I've taken the liberty of duplicating this from another thread in search of more feedback.
One
I watched a couple share a last embrace, wreathed in flame.
Then a sudden rain squall swept Nelson Square, blotting out my view while the CCTV wiper struggled with a deluge it had never been designed for. Eventually the shot cleared enough to reveal two smouldering bodies on the pavement, one still moving, but both burnt beyond recognition at this distance.
I swore under my breath and set aside the paperwork I’d been working on, dumping it back into the already over-flowing tray. The switchboard managed to get me an outside line but I could tell from the background whispers that my call was being shunted over half of London; the remaining exchanges still coping, barely.
“Cleansing department.”
“Hi, this is Detective Inspector Vic Morden over at Justice.”
“Acting Detective Inspector” murmured Anderson from across the desk, as he never misses a trick. I refused to scowl at his jibe and carried on, regardless.
“Look, we’ve got a couple who torched themselves in Nelson Square, Southwark, and I was wondering if you could get a crew over there before the dogs get busy.”
“They both dead then? I’m not going to send a wagon only to have some do-gooder call an ambulance instead.”
“Well, I won’t ******** you but one of them is still moving…”
I heard the sign of exasperation and decided to throw in a sweetener.
“…but, trust me, they’re way beyond medical help. Look, send a wagon and if they’re still twitching have your boys give a thumbs down to the camera; I’ll have a Paramedic swing by for an assisted termination – can’t say fairer than that?”
There was a pause, and I could hear the shuffle of paper as he consulted a clipboard.
“Yeah, OK. I’ve got a collection in SE1 just now anyway, and I’ll have them take a gander. Thumbs up if they’re stiffs then?”
“You got it, and thanks again.”
I hung up and checked the monitor; neither prone figure was moving now and the few pedestrians about were giving them a wide berth. It may sound harsh but no hospital was going to treat a severe burns victim, one who was probably going to die anyway, and if I did call in the Paramedic then at least they would be spared lying about on a trolley in an unregarded corridor for several hours.
Detective Sergeant Anderson signed off on a report and dumped it in the ‘out’ tray, placing his pen down ever-so precisely before rubbing his eyes.
“Technically speaking, someone should check the bodies for identification, so that the next of kin can be informed. Might save the state the cost of burial.”
“Burial? Didn’t you read that last directive? That’s why I called cleansing straight off.”
He gave me that slightly superior smile that I’d come to loath.
“And here was I thinking you were still the consummate professional; everything by the book, upholding the common good, even with half the planet reduced to ashes.”
“The book changed, I haven’t. Anyway, those two stepped outside society the moment they lit themselves up, and I’ve got no time for those that won’t hold on.”
The intercom buzzed before Anderson could slag me off for indifference after the fact – seemingly a heinous crime in his world view.
“I have a Major Saunders on line two for you, Inspector. He’s been passed down by Divison.”
“Yeah, thanks Heather, I’ll take it.”
I really didn’t like dealing with the Armed Forces at the best of times, but I was feeling particularly irritated by Anderson and just knew I was going to take it out on the hapless Major.
“This is DI Morden. How can I help His Majesties finest?”
“Good morning Inspector, this is Major Saunders of the Second Composite Battalion. Sorry to trouble you with what, in all probability, is the proverbial wide goose chase, but we have a situation which is more properly your preserve. Thought I’ve give you a bell while it was still under wraps, so to speak.”
At least he hadn’t started off by reminding me I was technically required to assist him under the provisions of Martial Law; I’ve found some get really riled when I point out you actually need an army for the martial bit - something clearly absent these days.
I switched to speaker so that I wouldn’t have to brief Anderson later, if need be.
“A situation, Major? What kind of situation?”
“The daughter of one of my sergeants - good man, rock solid - has been found dead. He popped home on a 48-hour pass to check up on her – the mother absented herself a while ago, you understand – and there she was. Called in our chaps, of course, even though it looked like, ah, a planned departure, and everything was fine until one of the MPs apparently blurted out he thought it was murder.”
“May I ask why your sergeant didn’t call us in straight off? I’m assuming the dead girl is a civilian, after all? It’s still our…”
“Absolutely, old chap, absolutely. It’s just we always like to have a quick look-see in cases involving dependants of active personnel, just in case it’s any kind of revenge scenario.”
“Unlikely, Major, after this time – but I take your point. Any reason why the military police think this is murder and not suicide? I mean, these days killings tend to be fairly obvious and don’t require much in the way of investigation.”
“Can’t help you there, sorry. All I know is that Sergeant Harris is most dreadfully upset at any suggestion of foul play; completely unsettled by the whole affair, apparently, and I’d be failing in my duty if I didn’t do my utmost to set his mind at ease. Bad enough the poor girl had to top herself, eh?”
“Well, it’s something we’ve all had to get used to, Major.”
“Quite. So I can leave this in your capable hands then, Inspector? My two MPs and Sergeant Harris are still in situ, so if you could have someone pop round, give the place a quick once-over and reassure him it was by her own hand, so to speak, they can give him a lift back to base.”
“A funeral at the Army’s expense then?”
“Least we can do, given the circumstances. You hear such dreadful stories these days, about cursory services and ‘body disposal’; quite dreadful. Now, the address is in south-east London, a Place called Nelson Square…”
Coincidence? Both Anderson and I glanced at the monitor, still showing two blackened bodies on the rain-swept pavement.
I don’t trust coincidence.
One
I watched a couple share a last embrace, wreathed in flame.
Then a sudden rain squall swept Nelson Square, blotting out my view while the CCTV wiper struggled with a deluge it had never been designed for. Eventually the shot cleared enough to reveal two smouldering bodies on the pavement, one still moving, but both burnt beyond recognition at this distance.
I swore under my breath and set aside the paperwork I’d been working on, dumping it back into the already over-flowing tray. The switchboard managed to get me an outside line but I could tell from the background whispers that my call was being shunted over half of London; the remaining exchanges still coping, barely.
“Cleansing department.”
“Hi, this is Detective Inspector Vic Morden over at Justice.”
“Acting Detective Inspector” murmured Anderson from across the desk, as he never misses a trick. I refused to scowl at his jibe and carried on, regardless.
“Look, we’ve got a couple who torched themselves in Nelson Square, Southwark, and I was wondering if you could get a crew over there before the dogs get busy.”
“They both dead then? I’m not going to send a wagon only to have some do-gooder call an ambulance instead.”
“Well, I won’t ******** you but one of them is still moving…”
I heard the sign of exasperation and decided to throw in a sweetener.
“…but, trust me, they’re way beyond medical help. Look, send a wagon and if they’re still twitching have your boys give a thumbs down to the camera; I’ll have a Paramedic swing by for an assisted termination – can’t say fairer than that?”
There was a pause, and I could hear the shuffle of paper as he consulted a clipboard.
“Yeah, OK. I’ve got a collection in SE1 just now anyway, and I’ll have them take a gander. Thumbs up if they’re stiffs then?”
“You got it, and thanks again.”
I hung up and checked the monitor; neither prone figure was moving now and the few pedestrians about were giving them a wide berth. It may sound harsh but no hospital was going to treat a severe burns victim, one who was probably going to die anyway, and if I did call in the Paramedic then at least they would be spared lying about on a trolley in an unregarded corridor for several hours.
Detective Sergeant Anderson signed off on a report and dumped it in the ‘out’ tray, placing his pen down ever-so precisely before rubbing his eyes.
“Technically speaking, someone should check the bodies for identification, so that the next of kin can be informed. Might save the state the cost of burial.”
“Burial? Didn’t you read that last directive? That’s why I called cleansing straight off.”
He gave me that slightly superior smile that I’d come to loath.
“And here was I thinking you were still the consummate professional; everything by the book, upholding the common good, even with half the planet reduced to ashes.”
“The book changed, I haven’t. Anyway, those two stepped outside society the moment they lit themselves up, and I’ve got no time for those that won’t hold on.”
The intercom buzzed before Anderson could slag me off for indifference after the fact – seemingly a heinous crime in his world view.
“I have a Major Saunders on line two for you, Inspector. He’s been passed down by Divison.”
“Yeah, thanks Heather, I’ll take it.”
I really didn’t like dealing with the Armed Forces at the best of times, but I was feeling particularly irritated by Anderson and just knew I was going to take it out on the hapless Major.
“This is DI Morden. How can I help His Majesties finest?”
“Good morning Inspector, this is Major Saunders of the Second Composite Battalion. Sorry to trouble you with what, in all probability, is the proverbial wide goose chase, but we have a situation which is more properly your preserve. Thought I’ve give you a bell while it was still under wraps, so to speak.”
At least he hadn’t started off by reminding me I was technically required to assist him under the provisions of Martial Law; I’ve found some get really riled when I point out you actually need an army for the martial bit - something clearly absent these days.
I switched to speaker so that I wouldn’t have to brief Anderson later, if need be.
“A situation, Major? What kind of situation?”
“The daughter of one of my sergeants - good man, rock solid - has been found dead. He popped home on a 48-hour pass to check up on her – the mother absented herself a while ago, you understand – and there she was. Called in our chaps, of course, even though it looked like, ah, a planned departure, and everything was fine until one of the MPs apparently blurted out he thought it was murder.”
“May I ask why your sergeant didn’t call us in straight off? I’m assuming the dead girl is a civilian, after all? It’s still our…”
“Absolutely, old chap, absolutely. It’s just we always like to have a quick look-see in cases involving dependants of active personnel, just in case it’s any kind of revenge scenario.”
“Unlikely, Major, after this time – but I take your point. Any reason why the military police think this is murder and not suicide? I mean, these days killings tend to be fairly obvious and don’t require much in the way of investigation.”
“Can’t help you there, sorry. All I know is that Sergeant Harris is most dreadfully upset at any suggestion of foul play; completely unsettled by the whole affair, apparently, and I’d be failing in my duty if I didn’t do my utmost to set his mind at ease. Bad enough the poor girl had to top herself, eh?”
“Well, it’s something we’ve all had to get used to, Major.”
“Quite. So I can leave this in your capable hands then, Inspector? My two MPs and Sergeant Harris are still in situ, so if you could have someone pop round, give the place a quick once-over and reassure him it was by her own hand, so to speak, they can give him a lift back to base.”
“A funeral at the Army’s expense then?”
“Least we can do, given the circumstances. You hear such dreadful stories these days, about cursory services and ‘body disposal’; quite dreadful. Now, the address is in south-east London, a Place called Nelson Square…”
Coincidence? Both Anderson and I glanced at the monitor, still showing two blackened bodies on the rain-swept pavement.
I don’t trust coincidence.
