Three Steps to Hell

by Mike Holman

  “Thank fuck for that and I don’t want any other Old Bill bothering me, got it?” Evans replied acrimoniously, bravado which Tom realised was intended to impress the young nurse.

  Tom thought for a second, smiled and said,

  “Just remember Wayne, it looks like whoever did this to you meant business. One day I’ll find out what this was about, perhaps next time I’ll be called out to deal with your murder. Mind you…..” Tom smiled, ….Thinking about it, the overtime’s better on a murder incident room and I need a new car!”

  “Ha bloody ha Lancaster!”

  Tom smiled at the nurse then looked at Evans and said,

  “If you do change your mind about making a complaint you’ll have to pop in to see me in a few days when all the bruising has come out so that Scenes of Crime can photograph your injuries.”

  “I’ve told you, just fuck off. I don’t need the Old Bill to sort out my arguments.”

  “I wonder if Sue will agree, give her my regards Wayne.”

  Tom left the cubicle and walked back towards the main desk where Wendy was anxiously trying to make sense of some paperwork. She looked up and said, “Is that it Tom, did you have a pleasant chat with the nice Mr Evans?”

  “Oh wonderful, I can’t think of a nicer way to spend the early hours of the morning, such an eloquent young man.”

  After asking a few questions about how Evans had arrived at casualty Tom left the hospital to drive home.

  As he made his way home he phoned the Duty Inspector to explain what had happened so that the incident log on the control room computer could be closed. The switchboard put him through.

  “Hello Frank I didn’t wake you did I?” Tom said sarcastically.

  “Very amusing Tom. Well did you get to the bottom of it all?”

  Tom then explained what had happened and how he suspected that this would raise its ugly head again in the very near future. Frank Steele listened intently and replied, “Thanks Tom, but I don’t suppose the Superintendent will be that happy to have a stabbing on his patch and the police unable to do anything about it.”

  “Frank, I know you don’t have a great deal of experience on the street but you may be surprised to know that criminals don’t particularly like talking to us, I don’t suppose he’d be very happy either if I tried to beat it out of Evans.”

  “I don’t like your tone Tom, there’s no need to be facetious.”

  “Sorry Frank, I haven’t had a lot of sleep, I’m going home to get some kip. Leave a note in the DI’s office to say I’ll brief him and do a long occurrence book entry in the morning so that everyone else in the station knows what has happened and can keep an ear to the ground for me.”

  “Okay Tom, sorry to have dragged you out of bed.”

  “I bet you are,” Tom replied caustically as he pressed the end button on his mobile and made his way home.

  During the short journey home he glanced at the clock on the dashboard of his ageing Ford Mondeo. Just past 4am, he thought to himself, in bed by 4.30, up again at 7.30 for work, what an existence, fuck this job. How much longer will my body put up with this lifestyle? A question Tom often quietly asked himself. The answer concerned him too much to consider at any length. He was a very tired and burnt out man bordering on complete exhaustion. He had, over the years, given everything to the police service which in turn, had ruined his marriage and damaged his physical and mental wellbeing to the point where he often felt he would struggle to reach 50 and take his well-earned retirement.

  The headlights of his car picked out the entrance to the gravel drive leading to his front door. He pulled up in the drive, parked and went indoors. He was as quiet as possible in an attempt to avoid waking his neighbour Jenny. As usual Misty was there to greet him, bright eyed and with wagging tail. Tom smiled. Misty was a great comfort to him, always there to greet him whatever the time and always so happy to see him.

  After a few minutes of adoration from Tom, Misty settled back in her basket with little encouragement and Tom climbed the stairs and got to bed for a couple of hours of well-earned sleep, pondering what had happened with Wayne Evans. Usually if a complaint was not supported by the injured party that was the end of it. But, knowing Evans as he did, Tom knew there was more to this than met the eye and that it was serious. He fully intended to find out what had happened out of intrigue and had a gut feeling that Evans had got himself in too deep with someone or something. Tom’s inquisitive nature would not let this rest easily.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tom’s alarm woke him at 7.15. He leant over and switched it off, stretched, sighed and shook his head in disbelief that it was already time to get up. After a wash and shave he went downstairs to feed Misty and grab a quick cup of coffee in the hope that it would wake him up sufficiently to progress through the day ahead. Over the years Tom had read many articles about the serious damage to health that can occur through sleep debt, shift work and stress. He desperately wanted to take positive measures to improve both his health and his chances of getting to retirement age to enjoy a few years of peace. But the job simply didn’t allow it and Senior Officers seemed to load more and more work on Tom’s small CID office whilst being fully aware that they were already stretched to the limits.

  Misty frantically devoured her breakfast as if it was the last meal she would ever have whilst Tom drew back the curtains across the patio doors in the dining room to be greeted by a beautifully sunny spring morning. He spent a quiet minute scrutinising the back garden. Gardening to Tom was a very satisfying and tranquil occupation and he wished he had more time for it. Beyond a large slabbed patio the garden was laid mainly to lawn with borders adorned with an array of easy maintenance shrubs. Several mature fruit trees proudly stood their ground at the bottom of the garden, their dead leaves still blanketing the grass at their base, a clearing job Tom had been meaning to get round to for some time. The garden backed on to a spinney separating the houses from a small commercial estate. Misty had finished her breakfast and was relentlessly pushing the empty bowl around the kitchen floor trying to lick it completely clean. She stretched, walked into the dining room and sat at Tom’s side looking out to the garden with vigilance.

  “No Misty there aren’t any squirrels out there yet. They’ve probably got more sense than me and are having a lie in.”

  She would sometimes watch out of the patio doors for hours quietly growling under her breath at any squirrel that dared to encroach beyond the spinney. Tom jokingly referred to it as squirrel patrol.

  “Plenty of time for squirrel patrol later Misty. Come on, how about a quick walk round the block.”

  Tom enjoyed a short walk with the dog before going into the office, especially on such a lovely morning. One of the drawbacks of a long CID career was that, over the years, Tom had spent many many hours in lengthy drawn out interviews with prisoners in smoky interview rooms within the police cells complex, with no fresh air or natural light. Often Tom’s only enjoyment of spring and summer days revolved around his walks with Misty and his rest days and annual leave days, of which he was owed a large number.

  A short walk from the house was the village recreation ground. Tom let Misty off the lead, sat on a bench and watched her running round the park sniffing, exploring and generally enjoying such a lovely morning without a care in the world. Tom remembered earlier less troubled years when he would come to the park with Helen and the children. If only he had known then what his job would do to his family life. Back to reality, he thought.

  His short drive into work that morning was slightly hampered by a broken down school bus but knowing all the side roads he was able to avoid most of the congestion. As he approached the police station gates he contemplated the likely problems that awaited in the police cells. He regularly voiced his anger at the way the night shift Uniformed Officers would make arrests for simple burglaries or vehicle thefts and then, rather than dealing with them themselves, abandon the prisoners and paperwork in the cells asking that CID deal with it i
n the morning. Tom blamed this on poor supervision and saw it as the root cause for the lack of experience he saw in many junior Officers. It was far too easy these days to pass the buck to someone else. How could young Officers gain the investigation, interview and court experience if their supervisors allowed them to leave prisoners for others to deal with.

  Brampton Police Station was situated just off the High Street in a small close called Townside. It was a fairly modern two storey building built in the eighties with a good sized yard and police cell complex. The back door led from the yard into a corridor that passed the entrance to the cell complex and then led to the main foyer and the office corridors. Tom’s first visit was always to the cell complex to see what delights had occurred over night and if any prisoners had been left for his office to deal with. He hated the smell that always greeted him as he went through the double doors into the cell complex. A smell he found difficult to analyse, but which was best described as a pungent mixture of body odour, alcohol, vomit and disinfectant.

  Tom approached the Custody Sergeant’s small and untidy office.

  “Morning Jim, what delights have you got for us this morning?”

  Jim Solomon was the Custody Sergeant, a very large, 6 feet 4 inch 42 year old ex weight lifter who stood no nonsense from anyone and had an instant sobering effect on the drunks and local criminals.

  “Morning Tom, your guvnor’s already been down, there’s only two for your lot this morning, two kids who stole a car and then got caught breaking into the secretary’s office at the secondary school.”

  “Who caught them Jim?”

  “The caretaker, he’d watched a late film and was walking his dog in the grounds at about 1am when he heard a window smash. His Alsatian isn’t a particularly friendly dog and scared the shit out of the two kids who stood still until PC Williams arrived. His statement’s attached to the paperwork. PC Williams thought he ought to leave them for CID to deal with due to the recent spate of minor office and school burglaries.”

  “I bet he did,” Tom said sarcastically.

  Tom quickly examined the rest of the night’s custody records to see who else had graced Brampton Police with their presence. One caught his attention.

  “I see Paul Dorsey was brought in on suspicion of attempted burglary. He’s a big pal of Wayne Evans isn’t he Jim?”

  “Yes that was a bit of a strange one Tom. PC Jennings was driving down Horton Close at about 1.30am and he saw Dorsey in the distance and immediately recognised him. Dorsey heard the car, turned round, saw it was a patrol car and legged it down the alley that runs between Horton Close and Peters Avenue. Jennings stopped and ran down the alley after him but couldn’t find him. By pure fluke the dog handler was nearby, heard what was going on over the radio and took the dog down there. The dog tracked into the back garden of one of the bungalows and to a shed where Dorsey was hiding. Dorsey was shit scared as usual and was as good as gold but couldn’t explain why he ran. He had blood all over his bomber jacket so it was assumed, knowing his form, that he had probably tried to break into one of the bungalows and perhaps cut himself badly on a window. But, there were no break-ins, no attempted break-ins, no broken windows, nothing.”

  “So how had he cut himself Jim?”

  “Well apparently that’s the weird thing, they got the Doctor out to examine him but he didn’t have a scratch. He said the blood on his jacket was from a nosebleed he had in a fight a couple days ago but Jennings could see it was fairly fresh. When he was interviewed he said he just legged it because he saw the police car and panicked as he had a bit of cannabis in his pocket which he claims he chucked as he was running down the lane. We can’t find any offences or the supposed cannabis so we’re going to let him go but it’s all a bit odd. I’ve just done all the paperwork and he’s sitting in the exercise yard getting some fresh air, you know how he panics when he’s banged up in a cell. He’s ready to be released without charge. Why the interest in him Tom?”

  “I got called out just after 2am this morning to the hospital. His mate Evans was there with two stab wounds but he refused to tell me what had happened and won’t make a complaint so I can’t really take it further. I would like Dorsey’s jacket though Jim because we’ve got DNA from Evans from last time he was in and I’d be intrigued to know if it’s Evans’ blood on that jacket.”

  “It’s bagged up in his property locker Tom if you want it. Do you want to speak to him only I’ve done all the release papers now?”

  “That’s fine, release him and I’ll just have a quick informal chat with him in my office because I’ve got no formal complaint from Evans anyway. I’ll offer the nice Mr. Dorsey a cup of coffee before he leaves, I’m sure he will be so pleased to see me! Just hang on to him for another 10 minutes or so Jim while I go and tell my intrepid leader what I’m doing. I can’t believe that Frank Steele didn’t lightly connect the two incidents last night.”

  “You know him Tom, as a night shift Police Inspector he’s about as much good as an ash tray on a motor bike.”

  Tom and Jim were very much ‘the old school’ type Police Officers. Both were good friends and long standing colleagues who had joined in the same year. They had witnessed just about everything that represented the sordid, abhorrent and disappointing side of life and human nature and of course the indignity, dismay, finality and anger of death. They had been hardened by their experiences to such a degree that nothing shocked them any longer. Faith had been lost in vast sections of the human race and their nearest and dearest often considered them bereft of normal human emotions. They shared common ground regarding their thoughts upon the demise of the British Police Service and the ineffectiveness of the upper ranks but lived in hope that common sense would eventually prevail amongst the Politicians and manning levels, equipment and funding would all one day improve to a realistic level.

  The CID office was on the first floor. It was an open plan office with two smaller offices within one corner, one being the Detective Sergeants’ office and the other the Detective Inspector’s. Tom shared his office with DS John Nichols who was currently sunning himself in a more favourable climate. Between them they supervised eight Detective Constables, a shift of four per DS. However, with having to provide early and late cover, allow for annual leave, sickness and detachments for courses and incident rooms they were often lucky to have two or three Detectives on duty in a 24 hour period.

  The Detective Inspector in overall charge was Barry Lowe, a graduate entry Officer with limited CID experience who, in Tom’s view, was only interested in his next step up the promotion ladder and played a very small part in every day investigations. That way he was safe not to make an error of judgement that may impair any future promotion prospects. Better to let the DS’s run everything, blame them for any blunders or oversights and then make an example of them to show who is truly in charge. Lowe had a tendency to put all his efforts into management meetings and futile projects in an effort to impress the hierarchy with his all too numerous ideas on increasing the detection rate, cutting the overtime bill and generally reducing the CID budget. Unfortunately a majority of his cost cutting exercises had a knock on effect of demoralising his staff and increasing pressure and stress on already overburdened Detectives. A short, almost completely bald, slightly overweight 35 year old, with sharp facial features who favoured designer suits and wore bi-focals low on his nose, something that just didn’t work in Tom’s mind. He felt that Lowe wore them that way as he liked to look down on his underlings like a headmaster would observe his pupils. But somehow, it never worked, as he was shorter than the majority of the Policemen that he came in contact with and thus had to look up. Perhaps explaining his reluctance to get up from behind his desk Tom would often muse. Tom sarcastically referred to Lowe as ‘the slap head’, a man whom he considered was suffering from ‘small man syndrome’. A small man yearning to be a big man, using his rank and fanciful superiority and power in an effort to make his staff feel and appear inferior. Tom’s experien
ces both within the police service and in his dealings with the general public had only too often verified that small men were the most difficult to work for and to deal with on the streets. He found larger men to be calmer, less volatile and easier to reason with, probably as they naturally had size and power and had less to prove to themselves or their peer group in respect of their perceived manhood.

  Tom walked through the main CID office.

  “Good morning Sarge, you look like you’re in immediate need of a large mug of our best, no expense spared coffee,” suggested Dave Sweeting, one of Tom’s more experienced Detective Constables and closest friends, generally referred to as ‘Sweetface’ by his colleagues. A name probably derived from his cheeky laddish good looks and surname.

  “You’re a star Sweetface,” replied Tom.

  “Make two mugs will you, I’m going to invite one of our highly intelligent, articulate inmates up for early morning coffee and a little chat.”

  “As good as done Sargie,” quipped Sweeting.

  As he passed the DI’s door he heard the dulcet tones of his intrepid leader.

  “Ah! Thomas, just the man I need to talk to.”

  Tom grimaced.

  “Morning Barry.”

  Tom knew that Lowe wanted his staff to refer to him as Sir as he felt it reflected the respect that his rank should carry. Tom was of the opinion, like many others with similar career experience, that it was the person that earned respect through proven ability rather than the rank carrying it regardless.

  “Did you get a note left for you relating to Evans and my visit to the hospital in the early hours?”

  “Yes thanks Tom but I need you to fill me in with a bit more detail ‘cos I’ve got morning prayers in a few minutes.” (A term used for the Superintendent’s morning meeting where one or more representatives of Uniform and CID brief him to outline the events of the last 24 hours).

  “Come along with me Tom as I’ll no doubt get quite a few questions.”