Mr. Nobody(13)

Mike scowls, obviously not considering Poole to be his mate.

Officer Poole shifts his six-foot, four-inch frame into Mike Redman’s personal space and gives him his most reasonable look. “Come on, mate, just put it away.” Mike is unmoved.

“Look, Mike, the last thing we need is for this guy’s family to find out the state he’s in in the bloody local news. There’s a procedure. So can you please delete those and just…just get back in your car. Now.”

In the distance an ambulance siren wails closer.

“Can’t do that, mate.” Mike smirks, with clearly no intention of deleting anything.

Officer Poole exhales loudly and rubs a hand over his face. “Ah, come on. Look, we both know how you got here so quick. Play the game, Mike. You’ve been warned already. I don’t know why you keep testing the system, ’cause we’re gonna have to charge you at some point, Mike. You know you’re not supposed to be listening in on Airwave. It’s an arrestable offense to listen in on police radio and you know it, mate. I don’t know what equipment you’re using but it’s not legal, the frequency’s supposed to be secure. We will search the office, Mike, I’m serious. We will come down there and search it.”

    “You seriously think The Times is going to let you search their office? On what grounds? You’ve got absolutely no cause. Personally, I’d check for a leak on your end, mate. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Okay, first of all, Mike, you don’t work for THE Times, okay? You write for the fucking Brancaster Times, so don’t get uppity with me. Secondly, if you did work for The Times, you wouldn’t be out here arguing with me in a rural car park, would you? So, do everyone a favor and put the camera away.”

Behind Mike, at the edge of the car park, an attractive woman rises from a bench, finishing a phone call. Poole has been deliberately ignoring her. Now she pushes her long red hair off her shoulder and makes her way toward the driver’s side of the only other car in the car park. Chris Poole’s face falls. Things are going to get much more complicated now.

She’s in her early thirties, relaxed, confident as she rests one arm against the open car door and reaches in languidly to pull out a full take-out coffee from the cup holder. She holds Poole’s gaze as she sips.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” she purrs. This is Zara Poole. Officer Poole’s wife.

Zara is the only person that can suck the wind right out of his sails and fill them up again. And after all these years, he still feels like the teenage boy Zara flirted with at school whenever he’s around her. She still makes him nervous because, if he’s honest with himself, she’s the only woman he’s ever really wanted to impregnate but she hasn’t let him, yet. They’ve practiced, obviously, but Zara isn’t quite ready to step back from work. Meaning power-play situations never tend to end in his favor.

    “Zee. Honey, can you get Mike to stop, please? No pictures. No anything. Just…let’s just call it a day now, shall we?” Officer Poole holds his wife’s gaze, his weary face imploring. “Zara?”

She grins. “Out of my hands, sweetheart. Photography is not my department. I just do the words! And, um, Chris honey, quick question? Where are your shoes?” All eyes travel to Officer Poole’s naked feet.

Poole gives Zara a look. This is the kind of thing they’ve talked about before. Undermining him at work. They’ll talk about this later. Again.

He changes tack. Letting his uniform do the talking.

“All right, that’s enough now. I’m going to have to ask you both to get back in your vehicle, please.” He ushers Mike over toward the car, his arms wide like a shepherd’s.

“Okay, Chris. Okay,” Zara reluctantly acquiesces.

“I’m going to have to ask that you both remain within your vehicle until the medical crew arrives.”

Zara slips into the car’s leather interior shaking her head. “Unbelievable…”

An ambulance flashes into sight through the hedgerows.

“Sir.” Officer Poole gestures again to Mike Redman. “Sir, if you could also get in the vehicle.” The photographer looks through the windshield to Zara. She nods. A police caution wouldn’t sit well at the paper.

Mike strolls toward the car as the ambulance roars into the lot, flashing and whirring like a fairground ride. Officer Poole depresses his radio button. “Graceford, this is Poole. Ambulance has arrived at access point. Stand by. Over.” Poole sets off at a jog to meet the first paramedic as he dismounts from the passenger side. The female driver cuts the siren.

    “This is Graceford. Received. Pulse still stable. No change here. Over.”

“Hypothermia? And shock, yes?” the paramedic asks Poole. He grabs his kit bag and slams the passenger door in one fluid motion.

“Yes, both. He could have other injuries; we didn’t want to move him. He’s currently stable but unconscious. It’s this way.” Poole and the male paramedic set off back toward the beach. The female paramedic follows with a stretcher under her arm.

Zara leans back into the warm leather of her car seat and sips her hazelnut latte. She slips her mobile phone out of her bag and scrolls through her contacts. She taps out a message and presses send. Mike, still standing outside the car, leans in through the open passenger window.