*FIRST DRAFT* The Cover of Darkness (DCI Morgan Chester Series)

Chapter Ten

The atmosphere in Canary Wharf was electrified with excitement. Men donning suits strutted out of the tube station with briefcases in hand. Women trotted in high heels and pencil style dresses on their phones. All anticipated the day ahead.

Rowan felt out of place in his smart casual wear. After his first daughter was born, he contemplated leaving the SCU and become a banker. He loved being in an office, and he enjoyed talking to new people. But his heart knew he had to stay with the team; it was his family.

He entered the glass revolving doors at One Canada Square and strutted to the receptionist. The lifts behind the reception desk had lines of workers waiting impatiently to get to their office.

"Good morning, how can I help?" The receptionist asked. Rowan could see she was wearing too much makeup, and she flashed him fake smile.

"I would like to speak to a Mr. Frankie Collins, I understand he works on floor twelve." He replied.

"Do you have a scheduled meeting?" She typed her acrylic nails on the keyboard. The noise made Rowan shudder.

"I don't. It's important I speak with him." He asserted. The receptionist looked up at him in annoyance.

"I'm sorry, but you cannot enter. The company had not confirmed authorization." Her tone was snarky. Rowan sighed and pulled out his badge. Her eyes widened.

"I'm sure this gives you enough authorization." He chuckled as she punched in a number on her phone. She relayed his information to the other end and nodded before she hung up.

"There is a morning meeting but will be down in the next ten minutes. Please take a seat. Would you like some tea or coffee?" She questioned professionally. Rowan tucked the folder under his arm and asked for a cappuccino with two sugars.

Frankie Collins came out of the meeting feeling elevated with his daily goals planned out. Today was to be a good day. He straightened his tie and unbuttoned his blazer as he took a seat at his desk. A bleak winter day played out in the wide windows next to him. He looked down and enjoyed watching people walking around below him. The secretary knocked sheepishly on his door.

"You have somebody downstairs for you." She announced. Frankie's eyebrows creased. He wasn't expecting anyone until this afternoon.

"Who is it?" He responded calmly.

"It's someone from the police."

He thanked her and got up from his chair, straightened his suit and grabbed his phone before he left the office. The lift was slow, and he tapped his foot impatiently. His mind raced and his heart skipped. Was he in trouble? Had something happened to Bobby?

The receptionist in the lobby pointed Frankie towards the leather chairs where a man sat. He sighed and walked over towards him. The man clocked him and stood up. Frankie took in his clothes and wondered why he was not in uniform.

"Mr. Collins, I'm Detective Inspector Rowan Anderson." He politely announced himself and held his hand out. Frankie nervously shook it. "I'm sorry to interrupt your day."

"Is everything okay?" He asked.

"I have some questions for you. Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?" Frankie nodded and asked for Rowan to follow him. They took the lift to the twelfth floor and Frankie showed him to an empty conference room. Rowan took a seat and pulled out his notebook.

"Am I in trouble?" Frankie queried as he sat down opposite Rowan.

"It's just some routine questions if you don't mind Mr. Collins." He replied.

"Please call me Frankie. And I don't mind." He chirped. He hated being called Mr. Collins or Sir; it made him feel older than he is.

"Could you tell me where you were last night and early hours this morning?" The question took Frankie by surprise.