With a Narrow Blade

by Faith Martin

  He grinned into the phone. ‘That’s nice that is,’ he bellowed loudly, so that she could hear him, and ignored the sigh his long-suffering wife gave, who really was trying to watch EastEnders. ‘Here’s us retired, poor old clapped-out buggers doing your work for you, when you so-called elite are swaggering about swilling it down at the boozer.’

  Hillary, who was sitting at a table with her boss, Keith Barrington, Janine and Mel and, unfortunately, Frank Ross, kept her face perfectly straight. ‘Yes, speaking,’ she said flatly.

  Mitch whistled. ‘Can’t talk, huh?’

  ‘It’s not really convenient right at this moment.’

  ‘OK, just a quick update then. I think I’ve found your man. I’ll let you know when it’s more than an old copper’s gut feeling and nasty suspicion.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Hillary said, and waited for Mitch to hang up before flipping her phone shut. She smiled across at Mel, who’d raised an eyebrow. ‘An old snout, probably blowing bubbles,’ she said dismissively. ‘It’s my round, isn’t it? What’s everyone having?’

  When she got back to the bar, Barrington helping her to transport the drinks, Danvers was filling Mel in on her latest case, evidently bewailing the fact that there were no solid leads.

  ‘Those sorts of cases can be a sod,’ Mel said, catching Hillary’s eye as she sat down. ‘I know just how frustrating they can be. No apparent motive, or none that really stands up to scrutiny. Plenty of forensics, but nothing that tells you something useful. No witnesses to speak of, going nowhere fast. It’s even worse when it’s one of the elderly that’s been victimized.’

  Hillary shrugged. ‘Early days yet. We’ve still got leads to follow up.’

  Janine shot her a quick ‘have we?’ look that everyone at the table caught. Frank Ross smirked, and drank his beer. ‘It’ll be the scumbag grandson,’ he said. ‘We just won’t be able to prove it.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Frank.’ Hillary smiled cheerfully at him. ‘Always good to have the right attitude. Remember that, Keith.’

  Ross scowled at Keith, who pretended not to hear.

  ‘So, the big day Friday,’ Paul Danvers said, glancing at his immediate superior. ‘Still can’t tempt you into a bit of a do afterwards?’

  ‘No,’ Mel grinned. ‘Janine and I have plans for the weekend though.’

  Janine beamed and reached across to take Mel’s hand. Hillary watched them and sighed. If the Flo Jenkins case suddenly cracked open and they needed all hands on board, she knew who she wouldn’t be calling. She saw Keith Barrington’s lips twitch, and realized she’d telegraphed her thoughts. Barrington was bright and perceptive, no two ways about it. She’d have to remember that in the future.

  Thinking about Barrington, it was time she hauled him out into the open, kicking and screaming if she had to. It might be cruel, but it had to be done. Everyone at the station was gossiping about him, and the sooner he was a known quantity the better. There was nothing else for it to be quick and brutal. It was far kinder that way.

  ‘So, Keith,’ she said, her voice, though quiet, instantly attracting everyone’s attention. ‘Just why did you put your old sergeant back at Blacklock Green in hospital?’

  Keith went pale. It wasn’t hard for him to do, given his colouring, but the unexpected attack, and the direction from which it came, clearly took the ground out from under him. Although it had only been a few days, he’d begun to feel comfortable in his new work environment and had begun to trust Hillary Greene. Now he shot her a look like a dog that had been unfairly kicked by its master.

  ‘Yeah, let’s …’ Frank began, but Hillary shot out, hard and fast.

  ‘Shut up, Ross. I don’t want to hear it from you.’

  Ross went red. Danvers reached slowly for his beer, wondering what Hillary was doing, and if it was wise. Mel, who knew her better, said nothing, but simply waited. He knew only sketchy details himself, since the firm from the Smoke hadn’t been very forthcoming. Not that that was surprising. No station liked to wash their dirty linen in public for all and sundry to laugh at.

  Hillary waited until Keith looked at her again, before saying quietly, ‘We need to know. Surely you can see that? I need to know what makes you lose control to that extent. And unless I can trust you, it’s pointless you being a member of this team. And you’re not deaf and blind – you must be aware of the idle speculation that’s going around about you. It’s far better to have the truth out in the open. And besides, I want to hear your version of it.’

  Something about the steady way she spoke, and perhaps the unspoken promise that she was not about to judge him without a hearing, made Keith Barrington square up to her in his chair. ‘OK guv,’ he said flatly. If she wanted it, she could have it. ‘Mick Barnes was a bastard. He was always a bastard, long before I joined the nick, and no doubt he still is. He was a natural born bully, often picking on those in uniform and making their life hell. When I was assigned to his team, he decided it would be more fun to have someone he could torment on a day to day basis. And I took it. I took the constant put-downs, the way he’d pull rank when he shouldn’t, the way he’d take credit for my work, the bad-mouthing to the brass and everything else that went with it.’

  He paused, took a breath, aware that everyone was hanging on his every word, took up his glass with a hand that wasn’t quite steady, and took a pull of draught bitter.

  ‘But it wasn’t as bad as it sounds,’ he carried on thoughtfully, determined to be scrupulously honest. ‘Everyone knew he was a bastard, and it didn’t take long for it to get around that he had it in for me. So Barnes couldn’t really do me that much harm. Our DI knew what he was about, all right, and the rest of the team made it their business that he got to know when I did well, because Barnes sure as hell wasn’t going to. My mates were supportive and let me blow off steam when I needed to. And maybe Barnes began to realize that he wasn’t doing himself any favours either, because after the first six months or so, he slackened off a bit.’ Barrington sighed. ‘I got used to dodging the worst of it, and like I said, the lads rallied around, never letting him get me down too much. And it would have gone on like that, I expect, until I could transfer away from the bastard. I was determined I wasn’t going to let him win, see. But then we got a tip-off about a body shop on our manor. This was right up our alley, because car theft figures had been rising steadily, and it had put the crime rate way up. And you know how the brass sing about that.’

  Mel, being ‘brass’ merely smiled. The rest simply waited for him to go on.

  ‘Well, a chop shop made sense. Young kids, working as a ring, lifting middle-range vehicles for the parts, all added up. We just didn’t know the chop shop was on our patch. Once a snitch let on, Barnes was all over it. Well, he would be, it had glory written all over it, and he wanted the kudos.’ Barrington took another sip of bitter and sighed again.

  ‘Anyway, this young kid, Jimmy Grigson, Grigsy we called him, volunteered to go undercover, posing as a young twocker. He looked like one too – he was nineteen, but could have passed for fourteen on a good day. Stick thin, gawky, spots and all. I didn’t think he was ready for it, to be honest. He’d only been in the force ten months, eager and all, and a good head on his shoulders, don’t think I’m doing him down. But not …’ Keith, as if aware of his own youth, looked suddenly embarrassed. ‘Well, he just didn’t have the experience to be thrown in at the deep end. Of course, he shouldn’t have volunteered in the first place, and I tried to talk him out of it, but once Barnes heard about it, he sold it to the super. Get a man on the inside, get a raid organized, find ’em bang to rights, and hey presto, the crime rates for the next month would fall by magical numbers.’

  Hillary had a very bad feeling about where this was going. Glancing across at Paul Danvers, she saw a similar tension in his own body language, so she obviously wasn’t the only one.

  ‘Well, at first, it all seemed to go OK,’ Barrington carried on. ‘Grigsy teamed up with this known car thief, who after a bit took h
im along on a job. He didn’t take him to the chop shop of course, just used him as a lookout. But then he used him again, then began to teach him the tricks of the trade. We knew it would only be a matter of time before Grigsy was trusted to do his own thieving, and take the car to the body shop, then we’d have ’em.’

  By now even Frank Ross was looking more interested in the story than his own sulking, and Hillary nodded encouragement. ‘And they did?’ she prompted softly.

  ‘Oh yeah, they did. We set up the car, of course, one from the motor pool. We watched Grigsy steal it, but Barnes was all for putting a tracer on it, the dozy bastard. As if people who butchered cars for a living wouldn’t spot it. Naturally, the DI vetoed it, but we didn’t follow Grigsy in case they spotted us. The plan was for Grigsy just to ascertain the location of the garage, and then we’d raid it another night.

  ‘Nothing wrong with that plan. It was simple, relatively safe for Grigsy, and it would probably have worked. But Barnes wanted more. He wanted to make sure the big fish was caught as well as the minnows. He wanted to know who was behind the garage and if he had more chop shops. So he persuaded the DI to hold off a bit.’ Barrington shook his head. ‘Of course, Grigsy was all for it. He was a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and still green enough behind the ears to think he was indestructible.’

  Hillary leaned slowly back in her chair. The writing was so clearly on the wall, she hardly needed to have it spelled out. But she’d asked for it, after all, so now she was going to take it.

  ‘Next day, we ran a trace on the garage, and sure enough it was a front for a man only too well known to us – a Kray wannabe called Wilkie Dalton. He’d done time for GBH, and was running one of the biggest protection rackets on our patch. Of course, the DI and Barnes went wild. If we could get Dalton dead to rights, the whole division would be celebrating for a week. So they let Grigsy run with it. We set up another car for him, this time got him to wear a wire. See if he could get them talking. And sure enough, we got one or two nibbles about Dalton being behind it all, but nothing we could take to court. Then Grigsy started to push it, suggesting they do something bigger and better – maybe start nicking top-of-the-range gear, shipping and selling it abroad. Pushing to have a word with the boss so that he could sell him on the idea.’

  Hillary shook her head and groaned. That was a mistake that no seasoned undercover officer would make.

  ‘I’ll bet the minnows loved that,’ Frank grunted. ‘As if they’d let a newcomer come in and start getting ideas above his station. What was your DI using for a brain?’

  ‘It wasn’t the DI,’ Barrington said flatly. ‘He’d gone into hospital with appendicitis by this point. This was all Barnes’ idea. The super let him run the investigation, thinking the DI would be back in a week. But Barnes saw the chance for glory, didn’t he, and egged Grigsy on. Well, one night, after he’d taken a Range Rover, me, another PC, Barnes and one of his cronies, were listening in on the wire, and a good job we were. The guy who’d brought Grigsy in on the scheme and two of his mates decided to teach him a lesson about hierarchy.’ Barrington’s voice became bitter now. ‘We got in there fast, but they’d already broken his jaw, collapsed his right lung, knocked out all but eight of his teeth, and punched him in the right eye so bad it detached his retina.’

  Janine Tyler drew in a sharp breath.

  ‘We cuffed the bastards and called the paramedics. Me and this other PC were lying on the ground with Grigsy, holding him, trying to keep him upright so that he could breathe better. Then Barnes started cursing about losing his chance to nab Dalton.’ Barrington drew in a ragged breath. ‘He didn’t even look at Grigsy. Just went on and on about Dalton wriggling off the hook. So I got up and belted him one,’ he finished abruptly.

  Hillary let the silence linger for a moment, and then said softly, ‘You only hit him once?’

  Keith Barrington met her eye and smiled grimly. ‘Just the once, guv. But I made it count.’

  Frank Ross snorted, but it was one of admiration. Hillary could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Barrington, it seemed, in spite of all the signs to the contrary, was turning out to be a man after his own heart after all.

  Hillary, however, rather doubted it. Frank Ross wouldn’t be able to take the months of bullying Barrington had obviously put up with. And that one single blow told Hillary that Barrington, more importantly, hadn’t totally lost control, if he’d lost it at all.

  ‘Of course, Barnes cut up rough. Tried to get me for assault, but no one was willing to back him up – not even his own mate. I couldn’t deny I’d belted him one, though, so …’ Keith shrugged and looked around, as if to say, here I am.

  Hillary nodded. She knew that by lunchtime tomorrow the story would be common knowledge and, as a result, Barrington’s life would start getting easier. ‘Well, as far as I’m concerned, it’s all over and done with,’ Hillary said, catching Paul Danvers’ eye. She hadn’t forgotten his offer to get Barrington off her team if she wanted his help, and wanted to make it clear that, as far as she was concerned, Barrington was all right. Unless he proved otherwise.

  Paul smiled. ‘My round I think?’

  Everyone began to talk of something else.

  EastEnders had just finished, and the familiar theme tune had just woken Mitch from a light doze, when his mobile began trilling the opening lines of the Z cars theme. His youngest daughter, Amanda, had got it for Christmas – a bit of a joker that Mandy, Mitch thought fondly. She’d spent nearly all Christmas Day and Boxing Day teaching him how to use the camera and camcorder on it, as well as how to text his messages. Thing was, none of his old cronies would know how to answer them. Well, it kept the kid amused.

  Now Mitch answered the humble telephone facility on the mini computer in his hand, and opened his sleepy eyes a little bit wider. The caller was young Freddy McCollins, Martin Pollock’s panda car co-driver. McCollins, who was dating a girl who used to date Jem, his third son at HQ, was only too glad to do the legendary Mitch the Titch a favour. Although why he should be interested in ‘Pillock Pollock’ was a mystery to him.

  ‘Yeah, Mitch, it’s me, Fred. You said you wanted to know if the Pillock did anything out of the ordinary. Well, he just called and said he couldn’t pick me up tomorrow morning. Doesn’t sound much, I know, but he always picks me up in the morning. He lives a couple of miles out, and has to pass my place on the way in to work. But he said he had to do something tomorrow before going in. Don’t know if that’s the kind of thing you had in mind, like? Perhaps I shouldn’t have bothered you with it?’

  ‘No, that’s fine, lad,’ Mitch said fulsomely. ‘Keep up the good work. That’s just the sort of thing I want to know.’ But as he hung up he wondered if it was.

  So, the Pillock had things to do, did he? Learning Martin Pollock’s nickname was interesting in itself. Usually uniforms who drove a panda together were tight. The fact that young Fred didn’t seem to mind dropping his co-driver in it, spoke volumes about Martin Pollock. However, with all the ill will in the world, Pollock could have any number of reasons for not picking up his work mate tomorrow. Perhaps he was having a quickie with his girlfriend. Hell, maybe he was visiting his old mother. Then again, Mitch mused with a smile, it would make a nice change to go to bed, knowing that in the morning he had to get up and do some point duty. Follow a suspect. Report back to his ‘boss’.

  Oh yes, when Mitch the Titch went to bed that night, he was whistling ‘Yellow Rose of Texas’. And even gave Mrs Titchmarsh a suggestive squeeze.

  That night, Dylan Hodge was flying. He was back at the old squat because he’d heard that his girlfriend had scored some good stuff, and he’d managed to find her stash. She’d tried to hide it down her knickers, silly cow, but he’d simply waited until she’d passed out, before fishing out a little baggie for himself.

  Hodge heated the spoon over his empty can of Heinz Baked Beans, and watched the coarse grains liquefy. Soon he’d be where the cold wet air didn’t make his bones ache, and t
he cops didn’t hassle him about his old granny’s death. He pulled the liquid up into a used needle, uncaring about cross-infection, wanting only the hit.

  To be free, and happy and out of it all. That was all he wanted.

  Who cared who killed the old girl? She was on her last legs anyway. Something cruel, her pain was at times. He remembered going round there once, and she was almost bent double with it, being sick into a bowl between her feet. Who’d want months more of that? No, as far as Hodge could see, whoever had done her in had done her a favour.

  He quickly pulled a rubber tube around his leg, injecting into the back of his knee. The rush was almost instant, and seemed to take the top of his head off. In fact, it was so instant, he didn’t even have time to remove the needle before he launched into orbit.

  He didn’t know it, but it was a great pity that he’d raided his girlfriend’s knickers so skilfully that he hadn’t woken her up. If he had, she might have warned him that the horse she’d scored was really high grade. A one off, really, a bit of luck she’d stumbled across that was never to be repeated.

  If she’d told him that, he wouldn’t have used quite so much. And if he hadn’t used quite so much, he would have woken up the next morning.

  It was bitterly cold the next morning. The wild wet weather had given way to a hard frost that had coated everything with ice.

  Janine Tyler was the first to notice it, stepping outside in her long quilted, Japanese-style housecoat to pick up the paper and the morning milk. The bitter air numbed her fingers and had her scooting back inside, almost before she’d registered the piece of mail left inside the newspaper, which had already been thrust through the letter box.