Rewired: Project Insula

Chapter 2

“I told you, I aint seen anything. All I heard was him say to someone else it's the b***h from Bristol, when I came near the door, and then he was gone!” Said the nurse.

Meera rolled her eyes. She had been in the presence of Nurse Claire for just over 6 minutes and was beginning to piece together why someone would refer to her as the b***h from Bristol. This wasn't because of her role as a detective, but because Claire had been, for 6 minutes, a b***h, with a heavy Bristol accent.

“Yes Claire, I am aware you didn't see anything, but that isn't what I asked. I asked if you had said anything aloud when you were outside the room.” Said Meera calmly.

“Course I didn't say anything, I don't go round talking ter myself all day. I aint a psycho.” Replied Claire.

Meera turned to her partner, Rhys Trent. “The suspect must know who Claire is. If she didn't talk, then how would they know that she was from Bristol?”.

“Right!” Claire interrupted as if she was the one who had realised this piece of information.

Meera turned back to Claire. “Is there anybody who works here, or who you see around here that you don't get on with, or would have reason to call you…” Meera paused briefly. “A b***h?”.

Claire was suddenly taken aback by Meera's words, and stared at her with a gaping mouth. “Why would anyone have a reason to call me that?!”

Meera let out a sigh. “Okay Claire, you can return to what you were doing. I will contact you if we need you again.”

With that, Claire shook her head disapprovingly and waddled off towards the Accident and Emergency ward.

Meera threw her head up and let out a frustrated cry. She so desperately wanted to solve a case, so that she could prove her asshole of a boss wrong. He seemed to of taken a dislike to Meera since she joined the force 3 months ago, Meera thought it was because of her age and attitude, Rhys would however often tell Meera that he thinks the Chief Inspector is racist and doesn't like her because of her Indian descent, same reason why he doesn't like Rhys, but for his Welsh descent.

Rhys was just 28 years old, but had been working for the Met Police since he was 22. He was an excitable Welsh man who had spikey blonde hair, which Meera referred to as tragically outdated. He did however have the most beautiful green eyes that she had ever seen, and she saw that as his saving grace feature.

“It's alright Meera, this case is too small for us anyway. Who cares about a nicked canister of whatever the f**k it was. We deserve more excitement! And hopefully more competent witnesses.” Rhys said, trying to comfort her.

“Yeah well that's all well and good Rhys, but this is the case we have, and if we can't solve this, then how on Earth are we going to get onto these bigger cases that you always talk about?”

“Who even said this case is solvable! We got one witness, nicknamed it seems as the Bristolian b***h, and nothing at all left behind. Yeah so maybe the suspect knew her, but as if she is going to be any help.” Rhys replied.

“Whatever Rhys, I need a coffee. Shall we head down to the café and look over our notes?” Meera said with a huff.

“Sure thing.” Rhys put his notepad into his bag and turned to face the elevator panel. With a swipe left and a swipe down, the doors pinged open, and in stepped the two aspiring detectives.

As the transparent doors came to a satisfying close behind them, Meera noticed Rhys looking at her in the corner of her eye. She stayed peering out of the corner for a small while as the elevator begin to move gently to the left.

After she noticed that he wasn't going to look away, she looked at him with a playful, but stern glance.

“What?” She said, chuckling slightly.

Rhys didn't get put off by her questioning, in fact he stayed staring with his reassuring smile for a couple of seconds before speaking.

“You are good at your job Meera.” He said.

Meera took a few seconds to process what she had just heard.

“Okay?” She replied slightly thrown.

“I'm serious Meera! You don't have to worry so much y'know. Triller may be a d**k, but he knows when he has talent on the force. You wouldn't be here if he didn't think so.”

Meera didn't really understand why Rhys was suddenly having this outburst of positivity directed towards her. He was normally positive, but not in a serious fashion.

“I thought he didn't like me because I was Indian?” She scoffed, entertaining the subject.

“See I still believe that!” He said in an excitable tone. “Which proves even more that he likes you as an Investigator.”

Meera shook her head. “You don't often talk much sense, you know that Rhys?”

The elevator began moving downwards, still at a nice gentle pace, as if not to interrupt their conversation.

“Ouch” he replied.

It seemed that Rhys was finished with his random topic of conversation. She had only known him for the 3 months that she had been on the force, but she was pretty used to his weird conversations about odd things.

“Tim Letterman”.

Meera frowned. “Pardon?”

“Tim Letterman!” He said louder.

“What are you talki-.”

“Tim Letterman joined the force 4 years ago. I was just a rookie constable, like you.” He interrupted.

“He was white… and British! So Triller can't have disliked him because of his heritage.”

Meera tried to interrupt Rhys here, he was always going on about racism, and it was a tired subject for her.

Rhys held up a finger to his mouth. “It's rude to interrupt Meera!” he hissed jokingly. “But you get your wish” he nodded to the doors as the elevator reached its destination, on the ground floor, directly outside the Café.

The doors slid open, and Rhys gestured with his arms before using the vintage phrase “Age before beauty” accompanied with a creepy smile.

Meera visibly cringed and walked out the elevator, before being closely followed by Rhys.

“I will continue my story when we are sat down with our coffees.” He said in her ear.

“Rhys, everything about you annoys me. You know that?”

“Oh, I do know.” He replied.

Meera enjoyed the solidarity of cafes. Everyone in the same place, all enjoying a cup of absurdly priced coffee, trying to give off a sophisticated vibe. She didn't have any problem in realising that was why she often found herself in one, probably because she assumed everybody thought the same way.

She found it hard to enjoy two kinds of cafes though. The ones in hospitals, because, well who likes hospitals? And the café back at the station, mostly because Rhys was there with her, trampling all over her perfect world where everyone is in perfect solidarity. At least in her mind anyway.

She was now about to be in a café, in a hospital, with Rhys. Her head ached at the thought.

If you were tasked in taking a photo of this café, it would be easy to make it look like your average 2030's café. The hook handed coffee machines, or “servers” as the easily offended would often call them, were in place behind a nice reflective black bar. The order tablets were in position just in front of them for you to speak your order into, unless you had a heavy Welsh accent like Rhys who would have to key in everything manually as if it was the stone age. The suspiciously clean tables were surrounded by comfy leather armchairs and the smell of Coffee beans ran riot throughout the place, masking the smell of antiseptic ointments and anxiety.

If you were to turn around however, you would see the bright white corridors of a Hospital, filled with what seemed like the entire population of sick people. It was a horrid optical illusion. Everything was not okay, so drink your coffee and play pretend.

The café had the typical SAVE THE BEANS posters with the same slogans plastered along them, that people had seen thousands of times over about 10 years. “GLOBAL WARMING IS KILLING ARABICA BEANS”, or Meera's favourite, “YOU CAN MAKE A CHANGE”.

Meera thought often about this subject. Her love for cafes and coffee shops meant she saw these posters all the time. Just a reason to charge more money she often thought to herself. She also had thought for a long time that the world had been f****d beyond repair long before she was born, so why should she waste her time trying to change something out of her control?

What was in her control though, was the problems of the people in London. That's why she went through the gruelling process of becoming a New Age UK police detective. She was a realist, she wanted to help, but with things she could help with. And although London was a very big place, it satisfied her to close cases. Well, she assumed it would satisfy her, as it was still something she was yet to do in her short 3-month career.

Meera stepped up to the panel and placed her finger on the blank screen. The screen flashed briefly before a kind female voice spoke out. “Hello Mee-rah Patil, what can I get for you?”.

“Ha! Never gets old” remarked Rhys from behind. “Hello Mee-rah” he said in a deep robot voice.

Meera ignored Rhys's favourite joke, and replied to the automated voice with “Black coffee”.

“Certainly Mee-rah, are you happy for £5.80 to be taken from your bank account? Say no for alternate payment.”

“Yes” Meera replied.

Rhys had already manually entered his order in to the tablet next to Meera, and his server was in the process of making his drink.

“See nothing wrong with some old school screen tapping.” Rhys said jokingly.

Meera raised her eyebrows dismissively and waited for her drink.

“I'll go and get us a table darling” Rhys said carrying his coffee in his hand. He winked as he passed behind her.

Meera mouthed f**k Off to him, but found it hard to conceal a smile.

Meera walked over to the table with her coffee, and sat down in the comfy chair. Rhys had purposely let Meera sit with her back to the Hospital side, because he knew it agitated her.

“Thanks” she said.

“Pardon?” he said, mimicking a posh English accent.

“For letting me sit with my back to the hospital. Thanks”

“It's quite alright Meera, I know how to treat you high maintenance lot”

Meera gave Rhys an over the top offended expression, and they both laughed.

“So can I please carry on with my story? I think it will calm you down a bit.” Rhys said taking a loud, but careful sip of his drink.

“I suppose so, as long as you aren't going to bring up racism, it bores me so much!” she replied.

“Okay okay, no racism I promise.” He said.

“So Tim Letterman.” He started, almost as though he never stopped. “Triller loved him when he first set foot in that station. I was to shadow him as he came in as a DS. One thing I noticed about Tim was he tried so bloody hard to impress, he would always go to extreme lengths to try and solve the most trivial of cases.” Rhys said with a rare hint of sincerity.

“Rhys I don't know how this is meant to make me feel better? Anyway I'm honestly fine.” Said Meera impatiently.

“Girls don't say Honestly Fine and mean it Meera, come on, I've been doing this detective stuff for 4 years now. Plus I am married, so you cant use that one on me.” He said reverting to his light tone.

He had a point though, Meera wasn't fine. She worried a lot about her job and its security, Triller being the number one reason why.

“Anyway” Rhys continued. “Within 2 weeks, Tim was fired. Heard the whole thing from Triller's office. Said he liked him, but he didn't show him the deductive skills that he wanted in his force.”

“Wow, a story about someone getting fired. That really helps!” Meera replied sarcastically. She took her first sip of coffee, swirled the hot, sweet liquid round her mouth until her teeth hurt and then swallowed. She winced at the satisfying burn in her mouth and throat, as she stared fascinated at the rare frustration beginning to cloud Rhys's face.

“You aren't getting it Meera!” Rhys said, suddenly annoyed. “Triller clearly thinks you are a good detective, whether he likes you or not. Do you reckon he would think twice about firing a rookie detective? Let alone a DS!”

Meera took another sip of her coffee, this time being slightly more cautious, letting her teeth have a rest from the heat. She was now beginning to submit to Rhys;s story, and began to listen more intently.

“Also, it is easy to forget cos, come on… he is a bit of a knobhead… but at the end of the day Meera, he got to his position for being a great detective. You've seen and heard about the cases he has solved before, he isn't a phony. I reckon he could smell out a shitty detective a mile away, and he proved that when he fired Tim Letterman after 2 weeks on the job! You've been here 3 months, and you are far more expendable than he was – no offense.”

Meera's cheek was resting in her hand and she was staring off into the distance when Rhys finished what he was saying. She took a few moments to understand truly what Rhys was saying. When she finally understood what he was saying, that Triller would have sacked her by now if he didn't see something in her. The story about this Tim was simply evidence of this, even though it was probably obvious without it.

A warmth came over her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she felt slightly content with her life.

“Meera, you even listenin-.”

Suddenly, within what felt like a blink of an eye, Meera was up and awkwardly hugging Rhys who was sat frozen in place, holding his coffee out to the side, just in case he was to spill it.

The uncontrollable feeling that caused Meera to lunge at Rhys in such a way, was not something she had felt very often. She had begun to think that in a time when detectives needed to be not only mentally superior, but physically superior, why would you believe in a small Indian girl? The constant judging from her classmates and colleagues had at first frustrated her greatly, but had now nestled itself deep within her heart and mind, without her realising.

Rhys's words pulled out this sub conscious insecurity like a tick, and the feeling that maybe she was good at her dream career after all was overwhelming.

Instead of saying anything, Rhys unfroze and put his cup down. He returned the hug and smiled.

“That went better than I thought” Rhys said, breaking the silence.

Meera let go and laughed, a small lump sat in her throat before she swallowed it. Tears were trying to squeeze their way out from her eyes, but how stupid would she feel if one of Rhys's stories reduced her to tears. She took in a deep breath through her mouth, exhaled through her nose and composed herself.

She began nodding gently, whilst staring out into the Hospital corridor that she hated so much.

“Thanks Rhys.” She said, as she sat down again.

“Hey. I'm only here to help. I've been there Meera, I was in your shoes once.” Rhys replied, trying to sound wholehearted.

Don't let it go to your head Meera thought to herself. The story may have touched her, but she knew for a fact he didn't know what it was like to be in her shoes. Perhaps she should have shrugged off the story and kept her feelings to herself like she normally does. Now Rhys might think he is some sort of philosopher, and might talk even more crap than usual.

“Want to talk about it?” Rhys asked.

“Don't let it go to your head.” Meera thought, but this time aloud. “I appreciate the story Rhys, but I don't need therapy”

Rhys at first looked slightly taken aback by this, his eyes widening and his head retreating on top of his neck, giving his slim face an unflattering double chin. Within a few seconds, he smiled out the corner of his mouth and muttered “fair enough”.