Consequences

by R. C. Bridgestock

  Dylan knew some of his male colleagues hated having a woman as their partner, but he enjoyed Dawn’s company. Not only did she look like Dawn French but she also had the sense of humour to match. Dawn laughed at herself when he teased her about her habit of dabbing her mouth when she was hungry, and made fun of her beautiful embroidered hankies she carried around with her for that purpose.

  Draining his coffee cup, Dylan cursed Larry. Through the glass partition of his office he saw Tracy, the young policewoman he’d last seen on Stan Bridge. She was in a smart suit and was standing by a desk in the CID office; she looked thinner out of uniform, he thought, her light brown, curly hair hanging neatly over her shoulders. What a smart, clean looking young lady she was. It made a change from casually dressed youngsters, with their tattoos and piercings. How on earth could anyone think that was attractive? He was getting old, he thought, as he eased himself from behind his desk and walked towards the general office.

  ‘Morning you. How’s things?’ he said cheerily. She blushed, ferociously. ’You decided to become a detective, then?’

  ‘On attachment for two weeks sir and I’m really, really looking forward to it.’ She drew back. Her grin reminded Dylan of an over excited child. He remembered his first CID attachment. In the ‘olden days’ he’d been shoved and pushed around the CID office as an aide, by the older detectives, who insisted he called them Mr and he got a clip round the ear if he answered back.

  ‘Nervous and excited, I bet?’ Dylan said, smiling.

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  ‘Good, it’ll be a bit different from guarding ‘scenes’ and stopping traffic, that’s for sure.’

  Dylan got the impression she was uncomfortable talking to him. Unfortunately, he felt that was the uniform mentality. Uniformed bosses, inspectors and sergeants tended to be officers who gave orders to be complied with. They didn’t, in his experience, stop for a chat to get to know the individuals under their command. No, perhaps that was unfair, he reflected, these days attitudes were changing.

  ‘Sit down and make yourself at home, it’s a much different style of work in CID to what you’ve been used to. Did ‘Chubby’ behave himself for you after the episode on the bridge?’

  ‘Yes sir, thanks for that. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been in the traffic, waiting to cross the bridge that day. I’ve seen him since and he’s living with a mate and his girlfriend. She’s got a small boy. You never know, Chubby might settle down now.’

  ‘Who knows? Leopards and spots do spring to mind though,’ he said, grinning, as Vicky walked in the room.

  ‘Vicky, this is Tracy, sorry I don’t know your last name,’

  ‘Petterson, sir,’ she said, smiling apprehensively at Vicky.

  ‘PC Tracy Petterson is with us for two weeks secondment. Look after her will you DC Hardacre?’

  ‘No probs, I’ll treat her as if she were one of me own,’ Vicky mocked jovially, putting Tracy instantly at ease.

  ‘Don’t know if I’ve done you a favour there or not,’ Dylan said grimacing playfully as he retreated back to his office, feeling very much his age once more. Vicky threw her pen at his closing door. Laughing at her through the window, he picked up his phone to text Jen.

  Lovely lady, missing you already… Dawn’s gone sick and Larry hasn’t surfaced yet. But by God when he does he has a lot to answer for.

  ‘Gosh, how dare you do that?’ Tracy whispered to Vicky.

  ‘Because Dylan is okay; he’s a good boss and he’s got a good sense of humour but don’t be misled, he’s nobody’s fool. Keep him supplied with coffee and you’ll be his friend for life though.’

  Two hours later, Larry casually strolled into Dylan’s office looking worse for wear; the smell of stagnant ale accompanying him, which only confirmed to Dylan that he’d, slipped back to his old ways. Was that a black eye he was sporting? After his dad died suddenly, Larry had gone on a bender but after a while he seemed to recover. Had someone or something knocked him back again Dylan wondered? He would have to have a chat with him, and not in a pub.

  ‘Morning Boss,’ he slurred. ‘Good break?’ Larry just about managed the words, before slumping into the chair opposite Dylan, his hands deep in his trouser pockets.

  ‘I’ve been south for a few days actually, to see how Jen’s dad’s coping since her mum died if you remember, Larry, not exactly two weeks in the Bahamas.’ snapped Dylan.

  ‘Er...er...yeah...sorry boss.’ He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat and sat up straight.

  Dylan placed his empty cup down on the desk and studied Larry. ’Well, what’s been happening then? Any messages or updates for me?’

  ‘No...no, it’s been dead quiet. Bit of a theft from a garage, but the young lad only got away with about a hundred quid, and would you believe it, the CCTV tape we retrieved is jammed in your cassette player.’ Larry yawned, pointing to the offending video player.

  ‘What the hell is it doing there? It should have been copied and the original kept, Detective Sergeant Banks. Even you know that.’

  ‘I know… just thought I might know the lad and get a quick I.D,’ he whined.

  ‘We don’t need to cut corners, Larry, and there’s no doubt the offender will try again if that’s all he got. Did you put his description on the ring around, for petrol stations to be on alert?’ Dylan asked, staring hard at Larry. There was something different about him. Have you ’bin in a fight?’

  Noting he was under scrutiny, Larry made a display of coughing and spluttering, avoiding any eye contact. ‘Nah, I’m too old to scrap. I walked into a door. By the way I’ve got a dentist appointment at eleven so if I’m missing for a while, you know where I am.’

  Dylan knew he was lying about his eye. Walking into a door? What a lame excuse, but Larry was an adult after all. He knew what he was doing, or at least Dylan hoped he did. He’d make sure he’d cover Larry’s appearance and his attitude when they had that chat.

  ‘Dentist? Rather you than me Larry’ he said, looking down at a report he had started writing. Larry stood to leave and farted loudly.

  ‘Larry. For God’s sake.’ Dylan said as his phone rang. ‘Be here at one. There’re a few things I need to talk to you about; one being this untouched bloody paperwork and another, your conduct.’ Dylan looked up as he put the phone to his ear. Larry was gone.

  ‘Hello Dylan? Harriet Anderson from the Child Protection Unit.’ Dylan could tell by her voice she was smiling, but then again, she always did.

  ‘Gosh, Harriet, long time no see...It can’t be long now can it before you go on maternity leave? How the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, that’s why I’m ringing. I’m going at the end of the week and no one has got a replacement for me. Do you know of anyone who I could suggest would like to take on the role?’ she enquired tentatively. ‘I’m too big to sit behind this desk now, in fact if I get any bigger I think I’ll explode,’ she said.

  Dylan’s heart sank, they would miss her. If ever there was a round peg in a round hole it was Harriet and the CPU.

  ‘I just thought I could show the cover the ropes before I go.’

  ‘I’ll be honest with you I didn’t realise you were going to be of so soon, these last few months have flown. Look, let me have a think and I’ll get back to you,’ Dylan had known about Harriet’s pregnancy since the day she’d took the test, because she’d sent an e-mail to everyone she knew, with the good news. So, his opposite number in Child Protection was going on maternity leave, one DS was off sick and one was heading for...Larry’s future didn’t bear thinking about. If not much had happened whilst he’d been away, then what the hell had Larry been up to, so he couldn’t manage the paperwork he wondered, as he fired up his computer. He needed more coffee and stood up to stretch his legs, to catch someone’s attention. The CID office was empty, which was a good sign everyone must be out working.

  Larry was having a mouthwash, but not one you’d get at a de
ntal surgery. He felt like a kid bunking off school, which was becoming a familiar feeling. He hadn’t always been like this, but after being overlooked for promotion again, he’d lost his focus. He caught sight of the pub clock, twenty past eleven. ’Come on,’ he muttered impatiently. What was it about women and time? There was nothing polite about being late, although he knew he always was he thought grinning to himself.

  Dylan sat alone in his office, with his door propped open. The large, general CID office that he looked out on was quiet, apart from the odd telephone ringing. He was concerned with his e-mails. HQ was drawing his attention to a recording of a robbery that had been reduced in severity to a ‘theft from a garage’. This must be the crime Larry had mentioned to him. Dylan researched it on the CIS computer system and looked at the ‘I’ screen for the MO. ‘Single male walks into garage believed in possession of handgun, demands cash from female cashier. In fear she hands over money from till.’ He immediately changed the crime to robbery. What the hell was Larry thinking of? Since when had he been concerned with crime figures? Manipulating numbers was downright stupid, he knew that. Dylan went on to read the description of the robber. It sounded like a typical ‘Chubby.’ No, surely not. Chubby didn’t want to go to prison again, but Dylan decided to give Tracy the job to investigate, since she had recently dealt with the youths in the town while in uniform...it was a start. Dylan smiled, thinking about some of the nicknames of local youths. ‘Scarface’ was obvious, ‘Bandit’ because the guy had only one arm or ‘Jaws’ because the kid had it broken a few times, were more tongue in cheek. Often, as officers found out to their dismay in interviews, they were the only names the youngsters knew each other by. His smile froze as he caught sight of the mangled tape in the video machine. Hell Larry; that might’ve lost us vital evidence. He’d get one of the techno bods to deal with it. He didn’t want to damage it further by trying to yank it free himself.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Larry texted Liz, as he drained his pint glass. A right pain in the arse this was turning out to be. He just hoped it would be worth it in the end. He needed to pull a good job out of this bag. Sort himself out.

  ‘I need to see you now,’ came the text back.

  ‘Boss, I’ve had a call to see an informant,’ Larry told Dylan over the hands free, as he put his Audi into gear and skidded in a half circle across the pub car park. He stopped abruptly, and without looking reversed back to allow him to face his exit. He heard a loud thud. Larry hung up. Dylan snarled into the receiver.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Larry shouted, slamming the palm of his hand on the steering wheel. Climbing out he saw the crumpled figure of an old man on the ground. He jumped back into the car, rammed the gear stick into first and raced out of the car park in a cloud of dust, causing a car to skid to avoid him. Car horns blared in his wake. His heart raced. His head banged. What had he done? He could hear sirens.

  ‘Think...think Larry,’ he said out loud. ‘Get off the road.’ He drove into the supermarket car park. It got him out of sight and in a crowd. Reversing into the garage forecourt he got out and inspected the damage. Bending down on his haunches, he sighed. That was a fair dent the stupid old git had made in his car. ‘Urgh’, he thought, pulling a face. Was that blood he could see?

  ‘Why hadn’t the silly old sod looked where he was going?’ he muttered as he walked to the kiosk. He queued up; picking up some mints and a car wash token.

  ‘Six quid? I only want to wash my car love, not buy a new one,’ he moaned to the cashier.

  ‘There are two cheaper programmes, love, if you want one,’ she snapped, oblivious to his attempt at a joke.

  ‘Don’t do cheap, love.’ he winked before walking out.

  He sat in his car as the heavy brushes pummelled the roof, and water lashed at his windscreen. It wasn’t his fault. The daft old git should have looked where he was going. Larry felt warm and clammy, panic engulfed his body. Oh, my God, what was he going to do?

  An ambulance with flashing lights faced him as he pulled out of the entrance to the supermarket car park. Unbeknown to Larry, paramedics were struggling to keep the elderly man alive. Fred White was a well-known local boxer in his time but was now facing the biggest fight of his life.

  Larry drove slowly back to the station and parked his car on a side street nearby. Striding into the station, his mind was working overtime. The old man had been alright, he hadn’t run him over. Dylan was heading towards him down the narrow corridor. Thrusting his hand in his pocket he found a handkerchief and held it to his mouth.

  ‘Thought you were off to see an informant,’ said Dylan. ‘Good- grief you look dreadful. What on earth did the dentist do? You’re as white as a ghost.’ Larry leaned against the wall, pressing the hankie tighter over his mouth. He’d only hoped it would cover the smell of ale but, trying not to smile, he quickly jumped on Dylan’s unexpected reaction.

  ‘He’s only gone and done a bloody extraction.’ Larry groaned. ’I thought I was okay...the informant never showed and I didn’t feel like hanging about. Ah, God it kills.’

  ‘You better get home,’ Dylan said, deciding to postpone the reprimand he had intended to deliver. Dylan felt for him; probably because of his own phobia of dentists.

  What a morning Larry had; he needed some more anaesthetic, which he knew he could find at the Kings Head. His face hurt all right, not from the dentist, but from the copper who’d had a swipe at him the previous night. ‘You deserve a pint after pulling that one off,’ he told himself, but maybe he should go to the Armitage Arms on the other side of town.

  Back in the office, Dylan asked Vicky and Tracy to try and find out what Chubby Connor was up to. He wanted to see if there was any evidence that would connect him with the garage job.

  ‘No problem.’ said Tracy, turning to the crime on the Crime Information System, on her computer. ’I’m on with it now, sir.’

  ‘Were we that keen when we started, boss?’ asked Vicky gloomily.

  ‘Probably,’ he leant closer. ‘But your coffee’s better for practice,’ he said.

  ‘Hint taken,’ she said. ‘You’re such a smooth talker and’ she whispered in his ear, ‘that aftershave you’re wearing boss is...heavenly.’ She breathed heavily.

  Dylan laughed as he texted Jen. ‘Hope your days going better than mine. Just had to send Larry home he’s had a tooth extraction. No DS’s now.’

  ‘That’s strange,’ she texted back. ‘I could have sworn I’d just seen him going into the Armitage Arms. And there’s me thinking you were the Detective.’

  ‘I am… He went home.’

  ‘He certainly didn’t… go see for yourself. He’s probably still there.’

  ‘Sir, there’s been a hit and run; an old man called Fred White. He’s critical and in A & E, we’re just being told.’ Tracy called from the office.

  ‘Forget Chubby, Vicky. You and Tracy go to the scene to see if you can assist, in case it’s a stolen car or a deliberate knockdown.’

  Dylan could have done with a DS at the scene but he knew Vicky was quite capable. He needed to get to the Armitage Arms to see with his own eyes if his officer had lied to him. On the one hand he hoped Larry was there, then he could get the help he needed for his drinking. On the other, he hoped Larry hadn’t lied to him. But he was going to confront him about his issues.

  Chapter Seven

  Liz paced the floor. ‘What’s the twat playing at?’ she said, her nerves turning to anger. Desperately she tried the controlled breathing she’d been taught at Pilates, knowing she needed to be focused and calm when the blackmailer rang again. What was it Larry had said? She had to get details and delay matters so that she could discuss it with him before she made any rash promises. Her eyes flew to her pen and paper on the work surface. Write it down so you get it right, he’d said.

  Although she’d been expecting the call, when the phone rang she nearly jumped out of her skin, snatching it off its cradle.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, her voice wobbled with e
motion.

  ‘Listen very carefully. I’ll say this only once. Do you understand?’ Liz nodded, silently. The voice of the blackmailer was surreal- like something out of a movie. ‘Yes,’ Liz finally managed. Her mouth was so dry, she struggled to speak.

  ‘You’d better not have told anyone about our chat.’

  ‘I haven’t...I wouldn’t...Look...I just want this to be over.’ Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly hold onto the phone.

  ‘I believe you, but if you’ve lied to me you won’t live to regret it. Do you know what I’m saying? It’s not a game.’

  ‘I haven’t...I won’t...I promise, please...trust me.’

  ‘So, let’s get it over with,’ he said quietly. ‘You will go to the bank and withdraw five hundred thousand pounds.’

  Liz gasped, ‘I…’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ he snapped. ‘I know you’ve got the money so don’t fuck me about, otherwise I will enjoy the consequences. You will get it as soon as they open. In fifties, and take it home. I’ll call you with your next instructions.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Just...do it.’ he shouted. She held the phone away from her ear. When she put it back, he’d hung up.

  Larry was on his second pint. ‘just had a call, he wants half a million. Do I call the bank now?’ Liz texted.

  ‘Can you raise half a million?’

  ‘Yes’ she texted back.

  ‘Then ring.’ He could see the smile that crossed his face reflected in the mirror, magnified through the bottom of his glass as he drained it.

  ‘Wow.’ he gasped, slamming the empty glass on the bar. What he could do with five hundred thousand pounds; that was ten times more than his pension. He knew the Reynolds’ had a penny or two, but he never knew they were able to lay their hands on that kind of cash. Well there was an old Yorkshire saying: Where there’s muck there’s brass. Liz Reynolds was looking more attractive to him by the minute. He’d have it all sorted before he went on holiday. His mobile home was booked and Larry was more than ready for a break this year, out of the country. ’Maybe she’d like to come along,’ he mused.