Page 8 of First Blood
‘I know, Dad,’ she whispered to her own reflection. ‘You never get a second chance to make a first impression.’
And she so desperately wanted to make a good first impression, she admitted to herself.
Despite trying to shake it off over the years she knew she was a people pleaser. She knew she wanted people to like her as well as respect her capabilities, and that trait had accompanied her since little Courtney Jackson had refused to sit beside her on her first day at school.
She had wondered what she could do to make the little girl more comfortable. She had smiled as widely as she could manage. She had pulled her chair further to the left to give Courtney more room. She had offered the girl the first toy from the toy box and in some way or another she’d been doing the same ever since.
She surveyed her appearance once more before reaching for her satchel, and resisted the urge to send a picture of herself to the new phone she’d bought her mum, to check she’d got her appearance just right.
Twenty-two-year-old detective constables didn’t do that.
She expelled another deep sigh as she locked the door to the flat that did not yet feel like home.
She stretched the tension from her jaw by smiling widely.
Folks warmed quickly to people who smiled.
Chapter Seven
Kim appraised the set-up of the squad room from the glass partitioned bowl at the far right corner of the room. Her office; clearly erected for someone who liked to observe their team from behind some kind of barrier.
On the other side of the glass were four desks, two sets of two, facing each other with a walkway through the middle of the office that led from the door to a row of cupboards supporting a printer and a filthy looking kettle. She’d rather drink from the slushy puddle outside than from that. Due to her need for coffee to get through the day that was a situation that would be remedied at the earliest opportunity.
Her thoughts turned to the imminent arrival of her team. She wondered who they were and where they had come from. Were any of them difficult to work with? Had they all been the broken cog in otherwise well-oiled teams? Was DCI Woodward throwing a bunch of bad eggs into one basket?
She was saved any further ruminations as a figure appeared in the doorway.
The man rose up to around six feet high wearing a dark suit, blue tie and beige overcoat.
She left the bowl to greet him and realised that he reminded her of someone but she couldn’t think who.
‘DS Bryant,’ he said, offering his hand.
She shook it briefly. ‘And I bought coffee, Marm,’ he said, pleasantly while stating the obvious.
‘Good call on the coffee but points lost on the Marm,’ she said, lifting the lid on one of the drinks.
‘Duly noted and they’re all flat whites,’ he said, looking around. ‘Wasn’t sure how many of us there were…’
‘Another two I’m told,’ Kim answered, taking one of the four cardboard cups. Another good call on the number. ‘And guv or boss will be fine,’ she clarified.
An uneasy silence dropped between them and Kim remembered what DCI Woodward had said about getting to know her team. Trouble was there was nothing she cared to know. How he could do his job would become evident.
It was going to be a long bloody day.
She was saved from trying to think of an appropriate question to ask by a second new face at the door.
‘Hi, is this CID?’ asked the black woman with a satchel crossed over her frontage.
Kim nodded, as the woman stepped in with a wide smile and an outstretched hand.
‘I’m Stacey Wood, police const… I mean detective constable, and I’ve been assigned to this team.’
Kim introduced herself, and Bryant rushed forward to take her hand and give his own name.
She appeared reassured by his presence and welcoming demeanour. Kim could tell she hadn’t been a detective long as she’d almost introduced herself under her old rank.
‘Well, pick your desks, folks,’ Kim said, taking a sip of her drink.
