The day presented as a bleak and particulate forgettable late March Thursday. As hastily arranged the previous night just after midnight the four police officers had met and were seated in the uninspiring diner that happened to have been built a mile north of the refugee facility on a section of the adjacent trunk road. None of the quartet were particular inclined to eat breakfast but some form of sustenance was likely going to be necessary.
Fennel and Gogan were wearing almost matching ark blue suits, except Alios Fennels three piece was very obviously handmade, cut to his own exact specifications, whilst Peter Gogan’s two piece bore every maker of being a St Michels product from his local Marks and Spencer store.
Annette Grubber as ever looked like she had arrived directly from a shoot for the front cover of Elle magazine, whist Claudette Muller was sporting a most appropriate dark tweed trouser suit fashioned after a 1950’s design for the casual man about town, complete with turn ups and pleated pants. A most attentive soul might have noticed that the red flash of silk slightly exposed in her breast pocket exactly matched the shade of the red thong Annettee Grubber had been wearing the previous day.
I all honesty Claude had acquired that trophy very early that morning in the front seats of her Saab. A most satisfying acquisition.
The conversation around the breakfast booth was carefully avoiding the case at hand. Policeman has a terrible habit of allowing their employment to rule their every waking moment, a truth that all of the quartet had learned to their eternal their deep regret.
Long unsociable hours had cost both Fennel and Gogan a marriage a piece, Alois just a pretty wife, but Peter a wife and two young daughters as well. Happily married police- officers were the exception rather than the rule, anyone rising to the rank of inspector or above, particularly in the plain clothed branch, was likely to be divorced within short order. Far too much pressure and definitely an excess of carnal temptation.
Annette Grubber was a special case. Recruited directly from college into the fashionable echelons of the Metropolitan Constabulary’s intelligence division. Annettes super fashion-conscious look and ultra smart perspectives had naturally become an integral cog in the department gears. She had worked quite happily behind her desk for several years till the allure of real instigative policework tempted her away and quite by chance introduced her to a then lowly but rapidly rising Inspector named Alois Fennel. Seargeant Grubber and Fennel immediately clicked mentally, and a heavenly pairing was instantly manufactured. Annette had to date never allowed any emotional involvements infringe in her freewheeling and very comfortable Knightsbridge like life style. Her eyes caught Claude fiddling with the silk in her suits outside breast pocket. Quite involuntarily she stretched out her stiletto heeled right leg under the table to find the reassuring bullishness of Claude’s shinny ox blood Doc Martens boots opposite.
Claudine had become mistakenly involved three time before whilst involved in the job, twice with colleagues and once with a career criminal. Of the three Rebecca, the criminal, had been by far the most exciting and satisfactory involvement.
Rebecca plied her trade in a Stratford massage parlor, giving rubdowns and handjobs to a cliental direct from the nearby rail and tube terminal. Detective Miller had only been promoted from uniform to the CID for a few months and was still suffering the kind of rigorous ribbing that only a rooky lesbian detective constable could expect to receive. Someone was needed to interview the girls working in the knocking shop, she was the most obvious and amusing choice available. Claudine never complained about such petty jokes and slights, and when she espied Rebecca she congratulated her long-term patience handsomely. The girl was gorgeous, spelt with a capital G, a real looker. When they sat down for a interview the air exploded up with enough sparks to start a serious blaze. Quite oddly Rebecca reminded Claudine of Annette in couple of distinct of ways. Neither dressed externally as their chosen profession might have suggested and probably preferred, but thanks be both had almost identical good taste in exotic scant lingerie.
Claudine had no intimate knowledge of what particular set of yummy frippery Annette was wearing this morning , only that the mere thought were enough to make her perspire quite freely beneath her very masculine looking white cotton shirt. She has distinct impression that she could sense the beads of sweat trickling down from her freshly shaved armpits to gather in a damp morass just above the waistband of her tweedy pants. Irritatingly the feeling of the descending trails of saline added to the overall eroticism of her carnal imaginings.
“So we all done with chow and brew?’
As soon as the sentence passed his lips Alois regretted ever imagining it would sound the slightest part casual and flippant.
“You are keeping a score of all these expenses, Annette?’
Grubber obligingly produced a MET issued credit card from her Michael Kors purse and waived the gold plastic in her bosses general direction.
“Anyone want coffee to go?’
The consensus was a grand flush.