Page 7 of First Blood
And besides, he’d been happy in his old team. Yeah, fair enough they weren’t what you’d call over friendly and he hadn’t made any lifelong friends, but sometimes being in a bigger team worked for him. Never too much attention on one person. Some days, like today, when you were a bit hungover you could let the others pick up your slack a bit and the boss was none the wiser. And DCI Church had been an okay guy to work for. Dawson felt the guy would have been a decent bet for putting him in for the DI exam if he’d had the chance to work on him a bit longer. He’d already started laying the groundwork to shine in the boss’s eyes, much to the irritation of his colleagues, but he’d had no problem taking credit for others’ work now and again or throwing his hand up enthusiastically for a task, to get noticed for his keenness before quietly delegating the job to a meek and unsuspecting detective constable. It was survival of the fittest and he fully intended to survive.
He’d worked out how to play every single one of his bosses so far and he didn’t intend to stop now, he decided, trying to cheer himself up. All he had to do was watch her, analyse her weaknesses and play up to them.
‘What you smiling about?’ Terry asked, removing the pillow from behind him. ‘You were a right grumpy bastard last night.’
‘Ah nothing, I’m just forming a plan.’
‘Well, mate, I hope that plan includes finding somewhere to stay tonight cos Louise is off nights and she ain’t gonna be chuffed with finding you on the sofa when she comes down for her cornflakes.’
‘Ah, shit, Terry, I’ve got nowhere to…’
‘Sorry, mate, but unlike you she pays half the rent and like err… lives here.’
Dawson ran his hand through his hair wondering which mate he could tap up for a bed tonight.
Terry sat in the single chair and shook his head.
‘Beats me why you can’t go home, mate. I’ve seen your missus and she is one tasty…’
‘Hey,’ Dawson warned.
‘You know what I mean. Whatever has gone on between you two can be worked out, surely. She’s bloody worth it.’
Dawson said nothing as he pulled on his socks and his shoes.
He couldn’t think about that situation right now.
It was time to get to work and meet his new boss.
And he couldn’t fucking wait.
Chapter Six
Detective Constable Stacey Wood smoothed her hand over the tight black curls lying close to her head, enjoying the feel of her own hair against the palm of her hand.
Her last weave had recently been taken out and she was glad to see the back of it. Only two weeks in it had been clear that the hair had been sewn in too tightly causing pain and discomfort to her scalp. She’d stick with her own hair and wear it proudly for now.
She viewed herself in the full-length mirror, a donation from Uncle Cedric. Like most things in her new flat, it had come from either members of the family or the wider Nigerian community in and around Dudley. That was how smaller communities worked, like one big family. She remembered when her father had been made redundant from his printing press job. The news had been whispered around the streets of Dudley and each night a bag or box of groceries and essentials had been left at the front door until he had found work again. No names, no need for thanks or repayment. Stacey was proud of her Nigerian heritage even though she had never stepped foot outside England and was equally proud to be British.
She took a deep breath to expel the anxiety caused by all the change in her life that seemed to have come at once.
Just one week after receiving the keys to her new flat she’d passed the detective constable exam and right now it felt as though she was living someone else’s life. Just one month ago she was working eight-hour shifts in uniform and then going home to a freshly cooked meal from her mum.
Yes, she had wanted that independence. As a woman just starting out in her career she’d realised that she needed to rely on the protective support of her parents a little bit less.
She had envisioned independence as euphoric freedom. Evenings of wine and experimental cooking with friends.
It wasn’t until she’d moved out that she’d realised that she actually didn’t have that many friends. She had police colleagues with whom she’d worked for the last few years who had become surprisingly distant since she’d passed the detective exam.
In the stillness of her own home she realised just how many hours she spent online in the fantasy land ofWorld of Warcraft.
At home, with her parents fussing around she had felt it was an escape, a diversion from the job. Sitting alone in her flat with nothing else around her she realised it had become her entire social life.
She pushed the thought away. That was for another day.
Today, her immediate problem centred on whether she was dressed appropriately for her first day. New detective, new team, new boss. And the new just kept on coming.
Eventually she had settled for cream slacks, one-inch-high court shoes and a plain white long-sleeved shirt. She had seen members of CID in all kinds of attire: power suits, mismatched suits, jeans, chinos. She’d never worn a power suit in her life and didn’t intend to start now, although her father’s words burned in her brain.
