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“He’s out today isn’t he?” Nina asked, eyeing DCI Fell’s rigid posture.
“I have no idea,” Fell replied, not looking up from his screen. “I’ve a lot to wrap up before I go, so, if you don’t mind..”
Nina’s mouth twisted as she left his office. Maggie was waiting for her at their desk.
“How is he?” The blonde woman asked.
“Pretending he doesn’t know.” Nina grumbled, lifting the battered newspaper that had been passed around the station all day.
AJ Crowley, “ethical” jewel thief, set for early release.
Crowley, aka The Snake, was sentenced in 2022 after evading capture for a decade. Detective Chief Inspector Fell, of Thames Valley police, took over the investigation in 2016 and arrested The Snake personally in a dramatic sting at Tadfield Manor in 2021.
The Snake’s controversial trial saw his legal team successfully argue a “Robin Hood” defence - as his victims were themselves suspected criminals. Combined with good behaviour, Crowley has served just 4 years of his 7 year sentence.
The Oxfordshire Bugle approached Thames Valley Police for comment….
“It was Fell’s life for years,” Nina muttered, “he really got inside Crowley’s head. The DCI spent more time chasing the Snake down than he’s served inside.” She threw the paper down in disgust. “What a slap in the face. I hope this doesn’t ruin his retirement.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s retiring,” Maggie suggested gently, “lost faith in the system.”
“Wouldn’t blame him. Certainly going to kill the mood for goodbye drinks tonight. Supposed to be a celebration of his career, for Christ’s sake.”
Maggie winced. “Probably a good thing, him making a fresh start. Edinburgh, wasn’t it?”
“Somewhere like that, yeah.”
ooOOoo
Fell didn’t want to be at the pub listening to people reminisce. He stared into his pint - everyone wanted to buy him one - and endured the speeches, the murmurs of assent, the applause. And later - the pats on the shoulders, the cards, the gifts, the sympathetic looks.
Everyone had heard about Crowley getting paroled by now. The final insult for DCI Fell - his career-defining moment, reduced to a brief detour for a seasoned criminal. Fell drained his glass. It was time to go. He collected his coat on his way back from the bathroom.
“You off then?” Joan Saraquael barely looked up from her G&T.
“Yes. Need to finish packing. I’m catching the train to Cardiff first thing.”
Fell looked at the woman. Another one, like him, who was married to the job. Thank God he was getting out while he still had time left to enjoy life. He said the right words to everyone he needed to, then slipped away.
His flat was already empty. All his important belongings (books, mainly) shipped months ago: the rest, sold or donated. He zipped up a small duffle bag, locked up, pushed his key through the letterbox. Walked a mile across town in the darkness and dropped his phone down a drain. By 1am, he stood by a fence on a deserted lane, and sent a text on his burner phone.
Ready
Barely two minutes passed before a nondescript saloon car slid to a halt next to him. Fell got in and it moved smoothly away.
“Hello darling,” Fell turned and beamed at the driver, as he put his seatbelt on.
“Hiya angel,” a narrow, long-fingered hand reached across, seeking his. Fell grasped and squeezed. “As soon as we’re safely out of town I’m pulling over and saying hello properly.”
“Wonderful idea," Fell replied giddily, “as long as we don’t miss the ferry.”
“‘I’ve been thinking of this every day for four years, Angel, I’m not waiting till Morocco to get my hands on you. So I‘ve accounted for 12 minutes’ snogging time."
“Of course you have. You were always meticulous with planning.”
Crowley grinned. “It’s how I stayed out of your clutches for so long. Glad you caught me in the end though.”
Fell lifted their joined hands and kissed Crowley’s knuckles. “Me too, darling, me too.”