28. Snap Crackle Pop

TWENTY-EIGHT

SNAP CRACKLE POP

“What the fuck’s taking them so long?” Oliver said, as he paced up and down the briefing room the following afternoon. The door to the sergeant’s office was closed as Blake relayed the details of the case to the Crown Prosecution Service. All twenty-one members of Operation Sceptre were gathered in the briefing room, nervously waiting to find out if their hard work had paid off.

“Ollie bear, I know patience isn’t your strong suit, but deciding the fate of fifteen men and women might take a little time, yes?” Nancy said, pouring him his fourth cup of Earl Grey that morning.

Oliver scoffed and took the tea that was offered before slumping into a chair. “Yeah, but we sent the case file over yesterday. Surely they should’ve made a charging decision by now.”

“Don’t be so hasty. If we get charges, the defence team is going to tear us a new one in court. They’ll try to find any loophole they can to break the case apart.”

“I know that, Nance, but come on!”

Just then, the door burst open as Blake, Lucas and the Inspector came striding in. Callahan was beaming, Lucas was unreadable as ever, whilst Blake looked absolutely fucking sick. Talking to the CPS could do that to a man.

They waited with bated breath as the Inspector raised a hand. “Thank you for waiting, everyone. It’s been a long time, and we appreciate your patience. Now as you know?—”

“Put us out of our misery, boss! Are they charging the bastards or not?” Nancy called from the back of the room. “Respectfully, of course.”

There was a round of nervous giggles, and Oliver had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing.

“Thank you, DC Purslow, as assertive as ever,” the Inspector chided. “DS Smith has consulted with the Crown Prosecution Service, and whilst there is still a lot of work to do, yes, we have received a full round of charges for everyone involved.”

A collective cheer rang out, and Oliver’s eyes drifted to the ceiling as he tried to maintain some semblance of composure. People slapped his back and jostled his shoulder as they congratulated one another on a job well done. The sheer relief of the news made Oliver’s legs unsteady, and he had to grip the back of the chair as he pushed himself to his feet. Lucas appeared at his side, before ushering him to the corner of the room.

“It’s over,” Oliver said, the words unsteady as he loosened his tie. “The investigation’s finally fucking over.”

Lucas hummed and kissed his forehead. “For now. We’ve still got to make it stick at court.”

Oliver sighed. “Yes, yes. One battle at a time, though, right?”

“Indeed,” Lucas replied, cupping his face as a group of Special Branch officers approached them with a fresh round of handshakes and back slaps.

“Well, then,” Nancy said, appearing behind Oliver with flushed cheeks. “Shall we give Mr Coletta the good news?”

At half-past three on a Thursday afternoon, Oliver stood behind the raised desk of the West Newton custody suite. With him were all twenty-one members of Operation Sceptre, and his brother who was hopping excitedly from foot to foot.

“Matty,” Oliver hissed. “Tone it down.” Matteus only grinned in response.

The custody sergeant sighed, already having complained about the number of officers flooding his custody block, but what could he do when met with two dozen excited faces?

“Shall I bring him out?” he said, finger hovering over the call button.

Oliver nodded. “Yes, please.”

The sergeant sighed. “About time. He’s been an absolute knob since he arrived. Constantly asking for food that isn’t on the menu, demanding a comfier pillow, asking to use the exercise yard—as if this is a sodding holiday resort.”

Oliver chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “What? You mean this isn’t Costa-del-Custody?”

The custody sergeant smirked. “There’s a reason we’ve only got two stars on Trip Advisor.”

Patrick groaned as three detention officers marched him up to the desk with his hands in cuffs. At his back were a further two officers holding up canine deterrent shields—which Oliver found fucking hilarious because he knew all too well the sting of the electrified perspex. He sucked his teeth as he glanced at Blake with an expression that said ‘all this for me?’ The alpha gave a small nod in return.

Patrick looked exhausted and not at all like the cock-sure arsehole that Oliver was used to. He walked with an amusing little limp, which Oliver supposed was the result of sleeping on the thin mattress in the six by eight cell for seventy two hours.

“Oh, piss off!” Patrick shouted as he rounded the corner and saw Oliver waiting behind the desk. He halted abruptly, but the detention officers urged him forwards with a crackle of electricity across the shield.

Oliver took a deep breath, training his expression into neutrality. Just another prisoner, just another prisoner.

“Mr Coletta,” the custody sergeant said, frowning at Patrick from behind his computer screen. “Officers have consulted with the Crown Prosecution Service?—”

“Oh, I bet they fucking have,” Patrick barked, shaking out his arms as though preparing for a fight.

The Op Sceptre officers fidgeted, their hands twitching towards their utility belts. Oliver let out a sharp breath and shared a curt nod with the custody sergeant. Lucas squeezed his knee under the desk, helping temper his nerves.

“Patrick Coletta, the time is three thirty-five, and the date is?—”

“Oh fuck off you prat,” Patrick snarled, nostrils flaring as he licked his teeth.

Oliver cleared his throat. “The date is Thursday the 25th March. I am charging you with offences under the UK sexual offences act. Section fifty-eight, arranging and facilitating the sexual exploitation of a child, namely?—“

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Patrick seethed, fangs bared. “This is your fault! You’ve done this, you spiteful little bitch.”

Lucas lurched forward, but Oliver threw his hand back and dug his fingers into the alpha’s thigh.

“I am also charging you with abusing a position of trust in order to facilitate the sexual exploitation of a child, namely, Alfie Spears, Roxanna Kaur, Samuel Beckett, Helena Cartwright…”

As Oliver reeled off all the names of the children with whom he was connected, Patrick’s face grew redder and redder. “You’ll never get this through court, Ollie! Just you wait, my fucking legal team is all over your arse and your alpha bitch. I’m going to drag your name through the fucking dirt!”

Oliver bit the inside of cheek. He wanted to say, “And I’m charging you with the offence of being a fucking twatbag,” but unfortunately it wasn’t a real offence. Instead, he flicked his eyes back to the charge sheet and said, “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention now, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

Silence hung in the custody block as Oliver finished reading the charges. “Mr Coletta?” He said, raising his eyebrows. “Anything you’d like to say before the bus comes to take you and your associates to His Majesty’s Prison?”

“W-What?” Patrick said, eyes going wide as realisation set in. He shifted his gaze to the custody sergeant. “What about bail? You’re bailing me until court, right?”

A small smile tugged at the edge of Oliver’s mouth. “No, Mr Coletta. Bail has been denied.”

Patrick roared, launching himself forward as he shifted to wolf form. His sharp teeth gnashed and snarled at the barrier separating him and Oliver, leaving smears of saliva all across the toughened glass.

Lucas shoved Oliver behind him, growling and posturing despite the safety of the barrier. The detention officers threw themselves on top of Patrick, wrestling him to the ground and twisting him into a set of restraint belts. They didn’t bother to force him to shift back to human form—probably sick of the sound of his voice. But they did give him a little taste of the shield as the sound of electricity crackled through the custody suite.

Patrick was whimpering by the time they dragged him back to his cell.

Oliver wanted to say that Patrick’s suffering brought him joy. But it didn’t. In fact, he felt nothing much at all towards the auburn-haired alpha as he watched him disappear down the long corridor, towards the cells.

He never wanted revenge, but it was revenge, in a way. Ensuring he could never hurt another person.

“Reed?” Lucas said, squeezing his shoulder as the thunk of Patrick’s cell door echoed down the corridor.

Oliver cleared his throat and blinked several times. “S-Sorry, yes?”

Lucas gave him a soft smile. “Let’s go home.”