Chief Inspector Peter Gogan was a deeply unhappy fellow. From the very first suggestion that this old RAF facility should be converted to a site for refugee short term accommodation and processing he had been waiting some sort of incident. Quite naturally nothing had prepared him for a fruition quite so disastrous and deadly, but the universe did seen to presently have a need to engineer the very worst of scenarios.
He espied Annette Grubber approaching through the haze. A tall clean-shaven man, dressed equally fancily, was following her trail quite intently.
“The explosive techs are suggesting multiple fragment grenades.”
“That seems a bit heavy for the South of England.”
Fennel interposed without waiting for a formal introduction.
“So they are suggesting coordinated suicide bombers?”
Gogan nodded wearily.
That suggests quite an elaborate plot to carry out this much simultaneous destruction.”
Alios was inclined to reject such complex ideas. Sure the occasional multilayered plot could evolve, but something about this current event suggested a very hasty response to a recent incident.
“Presumably the Home Office have their secret squirrels digging up any known players with hot irons in the fire?”
The question was directed towards Annette, whom has quite the reputation for cross service intelligence gathering.
“Working the message boards as we speak, boss-man.”
True to her words Annettes attention was intently focused as the fingers of her right hand danced over the keyboard of her cell device with a quite remarkable dexterity.
Peter Gogan found himself absentmindedly considering the relationship between Fennel and Gruber. Not that he was particularly intrigued by the pair but had always found in the past that such an understanding helped explain and aid inter colleague relations. Added to that Annette Grubber was also quite the looker, and any hope a joint clandestine furtive moment or two would keep Grogan alert and toasty so a few days to come.
For her part Annette understood exactly the effect she had, and fostered, on the people she worked with, male and female. Whilst no going to the lengths of Sharon Stone, Annette was quite capable of forgetting to wear panties in a suitably scenic location.
Groans assistant was a dark-haired athletic sergeant named Claudine Miller. Very hard working and without any noticeable vices, she was very pleased to be in the position she had managed to achieve without falling into any of the usual traps female service personal are prone to encounter. Being proudly out had been both a help and a hindrance. She was accepted as one of the lads, avoided most work relationship complications, but had to accept she was doomed to remain in middle management forever and a day. There were no dyke chief constables.
Cladine liked the way Annette knowingly smiled at her.
Daily Abstract Thoughts 