mistake.”
Stark gave him another hand shake.
All Katz could muster was a cursory nod as she accelerated away up the corridor. Stark half jogged after her and drew level as they turned a corner.
“Jings, Katz, you not so keen on my wee pal then?”
“He's a horrible, slimy, little rat. He gives me the bloody creeps!” she said with surprising vehemence.
“Aw, that's a bit harsh - he's just a lonely, wee, sad case that wants to feel important by helping the polis now an again.”
“I don't give a shit, he creeps me out and, by the way, Jock, the word is police!”
He could have sworn she smiled as she said this.
“There you go again with that racialism. I'm going to HR to tell them I'm being oppressed!” He feigned a huff and they turned the next corner straight into Floyd Callahan.
“Starky! Imagine meeting you here!”
The beanpole reporter beamed his winning smile.
“Don't you Starky me you lanky git! I take it your pal Captain V sent you a message? Shone a spotlight into the night sky - the V signal was it? Well here's a V signal from me you prick!” and with that, Stark delivered a two-fingered salute.
“Detective Inspector Stark, that's very hurtful, as well as being more than a tad rude. It just so happens that Citizen V did indeed tip me off about his latest exploits. Not been able to get into the room though, thanks to a half pitbull, half ward sister guarding the door,” came the jovial reply.
Katz snorted.
“If you two are quite finished, perhaps we could go and check on the victim... sir ?”
“You see that, Callahan? That's what the modern police force is like nowadays. No bloody respect any more!”
Katz had walked ten yards, showed her warrant card to the guard dog/sister and stepped into the room before Stark had even finished his sarcastic riposte. He just shrugged, smiled at Callahan and followed after her.
As Stark closed the door behind him, he took in the scene. A young, uniformed, female constable was handing over an evidence bag to Katz, bringing his partner up to speed in hushed tones. A boy of about seventeen lay in the bed, head swaddled like an Egyptian Mummy, awake but looking very sorry for himself. He was hooked up to a couple of pieces of equipment that whirred and beeped intermittently. A frumpy-looking, middle-aged woman, who Stark assumed was the boy's mother, sat on a chair, stroking his forearm tenderly. A lump of sodden paper tissue protruded from the sleeve of her blouse and she pulled it out and dabbed at her nose as she sniffed.
Katz dismissed the young cop and she and Stark both turned their attention to the mother.
“Hello, Ma'am. I'm Detective Inspector Adam Stark and this is Detective Constable Lara Katz. I'm sorry to intrude but we really need to speak to your son about what happened to him.”
She struggled to control her emotions, her lip quivered and tears and snot began to slip down her face.
“Please catch the animal that did this. My poor, beautiful boy...”
She tailed off as sobs prevented her actually speaking coherently, the paper tissue saturated beyond helping to remove any of the additional moisture she was producing. Luckily, Stark always attended such situations with a packet of disposable handkerchiefs in his pocket. Experience taught him this was helpful on a number of levels - not least of which was winning the trust of victims and letting them know he actually gave a crap about their trauma. He passed her the packet and she nodded gratefully as she took them; emitting a surprisingly powerful noise as she blew her nose.
“Sir, this is Mrs Pritchard and that's her son, Luke. He was attacked on his way home from a party at one of his friend's houses. He didn't see the attacker and has no recollection of anything that happened after he left the party. Whoever attacked him,” Katz surreptitiously made a V with her fingers in order to confirm to Stark that this act belonged to their man, without alarming or alerting Mrs
Stark gave him another hand shake.
All Katz could muster was a cursory nod as she accelerated away up the corridor. Stark half jogged after her and drew level as they turned a corner.
“Jings, Katz, you not so keen on my wee pal then?”
“He's a horrible, slimy, little rat. He gives me the bloody creeps!” she said with surprising vehemence.
“Aw, that's a bit harsh - he's just a lonely, wee, sad case that wants to feel important by helping the polis now an again.”
“I don't give a shit, he creeps me out and, by the way, Jock, the word is police!”
He could have sworn she smiled as she said this.
“There you go again with that racialism. I'm going to HR to tell them I'm being oppressed!” He feigned a huff and they turned the next corner straight into Floyd Callahan.
“Starky! Imagine meeting you here!”
The beanpole reporter beamed his winning smile.
“Don't you Starky me you lanky git! I take it your pal Captain V sent you a message? Shone a spotlight into the night sky - the V signal was it? Well here's a V signal from me you prick!” and with that, Stark delivered a two-fingered salute.
“Detective Inspector Stark, that's very hurtful, as well as being more than a tad rude. It just so happens that Citizen V did indeed tip me off about his latest exploits. Not been able to get into the room though, thanks to a half pitbull, half ward sister guarding the door,” came the jovial reply.
Katz snorted.
“If you two are quite finished, perhaps we could go and check on the victim... sir ?”
“You see that, Callahan? That's what the modern police force is like nowadays. No bloody respect any more!”
Katz had walked ten yards, showed her warrant card to the guard dog/sister and stepped into the room before Stark had even finished his sarcastic riposte. He just shrugged, smiled at Callahan and followed after her.
As Stark closed the door behind him, he took in the scene. A young, uniformed, female constable was handing over an evidence bag to Katz, bringing his partner up to speed in hushed tones. A boy of about seventeen lay in the bed, head swaddled like an Egyptian Mummy, awake but looking very sorry for himself. He was hooked up to a couple of pieces of equipment that whirred and beeped intermittently. A frumpy-looking, middle-aged woman, who Stark assumed was the boy's mother, sat on a chair, stroking his forearm tenderly. A lump of sodden paper tissue protruded from the sleeve of her blouse and she pulled it out and dabbed at her nose as she sniffed.
Katz dismissed the young cop and she and Stark both turned their attention to the mother.
“Hello, Ma'am. I'm Detective Inspector Adam Stark and this is Detective Constable Lara Katz. I'm sorry to intrude but we really need to speak to your son about what happened to him.”
She struggled to control her emotions, her lip quivered and tears and snot began to slip down her face.
“Please catch the animal that did this. My poor, beautiful boy...”
She tailed off as sobs prevented her actually speaking coherently, the paper tissue saturated beyond helping to remove any of the additional moisture she was producing. Luckily, Stark always attended such situations with a packet of disposable handkerchiefs in his pocket. Experience taught him this was helpful on a number of levels - not least of which was winning the trust of victims and letting them know he actually gave a crap about their trauma. He passed her the packet and she nodded gratefully as she took them; emitting a surprisingly powerful noise as she blew her nose.
“Sir, this is Mrs Pritchard and that's her son, Luke. He was attacked on his way home from a party at one of his friend's houses. He didn't see the attacker and has no recollection of anything that happened after he left the party. Whoever attacked him,” Katz surreptitiously made a V with her fingers in order to confirm to Stark that this act belonged to their man, without alarming or alerting Mrs
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