The Singhing Detective

by M. C. Dutton

  “No Guv, no need, I will tell you every pub I have burgled, just want to get on with it and get out. I ain’t going to be no bother, just do it.”

  He refused a solicitor and said he would sign a statement when it was prepared. In an hour, he admitted 10 burglaries, two of which were outside their area. He also asked for three lots of shoplifting in Asda on the A13 and two in Tescos in Chadwell Heath to be taken into account. He added for good measure that there were also 10 burglaries in private houses to be taken into account. It was a good result and Alan was let go on bail after his address was confirmed.

  Jazz had the luck of the devil in those days. The Inspector came down to the custody suite as Alan was being released on bail. He saw a full hands up to 20 burglaries, which made good reading for his statistics. He still wanted Jazz in his office in the morning for a full explanation but Jazz knew he was on safe ground.

  Just as Jazz was congratulating himself on a good result and thanking Bob for his backup, the gaoler came back and interrupted their conversation. “Serg, I have counted all the pens; 127 black and 220 red.” The Serg listened to this information with full interest and then enquired, “Hang on, how many actually work, do you know?”

  The gaoler, quite nonplussed, said, “But you said”

  He was interrupted by a sanguine Custody Sergeant. “I know what I said, Grasshopper, but you must use your initiative, that is the only way to get on in this job.”

  The gaoler nodded far too much and left to go and find the pens. Jazz and Bob looked at each other in disgust. “Fucking graduates.”

  Life was good at that point but Jazz’s downfall was to come at a time when he was flying high. No one would have guessed how his fortunes would change and just how far he would fall.

  AN UNWELCOME VISITOR

  Alice had her lunch in the garden. She didn’t eat much these days. A small sandwich of cheese and tomato with a cup of tea saw her through to teatime. She did have a piece of chocolate cake after her sandwich, a little treat that tasted deliciously naughty. Well it was her birthday after all. The lunchtime sun was pleasant and sitting in her garden was very restful. She couldn’t bend down like she used to so most of her plants were bushes and the roses were particularly lovely this year. She loved the yellow roses, they smelt gorgeous and looked so pretty. Watching the birds bathing in the birdbath at the end of her garden gave her a lot of pleasure. Nature was so clever, she thought.

  The roses in her front garden needed a little pruning and the hedgerow was small but needed to be trimmed. She would enjoy doing that whilst waiting for the Chinese gentlemen to arrive. Hers was practically the only front garden in the street with flowers in it. Most were paved over and it seemed such a shame to Alice to see so much concrete. Years ago, everyone had a front garden full of flowers and the road looked beautiful in the summer. She sighed; times had changed and she had to get used to it.

  It was 2 p.m. when she went out to the front garden. She armed herself with secateurs and a small bin to put the cuttings in and her rubber gloves. Her apron would keep her top and skirt clean. Before she started pruning, she walked to her gate and peered next door to see if she could spot the car that usually parked down the sideway. It was there and she wondered if she should go and speak to the Chinese gentlemen. She hoped they didn’t think she was nosey or interfering. The devil was a dreadful being and it was her duty to say something, she told herself.

  She hadn’t been formally introduced to her neighbours and so she decided she must take her apron off and her gloves and put everything away in her garden shed; she liked to be tidy. She scuttled back indoors and looked in her hall mirror to check she looked OK and her hair was in place. She wanted to make a good first impression. She smiled; what would they think if she knocked on their door looking a mess? They would wonder who they were living next door to. Satisfied she looked tidy, she made her way to the side door of the house next door. She was surprised to see the door ajar. She thought they were very trustworthy, anyone could walk in.

  There was no bell to ring on the side door, so Alice tapped tentatively and called out “hellooooo” in a high pitched scratchy voice. No one answered. Alice pushed the door open just a tiny bit more and called again but still there was no answer. For a few moments, she felt quite perplexed as to what to do next. Should she go in without an invitation or should she go away and come back another time or wait for the gentleman to come out later? It was all very confusing. Her manners told her to go away and wait but her curiosity told her to go in. She could feel the heat through the gap in the door. She had her crucifix on so she knew she would be safe.

  With a deep breath, she decided she would open the door further and maybe just stand in the hallway. She thought that wouldn’t be too presumptuous of her and she could call out again. Pushing the nervous feelings to the back of her mind, she boldly opened the door and stood in the hallway. Now she was there, she wondered what to do next. The heat was oppressive and the brightness made her put her hands to her eyes to shade them from the hurtful light. The smell was strange but not horrible but not nice either. In her confusion she walked towards what was the front room. She forgot to call out and she forgot her manners. What she saw before her was unbelievable and she wondered if she was dreaming. The front room was filled with green plants all hooked up and in water. They weren’t the odd plants you had to enjoy, they were dense and took up all the space of the room with thin aisles between the regiments of plants. Her mouth open and her eyes darting she knew this wasn’t right. This was a home, not a garden. In that moment, a shiver of fear ran through her body. She had to get out, she didn’t know why she was scared but something told her to get out. As she turned, she was confronted by two Chinese gentlemen.

  The shock of the front room and now the shock of being caught in their house uninvited caused Alice to hold her heart and catch her breath. She managed a smile and tried to say she was so sorry for intruding before the second man came up behind her and hit her over the head with a heavy ratchet. She died before she hit the floor; the blow smashed into her frail skull and it caved in causing quite a mess on the floor.

  Babbling excitedly and fearfully, the two men searched Alice’s pockets to find the key to her house and quickly went next door. The back door was opened and her body was carried over the fence and in through the back door of her house. They laid her by the fire grate in the front room in the hope that the police, when they arrived, would think she fell back onto the fire grate and smashed her skull in an accident.

  The house was now compromised and the Cannabis factory would have to be dismantled and moved within a week. The plants were about to be cropped for the third time so the full value of the crop would be made. They needed a few days’ grace to clear the house of the valuable product before Alice was found. It was decided that her post and her milk would be collected every day so no one would be aware that anything was wrong. It would give them the time they needed to get away. They had to explain to their boss what had happened and they were more frightened of him than the English police.

  It would be Friday, when the milkman came to collect his money, that the alarm would be raised.

  THE JAZZ SINGER COMETH

  Jazz arrived in Ilford at 7 p.m. Most of his possessions were with him in the boot of the car. He had his music collection, his signed cricket bat by the 1990 England team, bought when he had money to spare, and his aftershave collection, which had grown from a meagre selection of two different aftershaves to 15. He could not explain the buzz he got from such a selection but he knew he had to have them with him. Most of his clothes, the odd occasional table and standard light would be sent down by courier. His 32” flat screen television, a present to himself, was in the back of his car. No way would he leave that behind. He had enough clothes with him to see him out for a week.

  He was given an address in De Vere Gardens, off The Drive, as the guesthouse he would be staying in. It was the home of a family from Uganda. They were charming and ve
ry welcoming and his upstairs room was big and at the front of the house but hell, he didn’t want curry morning, noon and night. The police still assumed he would want that, so no change there, and the thought depressed him. Still, he found Mrs Chodda was an excellent cook and the curry was particularly good. The problem was that since his breakdown, his stomach just couldn’t take too many curries any more. His favourite food had always been burgers, fish and chips and a full English fry up, so not eating curry for quite some time had given his stomach a rest. It occurred to him, on reflection, that the police had put him with a Sikh family because he was Sikh. Someone somewhere in the force had thought his accommodation out more carefully than usual. He smiled at that. Perhaps one day they might ask him what he wanted instead of assuming.

  He unpacked and got himself ready for his meeting at Ilford Police Station at 8 a.m. on Tuesday morning. He still had mixed feelings but hey, he would go with the flow and see how it went. For the time being, he would install his television and make himself comfortable. As he sat down, his thoughts went to Newbury Park and his mother and father. He unpacked his vodka and a glass and sat in this strange room that would be his home for the time being. He half filled the tumbler with vodka and put a small tonic into it. He drank vodka now, no hangover or smell on the breath. As he sipped, he looked around and wondered if this was to be his life. It suddenly felt very lonely. A few more drinks to help him sleep, tomorrow would be a better day he hoped.

  At Ilford Police Station the news was already out: The Jazz Singer was back! It wasn’t said with pleasure, more with amazement. No one would have bet on his return after everything that had happened. Although there was a turnover of staff, there were still those who would never move from the police station and would always be there to remember Jazz and that day.

  At 7.45 a.m he arrived at Ilford Police Station. He looked for Bob but there was a different Custody Sergeant on duty who told Jazz that Bob would be on the late shift. He had to report to Detective Chief Inspector John Radley. He didn’t know him, nor had he heard anything about him. He was shown into DCI Radley’s office at 8 a.m. precisely.

  His office was immaculate. Jazz had never seen such a clean and presentable office. Police were not known for such homely skills. The guy sitting behind the desk, who didn’t get up when Jazz walked in, looked familiar. He said nothing; he gestured towards the chair opposite for Jazz to sit down. Jazz couldn’t place him, but he knew him from somewhere. About 30 years old and still quite skinny in his suit, the gov looked at ease.

  “So, welcome back, Jazz. I know your reputation and I want to make it clear from the outset that I shall be watching you carefully. We do things by the book at Ilford these days and I am particularly keen to ensure our diversity protocols are adhered to and the human rights of our prisoners are observed. Do I make myself clear?” Jazz nodded. The guv looked at Jazz and continued. “I shall need your mobile number so I can get in touch with you whenever necessary and I shall give you my mobile number. Communication is the key to the success of all clear ups of crimes.” Jazz searched his pockets for a pen to write the number down but couldn’t find one. The guv handed him a pen with the words “How many pens we have in the station is very important. It is also important to ensure they are all working.”

  Jazz looked up sharply and realised the heavy irony in the words and knew who his new boss was. It was the fucking graduate! He knew coming back to Ilford was not going to be a walk in the park but with the fucking graduate as his boss as well, gee, how much humiliation was he supposed to carry? He was then summarily dismissed by his DCI, whose eyes shone with pleasure at pulling this cocky DS down a few pegs.

  Bob came in early to see Jazz and they went off for a cup of tea in the canteen. At least that was the same. Rotten tea, overcooked dinners and rock cakes that, yes, ok, were as hard as rocks. It felt good and the nearest to home he could get. Milly was still serving behind the counter, telling off any officer who didn’t write their tickets out for meals correctly and asking for the right money. Milly was about 65 years old and this was the nearest to commanding the attention of fit young men she would get. She loved their bantering and if they got a bit saucy with her, she would scold them but always added an extra amount of chips on their plates for their cheek. Milly didn’t do the job for the money, she had a good pension from her husband, who, as she used to tell everyone, was a miserable old git, so working in the canteen was her pleasure. She remembered Jazz and she remembered the incident.

  “How are you darlin?” she asked, with more feeling than he had heard for years. Surprisingly, the emotion welled up for a second and caught him in the back of the throat.

  “I am fine now thanks.” He smiled at her and playfully leaned forward. “Milly you are a diamond and I am glad to see you again. Give me a kiss and I will feel like I am back home.” She giggled and blushed but proferred her cheek across the counter. He gave her a big kiss on the cheek and an awkward cuddle across the counter.

  “Would you like a nice 999 breakfast darlin?” she asked.

  “Only if you cook it and serve it.” She liked that and went off to cook it. Jazz laughed and said to Bob, “I am home.”

  “So you met your guv then?” Bob knew the answer but wondered if Jazz had got the connection.

  “Yeah, it’s the fucking graduate. He must have been fast-tracked to reach DCI in what is it? In seven years?”

  Bob nodded and added, “You think you have it bad, he remembered me well and has made it his mission to check everything I do. He’s only been here a short while but in that time I have had to reorganise all my systems to ensure they comply with every protocol he could drag up. Remind me, Jazz, to treat every fucking graduate like a little god in future.”

  Jazz laughed. “It can’t be that bad. We’ll see how it goes. I’m off soon to meet my team. Don’t know how many DCs I will have under me.”

  Bob didn’t want to tell him that no one who knew of Jazz wanted to work on his team. He had got all the newbies with little or no experience of the job or Jazz and his reputation. Besides, newbies had no say in who they worked with anyway.

  The breakfast was magnificent, you couldn’t beat a 999, it contained everything imaginable: black pudding, chips, eggs, bacon, sausage, fried bread, beans, tomato and a mug of tea. The lovely Milly brought it to the table herself, something she rarely did. Her dulcet tones calling “Egg on toast and be quick abaat it” would ring out from behind the counter regularly encouraging the recipient to rush to the counter to collect their food.

  At 10 a.m. Jazz’s team assembled in the CID room upstairs and waited for him to arrive. He was expecting four officers: one woman and three men. There were only two sitting waiting for him. It was bloody depressing to know he hadn’t even got a full team. All new DCs, not one of them will have had any experience, he thought. Apparently the other two were going to arrive in a few weeks, after training. The woman and man sat looking expectantly at him. The two had heard all about Jaswinder Singh. They had endured mockery and mickey-taking since their arrival a few days ago. They knew they were working with a skipper who no one else wanted to work with. A police station is like a village, the gossip runs round quicker than a champion sprinter. They were apprehensive about meeting this apparent top DS who had such a bad history that no one wanted to work with him.

  Jazz knew they would have all been told the gossip about him. He kept it light and hoped they would work together successfully. The introductions were standard but he had to start somewhere. The only woman on his team was called Sharon Day and she confidently explained she was a new DC after being in the CSU Department for 10 years. They sympathised with the 10 years and privately thought she was mad to have stayed there so long. No one knew her yet. Tony Sepple introduced himself saying very little about himself other than that he always wanted to work in the CID. He had worked in Romford and was pleased to be in the same area. A little quiet, Jazz thought, but he would see how he came through.

  Sharon defin
itely had balls and he could see she was very interested in him, but he would never mix work with pleasure. He was used to women giving him the eye, he was a handsome devil and he knew it! Sharon was quite a looker and in another place and another lifetime he might have taken her up on it. “But it ain’t gonna happen girly,” he said to himself. No way on his team. Over the years, he had seen others get together. Ok, it was lovely at the beginning, the women would glow and twitter on about real love and the men seemed very happy. But give it a little while and then the break ups started, which could be pretty embarrassing and sometimes very nasty. There had been occasions when, if they worked to closely together and it was a particularly nasty break up, one of them would have to leave the borough to work elsewhere. “How stupid was that?” Jazz asked himself. “With all the women in the world why foul your own door step?” Women were not his priority at the moment, he’d enough of all the troubles they had caused him in the past.

  They looked at him and wondered what he had in store for them. Jazz knew the score regarding how they would have faired with the rest of the CID teams there. It was time to put them straight.

  “There are four CID teams at this station, each with a DS in charge of approximately four DCs. We are all responsible to the DI or DCI. We are a different team from all the rest based here. Someone was having a laugh when they put us together. No other team comprises solely DCs with no experience. You are the lowest of the low in DC world. You are the shit and you will be laughed at and you will have the mickey taken out of you for two reasons: One, because you know nothing about detection; and two, because you have me as your DS. I have come back from Manchester and I carry a bad reputation so no one but the likes of you would work with me. You had no choice. Now that was the bad news.