Particular Stupidities (The Romney And Marsh Files Book 5)

by Oliver Tidy

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good lad. Keep your phone close.’

  Romney ended the call and headed down the stairs like an old mountain goat whose beady eye had just alighted on a tasty morsel.

  *

  Romney barged through CID’s double doors and called to Spicer and Marsh that they should join him in the meeting room immediately. They both knew that he’d been breathing rarefied air upstairs so his body language was important to them. Neither saw anything to raise concerns for them regarding any fallout. They looked at each other, made faces and went after him.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from Martin. The boys have got choir practice tonight.’ Romney caught Spicer and Marsh exchange a look of confusion. He exhaled his impatience. ‘They’re moving the lead.’

  ‘Where are they taking it?’ said Marsh.

  ‘We know they bring the booty to Dover. Martin said that they’ll be going after football finishes at nine.’

  ‘We’re not a hundred percent that they take what they strip to the Holloways though, are we?’ said Marsh.

  ‘We’ll soon find out,’ said Romney.

  ‘Perhaps we should have a team watching them so that if they don’t come down our way we can tip off the relevant authority.’

  Romney shook his head. ‘I don’t want to risk scaring them off. Besides, we’ve got someone on the inside. I have faith in Martin to provide all the intelligence we will need.’

  Marsh was unconvinced but she’d made her point. ‘So what will we do?’

  ‘I’ll have a word with uniform, see how many bodies they can spare us. I hope none of you have got anything on tonight – and if you do, cancel it. It could be a late one. If all goes well, by the end of the night Dover’s holding cells should be full to bursting like the good old days.’ Romney was rubbing his hands together at the prospect.

  Romney went in search of Inspector Blanchett for some interdepartmental cooperation. When he confided in his opposite number that the lads who’d given young Fower a pasting were the focus of the operation, Blanchett assured him that there would be no shortage of volunteers. Fower was understandably popular with a lot of Dover police station’s nouveau riche.

  Romney organised some coffee and cakes from outside and had a large-scale map of the area surrounding the Holloways’ empire brought up so that CID and Blanchett might plan and coordinate their ambush.

  *

  Grimes showed up just before lunch. When Marsh and Spicer had finished inspecting his teeth, like prospective buyers at a horse-flesh market, Romney called him in to go over the arrangements for the evening. Romney was glad of the opportunity to do it all once more and with an experienced officer, even if that officer was Grimes.

  Romney also wondered how Grimes’ dental work had turned out. His own teeth were looking their age – stained and yellowed with too much black coffee, red wine and nicotine. The odd chip. But structurally they seemed quite sound. And they were even. Romney was thinking about having some low-key cosmetic work done. Something significantly less adventurous and radical than the redevelopment of Grimes’ cake-chute.

  In response to Romney’s casual enquiry, Grimes was only too pleased to show off his new gnashers. He seemed immensely proud of them. And they did look good – evenly white, evenly spaced and evenly matched; not at all like the snooker set Grimes had been living with.

  When Grimes smiled they took years off him, transforming his otherwise tired and lived-in face into something approaching boyish and vital. It was something remarkable, and again Romney considered what a little work might do for him. He was in no doubt that the basic facial components he had to work with were better proportioned and matched than Grimes’ irregular and lumpy features. Romney asked what it had all cost and the figure made him whistle and think again.

  The relief that all Grimes’ consonants were back to being pronounced how they should be was palpable.

  Romney moved on to the operation. The men quickly settled a few points that Romney was not entirely sure about. Grimes seemed enthusiastic about the scale of things.

  ‘A long time since we did something like this, guv,’ he said. ‘There was that scrap with the Kosovans and that Avery’s goons at Crabble Mill but that was spur-of-the-moment.’

  Romney shared the nostalgic recollection happily. ‘There was that false alarm that we sat up all night for in Deal.’

  Grimes snorted at the memory.

  Romney said, ‘At least we can look forward to testing out a few of yesterday’s theories.’

  The phone rang on Romney’s desk. He answered and his shoulders fell.

  He answered Grimes’ enquiring look with one word: ‘Boudicca.’

  *

  Romney was back in her office. He was seated across from her. The temperature of her mood had not obviously risen since their earlier meeting.

  ‘Why didn’t you mention this evening’s proposed operation when we spoke earlier?’ She really did sound quite despairing.

  Aiming for non-confrontational and reasonable – he didn’t want to give Boudicca a reason to interfere out of spite – he said, ‘When we spoke earlier, ma’am, I had no idea that there was going to be an operation tonight. I received the call from my source after I left here. And then I had to explore possibilities, examine the logistical implications, organise things. It all takes time and there hasn’t been much of it.’

  ‘As station commander, I should have been high on your list priorities for consultation.’

  Romney couldn’t help himself. ‘Why? It’s my investigation, my operation. I can deal with the logistics and the planning and the liaising with uniform. I don’t understand why I need your approval just to do my job.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything about approval. It would be nice, maybe even professional, to keep me, the one ultimately responsible for everything that happens here, in the loop, so to speak. If something goes wrong tonight where do you think Area will be looking to lay the blame?’ She pointed to a little desk plaque that Romney had not noticed before. It said: The buck stops here.

  Something about the reality of that touched the policeman, the professional and the human in Romney. He understood. It softened him. He climbed down. He met her eye and said, ‘You’re right, ma’am.’ Boudicca blinked like he’d invited her to do something undignified with her plaque. Romney inhaled and exhaled deliberately deeply. ‘Would you like to come to CID or shall I bring it all up here?’

  Boudicca was later forced to consider that perhaps there was some magical ingredient in the air freshener that she’d plugged into the mains outlet after Romney had left her office the first time that day. She too felt a jab of understanding that went some way to thawing her disposition towards the officer she considered a rogue element of the station. ‘Let’s go down and look at it together, shall we?’

  Grimes was at CID’s doors, about to push through them in search of food, when through the little glass viewing panel he glimpsed Romney and the station matriarch heading his way. He ducked down and retreated quickly for a big man. He called a low warning to the rest of them before settling at his desk and looking industrious.

  Three pairs of eyes were lifted to follow the backs of the two senior officers as they made their way between the fixtures and fittings in silence. The watchers exchanged glances. A variety of facial expressions communicated their individual feelings.

  None of them left their places or spoke for the time it took Romney and Vine to discuss the evening’s operation. Six ears strained for a raised voice, a harsh word, the makings of a spat. When the phone rang on Marsh’s desk it made her start.

  When Vine left, alone, Spicer was bent to his paperwork, Grimes was pretending to be on the phone and Marsh’s attention was fixed with a frown on her computer’s monitor. As the door swung shut behind Vine their attention and their eyes flitted back to the meeting room. Romney stepped out and he was smiling.

  *

  Romney organised those uniformed officers who would be involved in the e
vening’s operation to attend a briefing. He was greatly encouraged to see that the number of officers present was almost as many as those who had turned out for Bob Falkner’s retirement presentation.

  Romney leaned across to Blanchett and whispered, ‘Who’s sanctioned the overtime for this lot?’

  Blanchett grinned back, ‘What overtime? Everyone who isn’t already rostered to be on duty is here voluntarily. I told you, Fower is important to us.’

  Romney ran through the proposals using the map to illustrate his points. He took a few questions and then he and Blanchett organised teams of watchers and delegated transport and positions. Dover police hadn’t known anything like it for a long, long time and the prospect of a little bit of Dover police history being made seemed to infect many of them with an obvious enthusiasm for the promised fray.

  Romney had a few words for them before they broke up. ‘Just a little bit of background for those of you who aren’t familiar with the details of what this is all about. This gang from Chatham has been ripping the roofs off places of worship in and around the south-east for months with a contemptible and callous indifference, doing untold damage and causing a lot of distress to a lot of people who rely on the church.

  ‘It’s likely that at least one member of the opposition tonight is also guilty of the murder and concealment of the body that turned up at D&DSS. That’s why we’ve got to make our arrests on site.

  ‘Add to the mix the Holloway brothers, who’ve been a thorn in the side of Dover police for as long as most of us can remember. It’s a good bet that they’ll both be about tonight. They’ll know the place better than us so, again, keep your eyes open and your wits about you.

  ‘It’s chaotic up there in daylight. In the dark with several potential suspects doing their best to evade capture it’ll be a nightmare. Be careful you don’t go trying to arrest each other.’ That attracted a ripple of amusement. ‘But the reason that most of you have so generously offered to give up your free time and volunteer for this operation is because of the kicking that these cowardly bastards gave one of our own just because he was a policeman taking an interest.

  ‘I’m telling you all this for two reasons: one, don’t take any chances with your personal safety – stick together. And two, while I wouldn’t want anyone to forget what these scrotes did to Fower, let’s be professional – try not to leave any marks.’ That got a good laugh from the rank and file and hatched an egg of anxiety in Marsh. ‘We’ll get copies of our rogues’ gallery printed off and circulated. Take time to familiarise yourself with faces. But the rule for tonight is: you encounter anyone up there who isn’t one of us, treat them as hostile.’

  Romney asked if there were any questions. A uniform put his hand up.

  ‘I heard we have someone on the inside, guv. Is that right? And if we have, shouldn’t we know who it is so we can take it a bit easy on him?’

  Romney shook his head. ‘I don’t know where you got that idea from. As far as any of us need be concerned they are all as guilty as each other. Treat them all the same.’

  Romney was ready to finish but he couldn’t ignore Grimes’ hand in the air. He put on his impatient face and said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is an operation, right, guv?’

  ‘Excellent detective work, Peter. Welcome on board.’

  Unfazed by Romney playing to the gallery, Grimes said, ‘Shouldn’t it have a name, guv? All operations have names: Operation Stack, Operation Yewtree, Operation Desert Storm.’

  ‘I don’t get the connection between lorries stuck on the M20, paedophiles and the invasion of Iraq?’ said Romney looking baffled.

  ‘Just examples, guv. We don’t get to take part in many operations. I just think it would be nice if when some of us want to remember tonight we can call it something other than that time we all piled up to the scrapyard in Aylesham.’

  Romney’s inclination was to brush Grimes’ suggestion aside but the appreciative mumblings and body language that seemed to agree with Grimes beat him to it. Perhaps, he thought, it would be something motivating for them. And there was no harm in it. Maybe it did need a name. A term of reference.

  ‘Fair enough. What have you got in mind?’

  ‘Operation Payback?’ came a voice from the back.

  ‘Too suggestively aggressive.’

  ‘Operation Aylesham,’ said someone else.

  ‘Sounds like we’re taking on the town. Not good for community relations.’

  ‘How about Operation Scrap?’ said Grimes.

  The ambiguity of it appealed to Romney and a few of the others by the sound of it. Romney considered for a long moment, checked Inspector Blanchett’s feelings with a look and, receiving a nod of approval, said, ‘Operation Scrap it is.’ He wrote it on the board in big red letters to a round of applause.

  Romney set a time for them to reconvene and they were thanked and dismissed.

  *

  The rest of the working day did not give CID the time or opportunity to take it easy, to prepare mentally for the promised evening’s encounter. There were other existing enquiries that needed the department’s attention and input. Phones rang with new ones and the computer terminals hummed and heated with use. But underlying all the activity in CID, drifting through the corridors of the building, suffusing the very atmosphere of the station, an air of quiet excitement and anticipation prevailed. As one astute wag commented, it was like Dover Athletic FC had got to a cup final, and as rare.

  At five o’clock Romney told his team to clear off and prepare themselves. He made a joke about writing their letters, which no one laughed at. Dover CID was as superstitious as anywhere else. Their reaction made him roll his eyes. But when they weren’t looking he touched wood.

  ***

  18

  Romney had changed into clothes more suited to an evening of potential brawling in scrapyards and was trying to relax for a few minutes in his back garden. He was sucking on his pipe with some success while making the most of the evening sun before it dipped below the trees at the far end of the neighbouring field. He seemed finally to be getting the hang of keeping the fragrant weed alight for a few unhurried puffs. He was a little peeved that no one else was there to appreciate it and the look of educated refinement he believed the instrument gave him.

  Zara was on a late shift and he hadn’t heard from Julie Carpenter. He sat staring into the distance, going over the arrangements for the evening and possible scenarios for the way things could turn out.

  After checking his watch again he decided he’d feel better if he went back to the station. He’d be early but he could fill his time better and distract himself from the nervousness that was gnawing at his innards.

  *

  Romney pushed into CID to find Marsh already there.

  ‘You’re keen,’ he said.

  ‘No point hanging around the flat just waiting,’ she said. ‘Thought I might as well catch up with some paperwork. Take my mind off things.’

  Romney laughed quietly. ‘I know how you feel.’

  ‘I’ve found somewhere to live,’ she said.

  He perched on the edge of Grimes’ desk. ‘Oh yeah? Where?’

  ‘The Gateway. Bigger flat. Better view. I like it there.’

  ‘Congratulations. Each to their own. I need a garden around me. Some land. Some space. I’ve lived in flats. Didn’t like it. Too many people coming and going. What does Justin think of your decision?’

  ‘I haven’t told him yet.’

  Romney raised an eyebrow.

  Marsh huffed. ‘I don’t know how he’ll react. I think he was hoping we’d move in together.’

  ‘Not ready for that?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not ready to be a step-mother. Not even a wicked one.’

  ‘Don’t blame you. You know what they say about kids.’

  ‘Yeah. Peter told me. Trouble is, I’ve never been very keen on other people’s farts. Not even my sister’s. I love them like an aunt but I couldn’t live with them. And
they’re my blood relatives.’ She huffed again.

  ‘If that’s the way you feel, you’ve made the right decision and you should stick to it. For all your sakes.’

  Spicer and Grimes pushed through the doors together, talking loudly. Seeing Romney and Marsh there surprised them.

  ‘You too?’ said Romney.

  Grimes said, ‘You know how it is, guv. Hanging around at home just waiting. No one there understands.’ He didn’t need to say any more.

  After a quick discussion, pizza and soft drinks were ordered, an old table was cleared and four chairs were arranged around it. The time passed quicker and nothing got done.

  Superintendent Vine had not gone home. She lived too far away from the station to make the round trip worthwhile. And she was certainly not going to be anywhere on this night but at the helm.

  She took a break from her own mountain of bureaucracy, removed her glasses and massaged her eyes. She stood and stretched and decided to take a stroll round the station for the exercise it would give her rather than to keep her officers on their toes.

  Passing through the first floor corridor she was surprised to hear a burst of laughter coming from CID. She checked her watch – it was much too early for the scheduled meeting of officers for the evening’s operation. She changed direction and approached the doors. She stopped at the viewing panel and looked in. She put her hand on the door’s push-plate and then took it off. She turned and continued on her way, smiling.

  Grimes helped himself to another slice of the meat feast and said, ‘Talking of The Lone Ranger reminds me of a good one. The Lone Ranger and Tonto are having a beer in this saloon when a cowboy walks in and says, ‘Whose is the white horse tied up outside?’ The Lone Ranger says, ‘It’s mine. What about it?’ The cowboy says, ‘It don’t look so good.’ The Lone Ranger and Tonto run outside and sure enough old Silver is suffering in the heat. They give it some water and it perks up. The Lone Ranger says, ‘Tonto, I want you to run around Silver. Try to create a breeze. Cool him down a bit.’ ‘Sure thing, Kemosabe.’ And he sets off. The Lone Ranger goes back in to finish his beer. Five minutes later another cowboy comes in and says, ‘Who’s is that white horse tied up outside?’ The Lone Ranger says, ‘Mine. Now what’s wrong?’ ‘Nothing. Just thought you’d like to know you left you injun running.’