II
SATURDAY 11:54

“Good God!” Detective Constable Frankie McKenzie held her nose in mock horror, face gurning in apparent disgust as she entered the back office. “If that’s your aftershave, Phil, then I have to tell you it’s meant to attract a woman, not make her pass out.”

PC Philip Lamb stood adjusting his uniform, placing his cap at the regulation angle as he admired his reflection in the mirror he’d placed on his desk. It hadn’t escaped Frankie’s notice that this was the first item he’d used to personalise his space, an indicator as to his narcissistic tendencies.

“Some of us don’t need any help to attract the opposite sex. It’s not my aftershave – you’re the detective, you work it out.” He turned away from his reflection to grin at her, the grin lessening as he caught sight of her expression and he pointed a finger surreptitiously towards the DI’s office as way of an explanation.

“Not another Tinder encounter?” The smell of aftershave pervaded the station. She’d caught the first tell-tale whiff at the duty sergeant’s desk and the intensity of strong perfume had only increased as she approached the source. Frankie checked to see if the DI’s office door was shut before venturing any further comment.

“No, this is Uniform Dating. She’s a nurse.” The young constable was enjoying himself, acting as the fount of all wisdom.

Sometimes being the only female in the office carried a weight of responsibility over and above her job description, from acting as surrogate agony aunt to sole spokesperson for women’s equality whilst at the same time being ‘one of the boys’. It was, she felt, an impossible circle to square, especially when faced with a barely post-pubescent constable. She could see the duty sergeant’s expression as he looked up from his screen at the front desk, a study in long suffering.

“Haven’t you got a beat you’re meant to be walking?” He spoke in a slow Highland drawl, leaving plenty of space between each word to allow them room to breathe.

“Sorry, sergeant. Yes, sergeant.” PC Lamb marched smartly out of the room, new polished boots squeaking with eagerness. They both watched him go, fresh-faced youth facing the world with misplaced confidence, and exchanged a shared look. The duty sergeant added emphasis by a slight shake of his head before painstakingly adding data to his screen, one finger after another as slow as his speech.

Frankie crossed over to her desk, catching the eye of DI James Corstorphine as he looked up from his screen, isolated from the general hubbub behind his office window. She smiled a welcome, but not too welcoming, preferring to keep a professional distance between them. She felt a twinge of sorrow for him and his increasingly desperate attempts to find some sort of meaningful relationship since losing his wife five years previously. It was in danger of becoming the office soap, Corstorphine’s forlorn love life, his membership of evening classes, rambling groups. At least he was able to laugh off those failed encounters that made it into the public domain, and with a town as small as this – that was almost all of them.