CLARE HAMPSHIRE
CLOUDY, WITH A CHANCE OF SNOW
Sometimes, Clare wondered what it would feel like to fling herself off the roof. She wondered about the sensation of flying – the landing part, however, she did not care so much about. The landing part probably felt like walking into the Central Police Station for yet another workday.
By now, the young woman should have felt nothing about the physical commitment of walking into the building, and yet her heart still skipped a beat every time.
It was not a good beat.
Clare looked up at the grey façade and dull windows, most of the curtains drawn – given the lighting outside on this dreary winter day, whether they let the rare sunbeams inside or not would not have made any difference anyway.
There was something imposing about the building itself, as if she was watching the old carcass of a King that was once the most important ruler of the world. Nowadays, the monarch probably still thought that he had a remainder of his once-glory.
Then again, Clare knew nothing about the monarchy – she might have been settled in the United Kingdom for over a year now, King George V was still very much of a fleeting entity in her mind. She had all the trouble in the world conceptualising that kind of presence and preferred not to give it another thought on a regular basis.
A gust of icy wind seeped under her coat, and the young woman hurried inside, not thinking any more about what hellish taste of madness the day might bring to her within its walls.
It took a certain kind of ritual for Clare to prepare herself for the Station. First, she had to wear the dullest outfit she could find and put together on that day – it was important to her that she did not draw any attention. On that particular day, the young woman had chosen a deep navy-blue skirt that fell mid-calves, belted high at the waist with a satin shirt that would be great inside, but did not really ward off the cold. Being as invisible as possible was a great dream, but usually a battle already lost given that Clare had the brightest red hair found in that part of the country, and she could never quite hide this inside her work building.
Second, she had to remind herself that today would be terrible either way. She needed to put her shields up, one by one, so that she would be able to go for as long as possible without losing her sanity, and that required intense concentration as she walked over to her desk.
Third, she had to block out all the whispers.
That last one always got her, though, and she had not managed to turn a blind ear on any of her colleagues ever since she had started her job at the police station.
The gossips could be about anything.
Everything.
Mainly – nothing.
“Here she comes.” One whispered – by the voice, she would have said that it was Kenneth Smith, the old, disturbing inspector that sat the closest to the front door in their open working space.
Clare said nothing, only heard a few more hums in agreement, along with some jeers – she did not turn her head in their direction, though.
“Can’t believe she’s still here.” Someone else added.
It was always the same, with these men. Even as the young woman had been at work every day since arriving here, they seemed somehow surprised by her presence, as if it was some sort of miracle that she had made it out alive yet another day.
That a woman had, God forbade. This bunch of inspectors always made her feel like she was threatening their position just by existing in their space.
Clare could not say that she did not like being a disruptive agent, being a female given the responsibilities of an inspector, just like the rest of them.
But there was still this restraint in her, the tight leash she kept on her desire, on her ambition, and she did not want to give the inspectors anything to keep gossiping about. Lord knew that her presence alone was enough.
But if she started taking the bait that they kept throwing at her…?
It would be madness.
“Good morning, Clare!”
The chirpy tone made the young woman look up, finding Marlene as she was already walking up to her desk.
Marlene Wayward was a pretty, young woman with a lovely mouth – her lips were always painted red, while the words were always running past her lips and into the air. While the men of the station kept the gossips behind Clare’s back, Marlene had the integrity of doing it facing her. That girl loved gossip. The fact that she was one of their best clerks, along with a sharp secretary and archivist, had her placed in prime position to collect any information on any subject.
In short, Marlene was living the dream in here, even if they truly lacked female companions.
“Good morning, Marlene.” Clare replied softly, like she always did, as she dropped her bag onto her chair and proceeded to unbutton her coat.
Her cold and stiff fingers did not help much, even as she had been wearing gloves on her way to the station.
The lack of other women of interest at the office – Marlene’s words, not Clare’s – made that the two were often seen together.
However, the conversation was often overpowered by one party.
“How was your weekend?” Marlene asked with renewed enthusiasm. “I travelled up north to see my family, and you won’t believe who I saw on the train!” She squealed, before turning her head back, as if to check that no one was eavesdropping on them.
Clare slid her coat off her back, moving back to the hangers by the door to settle it down – hopefully it would have time to dry before she left later tonight.
“Richard Bradford!” Marlene half-squealed, half-whispered as Clare reached her desk again, grabbing her bag so that she could sit down.
Richard Bradford was their Chief Superintendent. As such, he was in charge of everyone at the station, and he oversaw and supervised all the investigations that were being carried out by his inspectors. He had been the one to interview Clare and eventually give her the job of investigator; he was a good professional.
A questionable human, though: the young woman secretly called him by her chosen nickname for him, Dick, which fitted his personality better at times.
“I have no idea what he was doing in that train, to be honest.” Marlene continued, a steady drone in the background of Clare’s thoughts. “Maybe he was visiting some family, too? I don’t know, but what a funny coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Clare smiled thinly at their secretary.
“He had an intense look about him, to be honest.” Marlene went on, running the tip of her fingers along her short bangs, as if to make sure that they were still in place.
One could say many things about the young woman, but she always looked impeccable. Her red dress today looked spectacular on her, and it brightened up her all appearance, which was not exactly something that she needed, but still had a potent effect on her.
“I wonder if he’s alright, now, he went straight into his office when he arrived, and I didn’t have a chance to ask him about his weekend.” Marlene said, humming to herself.
Clare could explain Richard’s action in two ways: he either had a lot of work already, given his position at the headquarters, or he did not want to be assailed by their secretary’s over-excitement.
It was a lot for a Monday morning, she thought.
“I’m sure he’s all good, Marlene.” Clare replied quietly.
Speaking to her always made her realise how small she had become next to her colleague’s loud voice and impressive presence. Next to one another, the two women were like the sun and the moon. Clare was withdrawn and silent. Marlene was flamboyant and loud. Mainly, it always reminded her that she was the stranger in this society, the foreigner.
Even if she had settled into this new role of hers, she would always sound like an American.
She had never bothered covering up her accent. What would have been the point?
“Well, I certainly hope so, I…”
When the young woman did not continue her sentence, Clare followed her gaze and found one of the inspectors making his way in their direction. For a moment, she feared that it might be Inspector Smith and his uncomfortable way or Paul Edwards, another bastard if she had ever met any – her heartbeat raced and calmed down in a matter of seconds after she noticed that it was in fact Kit McGill.
As far as their pool of inspectors went, he was one of the best options out there.
“Good morning, ladies.” Kit said as he stopped by their side.
Marlene tittered behind her hand, while Clare smiled softly.
“Good morning, Kit.”
“Good morning, Inspector McGill.”
Only inspectors could call one another by their first names, it seemed. In the case of Clare, only two of them agreed to that tacit rule – the others could not fathom the idea that she could be their equal professionally, and they certainly did not accept for her to treat them as such.
“I’m sorry, Miss Wayward, but I’m going to steal Miss Hampshire from you.”
“Absolutely!” She nodded eagerly.
Her bun was so tight on top of her head that not one strand of hair moved. Her bangs bounced on her forehead, though, which was a strange thing to focus one’s attention on, the young woman thought.
“Clare?” Kit asked.
She looked up, straight into bright green eyes. Kit had a particular beauty, a perfect mixture of charm and good looks. Obviously, upon meeting him, one was bound to look at the thin and long scar running across his face, but Clare had moved on from that fairly quickly. It was easier to be drawn to the gentle smile on his face and the dark magnetism that he exuded. There were two men at the station who could stop the young woman in her train of thoughts.
Kit McGill was one of them, despite the sometimes-scary expression he could wear on his face.
“Yes?” She asked, trying hard not to get lost in his eyes; she felt her cheeks warm up with a blush.
“Will you come with me, please? We have a surprise meeting that’s about to start, and Chief Superintendent wants you in the team of inspectors.”
Clare frowned faintly at the suggestion, but she did not hesitate for very long. She grabbed a pen and her notebook from her desk, discarding her bag where it remained on the surface, before smiling apologetically at Marlene.
“Sorry, Marlene.”
“No worries!” She laughed. “Duty calls! You’ll tell me all about it later.” She winked, before strutting back to her own desk and work.
Clare was fairly certain that she would not tell her anything about the meeting, but she had to applaud the clerk’s perseverance.
For a moment, she thought about thanking Kit, but when she turned her head, she saw that he was already moving away, towards the conference room on the other side of the open space – his retreating back was broad, and he had already lost his jacket at his desk; Clare could see his suspenders, and it gave him a busy look that worked really well for him.
Their working space was not fully packed yet, with some desks still vacant. The room was mainly different shades of brown on brown, with large windows and drawn curtains – just like she had imagined, it did not change anything on the lighting situation. Mainly, she noticed that most desks had numerous files on them, and the walls were covered with maps that referred to their respective investigations. Crime never stopped in their rather big English town.
Thankfully, they had a big team of officers and inspectors. Most of them, however, were currently staring at her following Kit instead of working to help their citizens.
Clare could simply not wait to hear what tales they would spin about her. So far, she had heard all of it, from the most ludicrous to the most boring, and no one seemed to grow bored of that mess.
A shame.
Kit glanced over his shoulder at her, flashing her a quick but warm smile before they both entered the conference room. A few investigators were already seated, but there were still plenty of free chairs for them.
Eugene Clarke looked up from his papers and grinned a dangerous grin upon discovering the young woman at the door.
“New York.” He sneered. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Lloyd Roberts and Paul Edwards – shit – snickered at once. It was always so lovely and pleasant to make fun of her, apparently.
Clare only swallowed hard and forced herself to stay strong and in control. It was too early to crack – not only had the day just started technically, but it was Monday. She could not let her whole week go down the drain just yet.
Those stupid boys would not get the best of her. Not on her watch.
Luckily for the young woman, her attention was diverted by yet another young man looking up and at her. He first grinned at Kit as the tall, scarred man made his way back to his seat next to him, before his deep black eyes fell on her – she smiled faintly, a mere tremble in her lips, but that was enough.
Colin Bradford was not only the Chief Superintendent’s son, which bestowed upon him some sort of untouchable character, but he had a kind of aura that would have warded off evil people all on its own.
He was tall, handsome, with big black eyes holding up the universe behind thick glasses that he always wore when he was at work apparently, and there was intensity about him. It felt as if the electricity in a room would just run out if he walked away.
It was unsettling, to say the least – her reaction to him was always a little messy, as he made her flustered even more easily than all the other inspectors did. The others were mean, and they usually aroused some anger in her.
Colin did… something else. His kindness was something she was not accustomed to, which probably explained her confusion.
“Good morning, Clare.” He nodded politely; his hair did not move, even the long side smoothed back.
“Good morning, Colin.”
She was secretly pleased that he offered her the seat next to him, not so much because it was Colin Bradford, but because she did not have to suffer through the recurring realisation that she was very much still an outsider in this environment. Beside Kit and Colin himself on occasions, and Marlene when they were sitting through the same meeting, life at the Station was a lonely business for Clare.
To be offered some brief respite did not hurt, even if it meant that rumours would start to spread about her probably five minutes after the end of the meeting. What would it be this time? Probably something about her sleeping with the boss’ son.
It had been a while since the last time someone had objectified her like that, so maybe they would go for that one.
Clare ignored Paul, Lloyd and Eugene even if the weight of their eyes on her probably should have made her trip over her feet. Instead, she walked with her head high to the seat next to Colin, like nothing was out of the ordinary.
She did not say anything in the minute or so before Dick entered, and neither Colin nor Kit spoke to her. Instead, the two men exchanged about their respective weekend, the sound of their voices acting like white noise as she wondered about why she had been called to this meeting.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
At last, Richard entered, and the young woman could finally focus on something other than the rumours, the whispers, and the awkwardness of having to sit next to people to whom she did not know what to say.
“Morning, everyone, thank you for coming.”
No matter one’s opinion of the man, there was no denying that Chief Superintendent Bradford was a handsome man who moved through the years like time meant nothing to him. It would have been easy to think that he was immortal or had made a pact with the devil if his hair had not been visibly and steadily greying over the past twelve months.
Finding herself in the same room as the two Bradford men was an experience, and Clare was acutely aware of the tension and power that exuded from both of them, each in their own way. But she watched carefully as her boss made his way to the seat at the front of the room. He was holding a file, and it was thick – by the look of it, they would have work to do.
Richard was tall and elegant; he wore a suit as well as his son did – in all her months at the police station so far, Clare had never seen him with a dark grey hair out of place, moustache included. He was meticulous and elegant, with a strong force that had earned him the respect of his inspectors.
Clare’s problem, mainly, was that Richard “Dick” Bradford did not like women very much when they were in a position of power. Having her in the room must have been a thorn in his side, but… he had made this bed for himself, so she would not apologise for taking the room that she had been given.
Next to her, Colin reacted to his father’s appearance, too. It was faint, not as harsh and brutal as the rest of the inspectors, but Clare still felt him stiffen at her side, and he sat a little straighter, just then. In those moments, such reaction reminded the young woman that they were all under the Chief Superintendent’s power.
No exceptions there.
Then, he looked up at them – there was no hesitation in his grey eyes, no fear and no misgivings. This was the look of a man who was in control, and who knew about his authority over this room.
In that, he would be correct.
“I have chosen you in this room today because we have a new case on our hands, and I want clever and efficient people to solve it as quickly as possible.” Richard started.
Clare felt a familiar rush of eagerness course through her from head to toe, and she sat up, too, opening her notebook so that she could start taking notes. It sounds strange to her that they would need so many inspectors on one case, but then again, she figured that Dick – sorry, Richard – probably had a good reason for it.
“I’m not going to waste much time going into detail about the case as such, as you will all go on the field in a few minutes to gather as much evidence as possible.” Their boss continued.
Colin frowned. “Wait – the crime scene hasn’t been searched yet?”
“No.”
A tremor shook the semi-circular table facing the Chief Superintendent. Colin looked taken aback, while Kit was frowning in a way that only highlighted his scar more. Clare, on her end, was merely confused, but she tried to make it seem like she was following.
Because she was following, and very well at that.
“This is why we need to do this briefing quickly, because we need to gather evidence and start the investigation.” Richard went on. “This is an important matter.”
And so they waited for more in silence.
“This morning, about an hour ago, we were called to Primrose Park. I’m sure you’re all familiar with the place?” Even as everyone mumbled in agreement, Dick still looked up, straight at Clare, as if he expected her not to.
The young woman swallowed hard, but she did not move otherwise. If there was one thing that she was not good at, even after a year or so of constant training by experience, it was being underestimated.
At the beginning of that new career of hers, Mila – her best friend here in the United Kingdom – had told her that getting used to that work environment would surely take time.
But Clare had simply never gotten used to it, and her blood boiled every time it happened like it was the first.
“Our clerks are already on the scene of the crime to cover the perimeter and keep the public at bay, but we need to be on the move.” Dick continued, his gaze moving away from her; he opened his file in one swift yet sharp motion. “The victim’s name is Alfred Hughes.”
Clare instantly frowned, as it rang a bell, but she let one of the idiots speak up – the less she drew attention to her sorry self, the better.
“As in Alfred Hughes, Mayor Parson’s friend and consultant?” Paul Edwards asked.
The young woman was not surprised that he was the one speaking up – out of all the inspectors at the headquarters and in the room, Paul was their suck-up in chief.
“Yes, that’s the one.” Richard nodded gratefully at him, like a proud father.
Too bad it was not for his son, Clare thought quietly, watching the exchange with intent – she never quite managed to grasp the nature of their relationship. Everything at the station was about politics, one way or another.
Because of who she was, a foreigner and a woman, sadly she was rarely made privy of all those matters.
And yet, she was sitting in that room, today.
Out of the top of her head, Alfred Hughes was indeed Mayor Parson’s consultant, two men who were more often than not seen together whenever there was a public outing. Clare had never met either of them, even if they had come visit the police station more than their fair share in the year she had worked here – she knew what they looked like up close.
That he had been killed was a surprise, though.
She had not thought that it would happen so quickly; he was not exactly a very good man, and he had reached his position of power through questionable means, allegedly. But to think that someone had caught up with his charade…
The young woman suppressed the shudder than ran through her – Richard was already scrutinising her a little too much for her liking, and she was sitting right next to Colin.
She could not mess that up and needed to control herself.
“How was he killed?” Kit asked.
“He was shot in the forehead.” Richard replied in a chilling, straightforward way.
Clare frowned, but Colin beat her to the next question. “In Primrose Park?”
“Yes.” His father nodded. “And trust me, that’s not the worst of it.”
As he said those last words, his gaze travelled to Clare, and he frowned ever so slightly – it was as if he was questioning his decision of even having her in the room in the first place.
“If you have men deployed there to keep an audience away and the body hasn’t been sent to safety or the morgue, it means that its environment is probably directly linked to the crime itself.” She finally spoke up, keeping her voice even while her gaze stayed on her boss.
That her cheeks took a lovely plum colour did not matter; it mattered even less when Dick nodded.
“You’re right.” He admitted eventually. “The body has been… exposed.”
They all stopped discussing ideas and taking notes.
“What does that mean?” Lloyd asked.
“It means that whoever killed Alfred Hughes wanted to make a show out of it.” Richard had a grave look on his face when he said those words. “So I need you to meet the crew in Primrose Park and figure out who did it, and why.”
Once again, he peered down at his notes, before looking up, straight at his son. Clare now found the loophole in the fact that she was sitting right next to Colin – she could not escape Dick at any point during this discussion, that way.
It was not ideal.
“Colin, you’ll be in charge of this investigation; the other inspectors will answer to you.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Colin replied quietly.
His voice was low and deep; that sound did not help him look less intense, that was for sure.
“I want you to take Miss Hampshire as your partner for this case.” He continued.
Everyone went very still, even Clare, even Colin. Only the Chief Superintendent continued as if nothing had happened, and he looked up at them.
“What?” Paul asked.
“Miss Hampshire is an excellent note-taker.” Richard explained. “She will be a great asset to Colin and the rest of the inspectors.”
Making her partner of the investigator in chief implied a little more than just “taking notes”, though – it was a position of power. Clare knew it. Richard knew it.
They all did.
“But she doesn’t know how to investigate!” Lloyd protested next.
“She constantly trips on her feet, and she’s probably the clumsiest element in this police station, clerks included.” Eugene nodded.
Clare tried not to react – she knew that she was not exactly the steadiest inspector on her feet at the station, but she could be better than that.
Her mind worked well enough, and she was quick to react, despite the fact that she did not aim very well. Besides, she did not want to take all the blame for it: most of her incidents at work were often the results of being scrutinised and mocked by her colleagues.
If she worked in a more welcoming environment, she had no doubt that she would feel much more confident in her movements.
It would not hurt, at least.
“Sir, you should reconsider that decision.” Paul spoke again.
Under the table, the young woman could not help but squeeze her hands into fists, one of them clutching her pen hard until the knuckles turned white. It hurt a little, but it was her only guarantee against the rush of emotions that crashed into her at the unfairness of her colleagues’ words.
She knew that they did not like her here.
But they did not have to be so blatant about it, especially in front of their boss.
She knew the song, too: she was lame, she was a burden, she was clumsy, the police station was no place for her, she was silly and an imbecile, she was not and would never be an inspector, she would always hinder the “big boys” in their “real” work. All she did was sit around, be annoying, and she had simply opened her legs to get the job anyway.
She knew the drill.
She had heard it all.
“Don’t listen to them.” Colin said quietly.
Clare started faintly and looked up to him, frowning ever so slightly as her eyes met his deep dark ones. They stared at each other until she nodded, swallowing hard the lump of feelings growing in her throat.
“They don’t know what they’re talking about.” He continued softly as the other inspectors continued to argue with Richard. “If the Chief wants us to be paired up, he probably knows that we’ll work well as a team, so I’m happy that we’ll get to work together.”
Colin did not exactly smile, but something in his dark eyes softened ever so slightly. He had long eyelashes, Clare noticed. Everything about him was a clash of strength and softness. Strong back, strong arms, delicate facial features. Big dark eyes, long eyelashes. Strong jaw, soft smile.
“Thank you.” She whispered in return. “I hope that I won’t let you down.”
The young man studied her for another moment, before nodding – she did not know what personal comments he had made to himself in his mind, but Clare could only hope that she would give an acceptable performance.
If she made this mission fail – this mission within a mission, really – this would turn her already painful experience at the police station into an even more complicated one, and she was not sure she wanted to see what it would look and feel like.
“Now, everyone.” Richard brought back order with only two words.
But the bitter look on the inspectors’ faces remained loud and strong.
“I would appreciate if you used that kind of energy on the case. My decision is made, so we need to get going, now.” He turned his head towards Colin, and perhaps, in a way, also Clare. “You’re leading, remember this. Now go to Primrose Park and figure this out.” He instructed. “I expect nothing but efficiency and quality.”
Colin nodded when Clare stayed silent. “Yes, Sir.”
The young woman only noticed then that at no point had he tried to defend her against the cruel words and allegations thrown onto the table by her colleagues.
Oh, yes.
Richard really had earned his nickname.
----------------------------------------
Passers-by and onlookers had been contained on the edge of Primrose Park when the team arrived, and there were a lot of them. A couple of police officers greeted the inspectors on their way towards the scene of the crime, but most people ignored Clare, and she did the same.
She was walking at the front of the group next to Colin and Kit, and the three of them were silent. Still, in the tension that surrounded them, it felt as if words had hidden themselves.
One could have said a lot about the way they walked and held themselves.
Mainly, Clare was nervous. She did not know what to expect from this sudden nomination, nor from working as Colin’s partner, and even less from the case itself.
Alfred Hughes had been shot in the forehead.
This was going to get gruesome. Even if that was more information already than nothing, the young woman would have liked a few more details so that she could mentally prepare for the madness that was going to ensue.
“This is ridiculous.” She heard Eugene protest behind her. “One, we have to put up with Clare as our superior. Two, it’s too cold for this shit, and we have no idea where the body is.”
Lloyd clicked his tongue. “She must be great in bed to get so many privileges.”
Clare almost stopped dead in her tracks, but could not – Colin had suddenly sped up, and she needed to catch up with him on her much shorter legs.
One day, she would punch them all in the face.
That would show them.
They had no idea who Clare Hampshire was.
“Do you know where the body is?” Kit asked.
“Well.” Colin said, his hands in the pockets of his coat. “We are walking straight towards a group of uniformed men, so I’d assume that it’s this way.”
Kit grinned. “Makes sense. Still, that was a weird brief from Richard. He could have just told us that we were expected here earlier, and we’d have been there.”
“Maybe he was waiting for news.” His friend replied. “I don’t know.”
Clare was cold, and her ankle boots were starting to get damp from walking in the snow like that, away from the beaten path that had been traced for the early-morning strollers. The air was very still around them, first because that kind of weather always had this magic about it, but mainly because the park was empty.
The group ahead was the only population onto its grounds, and now they had arrived.
There was blood on the snow. Clare frowned faintly upon discovering the droplets at her feet, before her gaze slowly trailed further away from her shoes. As she did so, the stains grew larger, larger, until they had joined in a half-frozen pool underneath the body of Alfred Hughes.
The man was indeed connected to his environment, just like the young woman had presumed earlier. In fact, there was a very good reason for the first responders not to bring the body back instantly, and Clare stayed frozen in place as she clutched her notebook. Around her, the other inspectors split to cover the scene, while she stayed there, watching.
Alfred Hughes had died of a bullet in the head. The bullet hole was large and disturbing to look out against the greying tinge of the consultant’s skin – his eyes were closed, and his head had dropped to the side. Some blood had trickled down his face, but nothing was coming out of the wound anymore.
The most disturbing thing – which was a statement in itself, she figured – was that he had been tied to a large tree trunk, left there on display for everyone to look at and discover. With his arms spread wide and maintained with thick ropes, and the blood under him staining the snow, Sir Hughes reminded Clare of an Angel of Death.
The young woman did not move, even as everyone around her set up to work. There was something gruesomely spectacular about the way this man had been exposed, as if his death was not enough, and his murderer had wanted to go further in humiliating him.
She studied the pale colour of his face, the bloodless complexion of his skin, the stiffness of his neck. Even without moving from her spot by the tree, there was already a lot that she could tell – Hughes was wealthy, given the expensive suit that he was wearing. Whoever had murdered him was not after the riches, though, given that the Mayor’s consultant was still wearing his wedding band and his expensive watch, visible through the rope holding him still against the trunk.
He looked sunken, as could be expected, but while his hair was greying and thinning, he still somehow looked youthful; it made the murder all the more gruesome, in her eyes. He was wearing a black vest with matching trousers, and his white shirt was soaked through with his blood – the smell permeated the air in a way only blood could. It was sticky, and something so coppery that it went straight to the head. Clare wanted to fan herself at the sudden rush she could feel in her blood, but she did not.
All she did was watch and clutch her notebook tighter against her chest. She could feel her heart beat strongly against her ribcage, something that Alfred Hughes could not successfully achieve anymore.
It was a little strange, to think that Life and Death walked so tightly linked that one could overpower the other and nothing consistent actually changed.
At least not for them.
In her periphery, Clare could hear her colleagues ask questions around as they took in the scene from different angles. Already, Kit was asking to meet and question the passers-by who had called the police after finding the body. Some others were asking for papers and notes to record what they were seeing.
“You should move, New York.” Paul sneered from nearby, and his shoulder bumped into her violently as he walked past her. “We don’t pay you to stand around and do nothing.”
He ignored her as she turned her head to him, her gaze following him as he walked up to the victim. His steps were methodical and measured, as to not disrupt the bloody snow at their feet. In a way, perhaps Clare was not moving for that very reason.
She knew for a fact that she was not doing nothing, as he had suggested.
When she looked away again, Colin had stopped by her side – their eyes met as he looked down at her, and for a moment only silence lingered. He was pale in the harsh lighting brightened by the coat of snow around them. Besides, the gruesome vision before their eyes did not help anyone to look lively and cheerful either, that much was clear. And yet, the slight frown between the young man’s strong brows somehow echoed the concern that Clare could see in his eyes.
“You look pale.” The young man stated quietly. “Will you be alright, Clare?”
“Of course.” She nodded with a faint smile.
“If it all gets too much for you, please don’t hesitate to tell me, I’ll understand.”
It was a thought that she appreciated, while also being completely aware that he had not extended such generosity to any of the other inspectors in their team.
Of course, everyone expected her to cry or faint at the sight of a dead man.
Of course, they did.
“I will, thank you.” She nodded again.
Colin sighed and gestured towards the other men around them. “And… don’t listen to them, alright? They don’t know what they’re talking about.”
The young woman could not help but think that Colin would be better off telling them that very fact, but what was she supposed to say?
She was just poor little Clare Hampshire, after all.
“What do you think?” She asked as she tilted her head towards the body, taking a big breath to calm her nerves and immediately regretting it.
The stench of blood and death was not something that she wanted to fill her lungs with. Colin studied her face a moment longer before following her gaze – there they stayed, standing side by side in the snow.
“Well, given that at first glance we can only see the bullet hole in his head, I’d say that it was premeditated and probably a question of vengeance. That’s an extremely violent way to kill someone, and it implies that the killer wanted Mister Hughes to see what was going on. It wasn’t a surprise.” He paused, humming softly – his breath was clouding around his mouth in the chilly air. “It was an execution, by all means.”
The word hung low between them – it was heavy and terrible. Not only the reality of it was unfathomable in itself, but there was the weight it carried about what an execution entailed for their community. Could people truly be so barbaric as to assassinate a man and leave it out in the open as a trophy?
Yes, apparently so.
Clare nodded quietly, thinking Colin’s words through and finding them to ring true – his assumptions were probably right, and she could see the violence in this assassination plain and simple. It had been prepared.
Whoever had killed Alfred Hughes had made no mistake.
When the young woman was sure that her new partner was done – the title sounded strange in her mind – she spoke up next. “The killer apparently knew where Mister Hughes lived. He’s only wearing a vest in this weather, this was not a random attack while he was having a stroll in the park.” She stated quietly, raising her pen to point at the body hanging before them. “That means that either the attacker is someone who knows him in an intimate way, or they had done research beforehand.”
She took one step forward, tilting her chin higher so that she could see the victim a little closer.
“As you mentioned, the violent and straightforward method can make us think of an act of vengeance, which could coincide with a suspect that was part of his life.” She tilted her head to the side, watching Hughes’ face. “Of course, having him in a position of power like his also means that he could have had enemies in all sorts of cycle. In politics, you can never quite be sure.” She frowned ever so slightly. “But my gut feeling would still lean towards someone that he knew, mainly because there are no marks on his wrists from this distance, and he doesn’t look… afraid.”
Even in death, some bodies could retain the horror of what they had experienced while still being alive.
Alfred Hughes only looked dead. Not terrified.
Behind her, the silence grew so strong and lengthy that the young woman eventually looked back over her shoulder, her chin brushing the fluffy collar of her winter coat. Colin was looking at her with surprise and curiosity in his eyes, as if he truly had not been expecting anything from her at all.
But they had been paired up. Clare intended to make it worth it, even if it just meant being a valuable asset to the young man, who had more experience than her, even if they were one year apart.
“You… got all that from just looking at him?” He asks, and she could not help but stifle a chuckle. “I mean… That was not meant in a derogatory way.” He seemed suddenly a little flustered, which was a rare look for him.
“I’m not taking it the wrong way.” Clare replied as he walked back to her.
“Those are very good points, Clare.” Colin said with a nod, before extracting a small reporter pad from the coat of his pocket.
She could not lie, the compliment made her happy. It was true that she was a withdrawn and quiet presence at the police station, but she was where she was meant to be.
She was a good inspector, too, and if the others did not know that, it was mainly because they had not been paying attention in the first place.
Perhaps was it why Richard had decided to have her paired up with Colin.
“Thank you.” She nodded softly, even if some part of her wanted to skip around happily at the praise.
But she had been raised better than to swoon at a man’s words, no matter how lovely, handsome and charming – Colin was all that and more, but so was she.
When she smiled up at him, it was shy and reserved, but nonetheless met with a smile of his own.
Perhaps this partner-thing would work out.
Then, Colin gestured towards the body. “Shall we go and have a proper look, now?”
Clare nodded. “Let’s.”
At least, they could only hope that it would.