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It’s often said that in times of stress and anxiety, man reverts to type, and that was certainly the case with Jack as he made his way back to the incident room. Without saying a word, he secreted himself in his office, locking the door behind him and lowering the blinds.
Although he had an office of his own (or, rather, a stud-wall partition with some windows in it) he rarely used it, except for times when he really did not want to be disturbed or had to speak to someone in private. The rest of the time he preferred to be out there on the floor, keeping up to speed with what was going on. To him, offices meant managers, paperwork and red tape; they didn’t mean policing.
Sitting down at his desk, he logged on to his computer, the bubble in the corner of the screen telling him he had
