BODILY HARM a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Charlie Gallagher

  The night seemed to have turned colder by the time George stepped off the bus, and he was grateful for the coffee Sergeant Adcock handed to him.

  ‘Thanks, John.’

  ‘No problem. Anything on there that takes your interest?’

  ‘Nothing obvious. CSI might get something. Do we know if the man was wearing gloves?’

  ‘Both the boy and the driver were pretty sure that he wasn’t.’

  George nodded. ‘Unfortunately that might not help us on a public bus. There’ll be a million different prints on there, but you never know.’ He took a cautious sip of his coffee. He’d been caught out enough times by heat erupting like lava from under the plastic lid.

  ‘Any chance of you getting back to the wife at a reasonable hour then, George?’ Adcock smiled widely.

  ‘Much as I like our spare room, I’m afraid it’s the hospital to chat with our driver and then I’ll need to head to the nick to make a start on this. I’ll have to get the report done. Management always want something to read with their toast when they arrive in the morning.’

  ‘Not much you can say, is there?’

  George rubbed at his chin. ‘You did the right thing getting me out. You would have been under the microscope if you hadn’t. I assume the kids are still at Langthorne General too?’ Adcock nodded. ‘Then I’ll get some of their details from the officer that’s with them and put together some sort of investigation plan.’

  Adcock was still smiling. ‘And there’s me thinking that you just came for a quick gawp and then went back to bed till sun-up.’

  George smiled back and checked his watch. ‘At least it makes it worth being hauled out of bed. I’m used to it now. Ever since I was assigned to Effingell, it’s a rare evening when I’m not called out.’

  ‘You’re assigned to Effingell?’

  ‘I am. Anything above minor that happens on this patch comes to me and my team.’

  John laughed. ‘Well! Who did you piss off?’

  George pulled his collar closer round his neck. ‘I have no idea, John. No idea at all.’

  * * *

  George wasn’t surprised to see the staff at Langthorne General’s A&E department still rushed off their feet in the early hours of a midweek morning. Stuffy warm air enveloped him, thanks to the industrial-strength heating, on full blast in an attempt to limit the losses on the elderly wards and ensure no one else was able to sleep.

  George guessed the driver, Tony Mitchum, was in his mid-forties. He was in good shape for a man of that age, despite the sling round his left arm.

  ‘Dangerous job, driving a bus,’ George said.

  Tony was sitting up in bed surrounded by a flimsy curtain. On one side was a crying child and on the other a man was coughing incessantly.

  ‘Well, that’ll teach me to stop. I’ve been driving for twenty years and I should know by now. First rule of our job, don’t stop until you get somewhere busy and then call the police.’

  ‘You live and learn. I’m Detective Sergeant George Elms. I’m sorry you got caught up in this. This man — did you get much of a look at him?’ George looked around for somewhere to support his notebook. He was forced to stand, and settled on jabbing the edge of it into his midriff so that he could scribble notes.

  ‘Not really. I got a brief glimpse when he got on. He was a typical Epping Hill type, so I usually avoid eye contact.’

  ‘The CCTV’s usually pretty good on the buses. Hopefully we’ll get a decent look at him on there.’

  ‘You’ll have a hard job. That bus is down to have the CCTV system sorted out — it’s on the blink. They still send us out in it though. What did they say . . ?’ Tony looked at the ceiling, ‘. . . that’s right, it has no impact on public safety. Ironic, eh?’

  George gave a thin smile. ‘This guy, did he pay with the right money?’

  ‘Um . . . yeah, he did. I was running low on change so I remember. I was happy that I got a couple of kids with passes and a man with the right money. Why’s that?’

  ‘It means that he’s ridden the route before. We might not have CCTV from this journey, but he’ll have been captured at some point. So, they got on at the same stop, the kids and the man?’

  ‘They did, yeah. In the town centre.’

  ‘And, let me guess, the kids got on first?’

  ‘They did.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen this man on this route before? It would probably have been at the same sort of time. I suspect he knew it was a quiet bus.’

  ‘I haven’t, but this isn’t my usual route. I’m covering. I normally do the East Yellow Run.’

  George smiled at the driver, and then at the nurse who had pulled the curtain back and had been quietly waiting for him to finish his interview. ‘Well, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of the staff here. No doubt I will speak to you again, Tony.’ He turned to the nurse. ‘Sorry to get in your way. Look after this man. He’s had a rough night.’

  ‘That’s what we’re here for,’ was the nurse’s curt reply.

  Chapter 3

  George Elms’ eyes were heavy as he walked into the meeting room of Langthorne House Police Station. The tension was almost tangible. It was four minutes past ten and George was arriving for a meeting that had been hurriedly called with no explanation as to why. He found a spare seat. George saw officers he knew from other stations around the county. This worried him immensely.

  The meeting had been called by Chief Superintendent Graham Huntington, Lennokshire Constabulary’s Temporary Area Commander for the southern region. Most of those present had never met the man, but those who had, described him as an angry, demanding man who had bullied and clawed his way up through the ranks.

  George could hear hushed theories being discussed about the reason for the meeting, when the door opened, and silence fell. The officers stood up as the chief superintendent entered the room. Huntington paused for a second and nodded, then marched to a desk at the front of the room, positioned below a large projector screen. He turned to face the officers and rested a hand on the high-backed leather chair that had been brought in for him. His secretary, and note-taker for the meeting, Jean, took up position at the end of the desk, sitting sideways to the group. Huntington stood in silence. He took his time to give the room permission to sit down.

  ‘Thank you, parade.’

  The officers sat down.

  Huntington turned to the secretary. ‘Jean, are the inspectors not joining us?’

  ‘Er, no, sir. You asked . . . I mean, they have been told to meet at ten this morning, sir. You were planning on speaking to them separate . . .’ Jean trailed off.

  Huntington smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I think I’ll speak to everyone at once.’

  Jean scurried to the back of the room and slammed the door in her haste. Huntington gave another mirthless smile.

  ‘I expect you’re all wondering why I asked you to come in this morning.’

  George almost snorted at the word, “asked.”

  ‘We have suffered an incident overnight that was not out of the ordinary and in the grand scheme might not even look like a major incident. But it is the final straw. A young, bright and decent schoolgirl was slashed in the face by a would-be robber. Her male friend was stabbed by a dirty needle and a bus driver ended up with a fracture when he tried to help. Early signs suggest this is yet another overspill from the residents of the Epping Hill Estate. Now, I’d like to think of this as a meeting of minds, an opportunity, if you will, to do something that we so rarely get to do, namely, to pool our collective intelligence and expertise in response to a common problem.’

  The door at the rear swung open and Jean stepped aside to allow the six inspectors to enter. They nodded at the commander, as if to say that this was not a major inconvenience at all, and that they hadn’t each been in the middle of something much more enjoyable.

  Huntington began again. ‘Thank you. I was just beginning to explain why I have asked you all to attend. You will all be aware of
the incident that occurred overnight. Now, as I was saying, this meeting is purely to allow us the opportunity to get together and do what we rarely get the time to do. There is much expertise and experience in this room — a think tank, you might say — and I believe we can utilise this to solve Lennokshire Police’s biggest problem.’ Huntington turned to face the screen behind him. He waved a remote control and a colour-coded map appeared on the screen. He turned back to his audience. ‘Epping Hill Estate.’

  Jean rose and switched the lights off. Epping Hill was coloured dark blue, the outlying areas light blue, and the ring road surrounding the estate was highlighted in yellow, as were the three major roads in and out of the area.

  ‘Okay, a quick show of hands, anyone who has not dealt with a job in Epping Hill Estate.’ A single hand rose at the back of the room, belonging to one of a group of inspectors who had remained standing at the back of the room. Huntington strained to look at him. ‘You haven’t?’

  ‘I’ve not had the pleasure yet, sir. I’m a transferee, sir, from the Met. Haven’t been with you long.’

  Huntington smiled. ‘Even so, that should’ve been plenty of time.’ Muted laughter went around the room.

  ‘The Epping Hill Estate,’ continued Huntington, ‘is a blight on what is an otherwise calm, law-abiding and pleasant area of the county. That estate accounts for sixty-three per cent of all the crime in our area. In my area. It is awash with druggies, thieves and other bottom-feeding scumbags that make the ordinary people of this town afraid to drive past it, let alone through the place. Last week alone, seventeen violent crimes were committed by residents of the Epping Hill Estate. And they don’t limit their activities to the estate either. Hell, they can beat the shit out of each other, for all I care, but they carry out robberies, aggravated burglaries and assaults on people in other parts of the area. It cannot continue. I want action, people, and I want ideas.’

  Huntington looked around the room. The officers looked back, silent.

  George’s pocket vibrated. Glad of the distraction, he pulled out his phone and slid his thumb over the screen. The text message was from his wife, Sarah. It’s got to be contractions this time! This could be it! x

  He couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across his face, his exhaustion suddenly slipping away as he surged with adrenalin. He had to get out of there, he shot up a hand.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Sir, I have to go.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sir, yes. I’m sorry, but I think . . . well, I think my wife is in labour.’

  Huntington took some time to respond. ‘Well, of all the excuses . . .’

  George nodded and hurried out of the room. As he left, a female officer was suggesting possible solutions to the Epping Hill problem. George was glad to be leaving the room before Huntington answered, and put the female officer down. His sexist views were well known. Female officers, according to Huntington, should spend their days filing documents and making coffee, while the men did the real police work.

  In the corridor, George called his wife.

  Sarah answered immediately.

  ‘It’s real then, this time?’ George asked.

  ‘I’m not sure. I mean, it feels real. There’s a good couple of hours between the contractions, if that’s what they are. But it’s not the same as when I had Charley. My mum’s here, and she said that’s what happened with her. She was in labour for almost three days with me, so I don't think there’s any real urgency just yet.’

  ‘You speak for yourself. I just want to be there with you. I should be home already but there’s been some meeting I got roped into. I can be home in about half an hour.’ George checked his watch, his hand shaking a little. He was out of practice when it came to working through the night. His top button hung undone, his thin-knotted tie seemed to be tightening. He tugged at it, feeling throttled.

  ‘Just come home and get some rest. You’re definitely going to need it if this isn’t another drill. I’m going to wait a while and see what happens.’

  ‘Okay, yeah. You’ve given me the perfect opportunity to slip away. Is it painful?’

  ‘Not really. Not yet.’

  ‘Hang on in there, hun, and I’ll see you soon.’

  George could see the backs of seated officers in the meeting through a glass slit in one of the doors. He took his opportunity and walked away.

  * * *

  When the meeting finally dragged to its weary end, the officers filed out in silence. Huntington was perfectly satisfied with the inconclusive result. He would have been seen by those on high to be taking action, and that was all he cared about. He was about to leave when he noticed that one of the inspectors was lingering at the back of the room, evidently waiting to speak to him. Huntington did his best to ignore him.

  ‘Sir?’

  Huntington recognised the inspector who had spoken up earlier in the meeting — the transferee from the Met. He pretended not to hear.

  ‘Sir?’ the inspector said again.

  ‘Did you forget something, Met Police?’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about your Epping Hill problem.’

  Huntington sat down and leaned back in the chair, looking up at the man. He exhaled. ‘Well, for a start, old son, there’s a problem with what you just said. It is not my Epping Hill problem at all. It is our problem. Welcome to the force.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not something I could bring up in the meeting, sir. It’s a bit . . . outside the box.’

  Huntington leant forward and rested his hands together on the table. ‘And what is this idea that will solve all of Lennokshire’s problems? I ask you to bear in mind that I plan to have a coffee upstairs in five minutes.’

  The inspector smiled. ‘That’s perfect, sir. I’d rather not talk about it in here anyway. Perhaps I can get you a coffee in town?’

  Huntington laughed. ‘Do you know how many officers on this station would like to take me out for a private cup of coffee to discuss police matters?’

  ‘Based on what I’ve heard, sir, none.’ The inspector turned and walked towards the door. There, he stopped and turned to face Huntington. ‘If you had bothered to ask, I might have told you that for the last two years in London I ran one of the most successful and hard-hitting pilots ever seen in the force. It was aimed at wiping out the source of all the trouble which, as we both know, is drugs. It was succeeding until a change of management forced us to stop. If you have the balls to do it, I believe I can help you eliminate your Epping Hill problem in a matter of months.’

  Huntington raised an eyebrow. ‘You talk a good game, Inspector. You city boys always do.’

  ‘You’re a temporary area commander, right?’

  ‘Well, I don't really see—’

  ‘I know what it’s like. You jump through all the hoops and say all the right things, but at the end of the day if there are people above you that think you’re not the right man, then there’s nothing you can do about it. Epping Hill is their excuse, isn’t it? I’ve no doubt there are people above you that would rather you didn’t pass the board, and while Epping Hill remains a problem for which you have no solution, they will get their way. You’ll never pass that board, sir, with respect. You’ll just continue to work twice as hard as those that sit on it.’

  ‘Well, I don't know how it works in the city, but . . .’ Huntington tailed off.

  ‘Costa do a nice coffee, sir. I’m Detective Inspector Craig Jacobs, by the way.’

  Huntington ran a hand through his hair. ‘Well, good for you.’

  Chapter 4

  ‘Coffee, guv?’ Jacobs asked.

  Huntington glanced disdainfully around Costa Coffee. A scrawny lad was noisily scooping up empty cups and plates from the early-morning rush.

  Jacobs indicated a table in the corner and went to get the drinks.

  ‘Come here a lot, do you?’ Huntington said when Jacobs returned.

  ‘It’s decent coffee.’ Jacobs sat down and watched Huntington push at the head of fro
th on his drink.

  ‘Well, it wants to be at three quid a cup.’

  ‘Some things are worth paying for, sir.’

  ‘So this is an investment, is it?’

  Jacobs looked puzzled. ‘Investment?’

  ‘In your career. You bring me over here and spend three quid on a cup of coffee, and I’m impressed. Then we all live happier, more successful lives.’

  ‘Ah, I’m with you. You think this is about me giving you some sort of sales pitch that will raise my profile. Well, let me tell you right from the start, I’m not here because of my career. In fact, I don’t care if you run this thing without involving me at all, just as long as you consider running it.’

  Huntington leant back in his chair. ‘Well, it’s not often I do get a fancy cup of coffee, so you’ve got the time it takes for me to drink this at the least.’

  ‘Places like the Epping Hill Estate,’ Jacobs began, ‘are a problem that every police force in the country has to face, and the key to solving that problem is intel.’

  ‘Well, you’ve cracked it, son! You brought me out of my office and all the way over here to tell me that I need to gather intelligence? Jesus.’ Huntington shook his head.

  ‘No, sir. I’m not nearly finished.’ Jacobs took a breath. ‘I had a similar problem when I was in the Met. We had an area that was a virtual no-go, run by the criminals who lived there, as well as some particularly nasty ones from outside. I got together a team of people and injected them into the area undercover. They did all the intel stuff you would expect. They talked to the right people, watched what was going on, found out who was who—’