Day Zero

She spoke in low tones.
“He lived here?”
“Possibly.”
Sarah looked at her. “What’s your name?” She could have simply asked her Optik, but there was something to be said for the human touch.
“Jenks, ma’am. PC Jenks.”
“Thank you. For earlier, I mean, PC Jenks. Checking on me.”
Jenks was about to reply, when the sound of a heavy engine rumbled through the air. They turned, and the policewoman frowned. “What are they doing here?” she muttered. Sarah saw a blocky vehicle with the yellow Albion logo stencilled on its reinforced hull pull into a nearby car park.
It was an ugly thing, meant for driving through demilitarized zones and urban battlefields. The doors opened and two men climbed out. A moment later, the rear hatch disgorged half-a-dozen Albion security personnel in their black fatigues and combat gear. One of them was disappointingly familiar. “Faulkner,” Sarah said.
Hannah tugged on her arm. “We should go.”
“No,” Sarah said, watching as several officers moved to intercept the newcomers. “I don’t think so. This is my patch, and I’ll not be hurried off by a bunch of jackbooted thugs looking to play copper.” She caught sight of Jenks trading glances with another officer at her words. The looks were approving, she thought. The Met weren’t yet on board with the government’s plan to turn over their brief to Albion. Neither was she, come to that. Not unless someone made it worth her while.
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t care. But Albion liked to throw around its weight in Tower Hamlets. And that irked her considerably.
She moved towards the burgeoning confrontation, hoping to reach it before it boiled over. The relationship between the officers on the street and Albion’s personnel was hostile at best. She had dozens of reports of altercations between the two, mostly verbal but some physical. Faulkner, Albion’s man in East London, frequently tested the limits of his authority. He’d been reprimanded twice, but it didn’t seem to concern him or his employers all that much. Then, maybe he was doing exactly what he’d been ordered to do.
Faulkner was a soldier – ex-soldier, rather. Her dossier on him was incomplete, mostly redacted. Albion liked to protect the privacy of its employees. Even the little fish like Faulkner. He was short and barrel-chested, with close-cropped salt and pepper hair, and a face that had been on the wrong end of a few too many punches. But his eyes were sharp and he had the air of a man who was constantly taking stock of his surroundings.
“Albion can go where it wants, mate,” he was saying, as she arrived. He almost, but not quite, poked one of the officers in the chest with a blunt finger. “Tower Hamlets is our patch. You don’t like it, take it up with your bosses.”
“Whose patch?” she asked, brightly.
Faulkner turned – and frowned. “So nice to see you again, Mr Faulkner,” Sarah said, before he could speak. He had an issue with minorities, she knew. He wasn’t a full blown bigot, but rather more presentably condescending. Bigots were less annoying.
“Sergeant Faulkner,” he corrected.
“Mr. Faulkner,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “This is a matter for the police, surely.” She put herself between him and the officers. It would no doubt make for a powerful image and the news-drones were circling overhead, cameras whirring.
“As I was informing these officers, Albion has jurisdiction–”
“For now,” she interjected. “You have jurisdiction for now. And what jurisdiction you have is singularly limited in scope. Active crime scenes are not part of it, I believe.”
“Maybe we were just being concerned citizens.”
“And I’m sure the police will be happy to take your statements, as part of their ongoing investigations. Until that time, perhaps you might – oh, let’s say, bugger off?”
Faulkner blinked. He wasn’t used to being talked to in that way. Sarah allowed herself a thin smile. Most men hated that smile and Faulkner was no different. He didn’t reply. Instead he turned stiffly on his heel and marched back to his men. They retreated to their vehicle, and Sarah watched in satisfaction as the police moved to ensure that they stayed there. She glanced at Jenks, who’d joined them. “Carry on then, PC Jenks.”
Hannah fell into step beside her as she made her way back to her town car. If Albion were here, it was time to go. If the police wanted to ask questions, they could come find her at her office. “Are you certain that was wise?” Hannah asked, softly.
“No. But I find him repulsive and it pleases me to antagonize him.” She glanced at Hannah. “I want to know why he’s here. Albion aren’t an investigative body.”
“Maybe they were just trying it on. You know they’ve been trying to muscle in on the Met’s brief for months now. To show they can do a better job” Hannah seemed nervous. Then, maybe that wasn’t a surprise, given the way men like Faulkner looked at her.
She looked back. Faulkner was watching them go. She was tempted to blow him a kiss, but decided against it. There was a fine line between justification and provocation.
“Maybe,” she said. “But I still want to know.”

3: Tower Hamlets South
Olly had achieved something close to calm by the time he reached Limehouse, and the garage. He’d stopped to strip off his bloodstained hoodie and stuffed it into a handy bin, leaving him in shirt sleeves, but noticeably cleaner. He’d gotten it from a Salvation Army donation box in the first place, so it wasn’t a big loss. DNA evidence worried him some, but there were ways around that, if he was smart.
He twigged his newsfeed to scan for any updates on the shooting – and it had been a shooting, he was sure of it. Even if he hadn’t seen where the shot had come from. Conflicting reports danced across his display. The video-feed of the shooting replayed itself over and over again, impossible to ignore.
He thought of the look on the dead man’s face. That sudden cessation –