I, Detective

by Anthony North

  Tina held up her clip-board, her ID held up with it. 'We're police, can we come in?'

  James Jr thought, at that point, that it would be him who had a heart attack rather than his father, but he hurriedly ushered Jordan and Thompson into the house. 'What do you want?' he said once the door was shut.

  Tina said: 'We've had a tip off about a kidnapping. And we've got good reason to believe it is someone in your family.'

  'Good God,' said James Snr as he came out of the study, a bag in his hand, 'that's all we need.'

  Their departure from the house had been orderly enough, but once out of the way, DS Jordan and Tina Thompson had raced with all speed to the shopping centre whilst simultaneously organising back-up. But they both knew that, at such short notice, the operation would be ad hoc.

  Finally deposited, innocently, by the public telephones, Tina said: 'Here he comes.' And sure enough, a slightly out of breath James Hartford Snr walked up to the phones and waited.

  He didn't have to wait long. Quickly answering the phone, he took his instructions, and as he raced into the shopping centre, said into the throat mike he had been wired with: 'I've got to go through the centre, across the park and to the telephone by the rear gates. And I've only got two minutes.'

  Tina Thompson received the news in her ear-piece and, indicating to Jordan, they followed at a discreet distance, shocked at how fast the journey had to be made for such an old man as Hartford.

  'I hope he makes it,' said Jordan, 'or we're in the shit.'

  He made it, of course, with seconds to spare. But he knew himself that his heart rate was far above normal, and dizziness was beginning to overtake him. But one thing James Hartford Snr knew was that he loved his daughter-in-law - the only person in the world who could put a spark in his son's life. But as he picked up the phone - learnt that he had two more streets to run up - he wondered how on earth he would be able to make it.

  As it was, he didn't. It was Tina Thompson who noticed the sudden slowness of pace, the sagging body, and then, in a massive convulsion, James Hartford Snr, fell to the ground and died.

  'Shit,' said Jordan as he stood over the body. 'That's blown it.' However, as if decreed by Divine intervention, just at that moment, Jordan's mobile rang.

  'Jordan,' he said as he held it to his ear.

  'It's Barney. I've found out where they're holding the woman.'

  Tina Thompson watched her colleague jump for joy. Then, stashing the phone away, Jordan said: 'Come on. We're still in the game.'

  The Enforcer broke the door with ease. And with Jordan leading from the front, half a dozen uniforms stormed into the house, with others waiting in the rear.

  There were three kidnappers in the house, in all. And with two receiving Jordan's fist, the fight was soon over, and a tied up Mrs Hartford released.

  'Well, Tina,' said Jordan as they cleared up. 'It looks like the jinx has been broken. Welcome to the team.'

  DS Tina Thompson didn't answer him straight away. Rather she was thoughtful. 'I don't know,' she eventually said.

  Jordan said: 'What do you mean by that?'

  She looked as the kidnappers were herded into the van. 'Look at them, Jordan. They're all petty crooks. Not one of them with a brain. And remember what they said?'

  Jordan shook his head, remembering the apparent leader saying that they were only doing a job for someone else.

  'And who is that?' Jordan had said.

  'I don't know. We never met him. Just spoke to him on the phone.'

  Jordan looked seriously at Tina. 'Maybe you're right,' he said. 'But the fact is we'll never know. Let's just be happy that we've foiled a kidnap.'

  Tina Thompson reluctantly agreed - whilst James Hartford Jr rejoiced at the news of his wife's release. Not that he ever doubted the police would be successful. After all, they were an integral part of his perfect murder.

  He poured himself a whisky. Had a celebratory drink. And said to himself: 'And now, all I have to deal with is that snout.'

  WHO TRESPASS AGAINST US

  Emily Winterton was crying. A woman approaching sixty, the years had not been good to her; at least, not the last thirty. Before that Emily had been a normal woman, but thirty years ago it changed. And she had been crying ever since.

  She sat in her chair in her living room, the letter in hand. She had no idea how many times she had read it over the last couple of hours. Possibly hundreds, so momentous was the news it brought.

  Sniffing back a tear, she looked once more to her sideboard, and there amidst the candles, the regular change of flowers, stood the gold-framed picture. She had been a lovely child, Emily knew, before she was …

  Before she died. And as she read the letter from the private investigator; as she memorised the address he had found; she knew it was time.

  Emily Winterton left her chair and went to the phone. Picking it up, she rang the local paper where she now knew HE was. The conversation was short, to the point, and then, when finished, she kissed her daughter's picture, picked up her bag and left, knowing she would never see her home again.

  Detective Sergeant Tina Thompson took one last look up and down the road before she knocked on the door, wondering how long it would be before the whole area turned into a battlefield. That it would, she had little doubt. And every time she looked at the headline of the local paper that morning, she cursed.

  Jacob Brewster opened the door on DS Thompson's third knock.

  'Yes?' he said, irritated.

  Tina flashed her warrant card. 'Can I come in?'

  He stood back from the door.

  Tina Thompson didn't know how she would react when she came to meet him. Now known as 'Mr Smith', she knew all about Jacob Brewster, and she found it hard to square the old man in front of her with the ... what?

  The word, monster, had been used all too often. And yes, thirty years ago, when he did those things to those little girls. When he abused them, tortured them, and then killed them.

  But was that another life?

  In a daring move, the Home Office had decided yes. And Jacob Brewster had been returned to the community with a new identity and a new life. Until that damned paper was tipped off as to where he was. And now, in just another hour or so, people would be hungrily buying it and knowing … and coming to get him.

  Tina explained the situation to him and his deep, hooded eyes seemed to reflect the hurt inside. 'What am I to do?' he asked, and regardless what a monster he had been, Tina felt for him then. And what was humanity, anyway, if forgiveness cannot be bigger than our capacity towards barbarity?

  Detective Sergeant Jordan was busy in the police station arranging the support for any trouble that may come. That, and liaising with the Home Office for a new location for Jacob Brewster. And a location out of his patch, he hoped.

  Jordan remembered the case very well. Although only a kid at the time the events were on everybody's lips. The grisly discoveries, the arrest, the trial. He shivered with revulsion. Society had no room for such monsters, he knew, and wished the bastard had been hanged. But he had a job to do, and regardless of his feelings, he knew he had to protect him.

  Finally finishing the organisation, he left the police station and jumped into his car. Until the situation began to build up, the riot police would be well hidden, not wanting to pre-empt any possible trouble. But Jordan knew it was his job to be in the house, ready and willing to lay down his life for a monster.

  Emily Winterton had chosen her position well. Hid in the bushes at the bottom of Jacob Brewster's garden, she had easily been missed by the cursory search the young police woman had made. After all, she had no reason to expect anyone knew of Brewster's whereabouts yet.

  Poor girl, thought Emily as she watched her. How much trouble am I going to get you in, dear? I'm sorry. But some things just have to be done. And Emily Winterton had vowed thirty years ago that Jacob Brewster would die for what he did to her little girl.

  Of course, the papers had been sympathetic. So had
the police. But no one really thought she would do it. But they had all underestimated the power of grief and the anger that can rise, suppressing forgiveness as an alien word.

  DS Jordan looked out of the window as the predictable crowd began to gather. 'It's starting,' he said.

  A tear seemed to form in Jacob Brewster's eyes at this news. Jordan wanted to spit. Said: 'Spare the tears, old man. The Home Office may have forgiven you, but I haven't.'

  Tina Thompson sighed. 'Leave it Jordan,' she said. 'He's paid his price. So get on with the job.'

  'Price!' said Jordan, annoyed. He walked over to Brewster, stared him in the eye. He took a picture out of his pocket. Even Jordan couldn't bring himself to say what had happened to Trish Winterton, but he held up the picture, thrust it in his face. 'You did that, you bastard! And you'll never pay the price.'

  Tina stood up, pushed Jordan away. 'I said leave it! Can't you see what you're doing? Should hate rule our lives? Okay, he did it. But he was disturbed. We all know that. Why can't we accept it? Why the hell can't we ever forgive?'

  Jordan turned to her, his eyes piercing. 'Because we can't. Because we mustn't. Because some things are just too big.'

  Emily Winterton chose her timing just right. She had heard the crowd growing, getting uglier by the minute. At first, the police vans began arriving quietly, the two policemen arriving at Brewster's back gate almost unseen. She smiled at her cunning, getting in there even before they arrived.

  Minute by minute she sensed the events changing around her. The jeers got louder, the death threats more explicit. And then came the smash of glass as the first brick was thrown, the screech of brakes as police vans moved in more quickly with reinforcements. And at the front of the house, she knew all hell had broken out. And as she took out the long, razor sharp carving knife, she knew that hell was finally going to come to Jacob Brewster.

  Jacob Brewster trembled as he sat in the chair, the volley of missiles coming through his now shattered windows. Tina Thompson was stood in front of him, shielding him and for a moment their eyes met. 'Forgive me,' Brewster said, his eyes pleading.

  Jordan heard him, too. Blood was already streaming from a small wound on his forehead where a brick had hit him. 'Forgive!?' he screamed, keeping one eye on events and the other on Brewster. 'If I wasn't a copper I'd be out there with them, believe me.'

  Tina Thompson didn't say a word. Maybe it was Brewster's eyes that mesmerised her. They say you can tell a man's soul from the depths of his eyes and Tina thought she could get lost in his, so deep they were.

  Eventually, she was shocked out of her trance by Jordan. 'Come on, they're breaking through.'

  Outside, police by the dozen formed the wall to keep the hounds at bay, but two had got through, and at that moment were storming down the path, hate in their eyes. Jordan rushed out of the door, meeting them head on in the garden. Throwing the first punch, the first rioter fell in an instant, but as the second pulled a knife, Jordan knew it was not going to be easy. Dodging the first thrust, he grabbed the man's arm, snapped it and brought up his knee to the face. Meanwhile, the first man had got up, but Tina was by the door, her asp at the ready.

  They say reality can slow down to the point that seconds can seem to last for hours. And so it was for Tina Thompson at that moment. Preferring the more cerebral side of policing, fisticuffs was not her thing. But she did her duty and laid the man out, Jordan finishing the job with a kick to the ribs, guaranteeing he wouldn't get up again. Then, turning to her, Jordan snapped: 'Get back to Brewster. You shouldn't have come out!'

  Tina Thompson turned on her heels and walked back into the house.

  She recognised Emily Winterton straight away. After all, she had seen her picture often enough.

  Brewster was on the floor, his eyes looking down to his hell, blood pouring out of his belly from her first thrust with the knife. And as Emily raised the knife for the final strike, the word 'forgiveness' went through Tina's mind. And yet even though she knew she could reach the knife in time, she looked into Emily Winterton's eyes. And for the first time in her life, DS Thompson just didn't know what to do.

  THE MATILDA CHRONICLES

  THE CASE OF THE ERRANT HUSBAND

  Matilda Green walked purposefully out of the village post office, realising she was late. Pension day was always a problem, as Mrs Evans, the post mistress, could chat for England. Not that Matilda minded that much. Although not a gossip herself, she so did like to keep up with village affairs.

  There was a slight chill in the air, so Matilda welcomed her green cardigan, wrapped around her delicate, seventy year old frame. As she approached her cottage, she noticed a visitor waiting by her door.

  'Good morning, Penny,' she said as she closed her gate. 'You're just on time.'

  Penny, a woman in her mid-twenties, attractive with blonde hair, smiled. 'As if I would be late, Aunt Matilda,' she said.

  Of course, Matilda wasn't really her aunt, but many of the young village wives had a close association with Matilda. Indeed, the villagers thought it quite wonderful how Matilda looked after the girls.

  Together, they entered the cottage. Sitting down, Penny said: 'Aunt Matilda, I think my husband is having an affair.'

  Matilda sat stiffly, smiled. 'Are you sure, dear? I'm sure he wouldn't.'

  Penny laid out the facts before her - the suspicious behaviour, coming home late, an obvious worry on his face.

  As she explained, Matilda remembered the latest gossip from Mrs Evans: 'And young Penny's husband,' she had said, 'rumour is his farm is in difficulty. Quite desperate, I understand.'

  The clock struck the hour as Penny finished her story. At about the same time, there was a knock on the door. Matilda smiled once more. 'Your eleven o'clock, dear,’ she said. ‘We'll talk later.'

  As Matilda opened the door, and the well dressed gentleman walked in, Penny stripped down to her sexy, silky underwear, pouted innocently at the gentleman and took him into the bedroom. Matilda sat down in her chair and began to knit, happy she was helping the girls to earn that extra cash to see them through hard times.

  An hour later, Matilda laid out the facts to Penny; what the gossips were saying about the state of the farm, and her own absolute belief that Penny was wrong.

  'Well we'll soon see,' said Penny. 'He's going out at three o'clock this afternoon, and I'm sure he's going to see her. '

  At ten to three, Matilda Green deposited herself in her Mini and drove off. Just catching the errant husband as he drove out of his farm, she followed at a suitable distance. Driving into town, he parked his car and walked over to a nearby cafe. Going inside, he ordered a pot of tea and waited. Matilda, of course, did likewise, secreting herself just round the corner so that the husband could not see her.

  A short time passed before a rather attractive woman of forty entered and sat by him. Matilda pricked back her ears. For a woman of seventy, she was remarkably good of hearing - a fact that had often come in handy. And she was soon satisfied that her faith in Penny's husband was justified.

  Later that evening, Matilda sat in her cottage, Penny looking worried in front of her. 'It's quite simple,' said Matilda. 'Some time ago your husband was quite silly and tried fiddling the tax man. The woman your husband is seeing works at the local tax office, and obviously subsidises her income by covering up such irregularities and blackmailing the offenders.'

  Penny looked annoyed. 'The fool. I'll kill him. No wonder the farm isn't making much money.'

  Matilda shook her head. 'I don't think we need to tell him anything, Penny dear. I think I'm a good judge of people, and I'm sure we can sort this problem out ourselves.' Matilda leant forward, offered her cheeky smile. 'Now, dear,’ she said, ‘this is what we'll do.'

  Later that night, Penny entered the bar alone. Matilda had already done the groundwork, found out the target's habits. Noticing the woman by the bar, she approached, sat, smiled sweetly.

  The signs, of course, passed between them without words, and less than an
hour later the two lovers were in the hotel room doing what lovers do.

  The following morning, Matilda Green sat in the cafe, waiting for the target to arrive. After all, she guessed she wouldn't have to wait long. There was bound to be other suckers she was blackmailing.

  As the woman sat, Matilda stood up and approached her. Sitting down, she said: 'Lovely day isn't it dear?'

  The woman seemed irritated, but replied, yes.

  'A lovely day for taking pictures,' said Matilda. 'I do so like taking pictures, dear. Maybe you'd like to see the ones I took last night.'

  Penny went to see Matilda that afternoon. 'How did it go?' she asked.

  'Perfect,' said Matilda. 'She'll be handing in her resignation today.' Matilda sat back. 'I so do like providing a service for the community.'

  At that point, another of Matilda's girls walked in. The appointment would be in ten minutes. Matilda recalled the booking. 'Something special?' she had said on the phone. 'Of course, dear, you want Daisy Mae. But I'm afraid it will cost double.'

  To her new arrival, she said: 'Hello, Daisy, dear.'

  'Hello, Aunt Matilda. Mae said she'll be along in a minute.'

  THE CASE OF THE UNINVITED GUEST

  As Daisy laid on the bed, her dark hair spread about her, and her slinky underwear on the floor, the gentleman above her relieved his frustrations, just as he had once a fortnight for the past year. Always a little slow to begin with he gave Daisy time to consider what she was doing. Of course, Aunt Matilda had told her there was nothing to it, really, and Daisy was well aware that, as a farmer's wife, the government now encouraged other enterprises to keep the farm running. Although she doubted her husband would feel the same, if only he knew. However, this particular evening, she had the feeling that she was performing to someone else, too.

  'It was strange,' said Daisy, later, sat in the front room with Aunt Matilda, doing the final readjustments of her more suitable dress, 'but I was sure someone was watching me through the window.'