Heatwave by Oliver Davies (the red fox clan txt) 📗

as best I could, as well as their ages and what they’d been wearing. None of them, unfortunately, had said their names whilst I’d been there, but I was reasonably confident that I could have picked them out of a line-up. I’d make notes as soon as I could so that the memory didn’t fade.

It was possible, probable even that I’d never get to use the information, that it was a one-off incident and I’d never see the boys again. But with all the trouble going on with teenagers recently, I couldn’t help but think that this might fit into the pattern somehow. Which didn’t make a huge amount of reasonable sense, but my brain wanted to find meaning in the scary event, and for now, I let it run with it, too tired to reason with myself.

Those patches, for example, weren’t like any I’d seen before. If they were merchandise for a band or company, I’d never seen them anywhere else, and the fact that every one of the gang had been wearing them made them feel more significant than that. Like there was a unity between them. I tried to remember if I’d seen any such patch or badge, with the same flammable warning sign, on Tiger or Mickey, the two teens we’d interviewed earlier. I didn’t recall seeing any, and the patches the older teens had been sporting had been a vivid red, immediately noticeable.

There was probably no link at all between me and Stephen’s case and what had just happened. Neither Jules nor Alistair had been with them, and they hadn’t been setting fires but tormenting that unfortunate cat, though it had at least been well enough to run away after I’d, unwisely, gotten involved.

Finally reaching Sam’s door, I leant over my knees and caught my breath. I took my time doing my stretches, already knowing that I’d be sore tomorrow. Stress had a way of making me achy in a way that even intense exercise didn’t manage, and I’d run myself pretty hard too.

I briefly considered not telling Sam what had happened on my way back before dismissing it. She’d be angry at me, of course, she would, just like I’d be furious with her if she’d done what I just did. That anger came from concern about each other, and it wouldn’t be right to lie to her by admission, not least to say that she’d probably end up hearing about it from Stephen, anyway. He’d probably want to commiserate with her about my recklessness, and I wouldn’t ask him to keep it from her either.

After lingering outside for another few minutes, I rang the doorbell and slipped off my trainers. Pulling my fingers through my hair, which had twisted itself into a tangle, I prepared to face the music.

I filed a report on the incident with the teenagers at the station the next day, but I didn’t expect anything to come of it. I’d made a record of the boys’ faces as best I could remember, but it was duty more than hope for a positive outcome that made me submit the report.

“I just can’t believe you did that,” Stephen muttered, not for the first time, as we stood in the break room. I’d made myself an eye-wateringly strong coffee and was still waiting for the caffeine to hit.

“It wasn’t my finest moment,” I agreed. “Sam was pretty unimpressed, to say the least.”

That was an understatement; she’d walked out of the room when I told her and had to come back after she’d calmed down. She’d explained in detail how stupid and reckless I’d been, and I’d agreed with her.

“I’m glad you’ve got someone to talk some sense into you since you never listen to me.”

“It was spur of the moment,” I said weakly. “The cat-”

“The cat managed to run off on its own, Darren. Chrissakes, you could’ve gotten left in hospital again.”

I just sighed and took another too-hot sip of my coffee. I wasn’t going to win this one, and there wasn’t any point arguing. It was done now.

“I wish I knew what those patches meant,” I said. “I feel like they’re important.”

“They could be specific to that group,” Stephen said, allowing the change of topic. “Like, I don’t know, a friendship bracelet for punks.”

I snorted at that. “They weren’t punks. The spirit of punk is anti-establishment, not pro-animal abuse.”

“Yeah?” Stephen said, sounding amused. “Spend some time as a punk, did you?”

“Maybe in my wild, misspent youth,” I grinned.

I shifted out of the way as another couple of officers came into the break room to make their drinks, and Stephen and I moved back to our desks.

“Y’know what Gary was telling me this morning?”

Gary was an older bloke who often manned the custody suites and supervised the junior officers. He was well known for being the first to hear of just about anything, and if there was any gossip round the station, he’d know.

“No, what?”

“There’s been teenagers kicking off across York recently, apparently.”

“Kicking off how?” I raised my eyebrows, my coffee cup paused in between the table and my mouth.

“Fighting outside McDonald's, harassing people, egging houses, trespassing. Even a bit of light burglary.”

“But not fires?”

“I did ask, but nah, he said he hadn’t heard about fires in particular. He chalked it to the hot weather and all the high-schoolers being on their summer holidays.”

“And do you agree?” I asked.

“God knows, honestly. I was going to have a look at the statistics from this time last year and see if there’s a difference. This heatwave is unusual, though.”

“Climate change,” I said absently as I thought about what Stephen had said.

I felt like there was a pattern in all this, but I couldn’t yet make it out. Beyond that, I wasn’t sure whether I was trying too hard to make it fit, like looking up at the clouds and picking shapes out of the clusters of water vapour. Our brains were designed to see patterns and shapes in nature that weren’t actually there, because