Prologue

 

A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown
Of rags and silks, a costume
Fit for one who sits and cries
For all tomorrow’s parties

 

--All Tomorrow’s Parties, the Velvet Underground

 

 

The party was drawing to a close when the screams of Helena Claussen filled the air. People were mingling at the door, grabbing hats and coats and gloves, taking last sips of the delicious champagne, exchanging air kisses and plans to meet soon. The air was filled with expensive perfume and the smell of drink, empty promises clinging to hollow affectations of social etiquette. Thomas Claussen was bidding farewell to his departing guests. He had forgotten all about his wife until he heard her piercing screams. The screams of a terrified woman. Every crevice, every room, every wall of the London townhouse echoed with those screams.

 

Afterward, everyone would joke that they had known immediately that Helena Claussen would never scream like that for anything but her jewellery, but the truth was that everyone present suddenly stopped, their hearts gripped with fear, their ears ringing with the reverberation of Helena's horrified shrieks. Thomas seemed frozen, rooted to the floor, his grey eyes wide with fear.

 

Then someone whispered, "Helena...that was Helena."

 

That seemed to jar Thomas a bit. He darted forward, dashing down the long hallway and up the winding staircase. Julian Westward and Oliver Christian followed him. People watched from below as the three men raced up the stairs in their designer suits, their perfectly-coiffed hair flying every whichway.

 

Upstairs, Thomas had thrown open the door of the bedroom he shared with his wife—a room fairly the size of a rugby field. His eyes searched the room, looking for his wife in the shadows. Behind him, Julian switched the light on.

 

Helena was standing at her vanity, staring down at her hands. They held a large, heavy wooden jewellery box with gold inlay, and they trembled. Her mouth was hanging open and Oliver briefly noted that it was a rather unattractive expression on such a lovely woman.

 

Seeing that she was unharmed, relief flooded through Thomas. He ran to his wife, seizing her by the arms, causing the jewellery box to fall, the small shelves and drawers cascading to the floor. "Helena, what the devil's the matter?" he demanded.

 

Helena raised her hand to her mouth. "My...my..." she seemed unable to go on. She stopped and swallowed hard. She pointed to where the box lay. "My jewellery, Thomas! My jewellery!"

 

Thomas grasped her harder, shaking her. "Good God, woman, is that all? I thought at the very least you were up here being drawn and quartered!"

 

Helena looked at him, aghast at his ignorance of the weight of the matter. Julian and Oliver looked at each other and shrugged rather smugly at the frailty of a woman. "But Thomas," she protested feebly, "all my beautiful jewellery! My rubies and my diamonds, and that lovely big pearl you brought me back from Hawaii..." Her voice trailed off and she moaned pitifully.

 

Thomas only shook her again. "Forget the ruddy jewellery, Helena! You scared me out of my mind! I thought something had happened to you!" Unwilling to let his friends see his tears, Thomas pulled his wife against him and hugged her close. "Stupid woman," he murmured affectionately into her hair. "I'll get you more jewellery."

 

It was then that he saw the blood. And it was then that Julian found the body in the walk-in closet.

 

* * * *

 

"I don't think I heard you right. Did you say England?"

 

Chief Aloysius 'Teaspoon' Hunter lifted his broad-brimmed hat from his head and nodded. He shrugged, indicating he was as surprised as the next person was. Sergeant William Cody, who had asked the question, scratched his bright blond head and gazed at the older man, baffled.

 

"I did say England," Teaspoon acknowledged.

 

"What the hell for?" Cody next demanded.

 

Teaspoon sighed. "Always got the twenty questions, don't you, Cody." It was more statement than question.

 

Cody waited expectantly for an answer. Next to him, James Hickok, his weathered and weary lieutenant, reached out and tapped him on the back of the head. Hard.

 

"I imagine if you wait long enough," he hissed, "you'll get an answer, Cody."

 

Cody was indignant. "I'm waiting!"

 

The door burst open and banged shut a moment later behind the small yet impressive form of Louise McCloud. She rushed in, her brown hair streaming behind her. She grinned sheepishly at the gathered men and smoothed down her black slacks.

 

"Well, lieutenant, glad you decided to join us," drawled Teaspoon.

 

"Sorry, Teaspoon. Bad traffic down 5th Avenue."

 

"Uh-huh." Teaspoon managed to make that one grunt sound disbelieving. "Now that you're here, Louise, I suppose we'll have to fill you in on the conversation."

 

"They're sending us to England!" Cody interjected with dismay.

 

Louise looked suitably startled. "England?" she echoed.

 

Teaspoon rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Why does everyone feel the need to repeat the name of the country? Is it new to you? Were you not aware it existed before I mentioned it here today?"

 

"Chief," Jimmy broke in, sensing this rant could go on for a while. "Why don't you just start from the beginning? We're all listening."

 

As if on cue, a loud snore emitted from Buck to negate Jimmy's statement. Buck was at the head of the table opposite Teaspoon, his feet propped up on the seat beside him. His head hung over the back of the chair, his eyes closed, his mouth open. He snored again.

 

Teaspoon sighed. "Somebody wake that boy up." He turned to Cody. "You got Buck performing your sleeping duties for you, Cody? It's usually you I have to wake up during a meeting."

 

Cody grinned. "The man's tired, Teaspoon. He had a hard night."

 

"You mean a wild night," Louise said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She socked Buck in the arm, hard enough that he jolted awake. As he stared at them all, his eyes slowly focusing again, she added, "The fellas thought it would be nice to go out to the clubs last night, Teaspoon, and I'm afraid he's a little worse for the wear."

 

"Sergeant Cross," barked Teaspoon, watching as Buck quickly jumped to attention, his feet clattering to the floor. "I truly regret having to disturb your beauty rest, but if you would be so kind as to join us, the subject may be of some interest to you."

 

His cool sarcasm filled the room. Everyone quieted. Buck's eyes cleared and even Cody seemed to be paying attention.

 

Teaspoon leaned forward over the table, folding his hands together. He looked each officer in the eye in turn, fixing them with his steely gaze. He began to speak as if the previous ten minutes had never happened, in a voice that spoke of rehearsed professionalism. "Congratulations to the four of you. You have been chosen to represent the NYPD in a program that's been concocted in agreement with the New York Police Department's Special Task Force and the London Metropolitan Police Force's Area Major Incident Team." He sounded as if he were giving a speech. His words were precise and weighty. "Any questions?"

 

"Ah yeah, we got questions," answered Cody. "What's this program, Teaspoon? What this Major Incident Area Team or whatever the hell it's called? And why us? Are you saying we have to go to England?"

 

Teaspoon held up his hand to ward off a further tirade of questions. "One question at a time, Cody. First of all, the program—it's a new deal in accordance with the NYPD and the LMPF. Two big-wigs, one from each side of the pond, got together and decided it would be swell to send some officers from each country over to work with the other."

 

"Why?" Lou asked in confusion.

 

"Hell, I don't know. The official word is that it's for study. Apparently our bigwig thinks we could learn a thing or two from them, and their bigwig thinks they could learn a thing or two from us. It's all politics, people, that's all it is. Call it study, call it a program, call it what you will; it's all politics. We're trying to make nice with England and they're trying to make nice with us."

 

"I don't know, Teaspoon," Lou said slowly, mulling it over. "It sounds interesting to me."

 

Teaspoon ignored her. "Second question—the Area Major Incident Team and what it is. It goes like this: the LMPF is divided into two fields, Vice and Homicide; vice being drug trafficking, prostitution, burglary, what have you, and homicide being murder, of course. Basically, anything that isn't homicide they consider vice. And for the most part their officers—uniformed and plain-clothes—are divided among the two. That's where the AMIT comes in: they do both. They're highly trained officers specialising in Vice and Homicide. They're an elite group of folks. Much as I don't particularly like the idea of this program, I have to admit I'm intrigued about working with them.

 

"Basically, what they are is a bunch of roving police officers. They go where they're needed most, instead of being based in one specific station. They're sort of our British equivalent. I don't know the specifics, but that's what I've been told."

 

Everyone was silent, letting this information sink in. Jimmy looked thoughtful; Lou was beginning to look downright excited.

 

"Third question," Teaspoon continued. "Why you? Well, I'll tell you why: you're four of our best. Which is not to take away from the officers remaining here. Don't go thinking this was a popularity contest, because it wasn't. There's officers remaining here just as good and trustworthy and reliable as you are, but you four have been chosen to go. They've asked me to choose from among my best, and that's what I've done. Nothing more, nothing less."

 

"We understand you, Teaspoon," Buck assured him.

 

Teaspoon nodded his thanks. "And lastly—does this mean you go to England? Hell, yes it means you go to England. This is an exchange, folks, that's how it works. We've got four AMIT officers coming to New York to take your places while you're gone."

 

"Which brings up another question," Jimmy said. "How long are we supposed to be gone?"

 

Teaspoon cleared his throat. "Ah...six months."

 

"Six months!" Cody exploded.

 

"I'm not thrilled with it, either, Cody. But I don't make the decisions around here!"

 

Lou asked when they were to leave.

 

"Jimmy leaves Monday evening, at which time," Teaspoon paused to consult the sheet of paper before him, "...at which time, Detective Inspector Luke Hastings will join us. Louise, you're leaving that Friday, at which time Detective Sergeant Nicholas Turner will join us. Cody and Buck, you're on a plane the following Wednesday, and by then we'll have Detective Constable Tristan Fields and Detective Inspector Gary Lillard here in New York."

 

"What's all this 'Constable' and 'Inspector' jazz?" inquired Cody.

 

"They're rankings, you idiot," sighed Lou, ever amazed at Cody's ignorance.

 

"Well how would I know? Like I've ever been to England!"

 

Jimmy chuckled. "You're going to have to learn to adjust, Cody. It's a whole new world over there."

 

"He'll adjust," Teaspoon said firmly. "I know he will. He's a good police officer and a good police officer can always adjust to change. That's part of the reason he was chosen."

 

Suddenly Teaspoon's pager went off at his waist, the loud, insistent beeping filling the small room. Teaspoon checked the numeric message as he rose from the table. "Well, folks, looks like this meeting's gonna be cut short. We'll try and meet up later on so I can fill you in on the details."

 

The four younger officers rose also, and waited. Teaspoon seemed about to say something else. He shook his head and walked to the door, opening it. He stopped and turned around. When he spoke, his voice was strained with emotion.

 

"I know you'll make me proud.”

Chapter One