He fished around in the top drawer of his desk and found it littered with crumbs, balled paper, mangled staples and the Mars bar he sought. Again the thought came into his head. This place sucks since Andy left. To say that he missed having his partner around would be an understatement. Since Flynn left for his lofty new post at the serial crime unit, the department had gone down the tubes. He had no real partner in crime now. The losers he’d been paired with did not count, including the latest, Rhys. Drifting in a daily grind of violent arseholes and paperwork, Jimmy was not finding life rewarding. But it was worse to see Andy so listless. The sight of it somehow ruined a fantasy of Jimmy’s. Lamenting his life, and perturbed that he’d already eaten most of his daily ration of Mars bar before eight-thirty—his doctor had him on blood-thinning medication and rations of his favourite foods—he did not hear his superior, Detective Brad Hunt, until he was on him like some rabid dog.
