by Robert White
“Ain’t we all pal.”
Dave flung himself back onto his bunk. He was frustrated and scared. He wished the man had taken the bait. He wanted to punch him, hurt him. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. “My God,” he thought, “what is happening to me?”
The cell remained quiet. The Manchester face was silent, opting to read a book. Dave listened to the activity going on outside. He was amazed at the level of noise. It seemed everyone with a radio or tape player only had one volume level. Full up. People shouted to each other between cells. He had no watch, time had stood still.
Then a different set of noises came to the block. Dave sensed something was happening. Eventually the cell door was opened. It was time for food and recreation.
He didn’t move. He wasn’t hungry and he didn’t want to socialise with the others.
His cellmate stood and pulled on a football shirt. “You commin’ for some grub or not?”
Dave didn’t answer. The face shrugged, resigned to the fact his new cellmate was a moody fucker and left to eat.
Dave was alone again. He sat on the end of his bunk and handled the carton of cigarettes Ross had given him. He thought about inspecting the contents but decided to wait until he knew more about the regime in the jail. Instead, he took off the cotton cover from his pillow, removed sufficient stuffing, and inserted the carton in the space; not the best hiding place but it would do for now.
Dave put the stuffing he had removed down the toilet and relieved his bowels on top of it. He replaced the pillowcase and rested his head on his prize possession, whatever it was.
An age passed. The smell of boiled food permeated the air inside the block. The strange rattle of plastic cutlery and a blaring television echoed around the bare hard surfaces of his cell. Eventually the sounds of the men returning from recreation made Dave sit up.
Dave’s cellmate walked in with another older male. Dave ignored them both. The older man stood and stared at Dave. He waited for the face to leave, but the staring continued, silent and menacing.
The visitor was grossly overweight. Large rolls of fat rippled under a very dirty T-shirt. It was difficult to be precise but Dave put him at middle-aged. His balding head glistened with sweat and what hair remained was greasy and unkempt. He was also causing a very unpleasant smell.
Dave could feel his temper rising again. He was about to fuck the fat bastard off, when a guard appeared to announce ‘lock down.’
The fat man shuffled out of the cell without speaking. The cell door was closed and Dave’s cellmate spoke.
“What did you think of Henry then?”
Dave’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. “He stinks. Why did you bring him here?”
The man smiled. “I didn’t. Henry wanted a look at you. He’s not a full shilling, if you know what I mean like? Plus, if Henry thinks you don’t like him, well, he’s the type to put a few holes in you with his toothbrush. Like I said, there are some really sick fucks in here.”
Dave eyed his cellmate. “I didn’t realise I was such a celebrity.”
The man seemed thoughtful. Eventually, he spoke, “Listen, mate, we got off on the wrong foot before; me and you. We both have to share this box for a while, so,” the man extended his hand, “I’m Jimmy.”
Dave was reluctant, but took the hand. There was no chance of a firm handshake just yet. “Dave.”
Jimmy took a small pile of books from under his bunk and handed them over the small space. “Here’s some reading material. You’ll go mad without it.”
Dave took the tatty paperbacks and flicked through the first. It had a picture of a woman in a bikini on the front. The title told the story. Dave was unimpressed. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for ‘Beach Babes’.” He turned to the next book, “Or ‘Randy Riders.” He noted the rest of the books were on a similar theme. “Where did you get these then Jimmy?”
“The library trolley; it comes around once a week like.”
Dave sighed and added sarcastically, “The fuckin’ highlight of the week eh?”
Jimmy grew serious, “Look Dave, I don’t care if you were a copper, and before you say, yeah, everyone knows. The bush telegraph like. I got nothing against coppers. To me, people don’t have anyone to blame for being in here but themselves. Take it from me; the whole block knows why you’re here. Most will give you a wide berth like, you having been in the filth. Some though, will still come after you. So you watch your back.”
Dave let the words sink in for a moment. “I’ve been watching my back for a long time Jimmy. I’m getting pretty good at it.”
Jimmy stood. He couldn’t help but notice Dave’s physique. “I can see that.”
The wiry man walked the few paces to the toilet. He dropped his shorts and sat. He read Dave’s face. “You’ll get used to this. There’s no privacy in here. Some wank in front of each other too.”
“I don’t, I do it in the shower. Trouble is, every time I go out in the rain now, I get a hard on.”
Dave smiled at Jimmy’s attempt at humour, but it was short lived.
The two men lay on their beds in the semi darkness, the central heating over doing its job. The incessant noise still came from outside jangling Dave’s nerves. Both had been silent for a while, when Dave spoke, “Why are you here Jimmy?”
“Me? I’m a pimp. Rent boys like.”
Jimmy’s voice was flat, as if the information was the most natural thing in the world. In the half-light, Jimmy could see the look of disgust on Dave’s face.
“Like I said, there are some really sick fucks in this place.”
eighteen
Andy Dunn had just finished his evening tour. He walked from the nick to the ‘Black Bull’ feeling very sorry for himself; he had been unable to concentrate all day.
The place was packed and filled with smoke. He had to walk sideways to get to the bar. He must have excused himself ten times on the way.
Lucy smiled when she saw her man. She, of course, was busy and was pouring pints for England. She shouted over the din of inebriated fellows. “Hi Andy! Just give me a minute love and I’ll be with you.”
Moment’s later Lucy placed a pint of Andy’s favourite bitter in front of him. She leaned over the bar, displaying mountainous cleavage. “How you doin’ Andy love?”
The burley officer drained almost half of his beer in one go. He wiped the foam from his mouth and shook his head. He couldn’t get his mind around what Marshall had told him.
“I’m OK I suppose. Just been thinking about poor Dave locked up with all that scum.”
Lucy straightened and pulled a second beer in readiness. “I was in the Court today. It was so sad. Dave looked like a little boy. Can’t you do anything Andy? I’m sure they’ve made a mistake. He’s such a nice lad, always so polite.”
Andy drained the remainder of his first drink. “I’m going to try, love. But you know there are some real high flyers involved in this job and they don’t take much notice of an old beat copper like me.”
Lucy beckoned Andy closer and whispered, “There’s a few of them in the taproom now. They’ve been talking about the case but I couldn’t hear much.”
Andy nodded, collected his new beer and walked into the small, even smokier snug. This room had once the domain of men only and Andy was old enough to remember.
Marshall, Slick Jemson and a woman Andy didn’t know were seated at a table in the corner. Marshall saw Andy first. The senior officer looked a little pissed.
“’Armless, come and have a beer with us.”
Marshall’s words were the worse for the drink, confirming Andy’s first impressions. He joined the team and Marshall put his arm around Andy’s massive shoulders.
“Andy, I think you know Slick here and this is Marie.”
Andy shook hands all round.
Marshall spoke a little too loudly into Andy’s ear, his cockney accent more pronounced than usual. “Well me and the team here are having a celebration. We just wrapped up a tri
ple murder in record time.”
Marshall picked up his glass and raised it toward his colleagues. “Here’s to fucking justice eh?”
Andy had never seen Marshall so out of control. Even on their rugby drinking sessions, Marshall was always on the ball. Slick stepped into the breach. He put his hand on the shoulder of his senior. “Come on boss, I think it’s time we were off.”
Marshall ignored Slick and shrugged off the hand. The alcohol had loosened his tongue. He didn’t care who heard. “Listen Andy, you were right. This job, it stinks. It really stinks.”
‘Slick’ had a second go. “Come on boss.”
This time Marshall stood. He seemed very unsteady on his feet. He tapped the bridge of his nose. “You’ll be getting a visit Andy. Just you be careful. This whole business could take a few people down with it. Mark my words.”
Andy wanted to know who would be visiting, but it wasn’t the time or place to be asking questions. Andy let the remark pass and the three Serious Crime Squad officers left the bar. He pushed his way back through to the main bar and resumed his previous position, watching Lucy pull pints. He mulled over what he had witnessed. If Marshall was so uncertain, the job must be dodgy. Andy knew Marshall well. He was a good bloke. Straight as they come.
Andy had to do something. It couldn’t wait any longer. He beckoned Lucy, “I’m off love. Are you coming back to my place tonight?”
She giggled trying to be light hearted, but she could see her man was in a serious mood. “Ooh, always the romantic aren’t you. Yeah, I suppose so. I’ve got my key.”
Andy drained the remnants of his drink. Someone was out there free and his mate Dave was stuck in jail. Well, whoever was responsible now had another serious problem. Andy Dunn.
His head was full of pieces of information as he walked from the pub to the nick. He entered through the garage door and used the lift near the charge office. The nightshift had already left for duty and the place was deserted.
He reached the second floor, un-noticed and saw that the incident room was in darkness, all the detectives having left for the night. He knew of course, he shouldn’t be there.
He definitely shouldn’t be poking around in the files but it was the only place he could think to start.
After a few minutes of searching, he had found what he was looking for and set about copying the huge file that now represented Dave Stewart's fate.
The Xerox whooshed and clicked away. Andy felt less and less comfortable. He was on the final page of the file when he heard the footsteps.
He moved quickly for a big man. He scooped up his photocopies and pushed the originals back into the cardboard sleeve. By the time the figure stood back lit in the doorway, Andy was concealed in the darkness, crouched behind a nearby desk.
The man walked cautiously in the half-light to the copier that still buzzed from its recent use. He studied it and lifted the lid.
In his hurry to conceal himself, Andy had left the last sheet of the Stewart file in the copier. Curious, the man lifted it closer to his face in order to see the written text.
To Andy’s relief, the man then simply slotted the sheet into the remainder of the file, which lay on the nearest desk, fumbled for the switch and turned off the copier.
To Andy’s discomfort, the man didn’t leave. He walked to a desk and sat. He produced a packet of cigarettes and lit one. The light from the flame revealed the man’s face. It was Clive Williams.
Clive didn’t look too good. He always looked a little rough, but today he looked like a vagrant. His clothes looked wet, as if he had been walking in the rain for some considerable time. He rooted in the desk cupboard and found a bottle of scotch.
Clive simply sat in the darkness, smoked one cigarette after another and guzzled the contents of the bottle.
Andy’s legs were numb with the wait, but he couldn’t move. He had to stay and hope Williams didn’t investigate further.
After the fourth cigarette Andy’s wish came true. Williams stood to leave. Clive could barely walk and Andy presumed that the scotch had not been the first of the day. It seemed everyone involved in this job had been either celebrating, or drowning his sorrows this night.
Andy waited until Clive’s footsteps faded into the distance before leaving his hiding place. He had to get home and study the file. It was a small step, but where else could he start? He had to do it for Dave.
The walk to the rooftop car park revived Andy. He started to think more clearly. By the time he made it home he was in determined mood.
Lucy was making tea. She had only recently got used to making the brew the way Andy liked it, very strong, with only the slightest hint of milk.
He sat on the sofa with the mountainous file scattered on the coffee table in front of him as Lucy produced his brew.
“How’s it going sweetheart?”
Andy placed the cup away from the papers, took hold of Lucy by the waist and sat her on his knee. He gave her an affectionate squeeze and then looked down at the file.
“Well Lucy, I’m no legal expert, but the whole of Dave’s so-called motive is in these papers. He is supposed to have changed his statement in the Bailey job, but there’s no copy of his original here. That means, no one can say for certain. Dave told me that McCauley wanted it changed, was that the truth or was Dave covering himself with me? Did Dave change it, or did someone else?”
Andy picked up two sheets of paper and held them up for Lucy to see.
“This is a copy of Bailey’s property sheet. This is filled in as soon as a prisoner arrives at the nick, by the charge office Sergeant. It lists everything a prisoner has on him at the time. As you can see, there is a record of a pair of rubber gloves being in Bailey’s possession. Now, Dave told me himself, he left them in his coat by mistake. Again, did Dave add it to the sheet to keep McCauley happy or did someone else, involved in the case do it?”
Andy turned to the second sheet. “And this is a copy of the Crime Property Ledger. This shows the gloves against Bailey’s name, but the times are uncoordinated. The entry is late. The whole job revolved around these gloves. Did someone else change these documents, as well as his statement, in order to please McCauley, or do we believe the Police evidence that he did it all off his own bat?
If you believe the Police, Dave then killed Bailey to keep this information from coming out. But why would he need to do that? Bailey was just a street thug, a small time burglar and brawler. All Dave needed to do was steal and destroy the original Bailey documents.
Finally he supposedly went to visit Anne, found her with McCauley and, we are meant to believe that he was in such a jealous rage, he killed them both.
It all seems very unlikely to me. Basically, the Police believe that Dave acted alone in this job. Ok, he did cock up. I know that, but did he change all these documents? Did he lie to me in the pub that day about McCauley?”
Lucy seemed puzzled, looked at the papers, and pointed to the final entry on Bailey’s property sheet. “This handwriting is the same as the writing in the Property thingy.”
Andy nodded, “Yes, but did Dave write it? I haven’t got anything to compare it to.”
Lucy jumped up. “I have.”
Lucy was gone for a few moments and returned to the room holding a greeting card. “Remember this?” she bubbled. “You and a few of the regular lads got it for my birthday. Dave wrote a message in it and signed it.”
Andy took the card and for once was pleased that Lucy did clutter his bedroom with what he referred to as junk.
He studied all three samples of handwriting for a few moments and shook his head. “Well, someone has been very sloppy here. This handwriting on the card is nothing like the writing on the documents.”
Lucy positively squeaked with pleasure, “So I solved the case?” Andy was forced to smile. “It’s a step in the right direction sweetheart.” Lucy leapt to her feet and let out a joyous cry. Andy sat back and looked at his girlfriend with growing affection. “OK baby, but it’s
far from over yet. So we know Dave didn’t alter the papers. If it was McCauley though, why is he dead?”
Andy rubbed his eyes. He was fading fast.
Lucy gave him a look that he had come to recognise. She lifted her T-shirt over her head, revealing her ample charms in all their glory. Her voice became babyish, “Now you can put those papers away and come and play with Lucy.”
As Andy lay on his bed, still sweating from the exertion of his encounter with Lucy, his mind wandered to Dave.
How was he coping with life inside jail? Was he OK and who should he go to with his new found information?
There were too many questions without answers. Hopefully, he would have some of them tomorrow.
Dave had slept fitfully and was already awake when the guard opened the cell hatch to announce breakfast.
Dave wearily slid from his bunk and took the plastic plate from the man. It contained bacon and beans swimming in grease.
The guard asked for Dave’s cup and filled it with tea from a large pot. Dave tasted it. It came with milk and lots of sugar whether you wanted it or not.
Jimmy didn’t move and the guard didn’t offer food to him. Dave sat on his bunk and sipped the sweet, lukewarm liquid. He decided against the food. He didn’t think his stomach could take it anyway.
One plus, his hands seemed to be recovering. He could now feel all of his fingers and grip his mug with a certain amount of comfort. He picked up one of the trashy paperbacks that Jimmy had given him. He flicked through the pages but couldn’t get interested. His mind kept wandering to Anne.
Dave had been out with a number of women. He had a steady girlfriend for over a year, back in his days in Yorkshire. He had dated a few since his move to Lancashire too.
None compared to Anne.
She had been different. She was a mature and beautiful, intelligent woman with a great sense of fun. Dave lay back on his bunk and closed his eyes.
He could almost see her beautiful face, smiling, happy and full of life. Her lovely hair fell around as she cocked her head to one side.
