Page 107 of Worth the Wait
Freddie snorted.As if.
But Trent kept running, gaze trailing over to Reece when he thought no one was watching, and they ran in companionable silence for a while, the thrum of feet and low grunts from the weights corner forming a rhythm all their own.
By seven, Freddie was back in uniform. Back at the station. But something felt off. The briefing in the muster room was routine on the surface. Intel passed down from day shift, notes on a rise in catalytic converter thefts around the estate, and a warning about a volatile domestic on Drake Street that had already triggered two call outs this week. Freddie kept his expression neutral, logged the call signs, and collected his usual beat paperwork.
Becca barely looked at him. That should have been his first clue.
By eight, Freddie was out on foot. He’d been in the car the last three shifts, but Carrick had reassigned him tohigh-vis foot patrol. Friday night forecast: drink, drama, and a lot of bad decisions. The usual.
He was halfway through checking on a lock-up behind the Co-op when his radio crackled.“PC Webb, return to base. DI March requests your presence. Now.”
Freddie’s stomach dropped like lead, but he clicked the radio. “Received.”
DI March. Professional standards.
Fuck.
The cold didn’t touch him on the walk back to the station. He felt little of anything. Only the acute awareness of every step echoing a little louder than it should. Every beat of his pulse a little too fast. He knew what was coming and he should have expected it.
Becca.
She was a probationer. Senior officers and Professional Standards must have cornered her. She’d have been under pressure to recount what happened at the raid and since. He knew what that looked like. He’d done it himself. Still, knowing didn’t stop the knot tightening in his gut as he approached the station doors. Didn’t stop the bitter sting of betrayal tucked beneath the understanding.
Inside the front desk area, he nodded at the civilian staff on duty. Tried to keep his face unreadable. Tried not to look as if he was a man walking into a trap he’d set for himself.
Sergeant Lawson met him in the corridor outside the briefing room. She didn’t smile. “DI March is waiting in Interview Room Two. Leave your radio and locker key with me. No PNB, no kit.” She held out her hand. “You won’t be needing them right now.”
Freddie unclipped his radio, handed over the keys, and followed the corridor down to the internal interview rooms where Interview Room Two was already open. DI Marchwas seated inside, a closed folder in front of her. DI Carrick and DS Bowen flanked her, both in plainclothes but every inch the chain of command.
Freddie stood in the doorway long enough for March to glance up.
“Take a seat, PC Webb.” She gestured to the chair in front of her. “We have some things we need to discuss.”
Freddie entered the room and took the seat opposite them.
March opened the folder in front of her. “We’ve reviewed your conduct during the execution of the operation echelon warrant. Several concerns have been raised.”
Carrick folded his arms. “Specifically, that you knowingly failed to declare a personal connection to Mr Nathan Carter, who was present during the operation and is the father of one of the juveniles involved, whom you previously arrested and interviewed under caution.”
“I didn’t know Alfie Carter was his son until I walked into that room.”
March looked up from behind her laptop. “But you know Nathan Carter?”
“Yes, ma’am. We grew up together. But we lost contact when he enlisted. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in over fifteen years. Not until I walked into the interview room that day.”
“Why didn’t you declare it then?”
Freddie dropped his gaze. “I… was in shock. Like I said, I hadn’t seen him in years. We…our friendship ended badly and…”
Christ, it sounded worse out loud.
Fifteen years or not, the personal connection was there, and he’d said nothing. Not at the scene, not in his statement. Any decent solicitor would have a field daywith that.Bias. Influence. Improper conduct.He might as well have gift-wrapped the defence an argument to throw the entire case out. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t meant to cause harm. That he hadn’t touched the paperwork or pushed the process. In policing, perception was everything.
And right now, it looked like he’d bent the rules for an old flame.
He closed his eyes for a breath, jaw tight.You should’ve declared it the second you recognised his voice, you idiot.
“But you were aware there was a conflict of interest?” Marsh arched a brow.
