Page 4 of Dropping Like Flies

Ben

It took a while for the sound of my phone to penetrate through the layers of sleep. Once it had, I blindly groped around on the nightstand where it should have been. Not there. “Fuck!” Where had I left it? Where was the ringing coming from?

I clambered across the bed in the direction of the sound, the naked man in the bed making the action more difficult than it needed to be. He let out an “oof” as my hand landed somewhere soft. Ignoring him, I made it across the room in less than a second, retrieving my phone from the pocket of my jacket and bringing it to my ear just before voicemail kicked in.

“DCI Weaver,” I managed, my voice still roughened by sleep.

“Weaver.” There was chastisement in the way Detective Chief Superintendent Wilson Baros said my name. Nothing new there. My superior was a hard taskmaster. He always had been. “We just had a homicide called in.”

“I’m not meant to be on tonight,” I pointed out. Perhaps my tone was a little too waspish, but was it too much to expect the DCS to do his job and know who was supposed to be where? I didn’t think so. “I might be senior officer, but CID has others.”

“You’ll want to see this one?”

“Will I? Why?”

“Just get there. Fowler picked up his phone the first time I called, so he’s probably there already. He’ll brief you at the scene.” He reeled off an address and despite only being half awake, I committed it to memory. What did I need to do before I left? Clothes. Yeah, that would definitely be better than turning up at a crime scene naked. No time for a shower, though.

I switched the light on and struggled into underwear before yanking open my wardrobe and pulling out a freshly laundered suit. I’d get away with jeans and a T-shirt at this time in the morning, but it paid to look the part if you wanted to be taken seriously. Especially when, despite being late thirties, I often got mistaken for a decade younger. Good genetics were to blame for that. Sometimes it was a blessing and sometimes a curse, but there was no changing it. What time was it? It was still dark, with no signs of dawn on the horizon, so… Three? Four? Definitely no later than five.

“What’s going on?” a voice asked.

I spun around to where the guy I’d climbed over in my rush to locate my phone was now sitting up in bed, staring at me. The nights where I picked someone up were infrequent enough for me to curse it being this one. Although, admittedly he was the second this week. I’d felt like I had something to prove after how badly the previous one had ended. And I’d proved it, everything happening the way it was supposed to during a one-night stand, with no intervention from someone who should know to keep their goddamn nose out of my business. “I have to go to work,” I said as I pulled on my jacket and made sure I had my badge. Presumably, he’d heard the phone call, so my leaving shouldn’t come as any great surprise to him.

“You never said you were a copper.” I risked a glance at him to gauge his expression. Reactions to my job usually went one of two ways. Fetish or distaste, without there ever seeming to be a middle ground. His expression turned distinctly lascivious. “I would have asked you to wear your uniform if I’d known.”

Fetish, it was then. “I don’t wear one. I’m CID. I left that behind a long time ago.”

“Right.” The smile didn’t shift. “Bet you could get your hands on one, though, couldn’t you?”

I didn’t have time for this. “Listen, get dressed. I need to go, which means you need to go.”

He lifted his chin in a challenge. “Tell me what my name is and I will.” His name? Fuck. I didn’t have a clue. “I can tell you the first letter if that helps?” he offered.

“Sure.” I bent over and pulled socks on.

“N.”

“Nigel?” I hoped I hadn’t slept with a Nigel. Which was probably really unfair to all the Nigels out there.

“Nope. Try again.”

“Nile? Nicholas? Noel? Nash?”

“Noel.”

“Right.” Socks now on, I located my shoes and put the left one on. “Well, Noel, like I said, I have to go.”

“I remember your name.”

Great! Ten out of ten. Gold star for you. I didn’t say any of that. “I’m flattered.”

“No, you’re not.”

He was right. I wasn’t. Locating Noel’s clothes, I flung them his way, relieved when he took the hint and got out of bed and started pulling them on. By the time I had both shoes on and tied, he was dressed, his casual wear much quicker to get on.

“So… a murder,” he said as I led the way to the door.

“A murder,” I agreed. “Occupational hazard, unfortunately.” He laughed as I locked the door to leave us standing out on the dark street, not a soul to be seen no matter which direction you looked in. No great surprise for—I finally got round to checking the time on my phone—4:17 in the morning.

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