“Yeah, the proby who took my statement went to check it with his sergeant.”
“Fancy a coffee? It’s only out of a vending machine, I’m afraid. Some things never change, eh?”
They strolled down the corridor until they arrived at the Parade Room. Apart from a fresh coat of paint, nothing much had changed. It was still stuffy and littered with discarded polystyrene cups and screwed-up paperwork.
“I bet this brings back memories?” said Lloyd as he sipped his steaming cup of cappuccino.
“Yeah, lots, and not all of them good.”
“Look, I ought to apologise.” Lloyd looked at the floor, embarrassed.
“What for?”
“I should’ve kept in touch after you left, especially after what was said, all the criticism from those upstairs. Last I heard you’d gone off to Thailand or somewhere, travelling and surfing.”
“Yeah, I did. A lot’s changed. I came back with my future wife. Got a daughter now too, and a business. Look, what happened back then is forgotten. It’s as much my fault for not keeping in touch with you.” They smiled and continued to reminisce.
Adam and Lloyd had worked together as police officers on the same shift for about three years, off and on. They had been friends inside and out of work. But when Adam had finally left the police force, having become totally disillusioned with the way that the job had changed and with the demands, and risks, that he and his colleagues were expected to shoulder, he had become quite vocal, criticising the way that the job had made excessive demands above and beyond the call of duty. His colleagues had agreed and supported his stance, but those in command had closed ranks, turning the criticism back on him and shutting him out. With all of the negativity, and with that cloud hanging over him, Adam had decided on a complete break, not keeping in contact with any of his former friends. Was it a mistake? Quite possibly. Did he regret not keeping in touch? Definitely.
Just at that moment, yet another blast from the past walked into the Parade Room. Chief Inspector Clive Bream. Back in the day, the then Inspector Bream had been Adam’s direct supervisor, his boss. Whereas Adam had been critical of the police, as an entity, Bream had taken it as criticism of himself, of his leadership, of him as a person. He had not been best pleased and had held a grudge as a consequence. Whether his anger had diminished over the years remained to be seen.
“Well, if it isn’t our have-a-go-hero?” he said, sarcastically.
“Sir!” It was a natural reaction for Adam to revert back to using his former boss’s title, out of respect. Thinking better of it, he continued, “Sorry, I meant Inspector Bream.”
“It’s Chief Inspector now.” The emphasis was on the chief. “It seems you can’t keep away from us, can you, Greenwood? Rushing to the rescue of one of my officers. Very public spirited of you.”
“It was my duty to help. I was just in the right place at the right time. It’s not like I went looking for trouble.”
“Ah, so you’re not looking for a medal then?” The sarcasm was palpable.
“Certainly not.”
“Anyway... PC Grant, why’s this gentleman in here? He might be the hero of the moment, but he’s no longer a copper. He should NOT be in the Parade Room.” He paused, looking Adam up and down. “I suggest that once you’ve finished your drinks, you escort him back to an interview room or show him to the foyer.”
“Yes, sir.” Lloyd showed due respect to his superior, but hated the man’s attitude.
As Chief Inspector Bream headed out of the room, the Scottish PC entered through another door looking flustered and a little red in the cheeks.
“There you are, Mr Greenwood, I thought I’d lost you.”
Adam smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I met an old mate so we came for a drink.”
“No worries. The statement is fine. My sergeant said it was exactly what we needed. He’s looking to charge for GBH and assault police, in addition to the aggravated burglary offences.”
“Should be a pretty decent custodial sentence then – assuming the courts play ball,” replied Adam, nodding.
“It was suggested that we look into identifying the other four blokes who threatened you at the scene. Do you think you’d recognise them again?”
“Possibly.”
“Good. I’ll go and see if I can arrange a date for a VIPER (video identification parade electronic recording) ID parade then. Is it OK if you look after Mr Greenwood while I’m away, Lloyd? You can drop him back with me when you’re done.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. It’ll give us a chance to catch up a bit more.” Lloyd smiled towards Adam, and the police constable headed off in search of the booking log.
...
Chief Inspector Clive Bream was a career policeman, one of the old school, a person who followed rules and regulations to the letter. To his team, he was simply, “the pompous old git upstairs.” He was also rapidly approaching retirement age and looking forward to a quiet end to his working life. He feared anything that might upset his carefully laid plans.
He walked slowly through the corridors of Bury Street Police Station, his mind in overdrive as he considered the incident involving PC Johnston and Adam Greenwood. As he entered his office, he plonked himself down in the cushioned swivel chair behind his oak veneered desk and stroked his bushy grey moustache. He wondered how he should handle the situation. “Ex-police officer becomes a have-a-go-hero,” would make for some interesting headlines. It would certainly be good publicity for the constabulary, as well as for him, too. Ever the company man, he also considered that it might be good for his local crime initiatives, help to remind those on the estate that they were not untouchable. Maybe this serious assault on one of his staff might actually be a blessing in disguise, an opportunity for one last flourish to end his career with.
Recently in the news, there had been a lot of discussion about a new law being introduced – Assaults on Emergency Workers (Offences) Act – but currently, there had been no convictions under this new legislation. There was always the old, “Assault Police” offence, but the courts paid little heed to the fact that it was an officer who had been assaulted in the course of their regular duties. They gave the impression that all police officers ought to expect a few injuries; it was just a part of their job. As a consequence, the punishments delivered usually amounted to paltry fines which were never paid by the offender.
As he sat with his arms folded over his portly stomach, he glanced at his reflection in the glass doors of his display cabinet. The years had been tough on him. He was balding with a ruddy bulbous nose, probably from excess alcohol. But as he looked, a smile crept across his lips and his eyes lit up. What if he could secure the FIRST conviction under the new law? It would certainly be a fitting end to his illustrious career, something for his successors to remember him by. With that thought in mind, he picked up his desk telephone and dialled the number of a press contact that he had a working relationship with on the local newspaper. Time to generate a bit of press coverage for our newly found hero, he thought.
By the time that Adam left the police station’s front reception at a little before 10am, there was already a growing throng of reporters and TV cameramen gathering. As he walked through the crowd, they swarmed, surrounding him, firing questions and shouting over each other to try and get the scoop on their competitors.
Adam was bemused. How had they heard about the incident? Who had leaked the details? More importantly, who had leaked HIS name to the press? He was not happy. As the crowd jostled, forcing microphones in front of his face, he lowered his head, raised an arm to shield himself from the cameras, and forced his way through, repeatedly saying, “No comment, NO COMMENT!”
Chapter 4
07:00 – Wednesday 3rd October.
“Jenny? Have you cleaned your teeth yet?” asked Adam.
“Yes, Daddy, I did them when I got up.” She lifted a triangle of buttered toast to her mouth and took a bite.
“You know she always does them first thing,
Adam. She’s a good girl,” added Sarah.
Adam smiled at his daughter and pulled a funny face. She giggled at Silly Daddy.
All three were in the kitchen of 75 Cannondale Drive, Adam and Jenny having something to eat at the breakfast bar, Sarah washing up the dirty plates and cutlery. It was warm and homely, a perfect scene of domestic family life. Jenny was six years old and was already dressed in her school uniform, prepared for a busy day of study at the local Primary Academy. As she sipped from her glass of milk, she casually glanced at the flat-screened TV on the kitchen/diner’s far wall. She would have preferred to be watching the children’s channels, cartoons and the like, but her parents insisted on watching the morning news, at least until she had finished eating, so that she would not get distracted too much. Adam was studying the newspaper that had been unceremoniously shoved through the letterbox at 6am.
Having finished the article that he was reading, he looked up at the TV screen. The BBC News was on, the two hosts sitting on a red sofa in the studio, discussing politics or Brexit or something equally uninteresting. He returned to his newspaper. Suddenly his ears pricked up. He heard the words police and assault, and then his name was mentioned. He stopped what he was doing and stared at the screen. The picture cut away from the studio to a scene that he knew only too well. It showed the front of Bury Street Police Station two days earlier. Out of the smoked glass double doors he saw himself leaving the station in a rush. The reporters surrounded him, bombarding him with questions, but the only discernible words were a surly, “NO COMMENT,” as he barged his way through the crowd. I look pretty angry, Adam thought. Rightly so. The footage changed to a head and shoulders shot of a uniformed Chief Inspector Bream giving a press conference. He gave a brief statement of events - namely, that a police officer (unnamed) had been assaulted in the course of her duties, and that a former police officer, an Adam Greenwood, now a civilian and local hero, had intervened to save her life and detain the suspect. A mugshot of Josh Turner filled the screen. He looked battered and bruised, and appeared younger than Adam remembered. His image smiled innocently at the viewers. And then it was all over and the hosts cut to another story.
Adam remained silent, staring at the screen, but not really seeing or hearing what was on it. He was lost in his own thoughts. First and foremost was the fact that his former boss had been very quick to give a press conference, but that he had not had the decency to alert him to the fact that he was going to be mentioned by name, beforehand. Then there was the report itself. The images inferred that Adam was the aggressor, he appeared angry outside the police station - which he was, but not angry at the suspect; angry at the press intrusion. The images of Turner must have been from a previous arrest because Adam had not caused him any visible injuries; certainly those shown on screen were not his doing. Where was the mention of the serious injuries caused to the police officer, and the fact that she was still in hospital? And where was the explanation as to WHY Turner was being chased in the first place; the fact that he had nearly killed a pensioner during a bungled burglary? It was all well and good stating some of the facts, but this report was one-sided and biased against the police. Anybody watching it would look at the suspect, Josh Turner, and see a sweet innocent child who had apparently been assaulted by a former police officer. Far from painting him as a have-a-go-hero, it implied that Turner was the victim, not the aggressor, and that Adam had used excessive force to detain him. I’m pretty sure Bream hadn’t intended this outcome when he decided to talk to the press, he mused.
Adam’s thoughts were interrupted by Jenny’s voice.
“Mummy? Why is Daddy on the telly? Did he hurt that man?” She pointed at the screen.
“No, love, Daddy did a good thing. That man hurt a lady police officer the other night and Daddy helped her.” She smiled at her daughter as she explained.
“Did Daddy know her?”
“No, but he used to be a police officer just like her. Remember, we told you about it once? He had to help her; he couldn’t ignore it.”
“So, Daddy is a superhero, then?” She looked at her Dad with loving eyes.
“Yes, Jen...sort of. You’re right, I guess he is really.” Sarah smiled at Adam, but he was still engrossed in his thoughts and not paying attention.
“Sorry, what was that? Did I miss something?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing important.”
“Jen, why don’t you nip upstairs and go to the toilet before you go to school?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Once she was out of earshot, Adam spoke to Sarah about what they had just witnessed on television. He was angry and was voicing his own thoughts rather than asking for her opinion.
“Who leaked this story to the press?” he asked. Before she could answer, he continued, “I helped out, prevented that copper being killed, and I’m the one being vilified. I didn’t cause those injuries to Turner. You were there, you saw for yourself.”
Sarah nodded, but remained silent.
“He’s not so innocent. He nearly killed a pensioner, a war hero, according to Lloyd and that other officer at the station. Why wasn’t that mentioned on the report? Why can’t they just report the FACTS rather than cherry-picking the juicy bits and ignoring those that don’t fit with their agenda?” Adam felt the need to let off steam and vent his frustrations.
“Why don’t you contact the news people, tell them the whole story?” suggested Sarah.
“I suppose I could, but it’d probably make things worse.” He thought for a moment. “I’ll have a word with whoever has been appointed SIO (senior investigating officer) to the case. I’ve gotta go back to the police station at some point, anyway - I’ve got to do an ID parade - so I can speak to them then. I’m sure it’ll all blow over soon. It’ll be yesterday’s news before we know it.”
But, in his own mind, Adam was not quite so sure.
Chapter 5
11:50 – Tuesday 16th October.
The foyer of the police station was busy at this time of the morning.
Adam sat silently on one of the three padded green seats waiting to be called through to the “ID Parade” office. He stared at the tiled floor, avoiding eye contact with the constant stream of people attending the front desk in order to sign the Bail Register or to present their driving documents having been stopped previously by uniformed police officers. Some he recognised by sight from his days on the force, others, he could tell, were frequent guests of the station’s accommodation facilities in the custody suite. None took a second look at him. Not one of them recognised him. Not surprising really; they only ever saw the uniform, not the person wearing it.
“Mr Greenwood?” A young female officer poked her head through the crack between the double internal doors, scanning the faces of those in the foyer.
“That’s me.” Adam stood and followed her through to the inner sanctum. Having taken a number of left and right turns along the passageway, they arrived at a closed door with the inscription, “VIPER Suite,” emblazoned across its surface.
“Here we are,” she said. “Have you done a VIPER identification before?”
“Oh, one or two.” Adam smiled cheekily.
“So, the aim is to see if you can identify any of the four men that threatened you whilst you were helping PC Johnston the other day.”
“That’s the general idea, yes.”
“I see here that you’ve already given a statement with their initial descriptions.” She flicked through the printed copies of his statement sheets. “So what I’ll do is show you a series of faces on the screen here.” She indicated a black screened device that was sat on the desk next to her. “If you spot any that were there, just let me know, OK? I must remind you that you are under caution so if you make any comments regarding the suspects, I’m obliged to write them down. I should also say that the people that you saw may, or may not, be included in those that I am about to show you.”
“It’s a bit pointless if they aren’t there though, isn�
�t it?” Adam smiled again, not expecting her to reply.
As the ID Parade progressed and image after image flashed before Adam’s eyes, he became bored with its monotony. It was so much easier in the old days, he thought, when we could actually line up REAL people to look at. This was more like a computer game. As the screen finally went blank, he was disappointed to find that only two of the faces were familiar. He had indicated them clearly to the supervising officer and she had noted their details on the official paperwork that would form a part of any potential prosecution.
“Well, thanks for your time, Mr Greenwood. I’ll just go and let the SIO know how you got on. They might want to have a quick chat with you before you leave.”
“That’s fine. Who is the SIO for the case, by the way?”
“It’s DS Carmichael, Beverly Carmichael. Do you know her?”
“No, she must have joined after I left the force, I guess.”
“Well, I’ll just be a minute.” She left the room, leaving Adam to wait alone – again!
Having found the whole ID process tedious, and feeling cooped up inside the VIPER suite, Adam peeked out into the corridor. It was quiet, apart from a solitary uniformed police officer and a civilian worker wandering from room to room. Just as he was about to go back inside, Lloyd Grant turned the corner at the far end of the passageway and nodded an informal Hello to his friend.
“Adam. How’s it going? I heard you were in the building.”
“Yeah, all good. I’ve just been wading through the video ID.” He put his hand over his mouth in a mock yawn. “Spotted two of ‘em though. One was the little runt who filmed the whole thing on his phone. Has any of that footage shown up online, do you know?”
“Not to my knowledge. Bet it’s been passed around amongst members of their gang though.”
“Oh, he was a part of a gang, was he?”
“Yep, but I’m not supposed to say anything to you. You know what the boss is like.”
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