Breach of Peace (The Lawful Times #0.5)(7)

“It’s not locked, sir.”

Chapman’s eyebrows went towards the ceiling. “So the door is barred. That can only be done from the inside. That confirms the man who claimed there was a noise. Crowbar!” Rollins jumped at the sudden volume of his voice. “Do we have one coming?”

An officer by the door called back, “Yes, Inspector.”

Rollins’ hand unconsciously rested on his service revolver as he said, “Some manors do have secret exits, sir.”

Chapman let out an exasperated breath and said, “Rollins, you’re good at your job, but there is a reason you’re not an inspector.”

The other officer bringing the crowbar halted at the statement, and gave Chapman a reproachful look.

Chapman caught the look. Self-admonishment flickered across his face. He turned to Rollins, now frowning deeply at the door. “I’m sorry, Sergeant.” Managing sincerity, he added, “I was well out of line. You know I wouldn't say it if it were true. I often say things I do not mean because I think they are funny. That, in hindsight, was not.”

“Aye, sir.”

Chapman could tell his words were not enough. Rollins had tried for the rank of Inspector many times in his career. Each time, he had fallen just short on several key tests—the ones designed to assess deductive reasoning. Rollins never did all that badly on the tests; just enough to guarantee his superiors would never promote him.

Chapman doubted there was a secret way out of the manor. If there was, whoever had locked themselves down there would have taken it by now, and reported the murders themselves. But seeing the hurt still in Rollins’ eyes, Chapman let it go.

The crowbar arrived. The officer holding it stubbornly tightened his grip at Chapman’s first grab, his eyes warning that underlings stick together. The message imparted, the officer released the crowbar at Chapman’s second tug, and Chapman got to work.

There were often tensions between inspectors and the regular members of the force. Many officers resented the way the Empire lauded inspectors as the holy hands of justice. A few of the more political officers had even denounced the wide leeway inspectors had to convict and sentence suspects without a formal trial. Some had gone so far as to write articles in the Imperial papers denouncing the practice. Chapman knew his stupid remark to Rollins would be brought up at the next union meeting—he had repeatedly been cited as an example of the inspector class’ arrogance.

Fuck me and my stupid fucking mouth.

Chapman stepped back to the thick—oak, maybe—door that had been giving them so much trouble. He took out some of his tension by levering the crowbar hard enough to crack the wood. “Rollins, a hand?”

The sergeant stepped up and they both opened the door with a surprisingly loud crack!

Rollins swung the door open, and the deepest black Chapman had ever seen greeted the three of them. Impenetrable. Something told Chapman that deep darkness would dominate the cellar even if he brought a team of lanternmen with him.

Rollins stepped up and shouted, “Imperial Police. Make yourself known.”

Nothing.

Chapman nodded to Rollins and closed the door. “Well, it looks like we will have to make an entry.”

“Shall I fetch a lantern and some men, Inspector?” the officer who brought the crowbar asked.

“Yes…” What was his name? “...Officer.” Why do I want to call him Officer Shits? Chapman knew he needed to make a better effort to know the name of every member of his precinct, but there were just too many. Thirty officers in total? He had a hard enough time remembering anyone who wasn’t an inspector. “Bring two lanterns for me and Rollins. You and...” He pointed to another officer whose name eluded him. “...your partner, prepare to follow us in but stand by for now. We don’t know what is down there and I don’t trust an inexperienced gun behind me. Give me your pipe, would you?” Chapman finished by snapping his fingers and extending his hand.

Officer Shits frowned at his hand and gave him a dirty look.

I really am a fucking idiot. “Please, Officer.”

This somehow seemed to make matters worse. Due to rank, Officer Something had to obey, but he slapped the pipe into Chapman’s hand and stormed off, grumbling under his breath.

Rollins said, “I know you mean well, Inspector, but you really are terrible with the men.”

Chapman exhaled and said, “I know.” He checked to make sure his new weapon was loaded. “Gods, I know.”

“They do respect you.”

Chapman looked at Rollins. “They do?”

“Of course, sir.” Rollins seemed to have completely recovered from Chapman’s earlier comment. “The force respects any inspector who can solve cases like you do. It’s just that they don’t like you. As a person.”

“Few do, my friend. Few do.”

Within the minute, Officer Shits returned with two lanterns and his partner. Chapman decided he could not keep referring to him as “Officer Shits”—it was too likely to come out of his head and onto his lips—and just asked his name. Surprising Chapman, this seemed to be the right call: the officer smiled slightly as he mentioned his name. Not that Chapman heard it: he was too preoccupied with the thought that admitting he had forgotten the name was, it turned out, the more sociable thing to do. Fascinating.

Whatever good will Chapman had earned from the nameless officer, he promptly squandered it by opening the door to the cellar again and tossing the pipe down the wooden steps to several loud bounces.