The 11.05 Murders is the second book of The Inspector Sheehan Mysteries Series. Just published in April, it has already received 6 five star reviews on Amazon.
Woman Detective Sergeant Denise Stewart finally found her way to the Serious Crimes room that she was to share with a number of other detectives. She stared at the door and inhaled a deep breath. First time out of uniform, new job, new role, new station, a certain amount of tension was to be expected, but she had not anticipated that Strandtown Police Station would have been so large. It had taken some time to locate the room, but she had been hesitant to ask further directions, trying to make do with what she had been told at the information desk. She was not yet sure of the reception she might receive, particularly in view of the manner of her promotion, and was less than keen to draw any immediate attention to herself. Some detective! New to the job, maybe, but what kind of genius did she need to be to figure out that a station with a complement of two hundred and forty fulltime officers and another forty-eight or so civilian workers was not going to be a two or three room affair?
Her hands were filled with a large cardboard box containing her “stuff,” so she reversed into the detectives’ room, pushing open the door with her back. She turned to examine the room wondering where she was supposed to sit. The room was quiet, almost fully unoccupied except for a fat, jowly detective who had been poring over some papers but who now looked up to see who had entered.
He leaned back on his chair, putting excessive demands on the buttons of his shirt, as he gazed at the newcomer. His gaze became an unashamed leer as he noted the trim figure, the blond hair, the exceptionally pretty face. Pushing himself awkwardly from the desk, he stood up. “Name’s McCullough,” he said, trying without success to suck in his gross paunch. He pointed at the box she was carrying. “Can I help you with that?”
She gave him a curt nod, irritated by his crude interest. “WDS Stewart,” she said neutrally. “Thanks, but I can manage. Can you tell me where I might find Chief Inspector Sheehan, please?”
McCullough stepped back a bit and waved a vague hand in the direction of some offices at the far end of the large room. “Why don’t you try his office,” he said ungraciously.
The woman detective’s lips tightened. Is this guy for real? He’s miffed because I’m not jumping all over him? With that comb-over? Good grief! She carried her box to an office, which she could now see had “DCI J. Sheehan” painted on the door. She knocked and entered at the muffled “Come!” that issued from inside. She was struggling to support her box on one arm as she turned the handle but the chief inspector immediately came from behind his desk. He seemed to wince as he took the box from her but offered no explanation. He sat it on one of the chairs at the wall of the office and offered her another chair in front of his desk. “WDS Stewart?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Reporting in.”
“Welcome to B District.”
She stared at the intense blue eyes, the darkly handsome face, and the genuinely friendly smile. Inwardly she relaxed. I’ll be able to work with this man for sure. She gave him a tentative smile in return and said, “Thank you, sir.”
He went back behind his desk. “Most of the guys are out, but you’ll meet them later. A good bunch for the most part ...” He saw something in her eyes and grinned. “Ah, you’ve already met McCullough?”
She nodded, choosing to remain silent.
He grinned again. “Don’t worry; he’s not typical of the team.” He leaned back in his chair and continued, “I’ll show you to your desk in a minute.” He stared at her, arms folded. She was remaining mute, waiting to hear what he would say next. He saw a very pretty woman in front of him, mid-twenties, but he saw also a woman in control of herself, a woman who was not intimidated by her situation or his status. He saw no arrogance, but he did sense a hint of concern, of apprehension. He’d read her file and knew what was troubling her. “Congratulations on your promotion to plain clothes, Sergeant.”
Her lips compressed, but she said, “Thank you, sir. I hope I can fit in here. I’ll certainly do my best.”
“You’ll be fine.” He hesitated. “I have not yet told the squad about the circumstances of your promotion, but you’re smart enough to know that word will filter through eventually. McCullough aside, though, you’re unlikely to face any bile. McCullough’s old school, a dinosaur. He doesn’t like Catholics; he hates that he’s PSNI and not RUC; he doesn’t think women should be detectives. In fact, he embodies just about every prejudice Northern Ireland has to offer. He only holds onto his job because he has the wit to shut up when he’s told. Bark at him a few times, and he’ll leave you alone.”
Stewart listened as the CDI was talking and thought that he was unlike any of the bosses she had worked for before. Apart from the fact that she had heard that he had not long been married, she was sufficiently experienced to recognise that he was not trying to come on to her, that he was being genuinely friendly. She had also heard someone say that Jim Sheehan represented the human face of management in the upper echelons of the force. She could already see why he had earned that approbation. She was thus emboldened to ask, “What have you heard about my promotion, sir?”
“Well, you know there’s nothing secret in the ranks of the PSNI, Sergeant, but there’s always the question of interpretation.”
She raised her eyes ceilingwards and shook her head slightly from side to side.
“Depends on whom one talks to,” Sheehan went on, “but you got promoted either for betraying a colleague, or ridding the force of a corrupt police-officer.”
“I have had some stick about it, sir.”
“Sergeant, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of. You discovered the corruption in your station, you ferreted out the culprit, and you were unafraid to bring your findings to your superiors. Good detective work allied to integrity. Any cop who questions your actions would need to look into his own heart. When are you testifying?”
“Tomorrow, sir. But I have a meeting with the Crown Prosecutor this afternoon.”
“Right. I knew it was soon. Okay, we’ll not put you on duty until you’ve got that business squared away.” He hesitated. “I think I’ll go round the members of the squad individually and see that they get the truth about you. Don’t want any uncertainty cluttering up the place.” He stood up. Again, that slight awkwardness. He must be in pain with something, she thought. “But come on out to the room now, and you can unload that box on to, or into, your desk.” He lifted the box from the chair. She stood up and waited at the door for him to pass, but he said, “Ladies first, Sergeant.”
The feminist in her wasn’t sure how to react to that, but here was a man she could forgive easily. She gave him a quick smile and went out before him although she had to wait immediately for him to lead her to the desk that had been cleared for her, fortunately a comfortable distance away from McCullough’s. As the chief inspector was setting the box on Stewart’s desk, the door opened, and a tall, well-built young detective came into the room. “Oh, Tom,” Sheehan called to him. “I’d like you to meet our new colleague, Detective Sergeant Denise Stewart.”
Detective Allen came over, hand proffered while he was still a few steps away. “Tom Allen,” he said. “Welcome to the squad, Sergeant.” Then, with a grin, he added, “You’ll certainly brighten up this dreary place.”
Denise accepted the handshake but said, unsmiling, “I’m not altogether sure that that is my role here, Detective.”
The young detective’s handsome face reddened, “Of course, Sergeant,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean ...” He waved his hands defensively. “I’m sorry.” He backed away, embarrassed, and went to his own desk.
Seeing the young detective’s confusion, Denise felt a moment of guilt. If he had been less good-looking, would she have reacted differently? She caught Sheehan’s somewhat puzzled eye and said, “Shouldn’t have said that, sir. Instinctive reaction. I get that sort of thing a lot, and I’m a bit fed up with it.”
Sheehan nodded. “Okay, Sergeant, but keep it outside. Morale in the squad-room is important to me. You’re going to have to get along.”
“Sorry, sir. I will.”
Sergeant McCullough, an interested spectator, looked at Tom and raised his eyebrows. Tom made a face, and with a quick glance at the new team member to see that he was unobserved, he mouthed the word, “Prickly.”
The chief inspector went back to his office as Denise unpacked the cardboard box and made her desk habitable. She heard a low voice and looked up. Tom Allen was speaking into a desk phone. His eyes were on her, but he looked away hastily when she caught his gaze. Denise hesitated. She would need to get to her appointment with the crown prosecutor, but ... She looked at Tom Allen again. Even with this slight acquaintance she sensed something straight and honest about him. The last thing she was looking for right now was any kind of relationship, but perhaps she had been unnecessarily harsh in response to his welcome. Pursing her lips and straightening the rather formal jacket she had worn for her first meeting with the DCI, she walked over to the young detective’s desk as he was putting the phone back on its cradle. Young detective? He was no younger than she was. “Excuse me, Tom.” She hesitated. “I might have been a bit brusque earlier. Thank you for your welcome. I hope we can work together.”
Allen’s face showed surprise, but he quickly recovered and said with a quiet smile, “Not a problem, Sergeant. DCI Sheehan wouldn’t have had you on his team if he didn’t respect you. Welcome again.”
Not quite smiling, she replied, “Thank you.” She turned back to the door, acknowledging McCullough with a brief inclination of her head as she left. Tom Allen’s eyes never left her retreating back until the door was closed.
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ONE
October 2014
Woman Detective Sergeant Denise Stewart finally found her
way to the Serious Crimes room that she was to share with a
number of other detectives. She stared at the door and inhaled a
deep breath. First time out of uniform, new job, new role, new
station, a certain amount of tension was to be expected, but she
had not anticipated that Strandtown Police Station would have
been so large. It had taken some time to locate the room, but she
had been hesitant to ask further directions, trying to make do with
what she had been told at the information desk. She was not yet
sure of the reception she might receive, particularly in view of the
manner of her promotion, and was less than keen to draw any
immediate attention to herself. Some detective! New to the job,
maybe, but what kind of genius did she need to be to figure out
that a station with a complement of two hundred and forty fulltime
officers and another forty-eight or so civilian workers was
not going to be a two or three room affair?
Her hands were filled with a large cardboard box containing
her “stuff,” so she reversed into the detectives’ room, pushing
open the door with her back. She turned to examine the room
wondering where she was supposed to sit. The room was quiet,
almost fully unoccupied except for a fat, jowly detective who had
been poring over some papers but who now looked up to see who
had entered.
He leaned back on his chair, putting excessive demands on
the buttons of his shirt, as he gazed at the newcomer. His gaze
became an unashamed leer as he noted the trim figure, the blond
hair, the exceptionally pretty face. Pushing himself awkwardly
from the desk, he stood up. “Name’s McCullough,” he said,
trying without success to suck in his gross paunch. He pointed at
the box she was carrying. “Can I help you with that?”
She gave him a curt nod, irritated by his crude interest.
“WDS Stewart,” she said neutrally. “Thanks, but I can manage.
Can you tell me where I might find Chief Inspector Sheehan,
please?”
McCullough stepped back a bit and waved a vague hand in
the direction of some offices at the far end of the large room.
“Why don’t you try his office,” he said ungraciously.
The woman detective’s lips tightened. Is this guy for real?
He’s miffed because I’m not jumping all over him? With that
comb-over? Good grief! She carried her box to an office, which
she could now see had “DCI J. Sheehan” painted on the door.
She knocked and entered at the muffled “Come!” that issued from
inside. She was struggling to support her box on one arm as she
turned the handle but the chief inspector immediately came from
behind his desk. He seemed to wince as he took the box from her
but offered no explanation. He sat it on one of the chairs at the
wall of the office and offered her another chair in front of his
desk. “WDS Stewart?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Reporting in.”
“Welcome to B District.”
She stared at the intense blue eyes, the darkly handsome
face, and the genuinely friendly smile. Inwardly she relaxed. I’ll
be able to work with this man for sure. She gave him a tentative
smile in return and said, “Thank you, sir.”
He went back behind his desk. “Most of the guys are out, but
you’ll meet them later. A good bunch for the most part ...” He
saw something in her eyes and grinned. “Ah, you’ve already met
McCullough?”
She nodded, choosing to remain silent.
He grinned again. “Don’t worry; he’s not typical of the
team.” He leaned back in his chair and continued, “I’ll show you
to your desk in a minute.” He stared at her, arms folded. She was
remaining mute, waiting to hear what he would say next. He saw
a very pretty woman in front of him, mid-twenties, but he saw
also a woman in control of herself, a woman who was not
intimidated by her situation or his status. He saw no arrogance,
but he did sense a hint of concern, of apprehension. He’d read her
file and knew what was troubling her. “Congratulations on your
promotion to plain clothes, Sergeant.”
Her lips compressed, but she said, “Thank you, sir. I hope I
can fit in here. I’ll certainly do my best.”
“You’ll be fine.” He hesitated. “I have not yet told the squad
about the circumstances of your promotion, but you’re smart
enough to know that word will filter through eventually.
McCullough aside, though, you’re unlikely to face any bile.
McCullough’s old school, a dinosaur. He doesn’t like Catholics;
he hates that he’s PSNI and not RUC; he doesn’t think women
should be detectives. In fact, he embodies just about every
prejudice Northern Ireland has to offer. He only holds onto his
job because he has the wit to shut up when he’s told. Bark at him
a few times, and he’ll leave you alone.”
Stewart listened as the CDI was talking and thought that he
was unlike any of the bosses she had worked for before. Apart
from the fact that she had heard that he had not long been
married, she was sufficiently experienced to recognise that he was
not trying to come on to her, that he was being genuinely friendly.
She had also heard someone say that Jim Sheehan represented the
human face of management in the upper echelons of the force.
She could already see why he had earned that approbation. She
was thus emboldened to ask, “What have you heard about my
promotion, sir?”
“Well, you know there’s nothing secret in the ranks of the
PSNI, Sergeant, but there’s always the question of interpretation.”
She raised her eyes ceilingwards and shook her head slightly
from side to side.
“Depends on whom one talks to,” Sheehan went on, “but
you got promoted either for betraying a colleague, or ridding the
force of a corrupt police-officer.”
“I have had some stick about it, sir.”
“Sergeant, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of. You discovered
the corruption in your station, you ferreted out the culprit, and
you were unafraid to bring your findings to your superiors. Good
detective work allied to integrity. Any cop who questions your
actions would need to look into his own heart. When are you
testifying?”
“Tomorrow, sir. But I have a meeting with the Crown
Prosecutor this afternoon.”
“Right. I knew it was soon. Okay, we’ll not put you on duty
until you’ve got that business squared away.” He hesitated. “I
think I’ll go round the members of the squad individually and see
that they get the truth about you. Don’t want any uncertainty
cluttering up the place.” He stood up. Again, that slight
awkwardness. He must be in pain with something, she thought.
“But come on out to the room now, and you can unload that box
on to, or into, your desk.” He lifted the box from the chair. She
stood up and waited at the door for him to pass, but he said,
“Ladies first, Sergeant.”
The feminist in her wasn’t sure how to react to that, but here
was a man she could forgive easily. She gave him a quick smile
and went out before him although she had to wait immediately for
him to lead her to the desk that had been cleared for her,
fortunately a comfortable distance away from McCullough’s.
As the chief inspector was setting the box on Stewart’s desk,
the door opened, and a tall, well-built young detective came into
the room. “Oh, Tom,” Sheehan called to him. “I’d like you to
meet our new colleague, Detective Sergeant Denise Stewart.”
Detective Allen came over, hand proffered while he was still
a few steps away. “Tom Allen,” he said. “Welcome to the squad,
Sergeant.” Then, with a grin, he added, “You’ll certainly brighten
up this dreary place.”
Denise accepted the handshake but said, unsmiling, “I’m not
altogether sure that that is my role here, Detective.”
The young detective’s handsome face reddened, “Of course,
Sergeant,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean ...” He waved his hands
defensively. “I’m sorry.” He backed away, embarrassed, and went
to his own desk.
Seeing the young detective’s confusion, Denise felt a
moment of guilt. If he had been less good-looking, would she
have reacted differently? She caught Sheehan’s somewhat
puzzled eye and said, “Shouldn’t have said that, sir. Instinctive
reaction. I get that sort of thing a lot, and I’m a bit fed up with it.”
Sheehan nodded. “Okay, Sergeant, but keep it outside.
Morale in the squad-room is important to me. You’re going to
have to get along.”
“Sorry, sir. I will.”
Sergeant McCullough, an interested spectator, looked at
Tom and raised his eyebrows. Tom made a face, and with a quick
glance at the new team member to see that he was unobserved, he
mouthed the word, “Prickly.”
The chief inspector went back to his office as Denise
unpacked the cardboard box and made her desk habitable. She
heard a low voice and looked up. Tom Allen was speaking into a
desk phone. His eyes were on her, but he looked away hastily
when she caught his gaze. Denise hesitated. She would need to
get to her appointment with the crown prosecutor, but ... She
looked at Tom Allen again. Even with this slight acquaintance
she sensed something straight and honest about him. The last
thing she was looking for right now was any kind of relationship,
but perhaps she had been unnecessarily harsh in response to his
welcome. Pursing her lips and straightening the rather formal jacket
she had worn for her first meeting with the DCI, she walked over
to the young detective’s desk as he was putting the phone back on
its cradle. Young detective? He was no younger than she was.
“Excuse me, Tom.” She hesitated. “I might have been a bit
brusque earlier. Thank you for your welcome. I hope we can
work together.”
Allen’s face showed surprise, but he quickly recovered and
said with a quiet smile, “Not a problem, Sergeant. DCI Sheehan
wouldn’t have had you on his team if he didn’t respect you.
Welcome again.”
Not quite smiling, she replied, “Thank you.” She turned back
to the door, acknowledging McCullough with a brief inclination
of her head as she left. Tom Allen’s eyes never left her retreating
back until the door was closed.