Wallace shook his head. “Nothing whatsoever. Certainly, there were scuffs in the dust, but nothing that could be examined. Do we know what was taken?”
Blake nodded. “The CCTV system. The chip shop had poor signal on the ground floor, so the owners had an informal agreement with the victim that it would be situated upstairs.”
“And the killer knew this?” Wallace said.
“We think so,” Blake replied.
Just then, Pember’s phone vibrated in his pocket. “Shit,” he muttered, the phone number for the doctor’s surgery flashing up on the screen. The conversation turned to another detective, so he whispered to Wallace that he’d be right back.
Slipping through the door, he padded down the corridor towards the communal seating area.
“Hello?” he said, slumping into one of the blue fabric sofas. It was extremely uncomfortable and covered in coffee stains.
“Good afternoon, Mr McArthur. It’s Dr Phillips from West Newton Medical Practice. We’ve got you down for a telephone consultation?”
“H-hello, yes,” he replied, chin flicking over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening.
“Great. So, I can see from your records that you’re currently prescribed the suppressant, Cereline, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re… oh, you’re on rather a high dose for your age.”
“Yes.”
“And it says here you recently cancelled the prescription, but then reordered it. Was that a mistake?”
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes. My mum cancelled it by accident.”
There was a pause, then: “I see… Mr McArthur, you’re onfiftymicrograms of Cereline. That’s the highest dose of suppressants we can legally prescribe. Usually, that amount is only given to omegas and sigmas with hormonal imbalances, or those breaking a mating bond. Is there a reason you wish to continue the prescription?”
Pember swallowed. “I… I’ve always been on a high dose, ever since puberty.”
“Yes, I can see that, but last year you almost doubled your prescription. What was the reason for that?”
He let out a sharp breath. “Do I have to tell you? Surely you can see it in my notes.”
The doctor let out a little huff, as though his reluctance was causing her offence. “You don’t have to tell me anything, sweetheart, but I’d rather you were honest.”
Pember rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to be difficult, I just… I had a lot of things going on last year. Ijust thought it was better all around if my heats weren’t a factor at all.”
The doctor sighed. “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t numb your heats like that. I can’t tell you how many omegas come to me asking to suppress their cycle, only to regret it later in life. It’s not just your heats, but your wolf too. If you’re not careful you’ll end up with lupine fever before you’re sixty. Do you have a mate?”
Lupine fever was what some elderly shifters experienced close to death. A hormonal imbalance that confused their wolf and made them wander the woods alone at night. Without a pack to look after them, it could prove deadly.
He cringed and turned down the volume on the phone. “No.”
“Do you intend to find a mate in the near future?”
“What? No! I don’t… I don’tneeda mate. I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.” He bit the inside of his cheek to stop any unnecessary words tumbling out.
Then the doctor started laughing, which made heat flare up Pember’s throat. “Oh, honey, you’re preaching to the choir. Forty-five years single with a daughter through IVF, but Istilldon’t mess with my hormones. Early onset menopause? No, thanks. Destruction of my scent glands? Nooo way. It’syourbody. Never forget that.”
Pember’s mouth opened and closed several times before he finally replied, “So what do you recommend?”
“Half your current dose, then down to a quarter by the end of the year.Yes,your next few cycles might be hard going, but it’s your body’s way of regulating again.”
Pember jumped to his feet, tightly clutching the phone. “Halving? You can’t be serious. Can’t we do three quarters?”
