you if you like, Inspector Angel, sir.”
Elwin all but tipped over his chair, which got him the eyebrow again. And then the inspector took himself right around the desk, smiled at Trotter politely and shook his head. “No, don’t bother. I won’t be here all that long – today, anyway.”
“Of course, sir. Just let me know if you need anything,” Trotter told him, and then disappeared back into the rear of the station. He was out again in a few minutes, though, and settling himself in at his desk. Elwin rolled his eyes; the little kiss-arse must have been tidying up after himself in the break room in case the inspector went back there. Well, no sense letting him get away with it. “Don’t you have ten more minutes of break left, Trotter?” he asked pointedly – and loudly. “Or is it fifteen?”
The inspector, who was perusing the contents of the open wardroom’s tackboard, made a thoughtful humming sound. “And yet you called him out to give a visitor a tour instead of doing it yourself, interesting.”
Elwin went red and turned back around, digging out some paperwork and making a show of becoming very busy over it. He didn’t have to see the eyebrow to know he was getting it again.
PC Jaime Trotter could hardly believe that the Inspector Angel was actually in the station during his shift. He’d thought that the man was still on medical leave – they said he’d nearly been killed when the old station had been blown up, and that it might be months before he could come back to duty. But yet here he was, today, looking things over. Most likely deciding what he was going to want done differently, as it was his station. Trotter had been watching him out of the corner of his eye, noting what got a second look, what got a frown…what got the eyebrow. Mostly Elwin, that. Elwin was pretending to do paperwork at the moment, and he still looked a bit pink around the ears. Trotter swallowed what might have come out as a giggle. That would teach Elwin to play go-away games with people coming into the station…
The phone sitting on his desk rang; it was actually the front desk’s call, but Elwin didn’t like to answer the phone so he always transferred all of the calls to Trotter’s line instead. Trotter didn’t mind, though. He picked up before the phone could ring a second time. “Sandford Police Station, how can I…yes. Your what’s gone missing, sir? Oh…all right then. Your name please. P – I – Staker…wait a minute, Piss-Taker?! Now see here, you…”
That was the point when the inspector materialized right beside him and pulled the phone out of his hand. “Mr. Staker? It’s Inspector Angel. Sorry about that – new man on the desk, you know. Is it the swan again?” He nodded at the response. “Well, I guess that means he’s fully recovered. Glad the wing healed up all right.” He laughed. “Yes, even if it means we’re back to chasing him. Although I have been meaning to come speak to you about possibly getting him a chip, like the kind they put in dogs; we’d have an easier time tracking him down then. Yes, certainly, I’ll come by later this week. Alright, we’ll have someone out there shortly. Yes…yes, thank you, it’s good to be back. Goodbye.” He hung up the phone. “That was Peter Staker,” he informed the now red-faced Trotter. “He’s got a full-grown swan that likes its freedom, it’s quite the escape artist and it moves faster than you’d expect. Just take his statement about when he noticed it missing and then start looking around.” He scribbled on the pad by the phone, ripped the sheet off and handed it over. “And there’s Mr. Staker’s address for you.”
Across the room, Elwin saw an opportunity to escape the paperwork, the phone, and the eyebrow-wielding inspector and pushed himself out of his chair. “Give that address to me, Trotter, I’ll go…”
“No, you damned well won’t go. Anywhere,” growled a voice from the doorway. A burly, florid-faced man with thinning hair and heavy jowls had just come in, and he scowled the startled PC back into his chair from the doorway. “I’ve told you before, Elwin; Trotter takes the local calls, he’s got the least seniority. There are better things for you to be doin’ than playin’ nice with a bunch of idiot villagers. And what’s a civilian not in handcuffs doin’ back there at the desk?”
“I thought I’d have a look at the new station – Sgt. Lawson, is it?” Angel’s voice was mild, but his eyes had gone hard again. “Officer Trotter, you can go ‘round and take Mr. Staker’s statement, but don’t try to corner that swan by yourself,” he told the now even more embarrassed PC, who was wondering why his highly unpleasant superior had decided to come back early, today of all days; the sergeant was usually out until three at least, if he even came back in at all after lunch. He put the mental lament aside, though, as the inspector was still giving him instructions about the swan. “It’s got a wingspan of about half a meter and it can be fairly dangerous if frightened,” he was saying, “so you’ll need someone in the car who knows how to keep it under control. Take Mr. Staker with you, if he’ll go; this is one situation where having a civilian expert assist you is probably the best idea.” He gestured for the younger officer to get going, tacking on, “Oh, and just telling Mr. Staker once that you’re sorry for the misunderstanding will be sufficient. Carry on.”
Trotter acknowledged that with a nod, but hesitated in spite of himself; Lawson was still blocking the door, and looking fairly well impassable. Angel frowned, stepping around the desk himself. “So, Sergeant, late lunch today?” he addressed the larger man. “Or did you have personal errands to run this afternoon?”
Lawson’s face went an alarming color, and Angel didn’t fail to notice that Elwin hesitated before opening his mouth. “This is Inspector Angel, sir. He’s…”
“I know who he is,” Lawson snapped. “I also know he’s not due back on duty yet.”
“Actually, today is my last day on leave,” Angel lied with a cool smile. He’d seen enough; it was obviously time he came back to work. “I’m meeting Turner here, have to go up and get the paperwork in Buford Abbey. And then I’ll be coming back in to get my office squared away in preparation for coming in to work tomorrow.”
Now Lawson was looking worried. “But…I’m not due to leave yet!”
“No, I believe you’ll be staying on until the rest of my team returns from training,” the inspector told him. “That’s another week or two at least, so you can relocate to one of the empty desks out here in the meantime.”
Lawson went from red to pale as he saw his immediate future – two bloody weeks?! – rapidly turning to shit right in front of him. And even worse, he was being kicked out of his office in front of his two PCs, whom he was now going to have to be sharing space in the wardroom with, too.
Sergeant John Turner pulled up in front of the police station, saw the burly figure of the temporary acting ranking sergeant just going through the front door and groaned, resisting the urge to beat his head against the steering wheel. Of course. If there was going to be one day the inept bastard managed to show back up at the station before three, it would be the only day when Nick happened to be there.
They’d done a good job, up to now, of keeping Nick away from the station when the temporary officers were there. They’d all especially wanted to keep him from encountering Sgt. Lawson, who was such a complete ass that everyone had known Nick was going to magically transform into Inspector Angel and kick the bastard right out of the station within five minutes of meeting him.
Not that that would have necessarily have been a bad thing, as Lawson really had less than no business running a police station, but as Nick hadn’t yet been released to active duty by his doctor everyone was supposed to make sure he didn’t try to transform into Inspector Angel before someone in authority said he could. John’s job, today, and he’d just flubbed it royally. It was just bad luck was what it was. Five bloody minutes late, one arsehole bastard back at work early, and it was going to be goodbye Nick the wounded hero still on medical leave and hello Nick the unstoppable supercop. Doris and Tony were going to kill him, and then the Andys were going to finish up with whatever they left. The only one he wasn’t going to be in shit with was Danny, who had always maintained that the transformation was inevitable; Danny was going to think the whole thing was hilarious and wish there’d been video. John gave in to his urge and smacked his forehead against the steering wheel just once before unbuckling his safety belt and getting out of the car. Best to go in and see if he could contain the situation at least enough to get Nick to Buford Abbey for his doctor appointment, let the doctor sort it out from there. Maybe he wasn’t entirely too late…
The minute he stepped through the door, though, John could see that he most certainly was entirely too late. Sgt. Lawson was still standing right there in the entryway, being stared down by the laser-glare of Sandford’s resident supercop, the one and only Inspector Nick Angel. PC Elwin, currently sort of cringing at the front desk, looked like he’d already been dealt with – probably with nothing much more than a hard look, since John had found him to be a worthless chickenshit sort of excuse for a police officer anyway. And PC Trotter, who was very much a thinner, younger and even more excitable version of Danny, was standing behind the inspector looking like he’d just seen God. John allowed himself to smile, cleared his throat. “Sorry I’m late, Inspector,” he called out cheerily, and had the satisfaction of seeing Lawson jump. “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” was the crisp answer. “I can finish up here when we get back.” It was a warning, if not an outright threat, and Lawson wasn’t quite able to stop himself from wincing. Seemingly satisfied with that reaction, Angel turned to the young officer standing behind him. “Trotter, I believe Mr. Staker is waiting for you – and remember what I said about the apology.”
“Yes, Inspector. Thank you, Inspector.” Trotter almost saluted, stopped himself, and then darted around John to get out so he wouldn’t have to go directly past Lawson. Who did look rather like he’d just been hit between the eyes with a dead fish, and like he wasn’t very happy about it, which meant he looked very much like a person to be avoided if at all possible.
Which was why John tensed up slightly – all right, more than slightly – when Angel walked right up to Lawson and glared at him. From a few inches below the other police officer’s eye level and about a hundred pounds below his weight. “I believe you’ve got an office to be clearing out of, Sergeant,” Angel told him, cool and dismissive. Then he turned to Elwin, one eyebrow going up. Elwin cringed, and it was all John could do not to laugh; now he was the one wishing for video. “Constable, please get me a copy of the week’s schedule – and of next week’s as well, if it’s been made up. I suppose the weekly report is out of the question?”
“I’m…I’m still working on it. Sir.” Elwin swallowed, looking vaguely like he was considering pissing himself. “I’ll have it for you when you come back…this evening?”
“See that you do.” Angel waited, eyebrow and all, while the schedule was printed and fetched for him, gave the papers he was handed a cursory glance and then nodded once, turned on his heel and strode out of the station. John fell into step right behind him fighting a new urge, this one to stick his tongue out at Lawson – or possibly to give the high-handed lazy bastard the bird – on his way out. He didn’t, though; he wanted to, he knew his brother wouldn’t have hesitated, but he knew the inspector wouldn’t like it.
In spite of his earlier concerns, John found he was glad that the inspector was back. Because no no matter what Doris or Tony or the Andys were going to have to say about it, he couldn’t help but feel that the timing of Nick Angel’s unauthorized transformation from wounded hero to supercop inspector had been just about right.