Previously: Earlier in the year DC Yannick Clarke’s partner, John Callihan, was killed in the line of duty. While Clarke attempts to move past the incident with his new partner, DC Lola Styles, suspicions are raised that there was more to Callihan’s death than meets the eye. Off the books, DC Zoltan Kaminski is poking at the wasp nest to see what happens…
This chapter unlocks 4 February 2022. Early access subscribers can read immediately.
Early shift
On duty: DC Lola Styles, DC Yannick Clarke
London
1972. December.
The house looked remarkably ordinary. It was exemplary in its dullness. Clarke grimaced at it, sighed, and looked to Styles. “Let’s get this over with.”
“You never know, it might be more interesting than you expect,” Styles said, bright and optimistic as ever. It had been several months and he hadn’t decided whether it was endearing or annoying. Most probably both, at the same time. Still, he couldn’t deny that her enthusiasm made coming to work slightly more tolerable.
They walked up the short driveway, a strip of path sandwiched between patchy grass, mostly mud and leaf mulch. It was a cold December morning, Christmas decorations still visible in windows. Clarke hated the pause before the new year; the strange week that didn’t quite exist, where news got lost and everybody took a breath before the plunge. His job never stopped, because criminals never stopped. Bad guys don’t stop being bad guys because it’s a national holiday.
The door was wood and solid, his knock eliciting a chunky thunk. “If this is another regular case that’s been passed over to us for no reason…”
Styles looked up from the path at where he stood on the doorstep. “Does this happen a lot?”
“I’m surprised it’s not happened to you already,” Clarke said. “Used to get it a lot with Callihan. And before then. When the regulars can’t be bothered, they sling it our way at the slightest excuse.”
The door opened, revealing a woman in her mid-forties. She was wearing no make-up and looked as if she’d had a rough few nights. “Yes?”
“Mrs Carlisle?” Clarke held up his ID. “Detective Clarke and Styles, we’re from the SDC. Here about your break-in.”