Silent Night - By Tom Barber Page 0,7

at putting up Christmas decorations. Token strips of gold and silver tinsel had been draped over a number of partitions separating each cubicle, and a Christmas tree with golden lights had been placed by a wall up ahead. Beside the tree, Archer saw his partner Josh Blake pouring himself a drink from a machine. Archer smiled and walking around the detective area, headed towards him.

Josh was twenty nine, black, and just about the nicest person who worked out of the Bureau. Everyone in the building called him by his first name, not his surname, a testament to the high regard in which he was held. He had a cool head and a maturity befitting a much older man. In the five months Archer had known him, he’d never seen him lose his temper. Originally from New Orleans, Josh had relocated to New York after Katrina had hit in 2005. A Pace University graduate with four years of street experience, he was married with three kids and had a balance in his life that Archer often felt was lacking in his own. Everyone liked Josh. He was strong and calm, with a measured approach to everything he did. He was also a serious weightlifter and had forearms like Popeye. It was always a gamble when a cop was assigned a partner and Archer had hoped that he and 3 Grade Detective Josh Blake would get along. He needn’t have worried. The two of them had hit it off from the moment they met and had since become very good friends.

As Archer walked towards him, Josh sensed someone approaching and turned. He had two foam cups in his hands. Like most in the Department, Josh had been a routine coffee drinker when he and Archer had first met, but his new partner had got him hooked on tea. Now he drank it every morning and had become quite an aficionado, much to his wife’s and Archer’s amusement.

He passed one of the cups to Archer and winked.

‘Earl Grey, no milk, no sugar. And good morning.’

‘Thanks,’ Archer said, taking it. ‘You too. Am I the last one here?’

Josh shook his head.

‘You’re number four. No sign of Shepherd yet.’

The drinks machine was near where their five-man team was stationed in the detective area. Archer glanced over his shoulder and saw that none of their team was at their desk.

‘Where are we meeting?’

‘Briefing Room 5,’ Josh said, motioning up with his head. ‘C’mon.’

The two men turned to their left and headed up a metal stairwell to the second floor. When they reached the top of the stairs they turned right and moved down the walkway, entering Briefing Room 5. In the centre of the room was a long rectangular table, chairs either side. A large screen was mounted on the wall straight ahead, hooked up to a computer terminal which was positioned down the far left of the table, ready and waiting for any member of the analyst team who needed it. Following Josh into the room, Archer saw two other members of the detail had already arrived, Jorgensen and Marquez. Both of them were wearing off-duty clothes, Jorgensen in a thick navy-blue fleece and jeans, Marquez in a black coat, black sweater and grey trousers. They were sitting on the left of the table. Josh and Archer took seats opposite them on the right.

Across the table, Jorgensen glared at Archer.

‘Finally,’ he said, confrontationally. ‘Where the hell have you been? At the salon getting your hair done?’

Archer smiled at him. ‘No, I was with your sister. She says hi.’

Marquez and Josh both chuckled. Jorgensen’s eyes narrowed in hostility.

His full name was Dave Jorgensen. Queens born and bred, he was an imposing guy, six foot three and about two hundred and twenty pounds. Before he became a cop he'd been a real up-and-coming American Football player, a starting line-backer at Rutgers for three years. By all accounts he’d been a red-hot prospect and had all the potential to go into the NFL after he graduated. But like many guys before him and many to follow, one injury had destroyed that dream. He’d blown his knee out in his final year and any promise of a professional career had instantly vanished. When he’d managed to get off crutches and walk again, he’d done two things. He’d applied to join the NYPD and had developed a large chip on his shoulder that he'd never managed to remove. He was short-tempered and confrontational, and a lot of people in the