The Blood Red Line

by Alfie Robins

  ‘Oi,’ the parking attendant called out, pointing to markings on the road, ‘says taxis only.’ Warren took out his warrant card for the man to see. ‘Oh, that’s okay then,’ and turned about looking for someone else to harass.

  ‘At least that one has a few brain cells.’

  ‘What’s with the pool car anyway?’ Trish asked.

  ‘Thought I’d better keep the Escort for ‘Cole’ business.’

  ‘Joey first?’

  ‘Yeah it’ll be interesting to hear what he has to say.’

  Outside the main doors visitors of Women’s and Children’s Department, patients and visitors alike, gathered ‘vaping’, it seemed e-cigarettes had taken over big-time.

  ‘Now don’t take offence, but let me take the lead with Joey,’ Trish said. Warren gave her a questioning look. ‘You can come over as a bit scary at times.’

  ‘Me, scary?’

  ‘Yep you, especially to a frightened kid.’

  ‘That’s twice someone has told me that I’m scary. Okay, you do the talking,’ he said as they entered the building. Trish had been expecting more resistance.

  ‘Can I help?’ asked the young lady sat behind the reception desk. The pair held their identification for the girl to check out.

  ‘We’re here about Joey Smale?’ Warren said, giving the girl a big smile.

  Always the flirt, thought Trish, never stops.

  ‘Oh yes, just a mo,’ she picked up the phone and spoke quietly into the handset. ‘There’s two police officers here asking about one of your patients, Joey Smale … Okay, will do.’ She replaced the phone on the cradle. ‘If you’d like to take a seat someone will be with you in a minute or two.’

  ‘Thanks, love.’ Warren said as they moved towards the waiting area. ‘Why do they always say that?’

  ‘Say what?’

  ‘Take a seat, they would go barmy if you picked up a seat and walked out.’

  ‘Just take a … sit down, Greg.’

  They had no sooner sat down on the uncomfortable tubular framed plastic chairs when a nurse came through and stood before them. ‘Officers?’

  ‘Didn’t think we looked so obvious,’ Warren said as he stood up.

  ‘Believe me, when you’ve been doing the job as long as I have ... this way please.’ They followed the nurse through a series of brightly painted corridors.

  ‘It’s a lot different to across the way,’ Trish said.

  ‘The main building does leave a lot to be desired, but saying that, it’s much better than it used to be. Here we are.’ Stopping outside of a small side ward, she nodded towards the antiseptic hand cleaning gel in its stand by the door. They all applied the gel before entering the room. ‘Police officers,’ she told the nurse sat beside Joey’s bed. She stood up, smiled and moved aside.

  Joey lay propped up atop of the bed, still wired up to monitors and saline drips, his damaged arm hung from sort of contraption. His dark fringe had been brushed away from his face, making him look even younger than his fifteen years.

  The nurse stood by Joey’s bedside, a hand placed on his shoulder. ‘Joey, here are two police officers, they want to ask you some questions, are you feeling up to it?’ He nodded, no smile just the nod. ‘Try not to be too long,’ she said, turning to Trish.

  ‘Hi Joey, my name is Trish, this is my colleague Greg.’ Greg held a hand up. ‘Hi,’ he was going along with Trish’s softly, softly, approach, remaining standing unimposing by the door.

  ‘So, Joey, how are you feeling?’ Trish asked as she sat by his bedside.

  ‘I’m cool,’ he said trying to be brave. He looked to be far from ‘cool’.

  ‘Are you up to answering a few questions?’

  He shrugged, his face twinged with pain as he changed his upper body position. ‘Suppose.’

  ‘Can you tell me how come you came to be in possession of a firearm?’

  ‘Where’s my mam? She hasn’t been to see me,’ Joey asked, his voice low and small, eyes looking tearful.

  ‘She’s not feeling too good herself, Joey.’

  ‘She high again?’

  You know her so well, thought Trish. ‘She’ll be visiting as soon as she’s well enough,’ she lied. She knew Joey knew the truth behind her answer. ‘The firearm?’ she asked again.

  ‘Found it on some waste land near the flats.’ The last thing he wanted to do was drop Robbo in it.

  ‘You don’t really expect us to believe that do you?’

  ‘Told you I found it.’

  ‘Okay, just for now, let’s say for now you found the gun, took it back to your room, then what happened?’

  ‘I stood in front of the mirror, just holding it, you know like they do on the telly?’

  ‘That’s when it happened?’

  Tears began to swell in Joey’s eyes. ‘Shit, it …it …just …like exploded, didn’t think I’d touched the trigger.’

  Trish let him settle a while. ‘Do you know Robert Dooley?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a mate.’

  ‘How do you mean - mate?’

  ‘I do some odd jobs for him, errands and stuff.’

  ‘Stuff? What sort of stuff?’

  ‘Just stuff.’

  Trish let the lad think for a minute then took a gamble. ‘Your friend Robert Dooley told us you did a bit more than just ‘stuff’.’

  Joey looked a little sheepish, he didn’t know if she was telling the truth or not. ‘What did Robbo tell you?’

  ‘Why don’t you tell us about the stuff you do for him?’ Silence. The lad was thinking. Warren watched on as Trish let the silence linger. ‘By the way, your friend Robert, he was shot last night in a drive-by.’

  ‘No shit, Robbo shot? He dead?’ Joey said, trying his hardest to sit forward.

  ‘No, Joey, he survived, he’s not too good but he’ll live.’

  He lay back on his pillows. ‘Do you know who did it?’

  ‘I was about to ask you the same question,’ Warren said from his position near the door. So, stuff?’

  ‘I do deliveries and collections for him,’ he said, as he looked towards the window.

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Shooters,’ he said sheepishly. ‘When he gets an order, he pays me to deliver.’

  That went a long way to explain the flat screen television and PS4 in the lad’s room, Warren thought.

  ‘So, the one that exploded, you didn’t really find it, did you?’ Warren asked.

  Joey looked across and shook his head. ‘No, got it from Robbo, I was supposed to deliver it.’

  Trish looked to Warren, he said. ‘Do you know any of the people you deliver to?’

  ‘Na, always someone different.’

  ‘Doesn’t it scare you?’

  ‘I can handle myself, mind you, there was this one bloke on the last delivery I made, there was something about him.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Trish?’

  ‘Don’t know really, just something.’

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  Joey struggled, trying to reach over to the bedside cabinet for his plastic cup, Trish stepped in and picked up the cup and passed it over. The lad sipped through a plastic straw before carrying on. ‘He was skinny, not much taller than me, he had a face like a rat, think he had a tat on the side of his neck, couldn’t see what though just the ink. He looked well hard, but reckon I could have taken him if he’d kicked off,’ he said, remembering how shit scared he really was.

  Warren inwardly smiled at the lad’s bravado, and thanked God the deal had gone well, or Joey may not have been here now to answer their questions.

  ‘Can you remember his name?’

  ‘Robbo only ever told me first names, it was Seb, something like that.’

  Result, thought Trish, she caught Warren in the corner of her eyes, smiling.

  ‘I think that’s enough for now,’ said the nurse as she proceeded to make a pretence of checking the monitors.

  ‘Think we’re done for now anyway. Joey you’ve been v
ery helpful,’ Trish said, as she rested a hand on the lad’s good arm.

  ‘Yeah, cheers for that, mate,’ said Warren. ‘Now you get better soon. Okay?’ Joey nodded and lay his head on the pillows and closed his eyes.

  They thanked the nurse for her cooperation and left Joey to get some rest.

  ‘Poor lad, his life changed forever and having to go through all this on his own.’

  ‘No doubt Social Services will sort him out.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, Greg, but not the same as having his mam by his bedside, is it?’

  Warren didn’t have an answer.

  ‘So, Seb - face like a rat, got to be Sebastian London, can’t be anyone else. Once we’ve been across to the main building and seen Dooley, we’ll see about having London brought in.’

  Warren and Trish walked across the hospital complex to the main building, compared to the Women’s and Children’s Building the main Infirmary appeared austere.

  ‘You should have seen the place a few years back before the renovations,’ Trish said to him.

  ‘It’s been renovated?’ Warren replied sarcastically. ‘I’d never have guessed.’

  Taking the super-fast over crowded lift, they stepped out on the fifth floor. On reaching the reception area of the intensive care department they were greeted by a staff nurse with a friendly face. ‘Good morning, can I help.’

  Warren stepped forward. ‘I’m DS Warren and this is my colleague DC Trish James,’ they both held the warrant cards for inspection. ‘We’re making enquiries about Robert Dooley, he was brought in with gunshot wounds.’

  The nurse tapped the computer keyboard, bringing up Dooley’s details. ‘Ah, yes, Mr Dooley, he’s in a side room.’

  ‘Is he awake?’ asked Trish as she slipped her ID back in her shoulder bag.

  ‘I’ll check, won’t be a minute.’ She disappeared down the corridor to reappear less than a minute later. ‘He is awake, but ...’

  Warren casually leaned on the reception desk, trying his flirting approach. ‘Just a quick word, that’s all we need,’ his pale blue eyes looked directly into hers, then he added, ‘please.’

  ‘You’ll have to be quick, the doctor said he needs to rest.’

  ‘You’re an angel,’ said Warren as she led them to Dooley’s room. Trish, walking along side of him shook her head in disbelief at the sheer nerve of the man.

  As the door opened they were greeted with the familiar sound of the medical equipment. Dooley didn’t look too good, he lay back slightly supported by pillows, the obligatory saline drip was inserted into the back of his hand. Wires connected him to the heart monitor which constantly bleeped, not to mention the drain tubes from his chest cavity that disappeared down the side of the bed into glass bottles.

  ‘I’ll have to stay,’ said the nurse standing by the door.

  ‘No problem,’ said Warren, as he crossed the room and stood next to the bed.

  Sensing Warren’s approach, Dooley opened his eyes. ‘Police?’ he asked in low voice.

  ‘Got it in one. Won’t keep you long, Mr Dooley, just a couple of questions.’ Warren didn’t pull his punches and went straight in before Dooley had time to think. ‘Do you know who shot you?’

  A slight shake of the head in response.

  ‘Do you know why you were shot?’

  Dooley answered with his own question. ‘I take it you’ve been to my lock-up?’

  ‘Forensic are going through the place as we speak.’

  Dooley raised his eyebrows. ‘There you have your answer.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll take that as a yes. Now, as I see it, whoever is responsible for shooting you appears to be taking out the competition, who do you think it is Mr Dooley?’

  Another shake of the head, but Warren saw Dooley’s eyes react to the question.

  ‘Have you heard of a Neil Powers?’

  ‘No, should I have?’

  ‘What about somebody called Seb? According to young Joey Smale, you know Joey, the lad who’s laid across the way with his hand blown off, he seems to think you did some business with him.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘Come on now, you’re not under arrest - at least not yet, let’s keep this amiable. Seb, real name, Sebastian London, have you, or have you not, done any business with him?’

  ‘Now that you mention it, I do recognise the name, let me think on it.’ He lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes.

  ‘Don’t think on it too long, Mr Dooley,’ said Trish.

  ‘I think that’s enough for now,’ said the nurse, ‘if the doctor comes in you’ll get me shot.’ The officers turned to face her, even Dooley opened his eyes. She looked guilty. ‘Sorry.’

  The nurse ushered them out of the room closing the door behind them.

  ‘Well that was a waste of time and effort,’ said Trish.

  ‘I think we’ll have to keep a close eye on Dooley, my guess is, whoever tried to top him is likely to try again, sooner rather than later. When we get back to the nick, I’ll have a word with uniform and see if they can spare anybody for a bit of babysitting.’

  Alone in his room, Dooley regretted the day he ever did that first conversion. What a bloody mess.

  Bernie moved and sat at Trish’s desk, feet up. ‘So, Jimbo how long have you been a Civilian Advisor?’

  ‘Officially, a couple of months, mind you I’ve known Greg - DS Warren long before I took the job.’

  ‘That how you got the job?’

  ‘No, that was the DI’s idea, I’d done work for them both in the past.’

  ‘You know a bit about police procedures then?’

  ‘That’s a tricky one, let’s say I know a bit more about what it’s like on the other side of the law.’

  ‘So, what sort of work have you done for them?’

  ‘Cool stuff,’ Jimbo answered proudly.

  ‘Sounds interesting, tell me more.’

  Elvis said nothing, he simply sat taking it all in.

  Jimbo went on the defensive. ‘Sorry, mate, that’s something you’ll have to ask the Sarge and the DI.’

  Bernie tried probing a little deeper. ‘C’mon, you can tell us. We’re interested aren’t we, Eddie?’

  Non-committal, Elvis shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Soz,’ the younger man said, ‘my lips are sealed.’

  ‘I will find out you know.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but you’ll get fuck all out of me, now leave it alone.’

  ‘Sorry, Jimbo, I didn’t mean anything by it, just curious that’s all.’

  ‘It’s okay, forget it.’

  But it had set the cogs working in Bernie’s head, he was determined to somehow find out what the true relationship was between Jimbo and Warren. ‘Going for a piss,’ he said, standing up and walking out of the office letting the door slam behind him.

  ‘Seem to have hit a nerve there,’ said Jimbo. Elvis shrugged once more. ‘Don’t say much do you, Eddie?’

  ‘Only when I have something to say,’ he replied running his hand through the quiff.

  ‘How come you know Trish?’

  ‘We did our probation together at Tower Grange. How about you?’

  ‘Just mates really, maybe a bit more than mates, if you know what I mean?’ Jimbo said giving a wink.

  Elvis gave a ‘whatever’ shrug like he recognised bullshit when he heard it, and Jimbo just knew it was going to be a struggle to get on with the bloke.

  ‘Trish, when uniform locate London and bring him in, I want you to take the interview, keep Jimbo well out of the way. We don’t want him getting any inkling about Jimbo.’

  ‘No problem, I’ll take Bernie in with me.’

  ‘Talking about Bernie …’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You know him well?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that, we’ve worked together on quite a few occasions, had a couple of drinks, that sort of thing.’

  ‘The occasional drink, nothing more?’

  ‘If he’d had his way it w
ould have been, but he’s not my type. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just curious, what I really want to know is, can he keep his mouth shut? You know how we - I work, I wouldn’t like to think he’ll go running off and telling the Super as soon as he gets wind of anything untoward.’

  ‘I’ll sound him out, if I don’t think he’s right for us I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Fair enough - then you can sack him.’

  ‘Above my pay grade, Greg, you can do your own dirty work.’ They both laughed as the tension eased.

  ‘In the meantime, I have a meeting with Powers.’

  ‘Good luck with that.’

  Mouse had work to do, he had yet to carry out Powers previous request, no, not request - order. Robbo was still alive, and how was he going to do it? He knew one thing, Powers wouldn’t stand for him cocking it up again, best to get it done with, it was time he made a visit to the Infirmary.

  Mouse lived in a flat above The Rose, the same place Jimbo and Warren had visited not so long ago. The licensee was a brash woman who even scared Mouse at times, not that she ever made an appearance, licensee in name only. The pub was owned by a London Holding Company, a director of which was Neil Powers. The entrance to the upstairs flat was via a private door, adjacent to the front door of the pub. Mouse locked the flat door, bounded down the narrow staircase two at a time, opened the front door and almost ran straight into the arms of two very large uniformed officers. ‘Whoa, steady up, pal, where are you rushing off to?’ PC Speck asked, as he held his hands up and took a step back.

  Mouse froze when he saw the two coppers standing on his doorstep.

  ‘I take it you are Sebastian London?’ asked Speck’s oppo. Mouse had been taken by surprise and nodded, he didn’t have time to try and be sarcastic. ‘We’d like you to come down the station and answer a few questions.’

  ‘Questions about what, I ain’t done anything?’ He spat out as he regained his composure.

  ‘Did we say you have?’ said Speck.’

  ‘You arresting me?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Then I ain’t coming,’ he said reaching behind him to close the door before they had a chance to enter.

  Speck, built like a brick shipyard, took a step close, emphasising his height and stature over the shorter man. ‘I will arrest you if that’s what you want?’ he said looking down on Mouse.