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.

Bishop Renfrew Palfry had been more than willing to sit down and share his knowledge about the facility with Inspecter Grubber and Sergeant Miller. Palfry appreciated just how much good publicity would fall on his shoulders by such a conciliatory act, and had made sure to instruct his latest young paster, Michael Sheehan, to be sure to carefully record in sound  and picture exactly   how  helpful his superior was being.  

Michael a particularly beautiful young man of perhaps twenty five years, but looked considerably  younger, was dressed in quite the most fashionable black allowable in his professional capacity, with a clerical collar as high and tight as even the most experienced eyes of Claudine had ever witnessed. More entertainingly he also appeared to be wearing a touch of rouge and faint  eye liner.

“You don’t object to my paster taking as few notes, I presume?”

The Bishops voice was pleasantly lilting, without having an easily placed accent.

“As long as the conversation stays is in generalities, that will be quite acceptable.”

As Annette answered she sild her hand under the able and gripped Claudine’s trousered right leg halfway between her knee and upper thigh. Quite surprisingly Claudine managed to remain perfectly still.

“This frightful display of terrorism is very concerning, but certainly do support the very strict measures the Home Secretary rightfully has put in place for national security.”

The Bishops diatribe was obviously intended more for his pasters recording than any other   purpose. Renfrew Palfry was a staunch supporter of government action in the House of Lords and wanted to be clearly heard voicing his support of current policy.

“I understand that all the volunteer staff as supplied through only two charitable institutions. Is that correct?”

“Yes indeed, both organizations directly linked to local social and religious groups. Keeping the center and the community closely linked in direction and principle.”

Claudine was trying her hardest to concentrate on the conversation, but Annettes fingertips were drumming thigh in a most off-putting fashion.

“We knew that sooner of latter the seriousness of our long term intentions would be tested. Here and now they most clearly have been. but the strength of our purpose and position have not altered or been diluted.”

Having completed his party-political messaging the Bishop of Winchester excused himself, rose and sauntered off with his gleeful young protegee skipping along behind.

This time is was Claudine who leaned into Annette to whisper.

“Smoke break.”

The collection of gold filter tips on the ceramic tiles of the two officers chosen cubicle was starting to take on the approximation  of a gilded  pyramid. Thankfully there two slender cigarettes left in the pack.  

“I will bring the goodies tomorrow.”

Annette acknowledged Claude’s promise by wrinkling her nose seductively as she toothily grinned.  To Claudine’s irritation the gesture was utterly transfixing.   

“That was a little cruel gripping my leg like that.”

Claudine could quite strangely  still feel the spots where tips of Annette’s perfectly manicured nails had indented her skin.

“Sorry Claude, I damage you? Should I take a look and check?”

Claudine could feel the blush start just above her sports bra and very quickly rise right up to her hairline. She desperately wanted to say something clever but not a single smart thought could filter through the rampant desire that was engulfing her. Annette clearly had spotted her confusion.

“Hang in there,  Claude,  I am just teasing you. You’re going to get as much of me as you can possibly manage,”

Claudine was quite dumbstruck now, but somehow managed to follow Annette from the cloakroom back to the space they has been using as their temporary interview room.

The bishop of Winchester was inclined to take a vitriolic viewpoint on all things ‘woke’. Claudine found this rampant display of hypocrisy totally unacceptable, especially considering his long-term penchant for cohabitating with much younger male vergers, who just happened to exactly fit his very specific physical type.

Claudine’s father was a village clergyman in the leafy part of Worcestershire. He had disapproved very forcibly when she declared her sexual preference one Sunday evening sitting around the well a laden dining room table. Her mother had immediately leaped to her defense, pointing out quite truthfully that question of her taste in partners had never been in doubt since she first chose metalwork over embroidery in secondary school.  Mother always was the more thoughtful of her parents, caring more about the rights of a thing than any supposed moral principle.

Not being someone who could stand to stay out of the limelight Bishop Palfry was busy sermonizing at anyone he could coerce to stand still for a few moments. From what Cladine could gather from a respectful distance he was saying very little on import at all, just repeating the usual sympathetic lines traditionally spouted on such somber occasions.

The majority of the refugees being non English speaking Muslims the target for his quaint patter were entirely other ears, namely the volunteer support staff whom effectively organized and executed the day to day working of the entire  center, excluding  security.

“This whole set up seems very Dads army.”

Annettes reference to the apt but aged television series brought an immediate grin to Claudine’s lips.

“Right down the Bishops line of drivel, good old fashioned camp comedy.”

“W-i-c-k-e-d!”

Annettes comic aside and rather flamboyant double handed gesture indicted The two policewomen’s joint devilry and further cementing of their rapidly burgeoning  affections.

“Perhaps we should grill the Bishop a little? He seems to know the internal workings of the volunteer organization as well as anyone.”

‘Long as you do the talking, inspector.”

Alois Fennel was quite happy to let Annette and her new playmate sergeant Claudine take care of all of the basic enquiries. He need time to poke around. contemplate, delve, and most important of all, think. It was all too easy in a complex investigation to get so involved with the nuts and bolts that the really important items, like means and motive, got lost amidst the general chaos. Annette Grubbers specialty was creating space, making enough room for his brain to function in a fashion both useful and productive. Alois had the definite feeling that Claudine Miller served a similar same function for Peter Gogan.

“Looks like Sakeena’s husband was killed in the initial explosion, and the wrappings the girls found had all in likelihood been used to conceal and transport Russin sourced fragmental grenades.”

Fennel nodded sagely. All very much as he had supposed but raising far more questions than providing finite answers.

“So Basheer could easily have been the source and delivery of the blast, but what long term purpose did such an extreme action serve? We have maybe successfully discovered the means but have absolutely no notion about a motive.

Any relationship between cause and effect should be intelligible and tangible.”

Gogan appreciated that Fennel was merely talking aloud, so made to attempt to respond. Nothing was sometime the exactly correct thing so say. Both he and Alios had separately arrived at a similar conclusion, that whatever was the reasoning behind the malicious act there deeper than just some display of terrorism. The action, effect and possible repercussions indicated a far more sinister purpose.

“Do you get the feeling that we have just witnessed the first act in a three of four-part play?”

Chief inspector Fennel sighed very loudly.

The bishop of Winchester was inclined to take a vitriolic viewpoint on all things ‘woke’. Claudine found this rampant display of hypocrisy totally unacceptable, especially considering his long-term penchant for cohabitating with much younger male vergers, who just happened to exactly fit his very specific physical type.

Claudine’s father was a village clergyman in the leafy part of Worcestershire. He had disapproved very forcibly when she declared her sexual preference one Sunday evening sitting around the well a laden dining room table. Her mother had immediately leaped to her defense, pointing out quite truthfully that question of her taste in partners had never been in doubt since she first chose metalwork over embroidery in secondary school.  Mother always was the more thoughtful of her parents, caring more about the rights of a thing than any supposed moral principle.

Not being someone who could stand to stay out of the limelight Bishop Palfry was busy sermonizing at anyone he could coerce to stand still for a few moments. From what Cladine could gather from a respectful distance he was saying very little on import at all, just repeating the usual sympathetic lines traditionally spouted on such somber occasions.

The majority of the refugees being non English speaking Muslims the target for his quaint patter were entirely other ears, namely the volunteer support staff whom effectively organized and executed the day to day working of the entire  center, excluding  security.

“This whole set up seems very Dads army.”

Annettes reference to the apt but aged television series brought an immediate grin to Claudine’s lips.

“Right down the Bishops line of drivel, good old fashioned camp comedy.”

“W-i-c-k-e-d!”

Annettes comic aside and rather flamboyant double handed gesture indicted The two policewomen’s joint devilry and further cementing of their rapidly burgeoning  affections.

“Perhaps we should grill the Bishop a little? He seems to know the internal workings of the volunteer organization as well as anyone.”

‘Long as you do the talking, inspector.”

Alois Fennel was quite happy to let Annette and her new playmate sergeant Claudine take care of all of the basic enquiries. He need time to poke around. contemplate, delve, and most important of all, think. It was all too easy in a complex investigation to get so involved with the nuts and bolts that the really important items, like means and motive, got lost amidst the general chaos. Annette Grubbers specialty was creating space, making enough room for his brain to function in a fashion both useful and productive. Alois had the definite feeling that Claudine Miller served a similar same function for Peter Gogan.

“Looks like Sakeena’s husband was killed in the initial explosion, and the wrappings the girls found had all in likelihood been used to conceal and transport Russin sourced fragmental grenades.”

Fennel nodded sagely. All very much as he had supposed but raising far more questions than providing finite answers.

“So Basheer could easily have been the source and delivery of the blast, but what long term purpose did such an extreme action serve? We have maybe successfully discovered the means but have absolutely no notion about a motive.

Any relationship between cause and effect should be intelligible and tangible.”

Gogan appreciated that Fennel was merely talking aloud, so made to attempt to respond. Nothing was sometime the exactly correct thing so say. Both he and Alios had separately arrived at a similar conclusion, that whatever was the reasoning behind the malicious act there deeper than just some display of terrorism. The action, effect and possible repercussions indicated a far more sinister purpose.

“Do you get the feeling that we have just witnessed the first act in a three of four-part play?”

Chief inspector Fennel sighed very loudly.

The political furor that had accompanied the announcement of the bombing had surprised no one, the national refugee crisis was a political football that the opposing parties has been kicking up and down the social landscape or a considerable period. Extremism of any kind was rejected the majority of the British population no matter the source, whether foreign led or the product of dissatisfaction on the parliamentary benches.  The country seemed in disarray, an unpopular government trying to rule by consistently making false statements and adverse  accusations to cover the very plain corruption within their own ranks, low and high.

Alois Fennel was an old hand at playing these kind of administration games, having survived a number of the most unfortunate examples in the recent past.  He knew there was no solution but good concise investigation, followed by a full and public diagnosis of the events and the going impact for good or bad.

Fennel and Gogan had been obliged to meet with a representative of the Home Office before proceeding any further with their enquiries.  The wholly unnecessary waste of time was with a chap named Fergus Lothly, the third secretary to the undersecretary of the present Home office minister.  

“Haven’t we met before Mister Lothly?”

Alois Fennel had a healthy mistrust of professional civil servants.

“I do believe so, Chief Inspecter. During the Shorditch investigation.”

The mention of the old case did not relieve Fennels concern one iota. Lothly obviously a professional fixer, someone who specialized on the smoothing over of politically sensitive cases.

“So a new Home secretary, but a familiar face overseeing any repercussions?”

“We all have our roles to play.”

‘So what’s the word from above?”

Alois really didn’t feel inclined to play nicely today.

“No instructions, just a friendly couple of suggestions.”

“Suggest away, dear chap, but don’t expect any automatic agreement. “

Lothly and Fennel exchanged knowing smiles.

“No unnecessary publicity, and definitely no announcements of underlying causes or perpetrators without prior Home Office approval. “

The two old adversaries shook hands and Lothly wandered off whistling quite happily under his breath.

“That was interesting.”

Gogan has held his tongue with ease during the encounter with Lothly. The man was obviously quite influential and the making of adverse waves would suit no particular purpose presently.

“Lothly arriving means MI5 involvement. A most useful piece of information. They are very casually stating their involvement in the issue, and quite likely forewarning us the trail might not lead at all where the plain facts might suppose.”

“Wheels in circles, spokes inside of wheels.”

What remained of the facilities main building did a particularly bad job of presenting the quality of whatever had existed originally.  The appearance was dowdy, clinical, how you might imagine the interior of a temporary prison might seem. The Walls and ceilings had obviously just been freshly decorated in an effort to hide a quarter of a centuries grime and harsh wear from plain view. Repurposed units has a distinct look, and an obvious feeling of a recent decay that cannot he erased by with lick of green paint and good lathering with even the most effective carbolic disinfectant spray.  

Annette and Claudine had been blessed with the regrettable task of conducting interviews with the resident refugees. They jointly welcomed a seeming endless stream of misplaced humanity, and with the aid of government supplied interpreters attempted to discover some notion of the events-than had transpired in the previous twenty-four hours.

Claudine had expected Annette to take the lead in any questioning, but surprisingly she seemed to prefer to sit back and absorb any information Claudine could extricate from the fragments of conversation that ensued.  It was obvious from the very first set of questions and answers that the refugees has absolutely certainty of the interpreters clear coating of bias in all of their translations.

“Why do the refugees have such poor opinion of your   impartiality?”

Seemed to Claudine that this  enquiry was perfectly reasonable on her part.  

“They all just consistently lie. Makes the whole process impossibly tedious and a total waste of department finances. They all just work from a well-rehearsed script.”

The impetrator that has answered Claudine’s question was a studious looking woman in her mid-twenties, Not someone you would expect to have such a degree of blatant cynicism. Claudine exchanged a surprised glance with Annette.

‘Let’s take a break for ten minutes. I could use a trip to the rest room. “

Claudine immediately understood than she was expected to tag along with Annette on her personal break.

The interior of the Ladies facilities had survived the blast extraordinarily well.

“You’re doing really well Claudine, don’t let the animosity between the refugees and the staff get under your skin, they are just used to constantly sparring with each other.”

Annette took a pack of black Russian cigarettes out of her suit jacket  inside pocket and offered one to Claudine.

“Can’t imagine anyone will notice if we have a fag, can you?”

Claudia flashed a very toothy smile and took one if the long slim gold tipped black cigarettes from the half empty pack. She had her trusty petrol lighter in her bottom right hand waistcoat pocket, and with some panache offered Annette a spark. Annette lightly gripped the offered hand between her beautifully manicured fingers,

‘Thanks Claude, okay if I call you Claude? Nice three piece by the way.”

Police sergeant Claudia Miller reddened quite embarrassingly, the kind of signal that once given is quite impossible to recover.

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.

The carnage left by the explosion that had ripped through the purpose-built governmental refugee center was quite appalling. Many who had been killed and injured, were employees of the facility, the administrators and office staff responsible for the day-to-day completion and ongoing levying of the muciferous decisions taken and sanctified by the ministerial department represented therein.

Chief Inspector Alois Fennel was way outside of his usual jurisdiction, but as often transpired as the nearest active officer to the scene of the incident he was immediately given responsibility. Alois cursed quite colorfully at such a misfortune, explosions involved in a crime meant an   extraordinary degree of interest from the Home Office, and he had no desire to be under such constant scrutiny.

His regular assistant Annette Gruber was already as the scene as he drove his rather flashy rented BMW into the still smoking site. Her presence relieved his qualms considerably, Annette was efficient, and officious, a combination that would no doubt prove useful is the ongoing investigation.

“Still parading around in that overpriced eye sore, I see!”

As unusual Annette was dressed far too fashionably for such a confused and disheveled scene. Her tweed pencil skirt was a good three inches too short, and the lacy white blouse extruding from the cuffs and neck of her matching jacket was crying out for a covering of grime and ash momentarily.  

“You got all the local cops begging for your cell phone number already, Annette?”

“It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it.”

Her glinting perfect smile always made Alois’s toes curl in his black dress shoes.

“‘Who’s the local in charge?”

“Local CID’s governor name of Pete Grogan, and the centers security head is also here poking around quite annoyingly.“

“So let’s do this thing, shall we?”

Alois followed Annettes nicely heeled boots into the confusion.

I reside on a most beautiful, idyllic island amidst the Salish Sea portion   of the Pacific Ocean. There are only two sensible reason for deciding to make a home here. Firstly, you have retired from any necessity to make an ongoing day to day living, and secondly, you have sufficient financial stability to exist within for your foreseeable future with the means presently at your disposal.  

This green and gray vista, with all its multitude of undeniable charm, is an economic desolation zone, with not the slightest hope of ever becoming more than its latest format, which is a very   attractive seasonal tourist destination, with all and every accompanying ancillary facility necessary for that purpose.

In its most entertaining journey this thinly top soul covered rock has been quarry, forest orchard, a multitude of useful production facilities, but those prestigious days are long departed, as are the similar histories of a thousand other small communities.

Acceptance, without regret, is the watchword for a probable future. Aglow, unapologetic.

I am not generally a scaredy cat, but a degree of self-caution has made me wary of the taking or changing up medications. Thankfully, pharacies now accompany a newly prescribed substance with a narrative listing possible side effects and problems.

This is useful, but also harrowing. I am forewarned but also inordinately terrified.