Free The Drowners by Jennie Finch Page B

from him what it was, Lauren reflected as she gazed into the fire. He never talked about his work. He was far too professional for that and she sensed how ambitious he was. He wasn’t going to doanything stupid, anything that might keep him in uniform for the rest of his working life.
    She sighed, wriggled back in the armchair and resigned herself to another lonely evening, but her mind kept drifting to the problem of Pauline’s offer. On the one hand it was very tempting and there might even be a bit of a promotion in it. Sort of a half-promotion, she thought, but even that was better than nothing. She was very glad of the job at the probation office and felt she was lucky to have it. Not many people were willing to take a chance on her when she left college, looking at her in surprise when she rattled through their pathetic little typing tests or turned out a perfect shorthand transcription. As if her height affected her brain, she thought. Still, she liked the probation office where no-one treated her as an idiot or some sort of pet animal and she was expected to do pretty much the same as everyone else. She was unlikely to get anything as interesting or challenging anywhere else and so the chance to take on another role was extremely welcome. But – there was always a ‘but’ – she would have to start with the new boy and she had a basic, primitive dislike of Ricky Peddlar. She didn’t want anything to do with him and she certainly didn’t want to be responsible for helping him shape up into a decent officer. If she were honest about it she rather hoped he’d crash and burn – and the sooner the better. She found herself missing Dave more than ever. She could talk to him and know he wouldn’t go off telling anyone else and he really listened, thought things through and then offered great advice. She needed all of that before she committed herself one way or the other.

    The police station at Highpoint was in a state of uproar. For years, life had ambled on with nothing more serious than the odd burglary mixed up with an inordinate amount of drunken disorder, fighting outside pubs and occasional petty theft. Now, whilst the area was still coming to terms with Derek Johns’ killing spree, there were two suspicious deaths in a month out on the Levels. The younger officers were firedup, many of them eager to tackle this unprecedented rise in serious crime. The older hands shook their heads sadly and muttered in the tea room about the impact of television, films and the number of ‘incomers’ moving in to the area bringing their unpleasant ways with them. They cited the rise in crime over the summer months when tourists, ‘grockles’ in local slang, and seasonal workers arrived in large numbers, often bringing traffic problems, litter and a fine disregard for local feelings with them.
    ‘I dunno,’ grumbled the desk sergeant, ‘seems as how they come on holiday and think they don’t have to obey no laws no more. Like they ain’t never going to have no accidents neither, way some of ’em drive.’
    There was a general nodding of heads as the old guard reflected on the changing world around them.
    ‘All kinds of stuff they bring with ’un,’ said a career Constable. ‘Mind you, I was in court last month and ol’ Peterson was on the bench. He was really tearing a strip off some lad from Bristol. Know what he said?’ He raised his voice a few notes and added a slight shake to produce the familiar, querulous tones of Somerset’s oldest serving magistrate . “You come to our town, snoo-gliffing and think you can just get away with it!”’
    There was an appreciative ripple of laughter, hastily quelled as the Inspector looked around the door and frowned.
    ‘That’s enough of that now,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing funny about all this. Briefing in the main room – five minutes, all of you.’
    There was a general move towards the door as the evening shift followed him in to the large central