The Rubicon

by Andrew Heasman

  For the remainder of the week, the anti-social behaviour ceased. The group of youths vanished and were not seen anywhere in the vicinity of Cannondale Drive, despite Adam continuing to look for them at all times of day and night.

  Sarah continued to walk Jenny to school each morning (and collect her every afternoon), but there were no reoccurrences of the blocking incident.

  Things seemed to have returned to normal. Adam and Sarah’s anxiety diminished until it was almost nonexistent, and both returned to their regular daily routines, putting everything that had happened behind them - a memory best forgotten.

  Chapter 11

  00:15 – Saturday 27th October.

  Adam woke to the sound of his mobile phone chirping in his ear.

  Still half-asleep, he fumbled with the display until he managed to accept the call. He listened carefully to the voice on the other end, thanked them, and then disconnected. He checked the time – a little after midnight – and thought how silly he had been to lie on the bed next to Sarah whilst he was on-call; he might have known that he would fall asleep. His wife woke briefly as he placed the phone in the pocket of his work trousers.

  “Mmm, what was that noise? Have you got a call-out?”

  “Yeah, that was the police control room. They’ve just executed a warrant and damaged a door in the process. They need me to go and board it up. You go back to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.” But Sarah was oblivious to his words having already returned to her slumber.

  As had become his custom recently, Adam glanced out of the window as he stood up next to the bed. All was quiet. He gazed down upon his beloved van. Even now, years after becoming a self-employed locksmith, he still got that tingle, that feeling of pride, of accomplishment. It was his business, his livelihood, and his van was a visual representation of his achievement. As such, it was customary for him to check it over before each workday began. If it needed cleaning, it would be done (even though it would have been washed down the previous evening as a matter of routine, anyway). And his tools and equipment would be meticulously arranged, after all, how would it look if he turned up for a job to discover a vital item missing? He could have done with a smaller van, if truth be told, a Berlingo or something similar. He did not require a lot of space to house his toolbox and a few spare locks. However, since being appointed to the police’s list of approved contractors, he had been doing more and more repair work – smashed doors and windows requiring boarding up – and 6ft by 4ft wooden panels took up a lot of cargo space.

  He quietly wandered downstairs, opened the front door, and stepped into the cold night air. As he walked towards the van, he had a premonition, a strange feeling that something was wrong, but he could not put his finger on what, exactly, it was. During his time in the police, his instinct had always proven accurate. He circled the van, visually inspecting its exterior, and as he reached its far side, he saw it – three deep gouges through his company logo! It was as if someone had run a key across the van’s gleaming paintwork. His heart sank, and then a rage rose within him.

  “For fuck’s sake,” he roared.

  Although he was angry at the damage that had been caused to his pride and joy, he still had commitments, a job to do; the police were waiting for him at a crime scene. The obvious suspects for the damage were the gang of troublemakers that had been hanging around outside his house at night, but they had disappeared over a week ago. It could not have been them, could it? Adam resolved to speak to his neighbours in the morning to see if any of them had seen anybody acting suspiciously, but for now, he needed to shelve his investigations and get on with his job. He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

  As he pulled away from the kerb, he noticed that the van felt strange - the steering was heavy and sluggish. He wondered what could be causing it. Maybe it would wear off as the engine warmed up. Adam persevered, but a few hundred yards along the road, he heard a strange rhythmic thudding noise emanating from the nearside, so he carefully pulled over and applied the handbrake.

  Climbing out to see what was going on, he noticed that the two nearside tyres were bulging at the sides and that they were visibly losing air. Checking the offside, the rear tyre was doing exactly the same. Three punctures in the space of a few yards? That can’t be right. Adam crouched down to inspect the tyres a little closer. It was then that he saw the head of a tack or small nail sticking out of the tread of one of them. He checked the others. Nails in three tyres? How could that happen? He rummaged around in his toolbox until he located a small torch, and then retraced his route along the road, scanning for any sign of where the nails had come from.

  As he reached his former parking space, outside his own house, he found the source of his problems – four clusters of scattered tacks, each one positioned to coincide with a tyre of his van. He had missed them in the darkness when he had looked earlier, but this was no accident, this was deliberate! Not only had somebody scratched his van, but they had targeted all four of the tyres too. Adam was furious.

  Walking back to his van, he phoned the police control room, identifying himself with his personal contractor’s code.

  “Sorry, guys, but you’re gonna have to take me off that repair job you had me allocated to, my van’s been sabotaged.”

  “What? What happened?”

  “I’ve got flat tyres.”

  “Could it have been accidental? Can you get it back on the road and then continue with the job?”

  “One tyre, I might replace, but not THREE! Someone’s put nails under all four tyres and three of them have caused punctures.”

  “Oh, I see. Shit! Well, that’s criminal damage if it’s deliberate.”

  “Yeah, and they left some deep scratches in the bodywork too.”

  “Bloody hell! Who have you annoyed? I’ll take you off your allocated job and assign someone else.” Adam could hear the tapping of keys on the operator’s console. “Do you want me to create an incident for the crim/dam to your vehicle?”

  “Is there any point?” Adam said, downheartedly.

  “An insurance claim?” the operator suggested.

  “No, I meant in terms of police action. What can they do? I never saw anyone commit the damage.”

  “I’ll create an incident anyway – Inc 23/27OCT/18.”

  “Maybe you’d better copy and tag it for the attention of DS Carmichael.”

  “I can do, but why?”

  “It might be intimidation, or interference with witnesses.”

  “In relation to what, exactly?”

  “I was involved in helping PC Johnston when she was attacked at the start of October. I’ve had trouble outside my house ever since then. DS Carmichael is aware.”

  “Ah, that was you, eh? No probs, consider it done. If you could stay with your vehicle, I’ll allocate a unit to come and take details from you, and I’ll put it on the SOCO list for tomorrow. You never know, they might’ve left some forensics.”

  “Cheers for that. Any idea how long I’ll have to wait?”

  “How long’s a piece of string? All depends on what other jobs come in. Sorry.”

  ...

  Shortly after 6am, a young police officer arrived. Adam had given up waiting in the van after the first hour and had returned to the warmth of his house, a stone’s throw away. He chose not to wake Sarah; she would find out what had happened soon enough.

  The officer seemed rushed; probably keen to get back to the police station before the 7 O’clock shift changeover. He took a few hurried details, gave the van a quick once-over, and then knocked on the doors of the immediate neighbours, most of which refused to answer at that time in the morning.

  Just as he was finishing his tasks, a white van arrived. Along its side were the words, ‘Forensic Services.’ The Scenes of Crime Officer (SOCO) spoke to the constable and then inspected Adam’s van. He took photos of the damage and attempted to remove a few fingerprints from the bodywork, but the sighing and constant shaking of the head told Ad
am that his efforts were fruitless. Having photographed the nails in the street, and those in the tyres, he seized some of them, sealing them inside a plastic evidence bag. This was placed in the back of his van for later examination by the lab, and then he returned to the police officer to update him on his efforts.

  As the constable approached Adam, he looked at his watch. It was gone seven, he was now on overtime, but judging by his red eyes and exhausted demeanour, he probably wished that he was not.

  “So, what hope is there that we can find the culprits?” asked Adam.

  The way that he blew air out of his mouth, almost like a silent whistle, said it all. “Not much, I’m afraid. SOCO reckon that there’s little chance of getting prints due to the condensation on the painted surfaces. He might get a partial off the head of a nail, but as they were just tossed on the ground around the wheels, it’ll be pretty unlikely. Other than that, the neighbours saw nothing - those that bothered to answer the door - so it’ll be filed as an open case. You know how the system works, though, if nothing new comes up, if there are no suspects or evidence, it’ll be written off.”

  “What about the people who’ve been hanging around outside my house?”

  The officer looked around. “I don’t see anyone here.”

  “Don’t be a smart-arse; they were here earlier in the week. Your lot took their details.”

  “But they’re not here NOW, or at any other time tonight. Without witnesses or evidence, we can’t link them to this.” Adam knew that he was right. “Here’s the incident number for your insurance claim. You can call someone to get your tyres fixed now that SOCO have visited. Once you’re back on the road, can you let control know so that they can update your call-out status?”

  Adam nodded. “Has this been linked to the anti-social behaviour complaints I made following PC Johnston’s assault?”

  “Dunno about that. You’d be best talking to the SIO.”

  Adam was getting angry and frustrated again. “I have every intention of doing exactly that. Thanks for nothing!” he said, as he shut the front door.

  Chapter 12

  09:00 – Sunday 28th October.

  DS Carmichael was already beginning to lose her patience with Jared Brown.

  Since being appointed as the SIO for the assault on PC734 Johnston, Jared Brown’s name had been popping up in a number of her enquiries. Firstly, he had been positively identified on VIPER by Adam Greenwood as being part of the group that had surrounded and threatened him when he intervened to help the injured police officer. Adam had further identified Jared as one of those causing anti-social behaviour outside his house on a number of occasions since then. Other police enquiries had identified Brown as a known associate of Josh Turner, the suspect for the assault. And now, damage had been caused to Mr Greenwood’s van. It was time that she spoke with this person to see what he had to say for himself.

  Jared lived with his mother in a cosy two-bedroomed apartment on the seventeenth floor of Sandringham House, a dilapidated tower block on the Glebe Estate. Arriving to discover that the lift was not working, and that DS Carmichael and her colleague, DC Jones, needed to climb the seventeen floors on foot, had not put her in the best of moods. To then discover that Jared was an obnoxious brat who considered himself above the law, had been the final straw. She was in no mood to play games.

  Jared, and his mother, slouched across their sofa, partially hidden behind a cloud of foul-smelling smoke as they both puffed on cigarettes. As DS Carmichael entered the cramped lounge, her shoes sank into the carpet, the dirt and grime creating a suction that dragged on her soles with each successive step. Both detectives declined the offer to sit down on the equally disgusting armchairs, and both looked decidedly uncomfortable in their filthy surroundings.

  “So, Jared, you have been identified as part of the group present on Cannondale Drive at about 1am on the first of October when your mate, Josh Turner, was detained. What were you doing there?” asked DS Carmichael.

  “You mean when Josh was attacked by some bloke in the street?” He gave a cheeky grin. “There should be a law against it.”

  DS Carmichael was not in the mood for jokes. “Whatever! Why were you there?” she asked more forcefully.

  “Just passing.”

  “Really? Going from where to where?”

  “None of your business. I don’t have to tell you anything.” He was becoming increasingly cocky and confident knowing that the law protected his right to silence.

  “Who were you with?”

  “Ask your witness. I don’t have to say a word to you.”

  “We were told that you filmed the whole thing. Where’s that footage now? It might be useful when Josh’s case comes to court.”

  “It’s on Facebook. I’m sure you lot can find it. You are detectives, after all.” He chuckled at his own joke.

  “Very funny - NOT! You’ve also been seen hanging around at that same location on a number of nights since it happened. You even got searched by one of our uniformed officers. Why were you there?”

  “Eh, dunno what you mean?” He was playing ignorant. His mother explained the question to him. “Oh, I was just showing my mates where it happened, that’s all.”

  “So it had nothing to do with intimidating a Good Samaritan then?”

  “Eh?” Jared smirked, knowing full well what DS Carmichael was suggesting.

  “I’ll let your Mum explain it to you later. Where were you yesterday between about 7pm and midnight?”

  “Why?”

  “He was here, with me, the whole time,” Mrs Brown stated.

  “There was some damage caused to a vehicle on Cannondale Drive exactly where you’ve been hanging out. What do you know about that?”

  “Me? I don’t know nothing about it. Why should I? I was here with my Mum.” He winked at his mother, blatantly letting the detectives know that they could not prove otherwise.

  “Look, if you had the slightest bit of evidence, Jared would be down the nick talking to you. He isn’t, so you’ve got nothing on him,” snarled Mrs Brown.

  Bev Carmichael looked at her with contempt, knowing that she was correct. Looking back at Jared, she added, “Well, don’t think this hasn’t gone unnoticed. We’ll be watching you. If you are found anywhere near that location, or you do anything to intimidate Mr Greenwood, or damage his property, then I’ll come down on you like a ton of bricks. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Guv.” Jared smiled at her, playfully.

  Within five minutes of the detectives leaving Jared’s home, he was on the phone to Aaron Turner, telling him every last detail of what had just been said.

  ...

  09:00 – Monday 29th October.

  “I need to speak with DS Carmichael,” said Adam to the civilian officer behind the front desk at Bury Street Police Station.

  Having phoned the CID office, he replied, “She’s not here at the moment, can I pass on a message?”

  “Well, where is she? It’s important.”

  “She’s at a crime scene, won’t be back until about half eleven, but that’s just a guess.”

  Adam felt uncomfortable sitting in the foyer of the police station and he had no intention of waiting two and a half hours for her. “Let her know I called – it’s Adam Greenwood – I’ll try again later.”

  By 11:45, Adam had been pacing the grey carpet of the foyer for nearly twenty minutes, becoming increasingly frustrated and impatient.

  “Ah, Adam, I heard you were looking for me,” said a voice from behind the front counter. “Shall we go through to the Interview Room?” Adam followed Bev Carmichael inside.

  Without any preamble, he got straight to the point.

  “Was the criminal damage to my van flagged for your attention? I haven’t heard anything back from you.”

  “Yes, it was.” Bev Carmichael was calm and collected.

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

  “Didn’t the officer explain at the time?”

 
“Yeah, he said about checking for prints and it then getting written off.” Bev raised her eyes thinking that that particular officer needed a few words of advice about what he should, and should not, be telling the public. “But it’s clearly a case of witness intimidation. It’s a sequence of events, harassment even.”

  “By who?”

  “Turner, or his family and friends.”

  “And you know this, how? Where’s your proof? Have they contacted you?” Adam shook his head, feeling like a scolded schoolboy. “Can you identify any of the suspects that might link to Turner? He’s on remand at HMP and hasn’t spoken to anyone other than family. The way I see it, there’s no direct connection between you rescuing PC Johnston and the damage caused to your vehicle.”

  Adam’s anger was brewing. “But what about that lad who was filming at the scene? He was outside my house on at least two other occasions since then, plus all of his mates.”

  “I’ve spoken to him. He says he came across you, Josh Turner, and PC Johnston by accident. He reckons that he returned to show his mates where it had happened.”

  “And you believe that crap?” Adam stood up and paced around the cramped interview room.

  “As you know yourself, it’s not about belief, it’s all about proof. What has he actually done? You tell me and I’ll go and nick him.”

  “But what about damaging my van?”

  “Do you know he did it for a fact? Did you see him? Where’s your proof?”

  “Well, no, but...”

  “Exactly! Look, I’ll keep an open mind on it. If it proves to be some sort of intimidation, for whatever reason, then I will deal with it. I’ll also arrange some priority passing attention for your street; see if that puts a stop to things.”

  Adam was far from satisfied, but he could see her point. “Well, what about the court case with Josh Turner? Any updates?”

  “He’s charged and remanded to court. You’ll get a letter in the post, nearer the time, telling you when you’ll be needed.”

  “So you can’t even be bothered to tell me in person, eh?” Adam was disgusted and stormed off towards the entrance.