It’s getting late, so I get back in my car (that isn’t actually mine - I stole it from the police station) and drive back along the little squiggly country goddamn roads. They’re so full of goddamn potholes, they put Emmental cheese to shame.

Jesus, what a boring day. I’ve found out literally nothing apart from the fact that the landlady is an elephant, and the ex of the deceased is in a relationship with someone else who lied to me, and there are a couple of kids who might be in it up to their neck, or at least know something.

Hopefully. Otherwise it’s been a complete waste of a goddamn day.

I pull up at the police station, just to drop off a couple of papers - the stuff Gayle gave me - and leave the car there. My flat’s only a ten minute walk from here. I like walking. But I prefer driving. Especially my old motorbike. He’s a Harley-Davidson, and pretty awesome. But anyway.

The office is nearly empty, just a couple of people doing some last-minute paperwork at their desks. That hypocrite Brenda Mulligan is being nosy as usual and having a good eye-up of the work on my desk - as if she’ll find anything there but a rather unflattering cartoon of herself.

Huh.

She turns. Damn, she’s going to goddamn talk to me! It’s too late to escape now. I’ll just have to grin and bear it.

‘How’d it go?’

She’s the only one in the office to continue trying to talk to me, even though I’ve glowered through her on several occasions. She’s the most irritating person you ever met, and I should know - I’ve met lots of irritating people. And she’s the worst.

I don’t stoop so low as to reply to her bright smile and fake interest. Everyone in this goddamn office thinks she’s a goddamn angel. Huh. Too bad I’m the only one to see through her. Some people are so gullible. You buy them a drink a couple of times, and they’re your friend for life. That’s how Mulligan gets by. It’s sickening.

I dump the papers from Gayle on my desk, and am just turning to go when - hello - something catches my eye. My computer’s on. My computer’s never on. Not ever. Not unless it’s turned on by me. It’s got about six passwords, plus a pretty good firewall my cousin set up. He’s a hacker. And a jolly decent bloke to boot. Unlike some.

So anyway. I sit down in the swivel chair - squeak - I’ve got to get that oiled - or whatever you do to swivel chairs. The computer’s asleep, and the monitor black, but it’s on, because all I have to do is touch the spacebar, and it blinks awake. Nothing’s open.

This is weird. I must’ve left it on this morning.

But I didn’t turn it on this morning. I came straight in, got an earful from the boss, and went straight out again. And I certainly didn’t leave it on last night.

So someone must’ve turned it on, and just left-

Or not even left.

My eye strays over to Mulligan. Surely not. She’s irritating, yes, and stupid too. But is she clever enough to get into my computer? Why would she want to? I might take it as a joke, except she’d be bursting to tell everyone how clever she is - she broke into Broker’s computer! What a genius! They’d all have a laugh about that. And not even wait for me to leave, either.

So why isn’t she?

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Author guidance for This story

Charlie Broker, a top cop and detective, is stuck on a case of accidental death. She wants blood and gore, adrenaline-filled car chases and gun-flinging maniacs. Not this small town stuff. But was this death accidental after all? As Charlie gets further embroiled in her case, she starts to wonder if this really is small town stuff at all...

I've been writing Charlie for a while now as part of the series of collaborations that began in CBI, Episode One: Zoology (http://www.protagonize.com/exercise/cbi-episode-1-zoology). I love writing her character so much that I've finally decided it's time she had her very own story.

This is just a bit of fun for me, so don't expect the storyline or anything else to be amazingly slick or fantastic... !! But I love writing Charlie, so I hope you like reading her =]

Happy writing!
~West x

updated Jan 1 '01 by Westrina