Free The Sun Will Still Shine Tomorrow by Ken Scott

week, explained he was okay. They couldn’t be sure though, he hadn’t made contact with them either.
    He’d passed her on the street one day. Thank God, she hadn’t recognised him. She wouldn’t have.
    His hair hadn’t even been combed let alone washed for a month. He’d grown a short, dark, unkempt beard and he had a black swollen eye following an altercation with one of his housemates. He’d deliberately lost the fight, taken the kicking. It wouldn’t have looked good if his Met police self-defence training had kicked in.
    He’d dressed in clothes one step up from a tramp. She had given him a cursory glance as she’d passed, almost looked a bit apprehensive. A little worried. Why not? He’d played the part well. A junkie, just the type to snatch a handbag for the price of the next fix. Easier still, a punch to the face of the victim to snuff out any resistance, maybe a blade. She’d pulled her shoulder bag tightly into her body, taken a firm grip of the strap and then… she was gone.
    “Don’t worry, Ashley, I’ll back you up on this one. It’s the PC brigade again. I know you didn’t mean what he’s suggesting, and I’ll get this suspension overturned in days. DCI Gibbons says you and him go back a long way, says you’re a good cop.”
    Rod dam’s words of comfort never registered.
    And eventually he’d cracked the job. His information had secured the arrests that would eventually result in convictions and long sentences. Ashley was on a high; he positively glowed when he’d returned to the station to receive the adulation of his team. And he’d taken his time and showered like he’d never showered before, washing the filth and the human scum from his body.
    And when he’d showered and dried off, he’d showered again, and then twice more. And as he stood and looked in the mirror as he shaved, he delighted in getting acquainted with his old familiar face once again. A splash of after-shave and a walk through the station backroom dressed in only a towel. The lads in the station had chipped in by way of a thank you and a brand new pair of Levi 501s together with a starched, crisp white granddad shirt, hung on two separate hangers in the locker room. He opened his locker and hauled out his battered beige deck shoes and a new pack of boxers.
    He felt good as he walked down the Kings Road in Chelsea in bright summer sunshine. He’d called in to a Costa Coffee shop, treated himself to a large latte and a smoked salmon and cream cheese baguette. He’d been eating shit for weeks, it seemed.
    It was six thirty in the evening. Alexis would be in by now. Surely? He’d stopped at a flower shop, picked up a ridiculously expensive bouquet of flowers, and wondered why he was delaying the meeting.
    “I’ll tell them you’ll take a rap at divisional level, a black mark on your record and back on duty as quick as possible. I’m behind you one hundred per cent.”
    There’d never been anyone like her before or since. He’d realised just how much he loved her the instant he’d discovered the note.
    “DC Clarke… speak to me. At least acknowledge me.”
    Her words blamed the job, she couldn’t go on, couldn’t take any more.’ The last straw.’ Not knowing whether you were alive or dead.’ And it continued as Ashley’s tears dropped onto the paper. It told of a promotion and how the company Alexis worked for had offered her a year-long post in New York. The posting was several weeks away but she felt it best if she left now, didn’t want him to contact her.
    “The job, sir.”
    “Yes, yes, Ashley I’ll get you back on the job just as soon as—”
    “It fucking stinks, doesn’t it?”
    Roddam fell back in his seat astounded that a lower ranking officer had dared to utter the F-word in his inner sanctum. Roddam wanted to lecture, wanted to lay down the law but by the time he’d regained the ability to speak again Ashley Clarke had gone.
    Ashley didn’t bother with an explanation for his