Chapter Text
Milner was reaching for another of the sheets of paper piled on the side of his desk when Sam poked her head around the door and gave him one of her sunny grins.
"How is it going? I don't suppose you've found any new leads?"
"Actually, this is just the paper work I didn't get a chance to finish last night, and the morning reports from today which I still have to finish," he answered with a slight smile and just a little resignation. Clearly Sam was planning to settle in for a nice chat, which normally he would have quite enjoyed (and in all honesty he could use a break), but he was almost a day behind with his paperwork due to the long night spent at the Tavers' place.
"Well, I was just going to make myself a cup of tea and I thought that I would see if you wanted one too?"
"I wish I could, but I really need to get some of this work done while I have the time."
"Well, I could just go ahead and make two cups and bring them back in here. That way you could have a kind of working break, because really you know, you shouldn't skip meals - it's not good for you," said with all the brisk confidence of a mother to her young child.
A little taken aback Milner responded in the only sensible manner, "Thanks Sam, that would be nice."
It was odd how Sam often seemed to have no idea how she came across to people. You just had to remember not to take too much notice when she said something that was thoughtless or outrageous;, she never meant anything by it. It was just that she seemed congenitally unable to think before she spoke. After all, she was only trying to look out for him, and he hadn't had too much of that recently. Sam beamed at him in reward for his quick acceptance of her mother hen act. A moment later she assumed a more woebegone _expression and, with a sad little sigh, started back in full swing.
"Sometimes I do wonder why I bother anymore. I mean, I almost don't remember what sugar tastes like! Honey is almost as hard to get, and I'm even out of treacle. It's just impossible to get anything, without doing something illegal anyway. Well, I shouldn't say that. One of the girls staying in the house behind me actually got several very nice things in a care package from a American church group from some island." She paused here for a moment, her brow wrinkled in thought. "What was the name? Something to do with farm animals, some breed of chickens I think. Seems a silly thing to name a place after. I suppose thy raise a lot of them there."
Sam really should think about a career as a police instructor. A few conversations with her and nothing a reluctant witness or obstructive suspect could say would throw you. Now is she just chattering on like she does, or is she working herself up to asking something?
"It was a Catholic church, I do remember that. Although we're not supposed to let on about it. She thinks it will cause trouble with her landlords if they find out."
He broke in when she paused to take a breath, "Has she been having problems with anybody?" Judging by the furrowed brow and look of confusion received in response she hadn't been making a roundabout request on behalf of her friend for help in dealing with an incident of religious discrimination.
"What?" Then with a rapidly clearing countenance Sam continued on, "You mean Molly? No she just doesn't want to make it hard for Mr and Mrs Pickmen. They're kind of, well, old-fashioned I suppose. You know, papist conspiracies, the seven headed snake, and what with Italy in the war now … But they're actually very nice people. No, it's just that it must be so nice to have somebody that would do that for you. It really makes you envy the people that have friends or relatives overseas." Sam had paused for a moment as if in contemplation of such bounty, when she suddenly looked back at Milner and asked with an air of somebody that has just had something occur to them, "Didn't you say you had a cousin living in Quebec, Paul?"
Milner was careful not to show more than a trace of amusement as he answered her question, "As a matter of fact my Aunt Susan's son lives over there. But don't forget, they have to deal with rationing too, although admittedly not quite as badly as we do." Just as her face began to fall he continued with a smile, "However, as he is a baker it's a little easier for him to come by a few extra luxuries."
Sam's face immediately brightened back up. "Well, that must certainly be nice for him, and his family of course"
Milner leaned forward conspiratorially, "You know Sam, you've reminded me of something. Do you remember that package that came to the station for me last weekend?"
"Oh yes?"
He felt his smile being tugged wider at the poorly concealed eagerness in her voice. "Well, that just happened to be a parcel from my cousin with a few little gifts, and I believe I still have just a little bit of sugar left from it"
"Well then, you should definitely take some time and have yourself a little tea."
Milner dropped the serious _expression and smiled. He really shouldn't tease her like this, but sometimes it was just too easy to pass up. "Sam, I believe I still have enough for two, if you would like some that is?"
This time a blush accompanied Sam's grin.
*Interlude*
A young man, fairly tall, but otherwise nondescript was asking, "But why did you want us to meet, Reese? That's what I want to know."
A shorter, slightly overweight, older man answered, "What? I told you the police were at the yard, asking questions, and it was that Superintendent not just one of the local idiots. What are we going to do if they come back!" The original question had been asked in a polite, even puzzled tone, but it was answered in one fast approaching hysteria.
"First, Reese, it was that Chief Superintendent asking questions instead of the local bobby. Second, as far as I can see, if somebody comes back to ask more questions you do exactly as you did this time. You tell him that you know nothing about any military ordinance; that nothing like that is stored at your yard. In fact it's clearly spelled out in your contract that it won't be. If anybody was to continue to question you on this you should point out that you merely compare the bill of lading to the contents of the trucks. If the number of boxes and the serial numbers on those boxes match, well then you sign off and your job is done. You don't check the actual contents, and anybody that would like to query those should go and talk to the quartermaster that loaded the trucks in the first place. In short, you tell the truth. Now once again, why did you need me to tell you this?" The younger man delivered his discourse with the same polite smile and level voice as his original question.
The older man's colour had been steadily rising throughout this vaguely condescending speech. So nobody was really surprised at his outburst when the younger waited for his answer. "The truth? Just tell the truth! Mein Gott!…"
The rest of the exclamation was cut off as the younger man snapped forward across the table. His right hand clamped down on the back of the other's neck and his left grabbed the knot of his tie and twisted it up tight about his throat. The pleasantly affable _expression was replaced by one of hard menace as the younger man began once again to speak. "What was that, Reese? I didn't quite catch it, but then you know I don't speak that jerry shite. Not that you don't have the accent down pat, especially for a man born and raised in Kent."
For a another minute he continued to maintain his hold as he watched the older man's face begin to go purple as he tried to desperately to draw enough air to apologize for his lapse. Just as the others were begin to think that they were going to see murder done, Reese was dropped gasping back into his chair.
The younger man took a moment to compose himself, running his hand down the row of brass buttons on his tunic and giving the bottom a sharp tug. Looking around at the other men in the room he said, "Now to be clear, every thing is still going to plan. Every body is to continue with their work as previously." Settling his gaze on the still faintly wheezing Reese, "And the next time anybody thinks to call an emergency meeting, it will be in regards to an actual emergency, yes?" Most of the gathered men made faint sounds of assent as Reese nodded his head while trying to avoid eye contact with the still vaguely threatening young man in blue.
Satisfied that he had made himself understood the young man turned to one of the others, "Connor, as we're already here, how will Tavers' death affect your supply arrangements?"
A powerfully built man with a heavy beard and a patch covering his right eye answered, "It's going to be a real problem sooner rather than later. If you could find out where the old man was getting it all from?"
"No idea on that yet. Soon as I hear anything I well let you know." Once he saw there were no more questions the young man replaced his helmet and took his leave.
The bearded man waited till he heard the outer door close before speaking. "Told you it was a stupid idea, Reese. The fucking werewolf's crazy."