The Blood Red Line

by Alfie Robins

  He was in no rush; Conway’s daughter’s train wasn’t due to arrive until 10am. After a leisurely shower, he dressed in the style of Ray Cole, off the peg casual gear, cheap chain store clobber, but not quite Primarni. The snazzy suit stayed in the wardrobe. He took his time over breakfast, a mug or two of tea and toast with a poached egg on top.

  Despite taking his time Warren was early. Conway’s daughter’s train was not due for another fifteen minutes. He wandered over to one of the hot food vendors to top up his breakfast with a bacon roll and a hot drink. With a cardboard cup of something impersonating coffee in his left hand and hot roll in the other, he stood next to the bronze statue of the poet laureate Philip Larkin and waited for the London train.

  ‘Don’t know how you do it mate, standing here day in day out, winter and summer,’ he said to the non-responsive statue as he people-watched. He was surprised to see a couple of “working girls” out so early, short skirts and flimsy tops with their arms huddled around themselves trying to stop the cold draught that always blew through the concourse. The train was due anytime, he checked his watch hoping it would be on time, he had more important things to do than babysit Conway’s daughter.

  ‘Looks like you’re on your own again, mate,’ he said, to Larkin’s statue when he saw the London train arriving at platform eight. Roll finished and coffee in hand, he stood by the metal security gate as the passengers disembarked, many dragging wheeled suitcases behind them as they began to make for the platform exit.

  Warren scanned the faces of the female passengers as they made their way to the gate. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Then he saw a young girl at the far end of the platform struggling with her luggage. About bloody time he thought. She came closer, it wasn’t Rachell. Warren elbowed his way onto the platform, getting annoying looks as he pushed through the throng of travellers jostling against him. He walked the length of the platform, looking through the carriage windows. When there was no sight of Rachell panic set in. At the far end of the platform he boarded the train, checking each carriage as he made his way back down the length of the train. Still no Rachell. Once again standing next to Larking, he took out his unregistered second mobile and dialled.

  Less than half a mile away, Pat Conway along with his accountant, sat in an institutional magnolia painted office before two Inspectors from HM Inland Revenue. Both parties had reams of paper spread on the desk before them. If truth was known, it wasn’t going as well as Conway hoped, it looked as if they were going to hammer him for unpaid taxes. The fat man was feeling the heat of the situation despite the room being air-conditioned. He loosened his tie and ran his finger around his shirt collar. His mobile switched to silent, lay amongst the papers on the desk. He glanced down as it started to vibrate and skid around the desk.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ he said. He picked it up to turn it off, then he saw the caller ID, it was Warren. ‘Excuse me, I have to take this it’s important.’ This did not please the Inspectors, when he stood and walked out of the meeting into the corridor, leaving his accountant flabbergasted.

  He pressed the accept key. ‘This better be fucking good, Ray, or you’re dead meat,’ he said, holding the handset to his ear.

  ‘Rachell, she wasn’t on the train.’

  ‘What do you mean she wasn’t on the train, of course she was on the fucking train - she’d have let me know if there was any change in her plans,’ Conway told him.

  ‘And I’m telling you she wasn’t…’

  He cut him short. ‘Stay fucking put, I’ll ring you back.’

  ‘One question before you hang up, Neil Powers?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, not now.’ he hung up.

  Warren shut down the phone, there was only one thing for it - another bacon roll and dubious coffee while he waited.

  Ten minutes later, his mobile rang once more.

  ‘Just been on with her mother in Vancouver, she wasn’t fucking pleased I can tell you, still middle of the night over there. She reckons Rachell never let her know about changing her plans. She’s going to ring the folks in London see if they know anything.’

  ‘Ok, I’m heading off,’ Warren said, through a mouth of full of bacon roll. ‘Let me know what’s happening. Before I go - Neil Powers?’

  ‘Don’t go there, stay well clear, hear me - stay well clear?’

  Warren was pissed, he was sure Conway would have come up with something a bit more constructive. What a waste of the best part of the morning, it wasn’t as if he didn’t have anything else to do. He’d no sooner settled himself into the driving seat of the Escort with a sigh of frustration, when his phone rang again. He answered without checking the display, expecting it to be the nick. ‘Yep.’

  ‘It’s me, I’m telling you she was on that bloody train, check again,’ Conway sounded as if he was ready to hyperventilate.

  ‘And I’m telling you, Pat, there was no sign of her,’ he sipped the liquid, it was fairer to call it liquid than coffee. ‘She’s probably stopped off for a bit of sightseeing. If you hear anything give me a bell, okay?’

  Conway tried to protest. ‘The rellies down in London watched her get on the train, she did get on the train - so where the fuck is she?’ He was beside himself, there was no way he was going back into the meeting with the tax people - fuck the consequences.

  Warren ended the call, opened the car window and tipped away the cold coffee. Dropped the cup in the passenger foot-well and drove off, none too pleased with the start to the day.

  ‘Every time I drive into the car-park you’re out here having a fag,’ Warren remarked to Jimbo as he walked over towards the Escort.

  ‘So, you paying my wages now are you?’

  Warren raised his eyebrows. ‘Sarky, let’s get a coffee, that stuff at Paragon Station is like manky piss.’

  ‘Never had manky piss, mind you if it’s anything like the coffee you make ….’ Warren was impressed with Jimbo’s new confidence in the way he answered back - up to a point. ‘Don’t remember you drinking so much caffeine, you do know it’s not good for you?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Jimbo, next you’ll be telling me you’ve started drinking those fancy herbal teas?’

  ‘So what if I have?’ he answered, slightly embarrassed.

  Warren wanted to laugh, but he could see the lad was deadly serious. ‘Well, I need some caffeine - you coming?’ Jimbo shrugged his shoulders and followed him to the canteen.

  Jimbo was still garnering a few strange looks in his “new”, old attire.

  ‘Sorry, love, staff only in here,’ the assistant behind the serving counter asked him. It took all the restraint he had to stop Warren from laughing.

  ‘And what’s this?’ Jimbo showed her the security ID that hung around his neck. This was the second time it had happened.

  Warren leaned across the counter top and read the name on the assistant’s badge. ‘It’s alright, Carole, we haven’t house trained him yet,’ he said with a smile.

  Jimbo tut tutted, picked up his fruit tea and walked out.

  ‘Oh c’mon, Jimbo, you have to see the funny side,’ he said when they were in the corridor.

  Jimbo did think it funny, a little, but he wasn’t going to let on to his mentor.

  Warren pushed open the squad room door. ‘Morning, Trish.’

  ‘Is it? According to my watch it’s nearer afternoon,’ she replied sarcastically.

  ‘Who rattled your cage?’

  ‘You have - okay?’

  ‘Sorry I spoke. Have you got the PNC report I wanted on Neil Powers?’ The DI’s desk had been cleared. ‘Where is Bill?’

  ‘Greg, give it a rest with all the questions will you, you have noticed I’m working solo here?

  He had noticed. ‘Bill?’ Greg asked again.

  ‘Can’t tell you.’

  ‘Can’t or won’t?’ questioned Warren.

  ‘Seriously I’ve no idea,’ Trish replied, as the phone rang. ‘DC James,’ she said into the receiver, ‘yes ma-am, I’ll put him on,’ the
Super she mouthed silently and passed over the handset.

  For me, he mouthed back poking himself in the chest. ‘Morning Superintendent, how can I help?’ Trying to make a funny face into the receiver. He listened quietly, his face turning serious as the one-sided conversation played out. ‘Have you any idea how long?’ he asked. ‘No, no problem ma-am, just let me know if we can do anything.’ End of conversation. Both Trish and Jimbo looked on with serious expressions.

  ‘Well?’ asked Trish.

  Warren sat on the edge of the desk. ‘It’s Bill, he’s had a stroke, don’t know any of the details yet, but it’s not looking good.’

  ‘Bloody hell, poor bloke, what’s brought that on?’

  ‘What usually brings on a stroke - stress, it’s the nature of this bloody job,’ said Warren. ‘So, in the meantime she’s put me in charge of the team - such as it is.’

  ‘Well there goes the rule book,’ Jimbo chipped in.

  Trish brushed away the hair from her face. ‘We’re definitely going to need another pair of hands.’

  ‘Is there anyone in uniform you fancy?’ Warren asked.

  Trish raised her eyebrows. ‘One or two I wouldn’t mind …’ and then laughed.

  ‘Give over, woman, you know what I mean.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, there is, and they both work at this nick.’

  ‘Okay tell me.’

  ‘First of all there’s Bernard Philips, a PC, currently working in Missing Persons …’

  ‘Bernard! What’s the other bloke’s name?’

  ‘Elvis,’ she said light heartedly.

  ‘Elvis, tell me you’re joking?’

  ‘Straight up, Detective Constable Edward Dixon, aka Elvis.’

  ‘Go on, I know you’re dying to tell me,’ Warren said playing along.

  ‘It’s because of his love for the King, and his Elvis quiff.’

  ‘I can hardly wait to meet him.’

  ‘Do you want to have a word with them?’

  ‘Not at this stage, you know them better than I do, what do you think about giving them both a go, see who’s more suited to the team?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan, I’ll sound them out. What if they both look like they’d make it?’

  ‘Well, we are a man down, and we haven’t got clue as to when and if the DI will be back, under the circumstances I think I’d be able to swing it with the Super, but let’s see how they get on before we make any plans.’

  Warren eased himself off the corner of the desk. ‘Bloody cramp,’ he said as he danced around the room like a loon, Trish and Jimbo laughed showing no sign of sympathy what so ever. ‘Well that lightened the mood - for all of a couple of minutes.’ Then with his serious head on. ‘Back to business, what’s the report say about Powers?’

  ‘Surprisingly, not a lot.’ Trish said as she opened the file and slid it across the desk top

  ‘I didn’t get anything out of Conway, either.’

  Trish carried on. ‘Born in Driffield, that’s a market town about twenty miles north of Hull if you didn’t know,’ she said looking directly at Warren.

  ‘You are winding me up aren’t you, Trish?’

  She smiled, he was so easy.

  ‘Just checking, you being a southerner.’ Mr Cool didn’t bite this time. ‘Anyway, Powers, thirty-three years old, he did a six year stint in the forces, the Royal Logistics Regiment, trained as an Ammunition Technician and rose to the rank of Sergeant.

  ‘So, he knows his way around firearms.’

  ‘Certainly does and he’s a bit of a tough nut, two tours of Afghanistan, Iraq. Seems he’s also a bit of an adrenaline junkie, failed twice to get into the Special Forces, by all accounts it left him with a chip on his shoulder. It was after the second attempt that things started to go shit-up. Drinking, insubordination, even went as far as striking a senior officer.’

  Jimbo sniggered. ‘Sounds a bit like you, Greg.

  ‘Piss off. I take it he served time before he was discharged?’

  ‘Six months in the Military Corrective Training Centre, that’s the army nick, Jimbo.’

  ‘I know that, why does everyone around here think I’m thick?’ They ignored the comment.

  ‘What about a civilian rap sheet?’ Warren asked as he sat cracking his knuckles.

  ‘He does seem to like to use his fists - and his feet.’ This made Jimbo look towards Warren. Something else he and Powers had in common. The DS shook his head. ‘No arrests, because no one actually followed through with their statements.’

  ‘So, he sounds like a thoroughly nice bloke. That's it?’

  ‘The rest is just the usual crap, pulled in on numerous occasions, but never enough evidence to charge him.’

  Trish slid the file across the desk, Jimbo reached out, but Warren beat him to it. ‘Got to be faster than that, mate.’ Warren opened the file and studied Powers personal details. Six feet two tall, well-trimmed brown hair and a trendy stubble beard.

  ‘Hardly looks like your typical ex-squaddie, looks more like he should be working in the financial sector.’ He slid the page over to Jimbo.

  ‘You could take a leaf out of this bloke’s book,’ said Jimbo, with a big grin on his face.

  ‘Jimbo, are you asking for a thick lip?’ He said keeping a straight face. ‘Mind you, I can see where you’re coming from.’ Acting out his alter ego, Raymond Cole, Warren had let his appearance slide in keeping with the character, enforcer, thug and fugitive and slowly the persona was creeping back. ‘See if there’s any more info on him, I’m sure there must be some other department looking into him.’ He said turning to Trish. Then his mobile vibrated in his pocket, he took it out and checked the display screen. ‘Conway,’ he put his finger to his lips. ‘Yes, Pat, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Rachell - she was on that bloody train. Greg, I’m at my fucking wit’s end here - I don’t know what the fuck to do?’

  ‘Calm down, give me a half hour and I’ll meet you at the house - okay?’

  ‘Just fucking get here sharpish.’ Warren could sense the urgency and anger behind the finger that hung up the call.

  ‘Trouble?’ Jimbo asked.

  ‘You could say that,’ Warren replied, still staring at the phone’s display.

  ‘Like what?’ asked Trish.

  ‘Like it seems Conway’s daughter has gone walkabout.’

  ‘Oh fuck - just fucking perfect.’ Jimbo stood up almost pushing over his chair.

  ‘Calm down, Jimbo.’

  ‘It’s alright for you saying calm down, you’ve never seen him when he goes ballistic, and believe me this will turn him into the psycho from hell.’

  ‘Well, maybe, when I go see him I should take along my new friendly colleague, see if she has a calming effect on him?’ he said as he turned to Trish. ‘What do you say? Fancy a drive out, get some fresh air?’

  She rolled her eyes, she knew she didn’t really have a choice. In Bill’s absence, Warren was in charge, and as Jimbo had said, the rule book went out of the window with the phone call.

  Chapter 8

  ‘Not exactly built for comfort, is it?’ Trish said, as she was bounced about in the bucket seat of the Ford Escort.

  ‘Maybe not, but it comes in handy if you’ve got to make a quick exit.’

  ‘And who am I supposed to be again?’ Trish asked, as if she didn’t know the answer he would give.

  ‘Let’s keep it as near the truth as possible - girlfriend?’

  ‘In your dreams, DS Warren - in your dreams,’ she turned to stare out of the car window, smiling.

  ‘How do you know you’re not already?’

  She quickly turned back to face him.

  He gave her a wink.

  ‘Yuk, let’s not go there,’ she replied, trying to sound affronted.

  ‘Seriously, he’ll probably kick off when he sees you, I’ll tell him you’re my girlfriend and we were just on the way out when he rang. More importantly, remember I’m Ray Cole, for Christ’s sake, don’t call me Greg.’
/>
  ‘I’m not stupid you know!’

  ‘I know you’re not, but please remember.’

  Warren pulled the Escort into the kerb outside Conway’s, large detached Boulevard home. The front door opened before they’d even had a chance to get out of the car. Conway stood on the doorstep waiting. Trish was glad she was wearing jeans, the undignified way she had to clamber out of the low slung car.

  ‘About time,’ Conway said, as they walked down the path towards the house. He moved aside to let them pass. ‘Who the fuck is she and why have you brought her?’

  ‘Language, Pat, okay? This is, Trish, my girlfriend. Trish this Mr Conway,’ he said by the way of an introduction.

  She held out her hand, Conway ignored the offered hand, as if she wasn’t even there. Warren put an arm around Trish’s shoulder. ‘We were just about to go out when you rang. Let’s sit down and you can fill me in.’

  ‘Do not patronise me, Ray.’

  Conway led the way through to the lounge.

  ‘Okay, mate, didn’t realise I was. Go put the kettle on will you, love?’ he said to Trish.

  The little woman threw Warren a look and forced a smile as she went through to the kitchen - it was more of a grimace than a smile.

  ‘So, what’s going on?’

  ‘Like I said, Rachell, she was on the train, end of.’

  ‘And I can tell you she wasn’t by the time it pulled in. I walked the full length of the platform and the train, checking every carriage - I’m telling you, Pat, if she got on the train, then she got off again.’

  Trish came back from the kitchen and unceremoniously placed the tray of drinks on the expensive looking coffee table.

  ‘Careful luv, do you know how much that cost?’ She just shrugged, she didn’t know and what’s more she didn’t give a toss. ‘If she got off the train where the fucking hell is she?’

  Trish passed him a mug. ‘Listen Pat, I’ve got one or two contacts, if, and I say if, she was on the train I’ll find her.’ Trish gave him a raised eyebrow. ‘Just stay calm, give me twenty-four hours and I’ll get back to you - keep cool.’