09h15

Captain Charlotte “Coco” Brunhild closed the door firmly, her nose wrinkling as she pushed

out a breath she had been holding. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw Commander Imane Demissy striding towards her, each stiletto step slamming against the ground as if she were stamping on insects. She was a woman who took no prisoners and was particularly irritated with the cards she had dealt in her career.

As usual, Coco noted with only the tiniest pang of regret, the commander, Coco’s direct superior at the Commissariat de Police du 7e arrondissement, was dressed impeccably in a lilac pantsuit paired with her favoured purple hijab. She was a woman born of religion who had chosen to honour its tradition, if not its confinements. She had married outside her race and creed, a fact so egregious it had cost her the respect and support of her family.

Noticing the carefully pressed outfit, Coco glanced down at herself, realising her t-shirt was now so thin the black bra underneath was visible and had clearly seen better days. The jeans, originally belonging to her oldest son and some stranger before him, were so full of holes that she had given up pretending they were meant to be that way. She was hopeful they continued to hold the denim and what remained of her dignity together.

Demissy stopped abruptly before Coco, purple-painted lips twisting into an unsatisfied grimace. Coco could not help noticing the disdain on the commander’s face. Nervously, Coco pulled at the ends of her hair. As usual, it was dyed blue for reasons known only to herself and stemming back to some act of rebellion in her distant youth. Because of the humidity of the Parisian morning, she was already frizzy and pressing limp against her head.

Demissy sighed, pointing over Coco’s shoulder. ‘I need to go to the bathroom.’

Coco glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said evenly, panic setting in.

Demissy frowned and then tutted impatiently. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ She had the habit of sighing and rolling her eyes around Coco, something she was sure would age her prematurely.

‘They’re broken,’ Coco exclaimed, continuing to block the door with her body.
Demissy forcefully pushed Coco out of the way. ‘Nonsense, you’ve just been in.’
Coco threw her hands in the air. ‘Well, at least give it a minute.’
Demissy pushed open the door and stepped into the restroom. It was not long before she

stopped and then turned around, pushing Coco out of the way. ‘That will take longer than a minute,’ Demissy snapped over her shoulder. She gave Coco a withering look of despair, adding: ‘And have the cleaners investigate. It smells like something died in there.’

Coco moved her head towards the now open door and sniffed. ‘Everyone’s a critic,’ she huffed.

Lieutenant Cedric Degarmo knocked on the door to Coco’s office. Coco was reclining, feet on the desk as she deftly applied tape to the bottom of her boots, as usual fighting a losing battle attempting to secure the soles back in place to allow her to continue walking on them.

Cedric shook his head in disbelief, which he was also prone to do in Coco’s presence. He was a tall, athletic man with a buzz cut and piercing ice-blue eyes who had worked alongside Coco since graduating as a police officer over a decade earlier. While often challenging, their working relationship

was also one built on trust and mutual, albeit begrudging, respect. They had formed a pact neither seemed willing or able to move on from.

‘I can’t believe you’re still trying to fix those damn boots,’ he grumbled. His voice was cold and challenging, but when he spoke to Coco, it suggested he was more amused than irritated by her. ‘You’ve probably spent as much on tape for them as it would have cost you to buy a new pair.’

Coco blew a raspberry. ‘Pah! There’s plenty of life in them yet,’ she reasoned. ‘Besides, I get the tape from the stationary cupboard.’ She frowned, a ghost of memory returning, causing her face to cloud. ‘Got to get some use out of it these days,’ she added in a bitter whisper, remembering the sort of things she used to get up to in the cupboard, which had resulted in two of her four pregnancies.

Cedric gave her a confused look, clearly having no idea what she was talking about. Instead, he sighed.

Coco gave Cedric the once over. He was dressed in a yellow t-shirt, which was so tight it highlighted every muscle on his toned body. Her left eyebrow rose, mouth twisting into a smirk. ‘Well, someone has been spending a little too much time at the gym and is feeling rather proud of themselves, non?’ she teased.

Cedric lowered his head, but it was too late to hide the fact he was blushing. ‘We can’t all get by doing the minimum amount of exercise.’ He raised his hands to field off her protests. ‘And non, getting off the sofa to go to the fridge for a beer doesn’t count.’

‘Rude,’ Coco tutted. ‘What I was going to say was I get plenty of exercise, merci beaucoup,’ she added proudly, sucking in her stomach.

He shook his head. ‘I know for a fact the only organs you exercise are this,’ he pointed at his mouth, ‘and down there,’ he pointed towards her groin. ‘And that’s why it doesn’t take Sherlock- fucking-Holmes to work out what’s going on, and I gotta tell you, lying on your back doesn’t count as exercise.’

‘The hell it does,’ she retorted. ‘Especially if you do it right, which,’ she winked suggestively at him, ‘I most certainly do, if you know what I’m sayin’, sailor,’ she drawled.

Cedric sighed again. ‘I never know what you’re saying.’ He cast his eyes over her. ‘Speaking of which, and I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what’s going on with you?’

She gave him a quizzical look. ‘What are you talking about?’

He pointed at her outfit. ‘For a start, you’re dressing inappropriately,’ he paused, ‘or rather even more inappropriately than usual. Which is odd, considering it’s freezing cold and pissing down with rain.’ He stepped forward, his nose twitching. ‘And for a change, you don’t smell like shit.’

Coco chuckled. ‘I think Demissy would disagree, mais...’

Cedric’s eyes rolled back as if coming to a realisation. ‘Oh non, Dieu. You’re having sex, aren’t you?’

Coco lowered her head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she huffed.

Cedric sank into a chair, shaking his head in despair. ‘Tell me you’re not sleeping with the boy toy monk.’

‘Well, to be fair, there isn’t much sleeping going on,’ Coco mumbled under her breath before giggling like a naughty schoolchild. She reached into a drawer and extracted a cigarette, lifting her head to ensure they had not replaced the battery she had removed from the smoke alarm before lighting it.

‘Isn’t it like a crime or something?’ Cedric demanded. ‘He can’t be that old...’

‘Aïe aïe aïe,’ Coco scolded. She sucked on the cigarette, the image of Mathieu Moreau popping into her head, and she saw him vividly: smoulderingly handsome with an abundance of wavy hair, piercing eyes and lips that just begged to be kissed. They had met the previous year during a murder investigation. At barely twenty years old, Mathieu had been a suspect at a monastery, a young monk

with a tragic family secret. Despite trying to ignore it, Coco could not deny her attraction to him and the one he bizarrely seemed to feel for her.

Cedric shook his head and then chuckled. ‘Well, I suppose we should be grateful. I mean, you’re practically doing a public service, aren’t you? An old woman helping young boys to lose their virginities.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘They have a name for that, don’t they?’

She narrowed her eyes in disdain towards him. ‘I’m not that old,’ she snapped, ‘and he’s not that young either,’ she added, ‘as it happens, we’re both at our sexual peaks.’

Cedric covered his mouth. ‘Don’t say anymore. I’ve just had breakfast, and I can feel it coming back up.’

‘And for the damn record,’ Coco continued, now on a roll, blowing smoke at him, ‘I’m barely forty years old, not ninety. Hell, even if I was ninety, I should still be able to fuck who I want when I want. And do you know why?’ she demanded with incredulity.

Cedric leaned back in his chair, an amused smirk on his face. ‘I’m dying to be enlightened, mon captain.’

She poked a finger at him. ‘Because old dudes do it all the time with young chicks, that’s why. So why shouldn’t a woman be able to do the same thing?’ She pointed at herself. ‘I want a piece of the fine-ass action too. I want a man whose testicles don’t clap against his knees when he walks. I...’

Cedric covered his mouth and retched.

‘I can’t discuss this with you,’ Coco mouthed irritably. The truth was, she was not sure she could talk to anyone about it. Her love life had always been complicated, and it appeared to be a pattern she was still intent on following. It was always her intention to live a calmer, more stable life, but for some reason, it eluded her, and no matter what she tried, chaos appeared destined to reign.

Cedric gave her a surprised look. ‘Now you suddenly decide to keep your trap shut?’

The telephone on the corner of Coco’s desk began ringing, and she eagerly snatched the receiver. ‘Saved by the bell,’ she mouthed. ‘Allô, Brunhild,’ she said gruffly, listening intently to the caller. She gave an urgent nod. ‘D’accord. Text me the address.’ She dropped the phone and clambered to her feet, dragging her trustworthy blue and green checked overcoat towards the door. ‘We gotta roll,’ she announced to Cedric.

‘What is it?’ he demanded, already alert.

‘Nothing good,’ Coco replied, staring at the clock on the wall, already sensing it would be a long day. ‘It’s never anything good.’