The Rubicon

by Andrew Heasman

  Adam looked behind her. Nothing. No second officer. No backup. No partner. She was on her own. He looked ahead of her, and there, almost invisible at first glance, was her quarry. It looked like a youth, a young man in his teens or early twenties. He was dressed totally in black in what appeared to be a puffer jacket and jeans, and he was breathing hard judging by the cloud of mist emanating from his gaping mouth. How long the chase had been going on for, Adam had no idea, but the officer was gaining and the boy appeared exhausted, staggering as he strained to look over his shoulder at his rampaging pursuer. The police officer called again, this time more forcefully.

  “STOP - NOW!”

  Adam expected the lad to ignore the command, but to his surprise, he slowed, jogged, and then came to a standstill, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He turned towards the oncoming police officer and squared his shoulders. He was not going to give up without a fight. The officer, seeing him suddenly stop, drew her baton (an ASP) from its holder on her belt, ratcheted it out to full extension, and also came to a halt. There was a stand-off, both parties separated by a distance of about 4 meters. Adam could see that the male was bigger than the female officer, and looking at his physique, much stronger too. Unless her support arrived quickly (he assumed that she had called for assistance en route), she was going to have a job containing the situation. He was concerned for her safety and could see things going badly wrong if she was not careful. He sensed trouble brewing.

  With the baton gripped in her right hand, resting on her shoulder in the ready position, and her left arm extended in an open-handed calming manner, she spoke to the boy. Adam could see her lips moving, but could not hear her words clearly. Opposite her, the youth clenched his fists, tensing his body. Adam noticed the slight inclination of his head, the locking-on of his eyes, and a hunching of his shoulders. Years of experience screamed out to him. He’s gonna attack. Back away. Wait for support. Instead, the police officer stepped towards the youth. In his mind, he cried, No, no, no... But outwardly, Adam whispered, “SHIT! It’s all going wrong. Back off.”

  Behind him, there was a rustling of the bedclothes and a drowsy voice said, “Mmm, eh? Wha...what was that?”

  Sarah was leaning against the headboard rubbing the sleep from her eyes having been unexpectedly awoken from her slumber.

  “It’s all kicking off outside.”

  “What is? What are you talking about?”

  Ignoring her question, Adam turned to look out of the window. As he watched, the police officer swung her baton in an attempt to keep the youth at bay. However, he had seen it coming, stepping to the side to avoid the impact. Quick as a flash, he countered, grabbing her arm and pulling it towards him. He twisted it sharply, forcing her shoulders and head downwards, and then brought his knee up, smashing it into her chest. As she struggled to breathe, he released her arm, kicked her legs out from under her, and as she rolled into a foetal position, he repeatedly kicked her in the chest and face.

  Adam’s mind was in turmoil. Should he run outside and help her? Should he call 999? Or should he just stay where he was and let the police deal with it when they arrived? It was no longer his job; he was no longer a police officer. As an unarmed member of the public, he could easily get hurt if he intervened. But all of that was irrelevant. The decision was straightforward in his mind. It was his duty to help in whatever way he could. He felt obliged to help as he was an ex-police officer himself and this was one of his former colleagues, but more than that, it was his duty as a member of the public to assist any officer in trouble. He turned and rushed towards the bedroom door.

  “Sarah, call 999 now. Tell ‘em one of their officers is taking a pasting.”

  “Where’re you going? Don’t get involved. It’s not your job anymore.”

  But Adam was already gone, bounding down the stairs two at a time, dressed in nothing more than a pair of tartan patterned pyjama trousers and a T-shirt. At the front door, whilst turning the key protruding from the lock, he simultaneously slipped on his work boots positioned just to one side. He opened the door to see the youth using the police officer’s head as a football, his back turned towards the house.

  Adam was just under 6 feet tall and well-built. At 35 years of age, he was fit and strong. Many of his customers, on first meeting him, referred to him as “the surfer dude,” which was exactly what he looked like with his dark-blond straggly shoulder-length hair and facial stubble. Others likened him to Faf De Klerk (François De Klerk), the South African rugby scrum-half, only taller. He charged towards the unsuspecting youth, hurdled the low stone wall that bordered his front garden, and rugby tackled him from behind at full speed - Faf would have been impressed. The lad did not know what had hit him. Linking his arms around the boy’s thighs and using his shoulders as a battering ram, Adam took his legs out from under him, wrapping him in a tangle of arms, legs, and flying fists. A scuffle ensued, during which the words of Adam’s police self-defence instructor from years before came ringing in his ears; Avoid ground fighting at all costs. He leapt to his feet, only to receive a kick to the face. The force pushed his head backwards, but with the adrenaline flowing freely, he felt no pain.

  As the youth regained his feet, Adam took hold of his right arm, twisting it against the shoulder and forcing him onto his front. He twisted again, locking the arm in a vertical position, the hand and wrist bent at ninety degrees against the joint. The lad screamed in agony. Adam swung his legs over the boy’s prone body, dropping his full weight onto his back directly between the shoulder blades. From there, he had good leverage, twisting and pulling back on his arm until the shoulder was on the verge of popping out of its socket. The boy screamed again.

  “Stop struggling, you ain’t going anywhere,” Adam yelled into his ear. “Any more fighting and I’ll break your arm. Is that clear?” To emphasis the point, he tweaked the boy’s wrist to apply a little extra pain.

  Having now got him compliant, and whilst still holding him in an armlock, he looked across to the police officer. She was a mess! There was blood everywhere, her teeth looked broken, and her face was puce and swollen like a plumb. But she was conscious and attempting to sit up in the pool of her own blood that was spreading across the tarmac.

  “You OK?” Adam asked. Stupid question; of course she wasn’t. She nodded, but was clearly suffering from concussion in addition to her more obvious injuries. “Is help on the way?” She looked bemused. “Press the red button.” There were no signs of understanding. “On your radio - the red emergency button – press it.” She did as she was asked. There followed a flurry of questions as the control room established what had happened and dispatched further police units to assist.

  While they waited, Adam said, “Throw us your cuffs, mate.” She looked reluctant to do so. “Look, it’s OK, I’m ex-job, I’m an ex-copper. Let me handcuff him, then I can come and help you.” She tossed the rigid handcuffs to him and he applied them to the youth’s wrists, locking his arms together behind his back. “Now you stay where you are, boy. Any messing about and I’ll put you in a whole world of pain. The police’ll be here soon.”

  “Fuck off!” snarled the lad.

  Adam shuffled over to the police officer, applying a pad from her first aid kit to one of the gashes in her face. “Don’t worry, mate, ambulance will be here soon.”

  The minutes ticked by and Adam began to relax somewhat.

  Suddenly he became aware of a strange noise emanating from the top of the street. It was not the wail of police sirens, more of a whooshing sound. Turning slightly, he looked in the general direction. Out of the darkness came a phalanx of four pushbikes, each one ridden by a young man. Were they connected to the person that he had just detained? He hoped not. As they neared, his premonition became fact; they were indeed friends of the handcuffed boy. With a screech of brakes and a clatter of metal on asphalt, the bikes were thrown to the ground and their riders surrounded Adam who had moved to kneel by the detained prisoner.

&nb
sp; “What you doing? Get off ‘im.”

  Adam spotted the police officer’s baton just out of arm’s reach. He quickly stood, grabbed it, and returned to sit astride his detainee. His eyes darted from one person to the next, alert to the fact that any one of them might launch an attack at any point. All four were dressed much the same – dark jackets, hoodies, and black joggers. Each was male, white, and somewhere between 18 and 25 years old. And each was angry, intent on getting their friend released. One stood out from the rest, pulling a mobile phone from his jacket pocket and filming the incident as it unfolded.

  “You alright, Josh?” one of them asked the lad on the ground.

  “Yeah. Just get him off me.”

  Adam twisted the handcuffs slightly causing Josh a sharp pain that travelled the length of his arm.

  “Now then, Josh, what did I say about causing me trouble? Keep quiet until the police get here.” Looking towards the menacing group, he added, “Alright lads? Don’t do anything silly. The police will be here any second. Your mate isn’t going anywhere with you, so back off.”

  “Is that so?” The group closed in on Adam. “What you gonna do about it?”

  Adam prepared the baton to strike anyone who came too close.

  “Are you filming this?” one of the group asked the boy with the mobile phone.

  “Damn right. I’ll stream it and show him getting his head kicked in. It’ll be cool.”

  “You, Vid Boy, put it away now or I’ll shove it up your arse,” said Adam. There was a chorus of laughter. The group got nearer and Adam prepared for more fighting.

  “Get away from them. You lot, I’m talking to you.” It was Sarah, standing to one side of Adam’s van. “I’ve called the police, they’re on their way.”

  “Fuck off, missus, it’s none of your business,” someone answered.

  “Sarah, go back inside the house,” added Adam, “don’t get involved. Check on Jenny.”

  The boy with the camera turned his attention to Sarah, filming her, her outburst, and Adam’s reaction.

  In the distance, the sound of multiple police sirens could be heard approaching rapidly. Towards the far end of Cannondale Drive, the night sky was illuminated by flashing blue lights.

  “Bollocks, I’m outta here,” shouted one of the gang.

  “Me too. Sorry, Josh.”

  As all four climbed onto their bikes, one gang member looked over his shoulder at Adam. “I’ll be seeing you again – SOON!” With that, they vanished into the darkness.

  Adam breathed a sigh of relief, climbed off Josh, and knelt next to the police officer. “How’re you doing? What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Carol. Carol Johnston. Tha...thank you for...”

  “Not a problem, Carol.”

  Seconds later police cars and vans filled the street. Seeing an unknown man stood over a fellow police officer, him holding her baton in his hand, and her covered in blood, the first attending officer jumped to conclusions and drew his Taser. Standing at a safe distance he aimed it at Adam and screamed, “TASER – Drop your weapon – NOW!”

  Turning to face him, Adam slowly raised his hands, dropped the baton, and said, “Hey, calm down, matey. I’m on your side. I’m ex-job. It’s him you want.” He indicated Josh, still lying on his stomach in handcuffs.

  From behind the police officer, an angry voice cried, “He put himself at risk to help your bloody colleague and this is how you repay him?” It was Sarah and she was not happy.

  Unsure what to believe, the armed officer looked at his injured colleague. She nodded, and he holstered his weapon. “Sorry mate, I thought you’d attacked her. What was I supposed to think?” He acted as if it was all a joke, his bravado covering his embarrassment. Adam was not impressed by his attitude, but he did not retaliate.

  The next few minutes were a blur. The detainee was manhandled into a police van and transported to custody. Adam was checked by a paramedic and deemed fit enough to give his account of proceedings despite having a few facial bruises and minor cuts. And the injured police officer was given immediate first aid before being transported, as a priority, to A+E at the local hospital.

  “We’ll need a quick statement off you, Mr Greenwood. I’ll pop back after I’ve got the prisoner booked into custody, if that’s OK with you?” said the arresting officer.

  “Nah, I’ll come to you at the police station, mate. I don’t want to upset my daughter before she sets off for school.”

  He slowly staggered back to the safety of his house, Sarah waiting for him by the front door.

  Chapter 3

  06:00 – Monday 1st October.

  Bury Street Police Station was relatively large compared to most rural police stations.

  Barrington, or to give it its full title, Barrington-on-Sea, was considered a sizeable coastal town and in the height of the summer season when the happy holidaymakers thronged to the seafront, it required a big police station from which to base its many officers. However, it was seasonal. Come the winter months, many of those officers were redeployed to other parts of the county and Barrington became something of a ghost town. Adam knew this because he had been based at this particular police station as part of the permanent staff for a number of years.

  Standing in the public car park, Adam looked up at the looming concrete monstrosity before him. It had four floors, a glass-fronted reception at ground level, and was clad in prefabricated grey panels with rounded windows punched into the facade giving it an almost spaceship-like quality. To its left, there was a compound enclosed within a high brick wall. Atop it was a coil of razor wire. To anyone not in the know, it resembled a prison complex and it was natural to assume that it housed the custody suite, the police cell block. In reality, it was nothing so dramatic; it was simply the police vehicle parking area and washdown bay. Although still dark, the building was full of light. Full of light, except for the reception which was locked shut and still cloaked in darkness. The front office did not open until 08:30 – part of the cost-cutting procedures initiated years earlier.

  Adam walked slowly towards the main entrance and pressed the intercom buzzer.

  “Hello. How can I help you?” said a metallic voice from the box.

  “It’s PC Greenw... Sorry, old habits die hard. It’s Adam Greenwood. I’ve been asked to give a statement about an assault on one of your officers.”

  “Oh, OK, someone will be with you in a moment.”

  As he waited, Adam had mixed feelings. It was exciting and comforting being back at his old station. Yet, at the same time, it was unnerving. He was no longer staff, he was an outsider, and considering the manner in which he had left, all those years ago, he felt unsure what sort of reception he might receive from those working there now. He dismissed his concerns. He was just being silly. Nobody would even remember him. They would all have moved on in the intervening years.

  The front doors were eventually opened by a new-looking police officer who escorted Adam through to an Interview Room.

  “If you want to get me some statement forms, I can write my own account of what happened. I’m sure I can remember how it’s done,” Adam said light-heartedly.

  “Sorry, sir, but things have changed. It’s all done on a computer nowadays,” replied the PC in a strong Scottish accent. Adam felt foolish for assuming everything would be as it was in his day.

  “How’s your colleague? PC Johnston, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye. She’s stable. Took a lot of damage to the face and head, but I guess you know better than me, seeing as you were there.”

  “Well, let her know I was asking after her. What about the scrote we detained? What’s his story?”

  “Josh Turner? Yeah, he and his brother are well known to us. They think they run the estate, but they’re just little fish in a tiny pond, minnows you might say.” The PC smiled at his analogy.

  “What was he being chased for?”

  “I heard he was wanted on warrant - something about an aggravated burglary and b
eating the shit out of a pensioner who stumbled across him. Nasty bits of work, the Turners.”

  “Well, at least he’s off the streets for now, eh?”

  “Aye.”

  Thirty minutes later and Adam’s witness statement was complete.

  “I’d better go and show it to my sergeant before you leave, just in case we need to add anything,” said the constable. Adam assumed that he was still in his probation period and required his supervisor to sign his work off. “I’ll leave the door open, but can you please stay in the room? I’ll not be long.” With that, he disappeared into the maze of corridors that filled the ground floor of the building.

  A few minutes later, Adam heard the distinctive sound of radio chatter coming from the drab coloured corridor. He looked up expecting the police constable to have returned. Instead, he saw a familiar face walk past the door, casually glancing inside as he disappeared from view. It took a second to register.

  “Lloyd? Lloyd Grant, is that you?”

  The man reversed and leaned around the doorframe to see who had called his name.

  “Adam? Well, I’ll be... I’ve not seen you in, what...four, five years?”

  “Make that nearer six, mate.” They hugged.

  “What are you doing here? You’re not thinking of rejoining are you?” He laughed.

  “No, no chance. I was involved in a bit of a scuffle helping one of your colleagues.”

  “Ah, you’re the one? I heard about it, but didn’t connect it to you. Couldn’t get the job outta your system, eh?” He smiled. “Nice one, Adam. Carol took a right kicking, by all accounts.” He paused. “Have you been left here on your own?”