Inspector Kirby and Harold Longcoat

by Ian Martyn

  Marianne laughed as she set off up the road. ‘Yes, I know. I bet that Inspector Kirby had a fine time explaining that one away. And when we’re gone, if they fight, then that’s fine. The more trouble, the more they stir things up, the better. They’ll find their way home eventually. Well, most of them anyway.’

  Sarah skipped a few steps to catch up with her mother. ‘Sorry Mother, this is twenty-first-century Jesmond, not sixth-century BC or whenever, wherever.’

  Marianne looked around at the rather splendid three-storey, she presumed Victorian, terraced houses, many divided into desirable flats. ‘Oh come on, Sarah, stuffy old Jesmond could do with a bit of stirring up. When I was here, at least it had a bit of life. Walk down these streets then and you could get high just by breathing the air. Now it’s all lattes and frappuccinos, kohlrabi and Treviso lettuce and the like. The gods help us from the ambitions of the pretentious middle classes.’

  Sarah crossed her arms. ‘Yes, well I live here. I like it and I don’t see why you have to spoil it.’

  Marianne put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. ‘Listen, when we’ve finished, this place can be whatever you want it to be.’

  ‘And your place?’

  ‘Oh, that will definitely be what I want it to be.’ Marianne grinned. ‘Come on,’ she said, increasing her pace behind the now disappearing gangs of goblins.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘The Pub. That’s where the entertainment’s likely to start. Also, if there’s one thing I do miss it’s a good gin and tonic.’

  Outside the Collingwood Arms, a large group of student-types were sat at some of the benches and tables drinking. Others were leaning against the stone sills of the ornate windows.

  ‘Bit early for them, isn’t it?’ Marianne said.

  ‘It’s popular with post-grads and post-docs.’

  Marianne rubbed her hands together and smiled. ‘Good, good. The more the merrier, eh?’

  One of the students started to rise as Sarah approached. As Marianne glanced across, he froze, knees bent, arm half raised in greeting and a puzzled look on his face. He sat back down and within a couple of seconds was laughing with his friends again.

  ‘Friend?’ Marianne asked.

  ‘Roger.’

  ‘Your ex?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Marianne studied the young man who now seemed oblivious to them. ‘Not bad looking I suppose.’

  Sarah half smiled as she stared across at Roger.

  Marianne frowned. ‘What, you still have feelings for him?’

  ‘He was… is a nice boy,’ she shrugged. ‘I liked him, that’s all. It just… didn’t seem appropriate.’

  ‘Yes, well stick with me girl and you can have your pick, believe me.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Sarah said, glancing over at Roger again as they entered the pub.

  Inside, Marianne looked around. ‘Well at least they haven’t tried to gentrify the Colly too much.’

  Sarah followed her mother’s gaze. ‘I think the new trendy residents, as you might call them, like a bit of authenticity.’

  Marianne laughed. ‘Authenticity, is that what you call it?’ she said, wandering up to the bar. Despite several groups already waiting to be served, the barman approached them first.

  ‘What’ll it be?’

  ‘Now that’s a trick I wouldn’t mind having,’ Sarah muttered.

  ‘Two gin and tonics,’ Marianne said. ‘Oh, and make that large ones.’

  ‘Coming up.’

  The barman put the drinks down in front of Marianne with a smile. ‘That’ll be…’ Marianne looked him in the eyes and he didn’t finish. Instead he turned to the two men next to her. ‘Yes, gents, what’ll it be?’

  ‘Mother!’ Sarah whispered as they picked up their drinks.

  ‘What? I’m like the queen. I don’t carry cash.’

  ‘But he’s a student trying to work his way through college. I’ve worked in a bar, that’s likely to come out of his pay.’

  Marianne’s gaze drifted towards an older man at the other end of the bar, also serving customers. The man glanced across at the student, smiled and nodded. ‘There, it’s settled alright.’

  ‘What is?’

  Marianne nodded over her drink towards the older man. ‘He’s the manager and he’s going to give your young barman a raise. How good’s that?’

  Sarah sipped at her drink. ‘I thought you told me magic was not to be wasted on trivia.’

  Marianne made for an empty table, put her drink down, sat and then leant back, spreading her arms across the back of the padded bench seat. ‘I can feel it gathering,’ she paused, rubbing the tips of her fingers with her thumbs. ‘It’s like a tingling. It’s all around me and it’s more intoxicating than this gin.’ She grinned at Sarah. ‘Soon we’ll have magic to burn as you kids might say.’ She paused before adding with another grin. ‘Or even literally.’

  Sarah sipped and studied her mother.

  ‘Oh that was good,’ Marianne said, draining her glass and then sucking on the piece of lemon. ‘Want another?’

  ‘I’ve hardly started this one.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Marianne rose from the table. As she did so, she glanced out of the window behind them. ‘Forget that, at least for now. Come on, the entertainment’s about to start.’

  Outside, one group of goblins was trying distract the students, while others attempted to steal packets of crisps and pints of beer from the tables. At first the students took it as a light-hearted prank, laughing as they snatched their beers away from the group of “kids” in grey hoodies. However, the goblins became bolder, trying to push the students away. There were cries of ‘Hey!’ and ‘Watch it,’ as some of the students began to object and push back. Within a few minutes, angry voices were being raised, beer was spilled and glasses were broken. As the pub manager appeared at the door, scuffles broke out between one or two of the students and the goblins, as well as between the goblins themselves.

  ‘Call the police!’ he shouted back through the door. His ‘Clear off, you lot,’ was ignored as the goblins turned their attention to a small group of elderly people at another table. One of the goblins threw his hood back and grinned a grin that almost split his face in half, showing an impressive array of pointy teeth as he did so. A woman screamed as the pensioners moved faster than Marianne suspected they’d done for years, abandoning their drinks, which the goblins now fought over.

  ‘Mother?’ Sarah said, her brow furrowed with uncertainty and concern.

  Marianne laughed. ‘Don’t worry. It’s at least given them something to talk about for the next year or so.’ In the distance, a siren could be heard. ‘Come on, perhaps it’s time we left. Shame, I quite fancied another G & T.’

  twenty-NINE

  Kirby walked out of the back door of his mum’s house. She was sitting with her back to him, a mug in her hands. She had her eyes closed and her face raised as if soaking up the late afternoon sun. ‘Hello, Jonah. There’s some tea in the pot, pet.’

  How did she do that? ‘Witch,’ he muttered as he leant down and kissed her on the cheek.

  She laughed. ‘You better believe it,’ she said, as he went back inside to get himself a drink.

  ‘You left the door on the latch again,’ Kirby said, back in the garden and sitting down next to his mum. ‘You shouldn’t do that, you know.’

  She smiled at him. ‘It’s fine. There’s no trouble round here. Mrs Dawson said she might drop in and what with me being in the garden, I might not hear the bell.’

  Kirby shook his head. He’d had this conversation before and it made no difference. ‘Is it OK if I stay here again tonight?’

  ‘That’s fine, dear. But you’ll have to have the little room. I’ve got company staying.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, that lady I was telling you about from up the coast. You know, where I stayed after your dad passed away.’ Mrs Kirby sat up as if a thought had just occurred to her. ‘You could meet
her. Nice lady, you’d like her. She’s a widower you know.’

  ‘So you said. On second thoughts, I’ll just go home.’

  Mrs Kirby scowled at him. ‘Now, Jonah…’

  His phone vibrated in his pocket; he’d forgotten he’d put it on silent. ‘Sorry, Mum,’ he said, standing up and taking it out. ‘Kirby.’

  ‘Shirley, sir.’

  ‘Ah yes, well done, Constable.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Never mind. What is it?’

  ‘There’s a bit of bother, sir. Seems some teenagers have been kicking off with a group of students and it’s escalating.’

  ‘I’m sure we can leave that to uniform, Constable.’

  ‘Er, sorry, sir. It started in the Collingwood Arms and the teenagers have been described as all wearing grey hoodies.’

  ‘I’ll be right over.’

  Kirby shoved the phone in his pocket. ‘Sorry, Mum, got to go.’

  Mrs Kirby shook her head. ‘Always the same, Jonah. Anything to save you getting on with your life.’

  He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek again. ‘That’s right, Mum. You know me, any excuse.’

  Kirby slapped the blue light on the roof of his car and switched on the siren. He was aware of curtains twitching as he accelerated down the road. He hated doing this. He knew some coppers loved it. But he always seemed to find the idiots that panicked and weaved all over the road when he was behind them, or just stopped dead as if he was supposed drive over the top of them. Who did they think he was? Batman?

  Rush hour on Gosforth High Street didn’t help and now a bus was pulling out. ‘Get out of the way!’ he yelled, waving his hand across the windscreen. The bus got the message, then a hundred yards down the road, at a pedestrian crossing, the lights had just changed. This of course had twenty or more people dithering, some dashing across, some getting to the middle and rushing back, others couldn’t seem to make up their minds. One of those little trolley things on wheels, favoured by less mobile elderly ladies, overturned. Potatoes were rolling everywhere, with the elderly owner, now surprisingly nippy, chasing them down as if it was some mad parlour game. There was pushing and shoving and angry shouting, with cries of ‘Oi!’ and ‘Mind me spuds.’ Kirby put a hand on his head and groaned, it was like a nineteen-sixties’ British comedy film. Sid James started laughing from the passenger seat. He could see the headlines, “Police car on emergency call causes another riot”. Finally, he spotted a gap and risked it. ‘Sorry,’ he shouted, leaving a puddle of mashed potato behind him. Sensing his relief, the siren picked up the pace as he sped off down the road.

  Turning off Clayton Road and heading towards the Collingwood pub, he was flagged down by two uniformed officers.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked as he got out of the car.

  ‘It is all kicking off around the pub, sir, and down towards the Metro station.’

  At that moment Shirley came running across. ‘This way, sir. I suggest we run down Eskdale and try to get round the back.’

  ‘What happened?’ Kirby asked as they set off at a jog with Shirley in front. ‘Not sure, sir. One witness reckons this gang of hoodies appeared from nowhere and just started attacking people. It’s just that at five in the afternoon it was a group of students outside the pub having a drink. Then more hoodies showed up and now they seem to be fighting with each other as well as anyone else that gets in their way.’

  ‘What about Susie?’ Kirby asked between gasps, doing his best to keep up.

  ‘I rang,’ Shirley shouted, glancing back over her shoulder. She slowed her pace to allow him to catch up. ‘She’s OK. Said she can hear things going on, shouting and the like, but she’s fine. I told her to stay indoors.’

  ‘Good.’

  Shirley pointed. ‘Look over there, sir.’

  Harold was standing on the corner of Lambton Road. Kirby cut across and stopped, hands on his knees, sucking in lungfuls of breath.

  Harold looked round. ‘Look like you’ve been running, Jonah.’

  ‘I… what…I…’

  ‘What’s this all about, Harold?’ Shirley asked, allowing Kirby to concentrate on breathing.

  At the bottom end of the street, a group of what looked like teenagers emerged running towards the Metro station. Behind them were another group.

  ‘Uh, oh,’ Shirley said.

  The first group had stopped and turned to face the second mob. Both were brandishing small clubs. Guttural shouts and cries were being exchanged while the clubs were waved in the air. Although Kirby couldn’t understand the words, it was obvious they were issuing challenges to each other.

  ‘What the hell is going on, Harold?’ Kirby said, having got his breath back.

  Harold shook his head. ‘They’ll have been sent to stir up trouble. You know I said that the magic in your world was spread thin, like an even layer?’

  ‘Yes, so?’

  ‘Well it’s like it’s attracted to strong emotions, fear, fury, all that adrenaline coursing through bodies. Then you can sort of feed of it if you know what you’re doing; harvest it. And there’s one person I know who is capable of that.’

  ‘Marianne?’

  ‘Exactly,’ Harold said, using a hand to shade his eyes as he peered down the street. ‘Although I haven’t seen her yet.’

  Kirby watched as the two groups of, he hesitated to use the word goblins, for the moment at least, confined themselves to verbal exchanges.’

  ‘But they’re fighting each other,’ Kirby said.

  ‘Ah yes, unpredictable lot, your goblins. I’m guessing that body in the Dene belongs to one of these groups and they reckon the other lot were responsible.’

  ‘Not something to be settled over a nice cup of tea then,’ Shirley said.

  Coming from the other end of the street Kirby heard the sound of approaching sirens, and few seconds later three police vans screeched to a halt. Out of each poured half a dozen uniformed officers in full riot gear.

  ‘I guess the chief’ll want to nip this in the bud,’ Shirley said.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Kirby answered. ‘All we need.’

  The squad lined up and, on command, began their coordinated and deliberate shuffle towards the gangs, shields raised. It reminded Kirby of a Roman re-enactment he’d seen a couple of years ago, except that this lot were wearing shiny boots, not sandals. He half expected to hear the twang of a ballista. The two groups of goblins stopped their forceful exchange of opinions and turned to face the wall of blue closing in on them.

  ‘You’ve got to get them to stay where they are,’ Harold said, waving a hand towards the police line. ‘If the goblins feel closed in they’ll panic and fight.’

  ‘I’d like to see the arrest sheets,’ Shirley said.

  ‘Oh, hell,’ said Kirby. ‘They’ve been deployed. So they’ll want a result to show for it.’

  ‘Just stop them,’ Harold said as he turned and walked towards the two groups of goblins who for now seemed to have forgotten their differences in the face of a common enemy.

  ‘Come on, Constable,’ Kirby said as he jogged towards the line of blue and perspex, holding his warrant card high. ‘Time to save the day.’

  ‘Let them through,’ a voice behind the shields shouted.

  After a few moments of sideways shuffling, accompanied by, ‘Watch what you’re doing with that shield you could’ve had my eye out’ and ‘Get off me foot!’, a gap opened up.

  ‘Ooh, evening, Dave,’ Shirley said to one of the officers as she skipped through behind Kirby. ‘Looking good.’

  ‘Er thanks, Shirl,’ came the muffled reply.

  ‘Evening, Inspector,’ Kirby said, putting on what he hoped was a bright smile with a hint of a casual-yet-business-like manner about it.

  The inspector narrowed his eyes. ‘What’re you doing here, Kirby? Especially getting between my lads and that lot of little… little…’

  ‘Misunderstood group of junior citizens?’ Kirby finished for Inspector Carter.

 
Carter frowned. ‘If you say so. Anyway, back to what the hell are you doing here? The rumour mill says you’re on something so weird your chief goes right off his Hobnobs if it’s even mentioned.’

  ‘I am,’ Kirby answered and waited. Carter had a reputation of being a “by the book” copper, something he drummed into those under his command. Which meant he struggled with anything that might be deemed outside the book. Imagination wasn’t his strong point.

  Carter pointed down the street. ‘And who’s that idiot in the leather gear running towards those misunderstood junior citizens?’

  ‘He’s with us.’

  This caused Carter to pause. Kirby could almost hear the cogs grating against each other, like a learner driver trying to find reverse. Carter scratched his head, then stopped when he realised he still had his helmet on. He glanced at Kirby. ‘Looks a bit of rum ’un to me.’

  ‘He is, sir,’ Shirley said, ‘and more than a little, weird,’ she added, eyes wide, drawing out and exaggerating the word “weird”.

  Kirby glanced at Shirley, who had fixed a smile on Carter as if willing a whole slot machine of pennies to drop.

  ‘Super’s still going to want a report,’ Carter said as if still trying to hold onto the book, feeling the need for its comfort, given the direction this might be going.

  ‘Perhaps, sir. However, believe us, he’s not going to appreciate the report he’ll get if you catch up with that lot,’ Shirley said, nodding in Harold’s direction, who was waving his arms and shouting at the goblins in their own guttural language.

  ‘So what’s that?’ Carter asked. ‘Some sort of eastern European dialect?’

  Shirley’s eye blinked under the strain of maintaining the fixed smile. ‘Not exactly, sir.’

  Carter glared at Shirley and then looked at Kirby, who added his own smile and nodded in Shirley’s support. Carter’s face contorted and his eyes flickered from side to side as anger, puzzlement and frustration battled for prominence in his facial expressions. After a couple of seconds he bellowed at the line of policemen. ‘Right, you lot, stay there. Anyone who moves a muscle will be on traffic duty in the morning.’