24. Push The Button

TWENTY-FOUR

PUSH THE BUTTON

“What’s a pussy pump?” Matteus quirked an eyebrow as he stared at the list of seized items from the warrant. He looked mildly alarmed as his eyes flitted back and forth across the paper.

“Fuck if I know,” Nancy shrugged, biting into an apple. She crunched loudly as she leant across the table to point at the list. “But if you look closely, it’s a pussy pump ‘v7’. Makes you wonder what the other six versions are like, right?”

Oliver huffed as he stretched towards the ceiling, spine popping and cracking in several places. He sullenly watched the two of them over the top of his monitor, eyes red from the hours he’d spent staring at the screen.

The office was quiet that morning, so Matteus snuck across from the Child Protection Unit—already bored with being on restricted duties. Because, as it turned out, having raging morning sickness was pretty difficult to hide.

“And the ‘Knot Crusher three thousand,’ what do we think of that one?”

“Dunno,” Nancy replied, leaning back in her chair. “Want me to get it out of the property store and find out? It’s been in the freezer, mind you.”

“Are they seriously going to DNA test all these sex toys?” Matteus asked, letting out a long sigh. He rested a hand over his belly and dropped the paper onto the desk.

“Yep,” Oliver huffed, rubbing his temples. “The boss wants the case to be watertight before we send it to the prosecutor.”

Matteus nodded, but then grimaced as he glanced back at the seventy-five pages of itemised sex toys. “I get that,” he said. “But surely he knows that segregating different DNA profiles from a swab is incredibly difficult? Not to mention that the owner of the DNA would have to be on our database to even get a match.”

Oliver’s lip twitched. “Yes, I know. I just told you why.”

Matteus pouted and glared at him under sandy eyelashes, which Oliver ignored, turning his eyes back to the screen. He’d spent three days straight downloading, compiling, and itemising every shred of information regarding the children. Even down to their shoe sizes and school attendance. Nancy—using some kind of technical wizardry—had transposed the information onto a complex spreadsheet, so they could plot everyone onto a map based on their hometowns and where they had been placed in the care system.

Lucas had been back in London for seventy-three and a half hours. Not that Oliver was counting. Definitely not . And not that he was acting like a love-sick puppy, either. Preposterous idea. They’d spoken on the phone every morning and evening. Sometimes in the middle of the night, if the aching pull became particularly bothersome. The feeling of needing someone, and wanting to be with that someone constantly , was utterly exhausting.

“It’s natural,” Matteus had told him earlier in the day. “It’s ten times worse when you’re pregnant, believe me.”

He’d be meeting Lucas’ family in just over twenty four hours, the thought of which created a tight knot of nervous energy in his gut. Said ball of nervous energy sent rolling waves of nausea crashing over him several times a day, so overall, he was anxious, exhausted, and very much in need of a day off.

“Well then, kids,” Nancy said, drumming her fingers over the desk. “Shall we run the numbers?”

Matteus squirmed with excitement, hovering behind her as she sat close to the screen. Oliver just took another long drink of coffee.

“Commander Reed?” She said, giving him an expectant look. “Come and press the button and stop being a sour puss.”

“You press it.”

She tutted, folding her arms. “Ollie bear, I know you’re missing Big Daddy, but I really must insist that you come—and—press—the—fucking—button.”

Letting out a long sigh, Oliver dragged himself to his feet. Nancy grinned as a map of Great Britain flashed up on the overhead projector, the program ready and waiting to accept the data from her spreadsheet.

“Ready?” she said, pushing the mouse towards him.

Exhaling, he reached out to tap it, but Nancy gasped and pulled it away again.

“Nance for the love of?—”

“What? It’s taken me two days to put this thing together. I deserve a countdown at least!”

“I agree,” Matteus said, shooting him a toothy smile.

“Fine,” he replied, rubbing his temples. “Three?—”

“Two!” Matteus shouted.

“One!” Followed Nancy.

And then he clicked the mouse, and the map lit up. Little pins for each of the children flashed across the screen, and Oliver had to admit that it was quite impressive.

“Well, would you look at that?” Nancy said, leaning back with a smug expression. Then she ran the data again, so it plotted which county the victims had originated from, versus where they had ended up in the care system.

“Hm.” Oliver frowned as he stared up at the map.

“That’s weird,” Nancy replied. “Let me run it again.”

So she did, with the same results. After rechecking the data, they confirmed that the plotting was correct, but the results were rather unusual.

Children from the northern and central parts of the UK were all being pulled south, creating little clusters of pins that looked like spiderwebs spread over the map.

“Why are the children being placed so far from their hometowns?” Matteus said, pulling a bottle of strawberry milkshake from his bag. “I thought the kids were always supposed to be placed in local care homes. These kids are being placed miles away.”

Oliver stared up at the screen, tapping his chin as he came to realise—with no small amount of confusion—that whilst the children were being placed far away from their hometowns, they were actually being housed extremely close together. He pointed to a cluster of four victims, all of whom were housed within a five-mile radius of each other.

“Matty, which local authority covers Brislington and Clifton?” he asked.

“Erm, Bristol I think.”

He pointed to another cluster. “What about Efford and Southway?”

“Plymouth.”

“Penhill and Walcot?”

“Swindon.”

“Fuck,” Oliver said, turning to face him. “Weren’t Bristol, Plymouth, and Swindon all in special measures last year?”

“Yeah,” Nancy replied. “The south got an absolute battering from inspectors. Swindon especially. They had something like two hundred children unaccounted for.”

“Shit. Right,” Oliver said, pacing back and forth. “We need to call Social Services. We have to find out what they know about these kids, specifically when and why they moved them across county lines. There has to be a fucking reason they’ve all been clustered together like that.”

Nancy nodded, urgently tapping away at the keyboard. “Right, let me bring up a list of their last known social workers and we’ll get right on it.”

“And I’ll put the kettle on,” Matteus said, dropping the already empty milkshake bottle into the bin. The water hadn’t even finished boiling before Nancy slapped her hand down on the desk.

“Shit,” she said, mouse clicking rapidly as she scrolled down the page. “It says the information’s been ‘transferred’ . It must have been a dud field when I downloaded the data. Or the data’s missing.”

Oliver frowned. “Can you run the download again, but include the transferee details?”

The beta nodded. “I can try, but that kind of information isn’t always listed.”

They sat in tense silence as they waited for the computer to run the search. Minutes seemed to tick away, and Oliver was beginning to think they’d been transported back to the nineteen seventies with how slow the technology was.

“So…” Nancy said, breaking the silence. “Big Daddy made an honest man of you, has he?”

Oliver flushed, throwing her a deep scowl. “Stop calling him that.”

When he didn’t answer further, her gaze slid to Matteus who wiggled his eyebrows and tipped his head, showing his own bite mark peeking over the neckline of his shirt. Her eyes trailed back to Oliver, a wry grin tugging at her lips. “Really?” She said, “Well, Ollie, aren’t you a dark horse? I think you’ve probably broken half the hearts in the nick with that bombshell.”

“Nancy, I swear on all that is holy—” His hand subconsciously slipped to his neck, covering Lucas’ mark.

Nancy chuckled, stretching out her arms. “I would say I’m jealous, but—” Both he and Matteus turned to the beta as she too tilted her head. There, in the crook of her shoulder, was a still-pink bite mark.

“Nancy!” Matteus squealed, jumping to his feet. “What the hell, girl? When? Where?”

Oliver only smirked. Who’s the dark horse now? None of them noticed the computer beep, as Nancy recounted—in sordid detail—how the Special Branch alpha, Hannah Whitmore, had taken her to the beach at midnight. How she had laid her down naked amongst the dunes, whispered sweet nothings in her ear and given her the bite.

“And then she fucked me senseless. As alphas tend to do.” They all nodded at that. “Oh shit, the computer’s finished.”

Time seemed to still as Oliver stared up at the screen.

Alfie Spears (4 yo, omega) - South Devonshire - transferred - Patrick Coletta

Millie Woodruff (11 yo, omega) - Cambridgeshire - transferred - Patrick Coletta

Roxy Kaur (15 yo, alpha) - City of London - transferred - Patrick Coletta

Mabel Habeeb (10 yo, omega) - Cornwall - transferred - Patrick Coletta

Alice O’Neill (14 yo, alpha) - Shropshire - transferred - Patrick Coletta

Samuel Beckett (12 yo, omega) - Cumbria - transferred - Patrick Coletta

Liam Shepard (11 yo, omega) - North Yorkshire - transferred - Patrick Coletta

Helena Cartwright (12 yo, alpha) - West Newton - transferred - Patrick Coletta

“Oh, shit—” Nancy said, refreshing the data several more times.

“Motherfucker—” Matteus uttered.

The list went on. And on. And on, and Oliver felt physically sick as he looked at each of the names. Alfie was by far the youngest, an anomaly amongst the other pubescent children. But then Oliver supposed his parents had turned up dead—probably killed impromptu by the sex traffickers, leaving Alfie as a little bonus prize at the end.

The house in Tintern-on-Wye had been little more than a brothel. Somewhere to break the children in and gain control of their heat. The property in Wicking was likely heading in the same direction, were it not for Helena Cartwright providing them with the information that day. In fact, they may never have known about either addresses were it not for Alfie and Helena.

Oliver realised, then, that it wasn’t him, or Lucas or the Inspector, or the Special Branch officers that were going to dismantle the trafficking ring. It was the children. Their voices needed to be heard. Their voices, that Patrick Coletta had tried to silence.

Oliver’s head swam as he thought of everything that had occurred. How he’d sat in his kitchen with Lucas and watched Patrick seamlessly coach the children through their police interviews. How they’d been allowed to provide just enough information to keep Op Sceptre busy, but ultimately only leading them to dead ends. How Patrick had tried to control Alfie through the diffusion day, but the boy opened up the second he was out of earshot. How Patrick’s ego had gotten the better of him, which let Alfie slip out of his tightly wound net.

Perhaps he’d been caught off guard at seeing Oliver’s name again. Perhaps he’d expected him to give up his career, too weak to continue after his near-death experience. Perhaps he’d arranged the diffusion day to discourage and demoralise him to such a degree that he’d be removed from the case. Christ knew he’d tried to hit him where it hurt with his cruel words. Whatever the reason, Oliver realised that the two of them meeting again after six years had ultimately been Patrick’s downfall.

But surely even he wouldn’t be so stupid… or so heartless? But then Oliver remembered how Patrick blamed him for everything. Even after Julian ran him out of town all those years ago, he turned back up at the hospital, determined to degrade and belittle him as he lay like a corpse in the treatment room. He’d insisted it was Oliver’s fault the pregnancy miscarried. His own fault for getting so sick. So, yes… Oliver supposed he could be that fucking heartless.

Then he was sprinting down the corridor, Nancy and Matteus shouting after him as his feet pounded on the carpet. The Inspector needed to be told, the Inspector would know what to do, the Inspector—the Inspector told him to stay well away from any enquiries involving Patrick Coletta .

His legs slowed, and his chest heaved as he came to a gradual stop. Officers and civilian staff stared at him as they passed by, probably thinking, ‘well the blonde guy from child protection’s finally lost it.’ He couldn’t blame them, as he stood wide-eyed and feral looking in the middle of the corridor.

“Shitting fucking tits,” he whispered to himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

A sharp tug on his earlobe snapped him out of his thoughts. “Idiot,” Matteus said, yanking him around and back down the corridor. “Why do you always do that?”

Oliver pulled his head away but let his brother lead him back towards the briefing room. “Do what?”

“Run off on your own. I told you, we’re in this together.”

“I know but?—”

Matteus turned and gently pushed him against the wall, his head barely reaching the tip of Oliver’s nose. “No buts you fucking cretin. Get back in there and explain to Nancy what’s been going on.”

“W-What? I can’t Matty, I won’t bring her into this.” He brought their heads together. “Writing that report for supervision was bad enough.”

“You can, and you will. Because God help her Ollie, she’s the one that’ll have to present this to the Inspector,” Matteus growled. Though his look of annoyance quickly shifted into confusion. He sniffed. “Ollie you?—“

“Right, fuckers,” Nancy said, striding down the corridor. “Is one of you gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

By the time he and Matteus finished explaining Patrick’s sordid past, Nancy was very red in the face. “That vile cunt,” she snarled, shaking her head. “They told me he’d been suspended, but I had no idea he’d done something like this. I just assumed he’d been selling feet pics on porn sites or something.” And Oliver had to laugh, because if only it had been feet pics on porn sites.

“So do you think you can do it, Nance? Can you take this to the Inspector on your own?” Matteus said, squeezing her shoulder. “I’m so sorry to ask.”

She waved the comment away. “Of course I fucking can. I’m the best detective West Newton has ever known, right?” Oliver grinned, taking a sip of coffee. “And besides. You’re my best friends. I’ll do whatever I can to see this guy sent down.

“Thank you,” Oliver sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

Nancy let out a long groan. “Why the hell didn’t we spot this sooner? We generated a full intel package on him, didn’t we? Why did no one notice?”

“Because we didn’t know where to look,” Oliver replied, slumping into a swivel chair. “It wasn’t until Lucas and I saw him with the jellyfish man that we even had an inkling of what he was up to. All we had was a list of where he’d worked. But now?—”

“Now we know he’s culpable. That’s he’s connected,” Nancy replied, slipping into a chair opposite him. “The boss is right, you know? From what you’ve told me, Ollie, he’ll try to take you down with him. I think you’d better tell someone. Get yourself a solicitor or something.”

Oliver huffed. “Lucas and I’ve already contacted the Federation. They told us to sit tight for now. Things’ll probably change if he’s arrested. If he’s got even a shred of sense, he’ll say that the trafficking ring was exploiting him or something. Get himself a cushy little witness protection gig. It’d be easier than trying to implicate a police officer.”

“Yeah, but… he’ll be desperate,” Matteus said, rubbing a hand across his tiny bump. “You know what he’s like. As soon as shit hits the fan, he starts slinging mud at everyone. Remember what happened to Julian?”

Yes. Yes, Oliver remembered what happened to Julian, and he did not need a reminder.

“Which is why my name, and my name only, will be all over this report,” Nancy replied, picking up the mouse. “Hell, I’ll even scrub your fingerprints off the mouse so that turd doesn’t know you pressed the fucking button.”

Oliver chuckled. “No need to go that far, Nance.”

“I will, Ollie babe. You know I will. Just leave it to me.”

Oliver loved the Child Protection Unit. He really did. But he’d forgotten just how fucking exhilarating it was to play the game of ‘whodunit.’ Nine times out of ten, his department knew who’d abused the child. They gathered the evidence retrospectively in abuse cases, building the investigation backwards instead of chasing the evidence all the way to the suspect. And he thought—for the briefest of moments—just how gratifying chasing drugs smugglers must be.

Oliver sighed as he slung his backpack down in the hallway that evening. It was already dark by the time he returned home, and he hadn’t even packed for his trip to London. Stepping into his bedroom, he eyed the suitcase with a guilty expression. He hated packing, so instead he took a shower, applied a banana scented hair mask, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned his bedroom, cleaned the kitchen, evicted the enormous spider under his sink, swept and mopped the hallway, swept and mopped the kitchen, dusted behind the television, plungered his slightly clogged shower tray, and put on a load of washing. He even rearranged the fridge, which was something he’d never done in his twenty-nine years of life.

The cleaning frenzy only stopped when he heard his phone ringing. He gave a small smile as a picture of Lucas—asleep—popped up on his home screen. Granted, it was not exactly an appropriate photograph to hold on his work mobile—given that he still hadn’t bought another personal phone—but HR could pry it from his cold, dead hands for all he cared. It was the only photograph he had of the alpha where he didn’t look mildly—or moderately—grumpy.

“Hey,” he said, phone in one hand, tub of frozen cottage pie in the other.

“Hello,” Lucas replied, soulful sounding music playing in the background.

“You’re home?”

“Just about,” he said, letting out a long sigh. “Someone threw themselves on the train line again, so the city centre’s absolutely grid locked.”

“Oh shit. Fatal?”

“Very much so. A female in her mid twenties.”

“How awful. Wouldn’t want to be the BTP right now.”

“Me neither.”

A comfortable silence fell over the phone line as Oliver slid the tub back into the fridge and closed the door. The fridge clunked and creaked as the ancient pipes struggled, and he thought for one terrifying moment that it was going to explode. Thankfully, it settled back down.

“What’re you doing?” Lucas asked.

Oliver glared at the fridge before slowly turning to walk into his bedroom. “Cleaning. And hoping my fridge doesn’t blow up.”

“Have you packed?”

Oliver huffed and sunk onto his bed. “Would you believe me if I said I have?”

“No.”

“Well then, I shall tell you no lies.”

Lucas chuckled, and Oliver was sure he could hear the clink of ice cubes against glass. “Bad day?” He asked.

The alpha inhaled, then exhaled low and slow. “Draining. I’d almost forgotten how miserable it is here.”

That caught Oliver off guard.“What do you mean?”

“Scotland Yard. Working in West Newton… it’s made me realise how soulless it is here.”

“Oh shit,” Oliver replied, pressing a finger between his eyebrows. “But I thought you loved the job?”

“I did. I still do to some degree but…”

“But?”

“But I think… I want to give up Special Branch, when all this is over. Go back to a department with an office and a consistent shift pattern.”

A wide grin spread across Oliver’s lips. “Do you really? The high flying globe trotter wants a desk job?”

“I do.”

“You know Blake’s taking an extended leave of absence, right?”

“Yes.”

Oliver pulled up his phone and checked the West Newton webpage. “The deadline for transferee applications is the end of this month.”

“I know.”

“You’ve already checked?”

“I have.”

Oliver grinned, rolled off the bed, and padded over to his bedroom window. “I'd say ask the Inspector if you can apply for Blake’s position. But then you’ll just be another tea-drinking, Clifford the Big Red Dog loving, grandmother. Like me.”

Lucas chuckled. “I know. But what about your promotion? Aren’t you earmarked for the role?”

Oliver smiled and plucked Roger up off the bed. He squeezed his squishy body between his hands as his eyes drifted to the street below. “I think… I want a change, too.”

“What do you mean?”

Oliver sighed and shifted from foot to foot. “There’s a spot coming up in the domestic violence unit. I just kind of thought that… after everything… I might do some good there, you know?”

There was a pause, then, “I agree.” And Oliver could hear Lucas smiling as he said it. Which made him smile back. And then tears pricked his eyes.

“Have you told your parents? About transferring?”

Lucas hummed as the ice cubes clinked again. “Not yet. Aliya somehow knows, but I’ve sworn her to secrecy.”

Oliver chuckled. “Do you think she, shit—” without warning, bile shot up his throat and he clapped a hand over his mouth. “Fucking hell,” he said, swallowing the copious amounts of sick-spit wetting his tongue.

“What’s wrong, Reed?”

“N-Nothing,” he replied, shuffling into the kitchen to splash some water on his face. “I’m… I’m just nervous about tomorrow. Really fucking nervous, actually. What if they don’t like me, Lucas? What if I?—”

“Reed.”

“What if I make a mess of everything and they end up hating me? What if they throw me out of their house? What if I have an argument with Aliya?—”

“ Reed .”

“Oh God, what if I accidentally call one of them a cunt? Do they mind swearing? Because I fucking hope you’ve told them I have no control of my fucking mouth. Shit. Fuck! Oh God, it’s like fucking Tourettes.”

“Oliver, just take a breath. You do not have Tourettes.”

“I could do. How do you know? “It could be stress-induced. Oh shit, that would be bad. Fuck?—”

“Right. Oliver, just pack a bag. I’m coming to get you. Tonight.”