Page 47 of The Other Side

He reached the path in time to see four men moving under the tape. Shit.

“I need your names, please,” Drum said.

He dutifully wrote them down and they stamped into the house. It hurt to see detectives doing the job he should have been doing, but there was nothing he could do about it. He recognised a few of the guys from High Burton station. Now he had their names. Simmons, Ruskin and Myers. The one in charge was DI Jason Purbeck.

Moments after he’d walked inside, Purbeck came back out to Drum.

“Right, run me through exactly what you did.”

Drum knew he’d probably have to repeat this more times than he wanted to. He didn’t like the way Purbeck looked at him as he spoke, as if the mere sight of Drum irritated him. Well, he was irritating Drum as well.

“So you find an old lady lying peacefully in her bed and on the basis of a half-cup of tea, a slightly askew bedside table and her slippers not being neatly together, you figure out she was murdered?”

“I looked at one of her eyes, sir.”

Purbeck growled a sign of displeasure. “What don’t you understand about Do Not Fucking Touch! You don’t touch the body, the bed, the bedding or any furniture.”

“I checked for a pulse. I looked at one eye to look for petechial haemorrhaging, because if it hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have had to call you out. Sir.”

“Oh, so you’re a doctor now, are you? Medically qualified? Didn’t realise we’d promoted PCSOs to forensic pathologists.” Sarcasm dripped from him.

Drum knew he was the lowest of the low. Not a proper policeman. This was an old man’s job so Purbeck would assume he was either stupid or lazy.

I am neither.

“What does ABC stand for?” Purbeck asked.

“Assume nothing, believe nobody, challenge everything, sir.”

“The golden rule for the finding officer. Along with strict evidence preservation. And you touched her. And the doctor touched her. Brilliant.”

“It’s his job to confirm she was dead.”

That got him a glare. “What else did you touch?”

“I found the key to open the front door under a plant pot. I touched both those. I touched the door of her bedroom with my foot.” Drum no longer felt embarrassed, he was angry. He didn’t make the mistake of showing that anger. “I touched only what was necessary to gain access to the house.”

Drum was aware that their exchange was being observed by two of the other detectives. One of them snorted with laughter.

“Ruskin!” Purbeck called. “You’re now the recording officer.” He turned to Drum. “You can fuck off.”

Drum left while he still could. There was more he could have told the DI, that maybe speaking to Lily and the others from the book club could be helpful, and about the cut hair, but he kept quiet. He’d put about the hair in his report. They should involve him in this. He might not have been doing the job for long, but he was responsible for this area, he was getting to know the villages and their inhabitants. He could help.

He wondered for a moment, if he should tell Lily, then thought better of it. Purbeck would only see it as interference.

At the end of the day, walking into the cottage to find Osian smiling at him brought a wave of relief so sharp it made Drum’s throat tighten. But Osian’s smile faded almost instantly. He narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Drum couldn’t even find it in himself to fake a smile. He was just deeply grateful that Osian could see he was upset. Osian pulled him down onto the couch and sat close to him. Drum knew he shouldn’t breathe a word of this, it was against every protocol he’d ever been taught, but he told him anyway.

“What a complete dickhead,” Osian muttered, his voice thick with a mix of anger and protective warmth. He pulled Drum closer, tucking Drum’s head firmly against his chest. “Now you really need to tell me why you’re stuck in a job you’re entirely too good for.”

“I can tell you some of it.” Drum leaned into the steady heartbeat beneath his cheek. “Not all of it.”

Osian threaded his fingers through Drum’s hair, pulling the strands between his fingers, his touch slow and soothing. Drum let out a shaky breath, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into him.

“I was a detective constable in London. And I was asked to work undercover. The guy we were after was an arms dealer. Jackson Ashford. It took a few months just to get a foot in the door. Eighteen months after I started working for him, Ashford found out I was a policeman. I don’t know how. He and some other guys tried to kill me.” Drum swallowed hard against the memory. “Obviously, I survived. The Crown Prosecution Service is still building the case, figuring out what charges will actually stick. Until I have to give evidence, they’ve tucked me away in this role. It was this, or witness protection and a safe house.”

Osian was quiet for a long moment. Drum could feel the rise and fall of his breathing.