4338.209 · July 28, 2018 AD
Cold Water and Rank
Thirty-odd hours without sleep. A woman waiting in Interview Room Three with her composure fraying at the edges. And somewhere in the basement, Charlie's newly promoted Senior Detective is in no state to be anyone's detective. Saturday mornings in CIB don't care about celebrations or hangovers or the fact that Karl Jenkins passed his exam two days ago. The job needs him vertical. Charlie's job is making sure that happens.
July 28th, 2018. Hobart CIB. Saturday morning.
Louise Jeffries sits upstairs with her hands folded and her patience running thin. Her son is missing. Her brother is missing. And the detective who should be taking her statement is currently dripping wet in the men's change room, looking like something the tide washed up and forgot to take back.
Charlie Claiborne has worked cases in worse states than this—younger, stupider, convinced the job couldn't touch him. Now he's old enough to know better and tired enough not to care. His knee grinds with every step down to the basement. His thoughts move through something thick and resistant. But stopping means letting Louise wait longer, and Louise has already waited ten years for answers about one missing family member. She shouldn't have to wait for bureaucracy to sober up before someone listens about two more.
Some mornings, leadership means strategy and delegation. Other mornings, it means walking into a steam-filled change room and reminding people that the chain of command has weight to it.
This is the second kind of morning.
