“All right, back in this classroom in an hour,” DS Forrester announced, glancing at her watch. She was a tall, busty woman whose engorged bosom was about the only womanly thing about her. “Peace and McKinley, a word.”
Darren and Stephen McKinley, one of the trainees who said very little to anybody else, stayed seated. Trev clapped Darren on the shoulder, muttered, “I’ll make sure someone mixes up a brew for you, mate.”
“Cheers.”
“McKinley, you need to go up to the third floor and fill out a bank details form because you missed last week’s admin crap,” DS Forrester rumbled. (She had an alarmingly deep voice.) “Do it now before the clerks sod off for their own lunch. Bugger all gets done after that.”
McKinley disappeared, and Darren rose from his seat.
“You,” DS Forrester pointed a stub
