Special Circumstances - 16. Retaliation

All Protection Command officers served for four weeks and then returned for a mandatory two-week retraining course. It was now my time to do that for the first time, and I was in my second week at Gravesend. This Monday evening was full moon, and I was scheduled to accompany the minister on a trip up north.

Today, though, was Tuesday, and I was in firearms exercises with three other Protection Command officers from other teams. Of course, they’d heard about me and that I was the new guy in Boswell’s command he didn’t like. However, in contrast to my boss, they were open enough to not greet me with hostility and to give me a chance.

We finished the first exercise and got a break. I left the training area and turned on my private phone. I kept both phones off during training. Nothing was more annoying than to be interrupted by a phone call or message notification during a scenario.

The phone came up and showed I had a dozen missed calls. One from Nam, one from Inspector Boswell, one from my brother Rob, and one from my mother of all people. The rest were unknown numbers. In addition, there were countless texts and messages on various social media apps.

One message was from Mike. ‘Call me when you have time.’

I suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. Bracing myself, I pulled up one of the other messages.

Connie asked, ‘What’s that about, Leon ?!?!’ I noticed the link in the message but didn’t click on it.

Other messages I briefly checked were similar. I pressed the link which then opened in the browser. It led to a page of the tabloid The Daily Glorious. The article’s headline was, ‘Policing Minister Morris-Walker’s Bodyguard Lover’.

“Fuck!”

The article featured three prominent pictures. The first photo had been taken in Windermere when the minister visited on that fateful day we were unable to prevent the last murder. It showed me leaning against the unmarked, black BMW looking rather relaxed in the sunshine. True, I’d been relaxed at that point. I had to admit, it was a very attractive shot, and the text beneath the picture went into some lengths insinuating that.

The bastard who wrote the article mentioned my brother’s modelling career with the second picture prominently featuring Rob as an underwear model. They asked questions about what could be found under my uniform if my brother was any indication. They even mentioned my Instagram profile without directly linking it. The picture they were painting was clear.

Okay, I wasn’t the ugliest fellow on earth, and I worked hard for the rest, so what?

It was the third picture which made my blood freeze. It was taken from Morris-Walker’s mansion’s garden through the window of the minister’s office and showed us after he had hugged me and I was suggesting he monitored his mental health.

While the photo didn’t appear modified, it was taken at the ideal moment and from such an angle it seemed as if I’d been naked in front of him and looking at him longingly. Morris-Walker and the sofa standing in front of me from the camera’s perspective hid the machine pistol which had hung in front of me, my tracksuit bottoms, and utility belt. What a lucky shot. The description under the picture gave the unassuming reader, of course, the completely wrong idea.

The main text of that disgusting publication was full of half truths and suggestive misinformation. However, it contained enough facts. It explained how the minister apparently used his position to get me to serve as his ‘bodyguard’. I didn’t know how they found out, but they stated I’d gotten custom courses at Gravesend and I only served continuously from Friday evening till Sunday afternoon describing me as ‘the minister’s weekend hero’.

They’d interviewed Windermere’s neighbourhood sergeant who correctly stated I’d self-identified myself to him as gay, but misquoted me that my boyfriend and I liked coming to the area. The article wondered who said boyfriend was. They quoted him describing me as an undisciplined pretty boy. Furthermore, ‘a source close to’ my old shift was quoted as saying I was overly eager and attention seeking. Rich or Steward, I was sure!

“Fucking assholes!” Scrolling down the page was painful.

The journalist had even checked with the local party about that Saturday evening in Windermere and concluded there had been no events. They went on to question what the minister and his ‘weekend warrior’ had done during all the time they were alone before getting embroiled in a murder case. They never made any statements, just asked suggestive questions.

“Fucking shit!”

This was national tabloid news. Not BBC level, but every worker and handyman would read that dumb paper. I started shivering. My knees felt as if they wouldn’t support my weight. I had a knot in my stomach, and felt like I needed to vomit. I had to call Mike. My hand was shaking when I selected his contact avatar.

He took his time picking up.

“It isn’t true!” I exclaimed before he could say anything. “I’ve never touched him!”

He sighed. “I wanted to hear it wasn’t true.”

My voice broke and tears started welling in my eyes. “It isn’t! It’s all bullshit! I swear!”

“Calm down, Jamie. I know that tabloid rag is full of trash. But I want to understand. Why are you standing naked in front of him in pajamas?” He asked. “You have to know how that looks.”

“Mike, I wasn’t naked! I was just giving him a hug!”

“A hug?”

I couldn’t think straight enough to determine whether his tone was disbelieving or not. I was actually in a full blown panic. I might loose the man I loved.

“Yes, he was down! I took pity on him and offered him a hug! I told him to keep aware of his mental health! That’s when they took the picture!”

“So, you just run around there without a T-shirt?”

“Yes, I sleep in tracksuit bottoms when I’m there. Of course, I don’t sleep there naked like at home.” My panic only grew. “Mike, I haven’t done anything!”

He swallowed. “I know you’re not the cheating type. I also know Morris-Walker exerts a lot of influence over you. Did…did he put you in a compromising position? Is that what I’m looking at in this photo?”

His first sentence calmed me somewhat, yet the following accusation stung all the same. “Mike, the minister is as straight as an arrow and not my type. It was just a friendly hug.”

“I don’t know Jamie. It certainly doesn’t look platonic. We’ll talk later.”

“Mike!” I was devastated.

“Please, Jamie.” Mike’s voice softened. “I need some time to think about this. Later is better.”

The click ending our connection sounded like an artillery shell.

I felt sick. I ran towards the training building’s lavatories, went into a cabin and vomited. Even while hugging the porcelain throne, I couldn’t escape police training. I double checked the machine pistol was in safe mode, and I took it off. And I cried, thinking I might actually lose Mike and that again, it all was my fault.

It took me a moment to calm down. During that time, my phone was signaling more messages incoming. Two were unknown numbers. I got up, picked up and slung the HK over my shoulder, and went to the sink. Some water removed the taste of acid. I refreshed myself and then looked into the mirror. People would probably notice I had red eyes, but I had my cool back.

I needed to talk to Morris-Walker. He’d know what to do now. However, before I could get the call out, my phone was ringing. It was my mother. No sense in delaying the inevitable.

I answered the call. “Hi, mum.”

She was in tears. “Jamie, how could you?”

“Could what? I haven’t done anything! It’s all lies!”

“I haven’t raised you to be like this, and now, you end up like Robert. I’m very disappointed in you, Jamie Lewis.”

“Mum!”

She hung up on me! I stared at my phone in disbelief.

I called Morris-Walker.

He took my call quickly. “Jamie? What can I do for you?” He sounded so calm.

“Have you read the news?”

“Yes, I have. I wonder that you have. Did you not tell me that you were not following any news?”

“Well, yes, normally I don’t but everyone I know does.” I stopped to take a much needed breath. “It seems they all have seen the news and now want me to explain myself. What are we going to do?”

He sighed, and in my mind, I could see his expression that he again had to explain the obvious to me. “Jamie, as I hope you can imagine, my PR advisors are already working on a statement and a press conference.”

“Well, wonderful, Minister. Mine are on strike right now,” I said sarcastically. “What do I do now?”

“When you are asked, you will state the truth. We are not lovers, Jamie.”

His calm manner drove me mad, but apart from sarcasm, I kept it together. “Thank you for the clarification, Minister. Somehow, I know we aren’t lovers.”

More encouragingly, he said, “Jamie, this is nothing but yet another distraction.”

I couldn’t believe it. “A distraction? My life is falling apart! My boyfriend would’ve kicked me out if I didn’t stay in the barracks tonight anyway, my friends think me a cheating asshole, and even my mother told me off without giving me a chance to say anything!”

“That may well be, Jamie. This just means that we are close. The last attack was physical, and it was aimed at me. It failed. This one is psychological, and it is aimed at you.”

Now, I lost it. “Yeah, and it’s fucking working! What the fuck do I do now? How do we explain the photo they took of us?”

“Simple, Jamie. With the truth, of course.”

I was momentarily speechless. “What?”

He sighed again, his patience with me running audibly thin. “The burglar alarm sounded in the middle of the night. You got up wearing the little clothing you wear every night, grabbing your weapons and swept the house. I was equally woken up and we met in the office when you gave the clear. Because I was awake, I had a late night cup. They took a photo in that moment. That is the truth, is it not, Jamie?”

I felt so dumb. “Ah.”

“The rest of their statements, like assumptions about your career change will also be explained with the truth, Jamie. Nothing but the truth.”

I knew he didn’t mean by truth what I would’ve meant by it. “I begin to see that truth is only a level of omission, Minister.”

“Jamie, that is one of the cleverest things I have ever heard you say. I am proud of you!”

This time, I stayed quiet or I would’ve shouted at him. Arrogant asshole!

He continued, “It will all sort itself. Stay put. Goodbye, Jamie.”

He also hung up on me. That seemed to be the new fashion.

I hated to admit it, but this conversation with Morris-Walker made me feel better. Yes, if truth was indeed just a level of omission, then he was the most honest person in the world.

I turned off my phone and put it away. I still had one exercise to complete with a ninety percent accuracy target. If I failed, I wouldn’t be allowed on duty this weekend, the next full moon. The time of the next murder.

I simply had to pass. Failure wasn’t an option. A life was at stake, and if Morris-Walker was indeed correct and last weekend’s occurrences any indication, maybe the world.

Focusing on nothing but the HK in my hands and the exercise to complete, I made it, albeit barely. The trainer recorded our pass marks and let us go for the mid day break. The other three trainees and I had planned on having lunch together, but I needed to excuse myself.

This time, I’d follow Nam’s old advice and own it right from the start. I’d tell them about the article right away and in this way also tell them I was gay.

“Phew, another round done,” Patrick said and locked his machine pistol away.

“Yes,” I agreed. “Sorry, guys, I won’t be able to join you for lunch.”

“Other plans?”

“Yes, I need to rescue my life.”

“What?” Barry asked aghast.

I sighed. “Check the news. You’ll find a story about me apparently being the secret lover of my principal. Load of bullshit.”

The others were all taking up their phones.

“Blimey!”

“Wow!”

“I can’t find it. What are you on about?”

“Daily Glorious, Glenn. Not the Watchman.” I earned a chuckle from all present. “As I said, it’s a load of bullshit. Now, I need to deal with the fallout.”

“Mate, such an accusation will result in an inquiry whether true or not,” Patrick said.

I shrugged. “Not much I can do about it. Enjoy your lunch, guys. I hope you can see why I lost my appetite.”

There were phone calls to make and messages to write. I needed a quiet space. Although it was a ten minute walk from the training compound, I went to my barracks room.

It was time to call Nam.

“Jamie!” He answered cheerfully and without greeting came straight to the point, “Nice pics, mate. I really like your brother. How do you say so often? Lecker!”

He used the German word for tasty which I often employed describing hot guys. Not that Rob wasn’t attractive and not that I’d never seen him naked or having sex, but looking at my brother that way was a bit too much.

“Mate, that’s my brother you’re talking about!”

He laughed. “Okay, then not your brother. What do you say to a minister in pajamas?”

“Stop it, not funny!” I had to giggle.

“I doubt that’s what you said to him.” He erupted in more laughter.

“Nam! Stop!” I didn’t know why, but his laughter was infectious.

“Sure,” he said calmly, “Now explain yourself. If it isn’t manipulated, what the fuck were you doing?”

“It’s all bollocks,” I started and then gave him the explanation Morris-Walker had told me.

“Well, makes sense. I didn’t believe any of it anyway.”

I was relieved, yet surprised. “Ah?”

“Matey, you have one of your blonde moments again, yeah?”

“Oi!”

“First, having gone through being betrayed yourself, you know how it feels, and second, you just don’t have the nerve to cheat on anyone. If there’s a good chap, it’s you,” Nam had said resolutely.

That touched me. “Thanks, mate.”

Cheerfully, he said, “No worries. I’m here for you, pretty boy.” He let that sink in for a moment. “I don’t know whether I don’t like Leon better.”

“Nam?”

“Yes?”

“I hate you.” I still had a big smile on my face.

“I know! But it’s just disguised love, isn’t it, pretty Leon?”

“Nam!” How could this outrageous bloke make me laugh so easily?

“I see, I’ve cheered you up. All I wanted to do.” Then, in a more serious way, he said, “It’ll be okay, Jamie.”

I sighed. “I hope so. Mike hung up on me.”

“He just needs some time, I guess. I’m sure Mike knows this is bullshit.”

I took a moment to reply. “You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right!”

I chuckled. “Yeah, sure. Thanks, mate.”

“Keep me posted!”

I let the phone sink. Nam was the best friend I’ve ever had. Although I was sure he was bursting to tell me about himself and Melanie, this call had all been about supporting me. I needed to come up with a way to show him how much he meant to me.

Right now, I needed to call my brother.

Rob was also cheerful. “Hi, Jamie. Long time no hear. How are things?”

“Have you read the news?”

“I was made aware,” he said evasively. “Again, how are you?”

“It’s all bullshit.”

“No worries, little brother. I’ve seen you with many guys. You simply adore Mike.”

“Yes, I do,” I whispered.

“There you go,” he said encouragingly. “Do you want to know something funny?”

“Go ahead.” Radio code spilled over sometimes.

“My website and social media profiles have a drastically increased visitor count. Thanks for the ad, little brother.”

“My pleasure,” I said drily.

“You wanna know the best?”

“Go ahead.”

“The newspaper has paid royalties to use that picture of me. Yeah!”

I had to laugh. “Again, my pleasure.”

“Jamie, this is funny.” He chuckled.

“Sorry, I don’t really feel like it was.”

More seriously Rob said, “Well, part of the article only works because we have the looks money can’t buy. It’s mostly envy, little brother.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

“What’s going to happen now?”

“I’m not sure. There’ll be a disciplinary hearing, I’m sure. Then we’ll see how deep shit I’m in.”

“How so?”

“The secret lover stuff is nonsense, but the allegation will cause a disciplinary investigation. I don’t know how many favours were involved in me getting that protection training in the first place, let alone getting it expedited. Never forget, I’m a pawn to sacrifice. If I become a problem to either Morris-Walker or the Met, they’ll drop me like a hot potato.”

“I’ve told you before you’re too cynical, Jamie.”

“Politicians as well as senior police officers don’t like bad press and will do anything to get rid of it. If the easiest thing to do is to throw me to the dogs, they’ll do it. Has happened to many of us plebs. It’s no news to us.”

“Don’t be so negative. It’ll be alright.”

I sighed. “We’ll see.”

“Well, don’t be a stranger. If you want to meet up, just let me know.”

“I will. Thanks, Rob. See you.” I hung up.

During the call, I’d received a message from Morris-Walker. I checked it and learned he’d give a press conference today at five. I forwarded it to several people, Mike, Nam, and Rob among them. The rest of the lunch break, I answered messages and wrote posts on different apps. Gosh, social media could be exhausting.

I returned to the classroom with just a couple of minutes to spare.

The trainer took me aside. “Jamie, you got a sec?”

“Of course, how can I help, sir?”

“Are you aware there’s a news article about you?”

“Yes, I’ve been dealing with the fallout since this morning.”

The trainer seemed relieved. “Well, good you know and you’re dealing with it.”

“It’s all bollocks, sir.”

He smiled at me. “No doubt. That news outlet isn’t worth the death of a single tree for the paper it’s printed on.”

I laughed. “True!”

“Anyway, I’d noticed a dip in your performance this morning, but that explains it. Under these circumstances, you keep it together rather well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He nodded encouragingly and then left, allowing me to join the others. I didn’t detect any reluctance in my three fellow trainees. On the contrary, they all expressed their support for me.

I couldn’t allow any thoughts about what was going on outside to affect this afternoon’s performance. As the last of the afternoon lectures came to an end with an examination, I scored enough to pass the required threshold.

Of course, I’d told the other trainees about the press conference, and we gathered in one of the classrooms to watch it. Glenn connected his phone to the projector, and we settled to watch the live stream.

A couple of journalists were greeting Morris-Walker with flashes when taking pictures as he entered the small hall somewhere in Westminster Palace. Confident and smiling, he crossed the room.

The minister wasn’t alone. His PR and policy advisors discreetly accompanied him. They stayed back in the audience. However, prominently at his side was an older woman who I didn’t recognise. The two of them took seats at the long table facing the journalists, smiling at each other and at the audience.

How far we’ve come, I thought. Just two decades ago, the mere accusation of a gay affair would’ve spelled the end of any politician’s career. Only about a dozen reporters were gathered to listen to Morris-Walker, who seemed as if he owned the world.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Morris-Walker began, “Good afternoon. I thank you all for coming here on such a short notice. This morning, the Daily Glorious published an article insinuating I was having an inappropriate, sexual, romantic relationship with my Close Protection Officer, Police Constable Jamie Artois of the Metropolitan Police’s Specialist Protection Command. Please let me state irrevocably that no such relationship exists. Police Constable Jamie Artois and I are not lovers and have never been intimate.”

He went on to explain the picture precisely as he had told me.

“I therefore would like to thank the officers in the Metropolitan Police’s Protection Command who work hard and put their lives on hold to keep us, in this case, me personally, safe from harm.”

The four of us cheered.

Morris-Walker looked at the woman next to him. “While the content of my messages and phone are subject to the Official Secrets Act and therefore cannot be published, I have asked the Lady Chief Justice of England and Wales, the Right Honourable Dame Catherine Scattergood, to examine my official and private phones.”

“Clever politician, your principal,” Glenn said.

“Why?” What had he noticed that I missed?

“She’s the highest ranking judge of the country, and she’s a Labour peer. There can’t be any accusations of party loyalties.”

She began to speak, “Ladies and gentlemen, as the Right Honourable Minister Morris-Walker has stated, I examined his official and private phones for the call history and written conversation between him and his Close Protection Officer. The occurrence and the length of their phone calls and the content of their written conversations don’t indicate any other than a professional relationship. In two cases, after two speeches which the minister gave in a Select Committee and in the House of Commons mentioning his stance on LGBTQI+ topics, Police Constable Artois sent a heart emoji to the minister. I will allow that.”

Some of the journalists chuckled.

I couldn’t hold back. “Told you, it was all bullshit!”

The minister took over. “Thank you, Dame Catherine. Ladies and gentlemen, I am deeply sorry I need to remind the representatives of the press that publishing baseless rumors affects the lives of all involved whether directly mentioned or not. My best wishes go to Constable Artois and his partner, who have due to this disgusting publication suffered on a personal level. Let me also make it clear I will pursue this shameful breach of privacy and sanctity of my own home to the full extent of the law.”

He looked around the audience. “You may now ask questions.”

A hand must’ve risen outside the view of the camera. “Please,” the minister said.

The indicated journalist spoke up, “Christine Shanks from the Daily Glorious. Are you gay, Minister?”

He smiled. “No, Christine, I am not. Please let me add I have learned from Constable Artois that unless someone is openly gay and happy to talk about it, it is nobody’s business. Nobody is asking you who you are sleeping with either, Christine. Next?”

Christine Shanks stayed insistent. “Minister, our source provided further photographs which I can release, showing you two hugging intensely. How is that not an inappropriate relationship, Minister?”

“An interesting question, Christine. Please let me explain Close Protection Officers spend a lot of time with their security principals and their respective families. As such, they get to know them and are often able to detect fine mood swings in the principals. Constable Artois had detected such in me. He discussed with me he had recognised my need for emotional support and he would offer to hug me, but at the same time stated it would be a breach of protocols. I accepted such a breach, because sometimes, government ministers also need a hug.”

Again, there were chuckles in the audience, even in the room, from my colleagues. The minister selected another journalist.

“Gary Pennington from the Watchman. Minister, what involvement did you have in your Protection Officer getting special treatment? I understand the Specialist Protection Command to be an elite unit. His colleagues don’t seem to find Constable Artois capable.”

I grimaced.

The minister offered one of his best smiles as he answered, “Thank you, Gary, for your excellent question. The reason I as junior minister have a Protection Officer in the first place, is that I have been suffering a violent stalker for nearly a year. One evening about half a year ago, that man got hold of me, and it was by chance Constable Artois was able to assist me. He physically fought the man off. Therefore, when it was assessed I would receive close protection, I did indeed demand Constable Artois. The Metropolitan Police leadership was open to the suggestion. He passed all the required assessments.”

Barry clapped me on the back, “Well...”

“I was asking for a way to speed up the process which, to their credit and my gratitude, they did. Yes, the urgency was purely down to my security requirements, but Constable Artois had to undergo all exams and certifications like every other Protection Command officer. If he had not been capable or if he had not passed the vetting stage, he would not have been admitted. He assured me that especially during the firearms training he suffered, quote, hell on earth.”

Some chuckles in the audience.

“As to Sergeant Lambert’s statement, I remember Constable Artois telling me after my visit to Windermere that Sergeant Lambert was an old man who was stuck in the Victorian age and did not like his haircut.”

Again chuckles from the remote audience and from my colleagues present.

“There must have been a clash of characters,” the minister continued smiling, but I wasn’t listening.

I wondered. I hadn’t told him about that, or had I? The more I thought about it, the more I was sure I hadn’t said anything to him about my encounter with the three neighbourhood officers. How did Morris-Walker know what I was thinking of that sergeant?

Suddenly, it dawned on me.

He’d known my training was hell on earth, although we’d never discussed it. On the day of the ritual, I was nervous against all outward signs he could’ve known. He’d known about my ex, Brian, and him being an investment banker, although the minister might have an excellent memory for secret service reports. Now, he knew what I thought of that sergeant.

He’d extracted information from the entity after touching it. I shook his hand every day I met him. The bastard’s unique ability was to read minds!

My mouth stood open. “Sodding toff!” I exclaimed.

“What?” Glenn asked upon my outburst. “Your principal is good.”

I stared at Glenn aghast. I felt violated. Did Morris-Walker know everything about me now?

“What happened, Jamie?” Glenn asked concerned.

I snapped out of it and smiled at him. “Just a bad thought. All fine. Yes, he’s good.”

I didn’t follow the rest of the press conference. I was anxious and had to calm down. For the first time, I could understand how a victim of crime felt. Helpless. All my thoughts, hopes, fears, motivations, and secrets had laid bare for somebody else to examine freely.

“Well, that was good,” Patrick said, getting up and taking me out of my train of thought.

The live stream had stopped.

“Yes, but it isn’t over yet,” I replied. “I need to see what my boyfriend has to say.”

“Have you heard from your inspector at all?”

“I had a missed call in the morning, but nothing else.”

Glenn added, “They’ll come back to you soon enough. There’ll be questions asked nonetheless.”

Barry chimed in. “Yeah, hugging him wasn’t a smart move, mate.”

“He seemed really down.” That sounded lame even in my ears.

He turned to me. “Jamie, don’t tell me you hugged victims of crime when you were a street cop.”

What a ridiculous suggestion. “No, of course not.”

“Then why him?”

I couldn’t tell him about fighting off murderous extraplanar monsters. “You’re right. I see.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, mate. Pub?” Patrick asked.

“Nope. I need to talk to my boyfriend now.”

The three went off for a walk to the only pub for miles around. I returned to my barracks room and laid on the bed. Taking out my phone, I checked the social media apps. Nam just sent a thumb’s up, other friends and contacts had sent their support, too.

I texted Mike, “Talk?”

I didn’t have to wait for long. Mike called me.

I was nervous. How should I start? “So, how do you feel? What do you think?”

“That nothing happened between you and Morris-Walker?”

“Yes.”

“Jamie, of course, nothing happened between the two of you. I’m not pleased you hug other men half-naked, but did you honestly think I could believe that stupid story?”

I was at a loss. “Then why,” I began.

Mike interrupted me. “Why am I so fucking annoyed?”

“Yes.”

“Because there’s something else going on, and this damned pentagram is just the tip of the iceberg,” Mike exclaimed forcefully. “I’m annoyed about you keeping secrets from me which affect you so much I’m affected, too, and there’s nothing I can do about it, because you don’t let me in.”

“Mike…”

“I’m here for you, Jamie. I see you suffer. You must report the murder which is about to happen to your superiors.”

“Mike…”

“Please, Jamie!”

“Okay, Okay, I’ll think about it!” I shouted to get a word in.

“I love you Jamie! Never ever doubt that!”

I was relieved. “I love you, Mike. I’ll call you later.”

This time, I hung up.

I didn’t know for how long I stared at my phone. I felt torn. Mike was correct, but so was Morris-Walker. My musing was interrupted by the phone ringing. It was Inspector Boswell. I was pretty sure what this call would be about.

“Sir?”

“Jamie. What interesting reading you have provided.”

No greeting, no question how I was doing. He was happy about this, I was sure. There wasn’t anything I could say which would change the inevitable.

“I’m pulling you from duties with Morris-Walker, till we can have a proper inquiry. Report to my office on Monday at nine.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hung up on me.

Well, that went down exactly as I’d expected and made my decision whether to call Mwangi easy. I had to be on duty with Morris-Walker this weekend to prevent the murder. Maybe he could help. I texted the minister with the news of me being pulled.

I called Chief Inspector Mwangi.

I thought I could detect his big smile in his voice. “Jamie. I hear you had a rather stressful day. How are you doing?”

“Good evening, Chief Inspector. One could say that. I’m fine, but we need to talk.”