Page 3 of Gone in the Night
‘Poor Cain, nobody could replace him. He’s one of a kind.’
‘I told him that, he’s been my lifesaver these past few months. Anyway, I just wanted to give you the lowdown on the new start.’
‘Where’s he from? What’s his name?’
‘Tristan Carter, and he’s from up the coast. St Bees. It’s all posh up there. He’s been a detective for four years apparently. I didn’t ask too much because I didn’t want to upset Cain. This is only his second shift. He spent most of yesterday with Marc who showed him around.’
Hammering on the door made them both jump, and Amy threw it open to see Cain standing there, towering over them, blocking out the light from the corridor.
‘What’s this private conflab, you didn’t invite me?’
‘Missed you, Cain.’
He grinned at her, opened his arms and scooped her in for one of his famous bear hugs. She sighed.
‘I missed you too, Morgan, can’t wait to hear all about The Big Apple, but the boss, boss is looking for you. Did you not hear that log come in?’
Morgan hadn’t even switched her radio on, and she shook her head.
‘Some farmer has found a body in one of those tent box things and it’s all kicking off, welcome home, Brookes.’
‘Are you winding me up?’
‘Nope and guess what, you have the new boy to take with you; Ben and Marc are already en route to the scene.’
‘Where are you going? Can’t you come with us?’ Morgan didn’t want to be paired up with Tristan already when she hadn’t even said hello to him.
‘Been demoted, haven’t I?’
‘What?’
‘Boss, boss wants Tristan on scene.’
Morgan grimaced. ‘Holy crap, it’s been what, ten minutes since I walked into this place, you’re definitely winding me up, Cain.’
Cain was shaking his head. ‘I hate to tell you this, Morgan, but you truly are an angel of death. Those fishnet tights under those cropped trousers are not fooling anyone.’
Amy punched him in the arm.
‘Ouch, too much violence.’
‘If you think that hurts, just you wait until I’m in labour, and give her a break, Cain, stop feeling sorry for yourself. I thought you’d be glad to get out of going to a crime scene for hours.’
He held up his hands. ‘You’re right, sorry, Morgan. That was not very nice of me.’
‘You’re forgiven, just.’
She strode off to the office, where Tristan was shrugging on a jacket. He looked at Morgan and smiled.
‘You must be Morgan; I’m Tristan but everyone calls me Stan.’ He held out his hand, and she took it, smiling at him.
‘I am, how did you guess?’ she replied, bristling at the name Stan. Her dad’s name. She felt the familiar wave of sadness wash over her at the reminder of her dad and wasn’t sure how she’d feel calling someone else Stan, even though it was inconsequential. She’d have to get over it; he couldn’t help his name.
He pointed to her boots. ‘Cain said that I’d know you anywhere because you always wear black and your Docs are welded to your feet.’
‘Did he now?’
Tristan smiled.
