Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  Instead of retreating, the woman moved forward, risking the all-enveloping grasp of her opponent. The unexpected reaction seemed to unsettle him and in hesitating he lost the initiative. The woman smashed her knee into his groin, and the thug buckled up. Feeling the pressure ease on her neck, Anne took her cue from the woman and remembered a judo lesson from long ago. She stamped down on the instep of her oppressor and heard him grunt with pain. One of her arms was released by a thug wanting to take his chance with the woman, and Anne rammed her freed elbow hard behind her. Another grunt.

  All this movement gave Anne a clear view of her rescuer for the first time. It was Cathy Lamb. And suddenly she was not alone. Bartlett and Marriner raced up to join her with a pack of uniformed officers, each brandishing a truncheon. Anne pulled clear of the skinheads and was caught by Lamb, the two of them holding on to each other, both shaking. They were dimly aware that the New Force gang were not offering resistance. The ringleader appeared barely conscious, lying on his side in a foetal position with blood pouring from his head. The other victim of Lamb’s assault was on his knees, clutching his groin, throwing up in the gutter.

  “You all right, Cathy?” Marriner put his hands on their shoulders. “Anne?”

  Anne tried to nod and regretted it. Lamb smiled weakly.

  While handcuffs were being fastened and the gang led away, Bartlett came over.

  “I told you not to charge off like that, Lamb. Someone might’ve got hurt.” He looked at the two injured thugs and smiled. “They were lucky we were here to protect ’em. Well done.”

  Lamb was breathing heavily. “I’m glad all that martial arts training wasn’t wasted. And what about Anne here, sir? That was a pretty impressive performance.”

  Bartlett put an arm around Anne. She was bent forward, her hands on her knees. Through the thin T-shirt he could feel how slightly-built she was.

  “You were brilliant. You made all the difference, you know that?”

  “Where did you learn that technique?” Marriner asked.

  Anne looked up, gasping. “We did it at school, self-defence for girls. I got a B for the practical.”

  The officers were smiling when Bartlett’s mobile began to ring.

  *

  “And so, ladies and gentlemen, and children of course, it gives me great pleasure to declare the Garfield summer fete open.”

  A half-hearted cheer and a desultory round of applause went up from the crowd as Dorothy nodded at Greg. He signalled to the bandmaster, and the air was assailed by the blast of music. Suddenly all was festive. The long wait was forgotten, the spectators became participants and the holiday atmosphere was underway. The scouts removed the tape barriers and stood down from their posts as the crowd surged forward to reach the stands.

  Marnie immediately made to take off into the throng, but Serena held her back.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ve got to find Anne.”

  “Not a good idea, Marnie.”

  “What are you talking about I’ve got –”

  “Listen.” Serena cocked her head to one side. “You hear that noise? You know what it is.”

  Over the sound of the band, another noise was growing. From one side of the grounds a chant was swelling, a deep ugly growl. New Force … New Force … New Force … New Force …

  “You can’t just waltz off into that lot, Marnie.”

  “But Anne –”

  “She’s a resourceful girl. She’ll have taken shelter somewhere. Marnie, think!”

  Punctuating the chants they could hear shouts and screams from the people who had come for the fete. Children were crying. Ice creams lay abandoned on the dusty ground. Parents were running with their children, shielding their heads with their hands, scooping up the smallest in their arms and rushing about, desperate to find refuge from the battle that would erupt at any moment.

  Marnie turned to Dorothy and Greg. “Get the school open. People can shelter in there. Hurry!”

  Greg needed no second telling. He turned to his lieutenants, firing off instructions. In seconds they were speeding away to spread the word among the other scouts. Dorothy’s helpers were likewise spurred into action, joining Marnie and Serena in herding the nearest families towards the school entrance doors. Parents began stumbling in to claim the sanctuary of the building.

  Aside from this frenzied action Estelle stood, her back against the wall, devoid of all feeling, as if disconnected from everything that was going on. The rising noise of the chanting, the unfurling of New Force banners, bricks, stones and bottles flying through the air, the whiff of smoke bombs. Police men and women, some in yellow jerkins, some in riot gear, others in shirtsleeves were forcing their way between the would-be combatants. All of this mayhem was beyond her grasp, and she leaned back letting it wash over her like a drowning person who has given up all hope of survival.

  Out of the crowd Bartlett and Marriner appeared, dragging Cathy Lamb between them.

  “Good idea,” Bartlett gasped. “… getting them in the school … shelter … Ted, Cathy, see what you can do to help round people up.”

  “Can your officers keep the two sides apart?” said Serena.

  “God knows. I’ve called up reinforcements, but …” He shrugged. “It’s a big town. This isn’t the only disturbance. Those bastards are clever. There are incidents all over the place. Stop one and another happens somewhere else.”

  “Did you see Anne?” Marnie looked worried. “She went off looking for some black boys.”

  “She didn’t find them. Some of those thugs found her.”

  “What happened?” Marnie was on the verge of panic. “Where is she?”

  “She was just behind us. We rescued her – well, it was Cathy who did it – but Anne gave as good as she got.”

  “And?”

  “We arrested them, all of them.”

  “And Anne’s all right?”

  “A bit shaken, but she got through.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Can’t be far behind.”

  Marnie peered into the crowd, her unease mounting. “You didn’t bring her with you?”

  “She was literally just behind us.”

  They all scanned the playground. Clusters of parents and children were still streaming away from the conflict towards the safety of the school. But of Anne there was no sighting.

  “Where is that girl?” Marnie muttered through clenched teeth.

  Serena touched her arm. “Marnie, don’t worry. Just be patient. She’ll be fine. Anne’s sensible. She wouldn’t take any risks.”

  *

  Anne plunged through the ranks of New Force, praying that her blonde hair would be her passport and that no-one else would recognise her. She had been following in the wake of her police rescuers when a cacophony of sounds made her hesitate. All around her the skinheads were chanting the war-cry in their habitual low growl, but somewhere beyond them a different sound was straining to be heard. She stopped, scarcely aware of the thugs dodging about, hurling stones and empty beer cans towards the police and the young blacks beyond them.

  The new sound was music. It was lilting and rhythmic with a compelling beat. Reggae! Otis and his ghetto-blaster were putting up resistance with the only means they had against the raucous barking of New Force.

  Idiots! she murmured to herself. They’ll be a target for every missile New Force can throw. They’re sitting ducks.

  Without hesitation she resumed pushing her way through the mob, grateful for once that they were surging forward at random like the rabble they were. At once she realised her task was virtually impossible. In front of her she could see police helmets, an impenetrable wall – so far – a barrier between the opposing sides. She looked desperately about her and had a moment of inspiration.

  Away to the right, mounted on the pavement, she saw a rostrum where a TV crew were filming. By chance they were more or less in line with the police cordon, raised up like the umpire in a tennis match. She imm
ediately veered off, setting her sights on the camera around which a space had been left. New Force wanted all the publicity they could get. They thrived on it. Even without Garth Brandon, they would use it to allege police intimidation and brutality.

  Anne reached the rostrum and edged her way round the crew who were preoccupied with their work. A radio reporter was speaking breathlessly into a microphone, with a sound engineer behind him holding a recording machine. Anne smiled reassuringly as they glanced at her. They saw a thin girl trying to escape the crush. No-one tried to stop her. Trying to look like a gofer, she moved steadily along the fronts of the houses before seizing her chance and sprinting the last few metres into the ranks of the black youths.

  At the first hostile stares she called out, “It’s me – Anne – I’m trying to get to Otis and Winston.”

  It worked. Some recognised her from the summer scheme, others decided she was no threat and left her to go on her way. It was easy to find Otis. She just followed the sound, all the while amazed at the numbers who had assembled to resist New Force, amazed to see white faces in amongst the brown and black. Who were these people?

  *

  Cathy Lamb reported back to DCI Bartlett. She had checked the refugees in the school. None seemed to be in need of medical attention, though most were shaken, many of the children in distress. Bartlett had told her to look out especially for anyone who might be connected with New Force. An infiltrator could cause havoc.

  Bartlett received her report while pressing buttons on his mobile. He grunted an acknowledgement and began speaking into the phone, turning and walking a few steps away. Lamb sidled up to Sergeant Marriner.

  “The boss looks worried. I’ve never seen him look so rattled before.”

  “Small wonder,” said Marriner. “Look at all this. We’ve got to have back-up. It’s ridiculous to expect two dozen officers to keep this lot apart. Most of our blokes haven’t even got proper equipment.”

  “And several of our ‘blokes’ are women,” Lamb observed.

  “That too,” Marriner agreed.

  Bartlett came back, shaking his head. “Half a dozen. The Super says they can’t spare any more. Shit!”

  “Half a dozen? Blimey, sir. Where is everybody?”

  “Everywhere else. I tried to explain that this is definitely the main action, what they’ve been aiming at all along. But there are competing pressures, he called it”

  Marriner half turned his head. “Here’s something.”

  A siren was getting nearer, soon distinguishable as two sirens. Bartlett prayed for two people carriers filled with trained officers in full riot gear, preferably armed with assault rifles, shields, stun grenades and tear gas. The vehicles turned the corner and slid to a halt. Ford Sierras from Highways division. Traffic cops. Bartlett groaned.

  From each car three officers leapt out, all wearing Day-Glo yellow jackets, all looking nervous as hell. Marriner waved them over. Bartlett and his two colleagues watched them pushing their way towards the school. Marnie and Serena had turned their attention away from the crowds to watch the reinforcements, hoping this was only the first batch to arrive.

  “Jesus …” Bartlett looked grim.

  As they came nearer, half of them looked as if they were no more than kids.

  *

  “Turn that thing off!” Anne stood in front of Otis who was taller and broader by a mile. “Please.”

  “Can’t hear you,” he said, cocking his head towards the ghetto-blaster mounted on his shoulder.

  Anne reached for the switches but he swayed away and she grabbed the air. The group of friends – her friends – surrounded her. Gone was the easy-going manner, the slouch and shuffle that had been their trademark. They looked hardened, underlined by a deep sadness.

  “You’re a target for missiles while you hold that thing and have that music playing. Don’t you see?”

  As if to strengthen her argument a beer can flew past their heads.

  “Don’t you see, Anne?” It was Winston, Buzz’s brother. He took her shoulders and turned her round gently. “Look. Don’t you see that?”

  The banners of New force were waving like a crowd at a football match. Even while they were watching, three or four bricks flew through the air to land among the anti-Nazi demonstrators. Another smoke bomb exploded close to the thin blue and yellow lines of police officers.

  Anne spun back. “I can see a lot of well-meaning people being goaded into a fight they can’t win, a load of people who’ll get injured, some even killed.”

  “We’ve got no choice.”

  “Yes you have. Stop now. Go away. Leave here. New Force will have no-one to fight, no publicity. You’re playing into their hands. Surely you can see that?”

  The black boys stared at her. She pleaded with her eyes.

  “I don’t think you understand, Anne. We’re not well-meaning, not being goaded. We came ready to fight, all of us.”

  Anne was exasperated. “No! Fighting won’t get you anywhere. You can’t beat these thugs that way. You’re playing their game. That’s what they want.”

  “You really don’t get it, do you? Let me spell it out for you, Anne. Those bastards killed Luther. That’s why we’re here … for revenge.”

  *

  The TV camera operator was doing cutaways. She was taking shots of the crowds, the police, the cluster of organisers gathered at the school entrance, faces of parents looking out from the windows, snippets that the editor at the studio would insert to convey the atmosphere when compiling the report for the evening news. This would get a slot on the national programme as well as more detailed local coverage. Because the media forces were divided over several locations, the small crew were left to their own devices without a producer on hand to direct them. She was looking for anything that would provide visual interest, following the old dictum of her craft that the best pictures told a story. Suddenly she found it.

  In amongst the mass of protesters there was movement. She homed in, twisting the grip to adjust the telephoto lens, at the same time altering the focus. The image in the viewfinder blurred, steadied and sharpened. A blonde head was threading its way through the crowd that was mainly a mass of black and brown. It looked like a girl, pale and slightly-built, vulnerable but somehow determined. She made erratic progress, cutting through the ranks of demonstrators like a small boat through rough water. Nearing the police cordon, the head changed tack and took a new course until it reached the school building where it disappeared, only to re-emerge round the back of the stands, moving quickly through the scout camp to join the organisers and the small band of plain clothes police who were trying – vainly – to direct operations.

  *

  Bartlett was on the mobile again. The Chief Constable was demanding situation reports from senior staff all over the town, a chance to state his case that Bartlett was not going to let pass. Forcing himself to speak calmly, Bartlett described the scene unfolding, the confrontation that would grow to become a pitched battle at any minute, the families taking shelter in the school, the mounting violence. Above all, he stressed that he could not be held responsible if there were casualties among participants, bystanders or police officers struggling to keep the hostile factions apart. Marnie and Serena strained to catch as much of what he said as possible.

  “… and I’m not exaggerating when I say this is a desperate situation, sir … it’s started already … both sides … blacks, yes, but they’ve been joined by some outfit calling themselves BAN, according to their flags … several hundred on each side … we’ve got no more than thirty officers separating them … it couldn’t be more urgent … thank you, sir. Right.”

  When Bartlett disconnected, Marriner was at his side. “Any joy, sir?

  “God, I hope so. At least he listened. It seems there’s live coverage on radio and TV.”

  “Did he offer to send reinforcements?”

  “Still reviewing the situation. Better than a flat no, I suppose.”

  “This
has to be the main action. He’s got to understand that.”

  “I told him, Ted, okay?”

  “Anne!”

  The cry made the policemen turn abruptly. It was Marnie who had exclaimed. Anne leapt out from behind the nearest stall and rushed towards the group. She was breathless but unharmed. Marnie hugged her.

  “How did you get through?” Bartlett asked.

  Anne stepped back and pointed over her shoulder, gasping. “Round the TV crew, through the demonstrators, round the police, through the scout camp.”

  “No-one challenged you?” The DCI was incredulous.

  “No.” Anne was matter-of-fact.

  Bartlett sighed. “So much for keeping order.”

  “What were you doing?” said Marnie. “I was worried sick.”

  Anne agreed. “So was I. But I heard the reggae music – Otis and his bloomin’ ghetto-blaster – saw everyone around me trying to hit him with bricks and stuff.”

  “You were in with New Force?” Bartlett again.

  “Right in the middle.” She turned to Marnie. “So I got through to Otis and the others –”

  “You had no trouble with New Force?” Bartlett incredulous again.

  “They’ve taken me for one of them before. I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly Black Power, am I?”

  “What about the other side?”

  “They let me through. A lot of them know me, anyway.”

  “So no trouble with them, and no trouble getting through the police line?”

  Anne reflected. “I think I must be invisible.”

  “Or slippery as hell,” Bartlett suggested.

  “Probably.”

  All the while the chanting was growing louder, and Otis’s music was blaring at full blast. New Force were beginning a new tactic, pulling back and rushing the police lines. It looked like a well-practised manoeuvre. Each time they withdrew, a hail of missiles rained down on anti-Nazis, blacks and police alike. It was the classic assault pattern: bombardment followed by an infantry charge. Both sides seemed to be growing, and the banners and flags were multiplying like standards on an ancient battlefield. The anti-Nazis were now picking up bricks and beer cans from the ground, hurling them back at the enemy.