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I don't care who you are or what you do for a living. You could be the most innocent person around, but to me everybody's suspicious. Everybody has something to hide. My name is Nancy. Nancy Hunter, and I'm a Homicide Detective. WARNING : This book contains very disturbing situations and strong language.

Mystery / Thriller
Jessica Edwards
4.1 10 reviews
Age Rating:

Chapter 1

I always wanted to be a police officer. Knew it was the right choice of career for me when as a child, I would write parking fines on pieces of paper and place it on top of cars that were parked illegally. Not only that, but I’d chase people that were running, and try to stop them with my little legs and hand them over to the police, just like they did on the television. Back then I didn’t know those people were just exercising. I was just a child, and I thought they were people that had committed a crime and were running away from the law. I thought all of it was just a phase, but obviously not because I grew up to become what I aspired to be.

The truth is, I hated it when people broke the rules, and back then I couldn’t do anything about it, but now that I am a police officer, I can do whatever the hell I want.

I am the law, and everyone has to abide by the law.

My name is Nancy. Nancy Hunter. Born and schooled in London. Graduated at Oxford University in 1992 with a double first in Psychology and Criminology. Quite the mouthful, huh? Well, I wanted to be at the top of my class, and wanted to graduate with the highest mark possible, and to be the best. Thankfully, I managed to accomplish all of those things. My hard work finally paid off and because of that, I earned the position of Detective Inspector at Whitechapel’s Metropolitan Police Service.

I didn’t care about anybody else but myself. As long as I succeeded, that’s all that mattered. Growing up I was one of those students that was always studying and got picked on because of it. It’s funny actually how everybody wanted to be your ‘friend’ just so they could have your notes, and pass tests without even bothering to study. Those same friends would act as your best friend to your face, but they’d take the piss out of you when you weren’t looking. Kids back then didn’t get it. They thought studying was pointless and uncool, but us “dweebs” were too kind enough not to say no when they’d ask something of us. I complied the first few times, but there’s only so much a person can take until they explode. I had reached my limit and wanted to teach them a lesson. I’ll admit that what I did was downright childish and cruel, but I wasn’t going to let anybody cheat their way into graduating. So I taught them a lesson, and that lesson involved giving them the previous year’s answers to that upcoming exam. They thought they were going to lead successful lives at that point, but the look on their faces when they were told they couldn’t graduate was priceless. I may have ruined a lot of people’s lives, but how else were they going to learn? Nevertheless, nobody bothered me after that incident or came anywhere near me, but I did earn a nickname for myself. I was known as the stone-cold bitch, and that nickname was stuck with me until my mid-twenties, but at least I wasn’t shoved against the lockers anymore. You could say lesson well-learned.

To some people, I look just like an average middle-aged woman, but I’m tougher than I look. I work out five days a week, alternating between running and yoga. If I didn’t enjoy being alone so much, I’d go to the gym, but I don’t want to do the whole small talk thing with the town folk. I don’t want them to think I’m their friend. Besides, I don’t think I’d be entirely welcome considering how everyone thinks I’m a stuck up bitch. I mean, they’re not wrong, but everyone knows in this town that if you square up to me, you’ll get punched in the face. Try it if you think you’re brave enough. I fucking dare you.

What I’m trying to say is, I don’t care who you are or what you do for a living. You might be the most innocent person around, but to me, everybody’s suspicious. Everyone has something to hide.

So, if you do anything wrong, you deal with me.

“Did you really have to kick him in the nuts?” Walter asks as he joins me inside the smoking shelter.

Walter Hayes is my other half, and we’ve been partners for over seven years. He’s a huge pain in the backside, but he’s the only person who can put up with me. Everyone else can’t stand to be in the same room as me for more than five minutes. Maybe even less.


Walter and I make a good team. I’m glad that I was teamed up with him because I didn’t need to worry about him falling for me and cause any interference with my work. I’ll admit that I fancied Walter when he first came into the station, but I found out very quickly that I wasn’t his type (or any woman for that matter).

I glance at him sideways, acknowledge him then scoff. “Do I need a reason to kick a criminal in the nuts?”

We’re the perfect example of a good cop and a bad cop. Him definitely not being the latter. He’s too compassionate, too understanding, unlike me who’s the complete opposite.

Walter winces and shakes his head. “You’re such a savage.”

He hated how I treated criminals. He thought I was too rough and harsh with them. He’s not wrong. It’s very rare you see me bring a criminal back to the station unscathed. But I do things my way, and if you don’t like it fuck off.

I shrug, as I take a drag from my cigarette. “He kept cutting me off.”

He throws his head back and chuckles. “You can’t be serious.”

“Every time I tried to read him his Miranda Rights, he kept squealing like a fucking pig.”

“Because you broke his wrist beforehand. How do you expect him to answer you if he’s in pain?” Walter asks, handing me a cup of coffee.

I grimace as I take the paper cup from him that’s filled with the station’s cheap coffee. It tasted like shit, but it kept me awake.

“I thought he was reaching for a gun,” I reply nonchalantly, taking another drag from the cigarette.

He merely scoffs. “Boss won’t like the fact that you’ve hurt another suspect.”

“He can kiss my ass,” I mutter. “He should be thanking me that I caught the son of a bitch that’s been raping girls in this town.”

“He should thank you?”

I down the coffee, crush the paper cup and toss into the garbage bin, and face Walter. “Well, what did you do? Huh? I’m the one who caught him, unlike somebody who was too busy pissing in a bush.”

“Honey, when you got to go, you got to go, but that doesn’t mean you should get all of the credit.”

“All you did was drive us to the location. That’s hardly anything to get credit for.”


“No buts...” I interrupt, dropping the cigarette on the floor, and squishing it with my foot. “The next time you want all of the credit, just piss yourself.”

His jaw drops.

Yes, I’m a very proud woman, very accomplished. I’m good at my job, and I know it. I’m good at catching the bad guys and putting them behind bars where they belong.

Nobody does a better job than me.

“No hard feelings, hey? Just admit that I’m better than you.” I put out my hand for him to shake only for him to slap it away.

“Fuck you, Malfoy.” He says with a smile.

With a smirk, I slick back my bleached blonde hair and shoulder past him,

I am an arrogant son of a bitch, I know that, but thanks to me, I’m keeping the streets safe and clean. If I hadn’t had studied my ass off, I’d probably be working at some run-down supermarket, drowning in debt, depressed and addicted to something or other. Not an ideal life for someone like me.

I head into the station, and into the room where our small team of detectives assemble. Including Walter and I, there’s five of us altogether.

I’ll start by introducing my least favourite co-worker.

Sasha Ryan. Twenty-nine years old. Divorced twice. Three children. Each child with three different fathers. I didn’t dislike her because of those reasons. No. I didn’t like her because she was lazy and dumb. You ask her to get you something, you’ll be waiting hours for it, and she won’t even apologise either for her tardiness. What’s worse is that she didn’t earn her position. The only reason she’s here is because she’s the mayor’s daughter, and I’d bet on everything I had that money is what’s helped her get to where she is. People like her are the worst because they think everything can be bought with money when really they’re just sly bastards.

Next, is Spencer Banks. Thirty-two years old. Married. Four children. Loves his job, just as much as he loves watching crime documentaries. He’s quiet unless you ask him something, but most of the time you hardly ever notice him because he never talks. He’s a nice enough guy, but fuck, is he boring.

Last but not least, is Henry Lowe. Twenty four years old. Single. Ass kisser. He sucks up to me more than anyone else in the office. I want to believe that he kisses my ass because I’m the D.I., but seeing as he can’t stop staring at my breasts, I’m not convinced.

I limp past Nick, our chief who’s staring daggers at me, and sit myself down behind my unorganized desk, wincing as I lift up both of my feet to rest on top of the table. Although I had the upper hand, that rapist still put up a good fight. I should’ve read up on the fact that he excelled at kick-boxing, but when time is of the essence, you don’t really bother to do your homework.

“How many times have I told you not to fucking hurt the criminals, Hunter!?” Nick yells, shoving my feet off the table.

My feet land on the ground with a hard thump, causing me to mutter curses under my breath.

“Why did you break his wrist?” He asks through gritted teeth. “What’s your excuse this time?”

I sigh. “I did it because I felt like it.”


I shove myself off my seat, and stand nose to nose with Nick. “That rapist is fucking lucky I didn’t rip his dick off. If I was menstruating, it would be a different story.”

“You think this is funny?” Nick asks.

Across the room, I see Sasha shake her head at our boss. “Pissing off a woman who’s on her period is no joke.”

“Nobody asked for your input!” I bark at Sasha, who widens her eyes, and goes back to doing what she always does; online shopping.

I turn back to our boss, who’s now looking at me with exasperation.

“Look, Nancy, I know you think that you can do whatever the hell you want just because you’re a D.I., but you can’t. Yes, these people are criminals, but they still have rights!”

“Then, how would you feel if your daughter fell victim to that fucking rapist, chief? If she had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

His eyes were burning at me now. “Quiet!”

And just like that, his whole demeanour changes.

I continue. “Instead, you’d be praising me, and perhaps giving me a raise, but because your daughter wasn’t a victim, you don’t give a flying fuck about anybody else. You care more about that rapist’s wrist than the actual girls who got sexually assaulted. That’s fucked up.”

Nick tenses his jaw as his nostrils flare. “You still didn’t need to break his wrist. That kind of behaviour can’t be tolerated. I could have your badge for the things you’ve done!”

“You don’t like the way I do things?” I ask casually.

He remains silent.

I lean into his ear and whisper. “Well, I don’t like the way you treat your wife by fucking everything that moves, but do you see me complaining about it?”

He looked at me like he wanted to hit me. It’s a look I’ve seen on a lot of people’s faces when they talk to me, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to let anybody mess me around or tell me what to do, even if that person was my boss.

“Stay out of my business, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

Again, Nick remained silent but I knew he wanted to say something despicable to me. But as long as I kept threatening him, he couldn’t touch me.

I put on my black leather trench-coat, and grab my things. “Now, are we done here? Because I’ve got shit to do.”

Nick shouldered past me, kicking my chair in the process as he goes on his way. “You’re not going anywhere. I want the report on my desk within the next hour, and...”

“Boss.” Walter interrupts.

Nick swirls around. “What!?”

“Nancy’s needed elsewhere.”

I raised a brow at my partner. “I am?”

Walter nodded. “A teenager’s body has been found at the high school. Possible suicide.”

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