by Robert White
Anne rode the lift to her office. The pile of papers on her desk had continued to rise despite the Townsend murder. It was Anne’s weekend off and the paperwork had to be done before she left. So much for the glamour of being a detective.
Removing her jacket, Anne sat at her desk and felt dog-tired. She rummaged in her bag for a packet of cigarettes. Finding she had none, she swore under her breath and went on a hunt around the various detectives’ desks. She found a pack, stole one and lit it.
Her father had been begging her to quit for years. She had made a decent attempt at New Year and lasted ten days.
The first file she opened was William Henry Bailey’s.
Anne skimmed through until she reached Dave Stewart's witness statement. It was typed and signed by the officer, but his original hand written statement was missing.
Anne stared at the statement and then looked at the pile of work to her left.
“Oh leave it.” Anne snapped the file closed. Whatever was bothering her could wait. Bailey had, after all, confessed and there was now other fish to fry. One thing she had learned since being promoted to Sergeant was to get straight on with the next job. No point in basking in former glory, or dwelling on a missed opportunity.
Another busy officer sat in the parade room on the ground floor. Dave Stewart had four drunk and Disorderly files to complete and a rather nasty assault to box off before he could leave. He was also nursing an eye that was rapidly swelling and becoming black.
Friday night in Preston town centre was a rough gig for any copper but the foot patrol lads were normally first on the scene and first to get thumped.
At 6.45 a.m. Dave collected his paperwork and went upstairs to the CID office to dump the assault file on the duty jack’s desk. He was surprised to find the lights still on and even more surprised to hear the voice of Anne Wallace.
“You forget to duck then David?”
“What…?”
No one called him David, not even his Mam. Anne’s voice was velvet and Dave stood a little open mouthed as he watched Anne stretch herself and yawn. As her clasped hands reached upward behind her head, her blouse lifted over the waistband of her skirt to reveal her flat pale belly. Dave was mesmerised and had lost all track of the conversation.
“The eye David!”
Anne had finished her stretch and was pointing at his head. Dave remembered the gist of what she was talking about and touched his damaged eye absently. “Oh this …err…its nothing much.”
Anne was replacing the tail of her blouse into her skirt. She stood and started to organise her desk as she spoke. “So, David Stewart, arrest any more murderers tonight?”
Dave allowed a smile and shook his head, feeling very tense.
“No, well not tonight, me ‘n Armless have got the next five days off, so I thought I’d leave the poor murderers alone fer a while like.”
It was the first time Anne had seen Dave smile and she was dumbfounded as to the reason it gave her butterflies. She picked up her briefcase. “Five days off eh? You are a lucky boy. Anything or anyone special planned?”
Dave placed his report on the duty detective’s desk. He could feel himself reddening. “Not really Sarge no, a few beers with the big fella, then maybe a run over to Blackpool for the night y’know?”
Seeing his discomfort spurred Anne on and she locked her gaze firmly onto Dave. It was a game she’d played many times before with men. Anne knew she was beautiful, she’d known for years, ever since Henry Olgaby had fought Clarence Hadley for the right to take her to the college dance. She’d let them fight too. Both boys were strong and tough rugby players and it was a vicious encounter that Anne watched until Olgaby was beaten and bloodied. Even though she’d felt a slight pang of guilt as the boy was helped away, the violence had excited her. She was aroused by it. Hadley had remained her ‘squeeze’ until university.
David Stewart was a powerful young man. Anne considered he was more than a match for many and felt the familiar stirring as she admired his broad shoulders.
“It’s my weekend off too,” she said, eyes set on him.
Dave was nervous. He knew exactly what was going on. It was just that this kind of thing just didn’t happen to him. He knew what he wanted to say. In fact, he was rarely stuck for words when it came to women. But Anne was older and more experienced than he was and he felt intimidated by her openness, confidence and beauty. This wasn’t a girl from a council estate in Sheffield or Rotherham, after a couple of rum ‘n blacks and a fumble in the back seat.
Anne had waited long enough for the young officer.
“Oh David!” She flounced back into her seat sending her hair into her face, which made her look even more like Penthouse Pet of the Year. Her accent was posher than anything Dave had heard in real life and it made every syllable seem sex-laden.
“Everything in this nick, that sports a pair of testicals, and some that don’t, try to get into my knickers on an hourly basis; simply everyone David. Coppers, villains, solicitors; do I make myself clear? Here I am putting it on a plate for you and you don’t even notice!”
Dave had lost the plot, of course he’d noticed. “I’m sorry I…”
“Oh forget it!” Anne was starting to feel like a silly schoolgirl whose game had gone wrong.
“No Sarge, I mean Anne. I’d love to get into; I mean, take you, aaagh!”
Dave held his head in his hands. Idiot! Idiot! Then he heard Anne laughing. It was a wonderful sound. She held her head to one side. Her hair fell past her elbow. It shone even in the dismal office light. Dave found himself holding his breath.
“OK Mr. Romance how’s your memory?”
“Pretty good.”
“Then remember this. 8.30, tonight, The Winchester. Dress nice. Bring wallet. Got that?”
Dave found himself drawn into Anne’s gaze, the eye contact telling both people the same story. Silent seconds went by that could have been minutes, yet neither had cause to break the spell. There was an atmosphere, electricity filled the air. At that moment all David Stewart’s worries were unimportant. Life was wonderful. With a beaming smile he said, “I won’t forget.”
Words spoken and the spell broken, Anne did her utmost to regain her own composure.
“Alright then.”
She stifled a giggle and put her hand on her hips. “Off you go then Constable.”
Dave did a mock salute and strode from the office. He stepped into the lift, hit the ground button and fell against the wall of the descending elevator. He felt like a pools winner. What a day he’d had.
Anne watched the lift doors close, walked back inside and stole another fag from the desk in the corner of the office. She sat at her desk and shook her head.
She needed a reality check. What the hell was she playing at? Stewart must be ten years younger than her, at least. The self inflicted chastisement failed miserably and she found that the smile was still on her face. It deserted her the second she picked up a pen and wrote:
Boss,
I’m due a little time off, my desk is clear; I’m going to take three days. See you Thursday morning. You know where to reach me if anything goes pear shaped.
Anne.
five
Billy paced his cell. His cold, bare feet made slapping sounds on the solid floor.
He had just awoken from a nightmare, a terrible vivid blast of colour, in which Elsie May Townsend and his long dead grandmother had been teaching him to read. A skill incidentally he still found almost impossible to master.
Both women were ghastly creatures, their flesh dropping from their faces in soggy puss filled clumps.
His breath was short and a terrible weight was on his chest as Billy attempted to read each word, another festering piece of flesh fell on the page obscuring his view. He had screamed so loud that the pig sitting outside his cell door had rushed inside thinking Billy was topping himself.
For now though, he paced, muttering to himself eyes wild. With each turn he hunched his shoulders o
r gesticulated to imaginary demons. The already vulnerable young man was close to the edge of his sanity, total mental breakdown.
Billy had been formally charged with the murder of Elsie May Townsend, the malicious wounding of Police Constable Stephen Jones and four counts of burglary in a dwelling. In all his young life, he had never been so scared. The fear baited him, dragged him down to the depths of despair. To Billy, the ultimate weakness, fear, was tearing at his soul. This time, he couldn’t beat it.
Dave Stewart stood outside ‘The Winchester’. A Victorian manor house standing amid manicured grounds. It was once a family home for a wealthy Lancashire mill owner. It was now the premier country house restaurant in the County. To Dave, it just looked very posh.
He had been out that afternoon and bought himself a new jacket especially for the occasion.
To say he felt uncomfortable would have been a fair comment. When he drove into the car park, he found that his vehicle was the only one that was over five years old, unless you counted the classic red E-Type.
As he peered into the doorway of the restaurant, he felt like the proverbial fish out of water. You can take the boy out of Barnsley and all that.
Taking a deep breath he stepped inside. A very dour Maitre D’ in a tuxedo immediately met him. A small portly man, with a permanent look of rancour on his face; he was very bald, but did his best to disguise it with a comb over that defied gravity. Unknown to him, a feature that was the source of great amusement to the young waitresses employed under him.
He spoke with a very large plum in his mouth. “Good evening sir, have you a reservation?”
Did Dave have a reservation? He didn’t know. He could walk into a bar-room brawl with all the confidence in the world, but, at the end of the day, he was a boy from a council estate in Yorkshire. Had Anne made a booking in her name?
Dave must have taken too long to answer because the suit made a pathetic little coughing sound and said, “Sir we are always full at The Winchester. If one has no reservation, I’m afraid that waiting is simply pointless.”
The very rude little man then opened the door and, with a slightly camp flick of the wrist, gestured for Dave to leave.
This irritated him no end. He suddenly realised that he spent all his working days in a position of authority. Now was as good a time as any to demonstrate his skills. Dave towered over the headwaiter. His broad shoulders filling the new jacket he was sporting. His close-cropped hair slicked back especially for the night. He was a substantial figure.
Dave placed his hand on the shoulder of the Maitre D’ and squeezed just hard enough to make his presence felt. He lowered his voice to a whisper. The guy knew he was in trouble and was hoping he hadn’t gone too far this time with the lower class clientele.
“Now listen to me, Mr. Waiter. I’m here to meet a young lady. Her name is Miss Wallace. My name, and you will remember this, is Mister Stewart. Now off you go and check whatever you have to. When you’ve done that, come back and show me to a table. I’ll be in the bar.”
Dave thought that the man would faint. He’d turned a deathly grey colour and developed an instant stammer. “Y...Y...Yes Mister...err…”
“Stewart,” Dave prompted, smiled sweetly, parked himself at the bar and ordered a scotch.
He sipped the malt. The liquid warmed his throat. It felt good. This was how the other half lived eh?
Anne’s voice snapped him back from his thoughts.
“David! I turn my back for five minutes and here you are frightening poor Maurice.”
Dave turned to see Anne standing next to the Maitre D’ head tilted to one side, hand, theatrically on hip. The pose was almost identical to that when he left her at the station. The big difference was how she looked.
Anne was stunning; a black satin dress hugged her figure like a second skin. It was worn just over her knees. Her bare shoulders shimmered in the subdued light. A small gold necklace nestled around her throat. Her hair was somehow held in place for once, like a crown on top of her head. Shimmering ringlets giggled either side of her beautiful face.
Dave was totally speechless.
The Maitre d’ had recovered his composure. “Your table is ready Mister Stewart.”
Dave never took his eyes from Anne. “Thank you Maurice.”
They were seated in a corner of the plush dining room. The polished oak paneled walls and blood red Wilton carpets complimented just the right number of tables for romantic privacy. Maurice immediately presented the menu, and finally, the pair were left alone for the first time.
Anne leaned forward and rested her chin on the back of her hands. The candlelight made her skin glow and her eyes flash.
“So,” she began, “feeling firm and manly tonight are we?”
“He’s just, you know, he’s a wind up merchant. I can’t be doing with those types”
Dave lowered his voice and gestured with his thumb toward Maurice, “He’s a snob and I hate snobs.”
“So I see,” Anne smiled and checked the menu.
Dave did the same and blurted, “do you come here often?”
Anne looked up at Dave and somehow managed to keep a straight face. As the very nervous young man realised what he had said, they both burst out laughing.
The ice broken, two strangers entered into the conversation of first dates. Anne banned the subject of Police work, but announced any other subject as fair game. She talked of her family, University, her dreams of becoming a lawyer and her love of anything that goes fast.
Dave listened and watched as Anne, animated and staggeringly beautiful, chattered away as if they were long lost friends. The first course arrived. Dave had never seen food presented like it. He hoped he had enough cash to pay the bill.
Eventually the wine started to have an effect and Dave’s confidence level rose.
“I need to ask you something Anne.”
Anne drained her glass and lifted the bottle to refill it, “Ok, shoot.”
“Why did you come on to me at the station, you know what I mean, why me?”
It was a fair question. It could have thrown Anne but it didn’t.
Instead, she reached across the table and stroked Dave’s face with her fingers. The wickedest smile etched across her face. It was their first physical contact. A touch filled with the excitement of a new liaison.
New affection.
“You’re cute,” Anne pouted, “and I have a fetish for younger men.”
“Really?”
“Yes, always been the case since John Stapleton, one year below me at high school. Well, that and you don’t stare at my boobs all the time.”
Dave laughed, “I do so. It’s just that I’m sneaky about it.”
Anne rested her chin on her hands. “Oh David, I can’t say why. I suppose you just seem a good guy, you’re handsome, you have broad shoulders and I’m sick and tired of lecherous fools. I need something different in my life you know? Someone decent.”
Dave considered the stark reality of his situation. He couldn’t hide it. He was who he was. “Anne, where I come from, there aren’t those choices you talk about. If you can find work it’s the pit, or the steelwork. Most of the pits are going. Dad says they’ll all be gone in five years and God only knows what will happen then. My family had never even thought of having a child attend University. My mum isn’t well, and me Dad, well he hasn’t worked since…well, not in a long time.”
Dave took a drink. He suddenly needed it, as much as he needed to get his cards on the table. It was the Yorkshire way, no point in painting false pictures.
“I know this is only dinner Anne and I know as well as anyone this may not lead anywhere, but I have to say you, not you personally, but what you are, frightens me. I mean, I’ll bet no one in your family has ever been a bouncer in a bar have they?”
Anne shook her head.
“And none of your family lives in a council house do they?”
Anne jumped in, mildly irritated, “No and they don’t work down a
mine, wear flat caps or eat black pudding. So what does that mean to you David? My family has money. So what? I’m not ashamed of that, or them, because they’ve done well and worked hard every day to make sure of it. I can tell you. I don’t need to work at all, let alone fight every sexist boss in the force to try and make a career as a copper.”
Anne took Dave’s hand in hers. Her voice mellowed. “David, you have something that all the money in the world will not buy. People like you. They like you for what you are and not what you can give them. That’s a precious commodity. It can’t be bought.”
It was Anne’s turn to be serious. The eye contact made her giddy. She knew she should take this slowly, but something was pushing her on like a driverless rain.
“I like you David. I like you a lot.”
Dave tore himself from Anne’s gaze, picked up the cheque for the food and wine that Maurice had slipped onto the table and studied it. He allowed what had been said to sink in before he spoke, “I hope you like me enough to go halves on this bill!”
Anne was laughing again. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much in one evening.
“I like you enough to take you dancing too.”
The pair stood in the car park of The Winchester and tried to work out who was sober and could drive. As neither could decide, they took a cab.
‘The Square’ was a nightclub that attracted the local Constabulary in numbers. They had a strict dress code and door policy that kept the most of the local faces at bay, although those on the shady side of business were always welcome. It also attracted lots of single females.
