The Blood Red Line

by Alfie Robins

  ‘Please wait here,’ the CSO said, inclining his head to a row of chairs along one wall. ‘Shouldn’t be too long,’ he said, then he was gone, leaving Warren with a thudding in his chest and butterflies in his stomach.

  Two minutes later the door opposite opened. ‘DS Warren?’ a uniformed inspector asked, holding the door ajar. ‘Please come in,’ he stood aside to allow Warren to pass.

  ‘Here we go,’ Warren said under his breath as he entered the conference room.

  ‘Take a seat, Detective Sergeant,’ said the inspector, as he headed towards his own seat behind a highly polished solid wood table. A single chair had been placed in the centre of the room facing the officers behind the long conference table. Warren stepped forward and reluctantly sat down, he’d never felt so conspicuous in all his life. ‘The officers to my left are Superintendent Bales, Superintendent Hargreaves and Assistant Chief Constable Nail, of the Internal Disciplinary Department and my name is Inspector Wellington.’

  Warren looked from one face to the other, he’d had bollockings in the past, but this was in a totally different league, to say it was intimidating would have been an understatement. The silence in the air was so dense it could have been cut with a knife. Assistant Chief Constable Nail broke the silence. He slammed the folder he’d supposedly been reading shut with a slap of his hand for dramatic effect, and sat upright with his hands palm down on the table before him.

  ‘DS Warren, I won’t beat about the bush, to say I am disgusted with your conduct would be putting it lightly. Burglary, robbery, grievous bodily harm, an assault on a senior officer and even discharging a firearm into a senior colleague’s foot - I could go on but what would be the point?’

  You haven’t mentioned the spook I shot through the back of the head, Warren wanted to add but decided maybe keeping his gob shut was the better option.

  ‘Is there anything you’d like to add in your defence?’

  Warren sat straight backed, with his hands resting on his knees military fashion and made a brief statement. ‘Sir - gentlemen,’ he said, as he looked at his senior officers in the eye one by one, ‘I have nothing more to add to my original statement. As far as I am concerned my actions were warranted and lawful.’

  ‘Shooting a fellow officer in the foot and leaving another with two broken legs - lawful?’ challenged the Assistant Chief Constable.’

  ‘Sir, am I correct in believing this Board has in its possession, a statement from the senior officers concerned that exonerates me from the action I had to take?’ Warren said confidently.

  ‘Don’t be clever, DS Warren, you know we have. I tell you now, if it hadn’t been for that statement you would be facing criminal charges. Charges that would have led to you serving a custodial sentence.’

  Warren kept position as the Assistant Chief Constable continued.

  ‘We have studied the evidence before us very carefully and reached a decision, a decision we have not made lightly.’ Nail cleared his throat noisily. ‘It is the decision of this Board that you resume your duties immediately. This, however, was not a unanimous decision.’

  Warren gave out a loud sigh, surprised. There was no way he had been expecting the outcome to be in his favour.

  ‘This Board is now concluded.’

  Warren stood, he felt relieved as the tension left his body. ‘Thank you, sir...’ he never had a chance to finish the sentence.

  ‘There’s no need to thank me, DS Warren, as I said, it was a Board decision. If I’d had my way the case would have been brought to the attention of the Crown Prosecution Service.’ The ACC kept his composure and added. ‘It is my opinion that you are not fit to wear the uniform. But then, who am I?’

  The Assistant Chief Constable pushed back his chair, stood up and nodded to his fellow Board members. He left the room without another word.

  Superintendent Bales shook his head as Nail left the room, closing the door heavily behind him. ‘DS Warren, Greg - don’t take it personally, we’re not all of the same opinion, the evidence speaks for its self, maybe you were shall we say a little over zealous in your actions, but there was no other option other than to exonerate you. Strictly speaking, you were put in an impossible situation, and not one of your own making.’

  ‘I appreciate your honesty, sir, thank you.’

  Inspector Wellington now spoke for the first time. ‘Consequently, with no loss of rank, you are to resume your duties immediately. We didn’t think it appropriate in the circumstances for you to return to Central Police Station at Queens Gardens. You are to report to the Priory Road Station at 9am tomorrow. You should find it interesting to say the least, it’s a new department in the final stages of development. It should be right up your street.’

  ‘Sir?’ Warren was puzzled.

  ‘It’s a department that will allow you to, for want of better words, use your more unorthodox skills.

  ‘Who’s the SIO, sir?

  ‘Someone you know, just report to room 2A on the 2nd floor at 0900 hours. That’s it. I bid you good day, DS Warren.’

  Arse, thought Warren as he stood. He nodded his thanks and made to leave the room. ‘You will need this.’ Wellington handed over Warren’s warrant card. He had been doubtful that he would ever see it again.

  Warren smiled as he accepted the card and nodded his thanks

  Out in the corridor, he gave the biggest sigh of his life, he could hardly believe what had just happened. The best he had hoped for was a demotion back to being a uniformed PC, and working in some backwater for the rest of his career, he wouldn’t have been happy, but he could have lived with it. But joining a new department and keeping his rank, he was over the moon with the outcome.

  Exonerated. If only by default, Warren was in no mood to go out on the town in celebration and besides who was there to celebrate with? Since his escapade into the darker side of policing, he’d lost contact with the few friends he did have. Rather than go out for a lonely celebratory drink, he decided on a quiet night in with his new-found friend Jim Beam.

  Chapter 3

  Warren rose early as usual, but unlike usual, he didn’t give the paths of Hull’s West Park and the streets of Anlaby Road a pounding. He showered, shaved and picked out some smart casual clothes. On his first day in a new department, he didn’t want to appear too starched in a three-piece suit. Sitting at the kitchen table, he contemplated his immediate future over one too many mugs of instant coffee. He pottered about the house for a while, doing jobs that didn’t really need doing, anything, to pass the time. If the truth was known he was feeling a little on the nervous side, not like him at all, after all it had been a while since he’d felt someone’s collar. Eventually he gave up clock watching, put his empty mug on the draining board and grabbed his jacket. It was time to earn a crust.

  The feeling as he drove into the Priory Road nick car park was one of déjà vu and trepidation. At the car park entrance, he flashed his ID at the Civilian Support Officer in his sentry box, then drove around the back of the building and parked up. Standing by the side of the car he looked up at the four-storey building. ‘Here we go, kid, don’t cock it up,’ he said out aloud and clicked the key fob locking the car, then confidently walked towards the main building. At the main door, he took a couple of deep breaths before pushing it open and assertively walking into the reception area. Another CSO manned the desk, once again he showed his warrant card and waited to be admitted into the secure area. It had been a while since he’d last been in the Priory Road Station but nothing appeared to have changed. Once inside the secure area he stood for a second or two to get his bearings then took the stairwell to the upper floors. On the second floor, he checked the door numbers.

  Walking toward him was an attractive young woman with brown shoulder length hair, styled in the unkempt look, which had obviously taken an age to create. She was wearing a “Debbie Harry” logo T-shirt, bomber jacket, skinny jeans and heeled boots. ‘You look lost. Can I help?’

  Warren gave her his best smi
le, glanced at the ID badge hanging around her neck on a lanyard, but couldn’t make out her name. He lifted his eyes and stared into her brown eyes. ‘I’m DS Warren – Greg,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘I’m looking for 2A?’

  ‘DC James,’ she replied, flicking the ID so that Warren could see it before taking the offered hand. Subconsciously he held the hand for a second or two longer than he should have. ‘My hand?’ she said, looking straight back in his eyes.

  ‘Sorry - 2A?’ he repeated.

  ‘Straight ahead on the right.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll see you around?’ He smiled.

  ‘Sooner than you think,’ she said in a whisper as she carried on walking.

  Warren stood in front of room 2A. Once more he took a controlling breath, knocked once on the glass panel and confidently walked in. It was just like any other squad room, only smaller, much smaller. The lay-out was open-plan, with five desks loaded with computer monitors and the obligatory white board dominating the far end of the room. The only thing missing were the occupants, it was like the Mary Celeste. As he closed the door behind him a familiar face appeared from beneath the desk furthest away.

  ‘Greg, it’s good to see you.’ It was his old Detective Inspector, Bill Grimes, previously stationed at the Queen’s Gardens nick. Grimes stood up and wiped his hands down the side of his trousers. ‘Just sorting out some wires,’ he said, as he walked over to Warren with an outstretched arm.

  ‘Bloody hell, Bill, they told me someone I knew would be running the team, but you’re the last person I was expecting to see this morning.’ Warren held out his hand and shook. He was pleased to see a familiar face. The last time Warren had seen Grimes was just before he used his given code word Suits and Bullets and ‘came in from the cold’. If truth were known, Grimes had put his own neck on the block to keep Warren out of trouble, more than Warren would ever know.

  ‘Thought you’d be surprised. When they asked me to head this team up I had one or two reservations, but it seemed too good an opportunity to turn down. I told them, if I’m doing this I pick my own team, which, much to my surprise was sanctioned, that is until I said, “I’ll need Greg Warren”, now that didn’t go down too well, I can tell you. They said no chance, and I quote, “not a cat in hells chance, he’s going to be out on his arse”. I stuck to my guns, told them point blank, “if you want this to work I need someone with first hand undercover experience”, and that person was you.’

  ‘Undercover?’

  ‘Yep, street level stuff, nothing too heavy like the Gemmell fiasco.’

  ‘Seems I owe you, thanks for sticking your neck out.’

  ‘No need for thanks, I really do need you on the team. Anyway, come in and make yourself at home, such as it is. That’s your desk,’ he pointed towards the one piled high with files.

  Warren looked and raised his eyebrows. It didn’t go un-noticed by Grimes. ‘They’re not all yours, we’re still getting organised’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Where’s the rest of the team?’ Warren had been expecting a busy squad room full of serious detectives.

  ‘You probably passed her in the corridor.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘Yeah, she’s just gone for coffee.’

  Warren hoped it was a slip of the tongue. ‘So that’s it, just the three of us? Seriously, where are the rest of team?’

  ‘That’s it, the full team, the four of us.’

  ‘Four of us, I thought you were taking the piss when you said three?’

  Grimes let the remark pass.

  ‘Saying that, the budget will stretch to another DC when we find a suitable candidate. In the meantime, we’ll draw on the uniform pool as and when we need an extra pair of hands. If anyone stands out we’ll keep them.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’ He was thinking this must be the smallest team in the force.

  ‘Grab the end of this,’ Bill passed over the terminal end of a computer cable. Warren held onto the cable as the DI disappeared under a desk. ‘Oh, and did I mention the fourth member of the team is a Civilian Advisor?’

  Warren gave him the look, when he surfaced from underneath the desk. ‘Civilian?’ Bloody hell, not even a copper.

  ‘I use the term Advisor loosely, he doesn’t know a lot about police procedures, but he has a wealth of information on the local criminal community, he’ll be here in a minute.’ He didn’t bother to explain further, the door opened and DC Trish James entered carrying a tray with four coffees. ‘DS Warren, this is our colleague, Detective Constable Trish James,’ he said as Trish walked in.

  ‘We’ve already met,’ she said, putting the tray of canteen coffees on the desk and shook hands once again.

  There was someone behind her, a slight figure who Warren couldn’t quite see. Then a skinny young man wearing smart chinos and a denim shirt stepped out from behind DC James.

  ‘Ta-daaaa,’ a voice sang out.

  Warren was almost struck dumb, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was James Boland, AKA, Jimbo. The young man with whom he’d formed a friendship, a friendship that been very beneficial for both. Boland may have been a bit of a scally, working on the wrong side of the law, but he had also assisted Warren in some of his more dubious pursuits. As Grimes had said, Jimbo was a handy lad to know, especially when unlocking un-lockable doors were involved. The young man had also proved himself by saving Warren’s skin on more than one occasion.

  ‘Well, I bloody never - two surprises in one day! Civilian advisor, what’s that all about?’

  ‘That’s me, official advisor to the police, who would have thought it, me working with the law instead of trying to break it.’ Warren went over and gave Boland a man-hug. ‘Give over you tart,’ he said, as Warren’s arms wrapped around his skinny body. ‘Man, it’s good to see you again, Greg.’

  ‘You too, pal.’ Warren disentangled himself and stood back. ‘You’re looking well. When did you get to look so healthy?’ Jimbo had always had a half-starved appearance that seemed in keeping with his unkempt scruffy look.

  ‘Healthy eating and early nights, that’s me now.’ He made a play of smoothing the creases in his chinos. ‘Cool, huh?’

  Warren still couldn’t believe Jimbo was on the team. ‘So, how is that fat twat of a mate of yours, Conway?’ Pat Conway was an ‘associate’ from Warren’s last undercover job, a villain and all-round bastard. All in all, a prominent figure in the northern criminal fraternity.

  ‘Last time I saw him he was okay, but I haven’t seen him for a while, suppose that’s a good thing. Oh yeah, I do remember the last time I did speak to him and he didn’t say anything good about you.’

  ‘I can live with that.’

  The four of them pulled up chairs and sat around the nearest desk.

  ‘So, Jimbo, you managed to keep your nose clean?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy considering the mess you left me with.’

  ‘What made you come over to the Dark Side?’ Warren asked, pushing back his chair and stretching out his legs.

  Boland looked to Bill Grimes, who took the story forward.

  ‘When you eventually turned yourself in, there were still a multitude of questions about some of your antics that needed to be answered - unofficially of course and I was tasked with debriefing Jimbo. I told the power’s to be what I wanted them to know. Bloody hell, if I told them half the stuff Jimbo told me, they would have locked you up and thrown away the bloody key.’ The DI looked from Warren to Jimbo and back again. ‘Jimbo here was ready to sing your praises and fill the gaps. Anyway, I needed a little unorthodox help with other things and who better to assist?’

  Warren smiled, it seemed that Jimbo had come good after all and not returned to work for his former mentor and employer Pat Conway. ‘All the same I’m surprised,’ he turned to face his pal, ‘pleasantly surprised of course,’ he added. ‘How the hell did you manage to get it authorised, I mean, Jimbo’s not what you’d call squeaky clean?’

  Jimbo sat with a serious look on his face. ‘You k
now how to offend a bloke, Greg.’

  ‘No offence meant…’

  ‘I’m not serious, mate, just pulling your pisser,’ Jimbo smiled and chuckled.

  ‘If you two have finished?’ Grimes said, looking to both of them in turn. ‘The answer to your original question is – they don’t actually know who our advisor is, well they do, but they’re not fully aware of his background.’

  ‘Dangerous ground, Bill,’ Warren’s expression was serious.

  ‘Yeah, well, Jimbo hasn’t actually got a criminal record.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘You obviously never checked him out carefully enough when you worked together.’

  ‘I just put two and two together - assuming that anyone who worked for Conway must have had a record as long as your arm.’

  ‘Well, that goes to show, doesn’t it? Trish spoke for the first time.

  ‘Goes to show what?’ asked Warren.

  ‘That you’re no good with maths.’

  The comment lightened the atmosphere that was in danger of becoming sombre.

  ‘Okay, I’ll give you two ten minutes to do some catching up, then we’ve got work to do,’ DI Bill Grimes stood up. ‘Trish,’ he nodded towards the door.

  Warren stood up and walked over to the window. ‘It is good to see you, pal,’ he said, as he turned and faced Boland. ‘To say I was surprised was an understatement. So, how long have you been working for Bill?’

  ‘It must be around a couple of months now.’

  ‘But bloody hell, Jimbo, why?’

  ‘Cos of you.’

  ‘Because of me, I don’t get it?’

  ‘Let’s just say I found out that not all coppers are bastards.’