The Blue Notes

by J. J. Salkeld

  ‘I don’t know, boss. He’s not asking for owt from us, like. I just thought you should know, that’s all.’

  ‘I see. So what would you do, Jonny? If you were in my place, like.’

  ‘I don’t know, boss. Tell him to get a guard dog, maybe. Or better security lights, some shit like that.’

  Dai Young got up, and moved fast to Adams’ side of the desk. He was a head shorter, and fully forty pounds lighter.

  ‘That’s what you’d do, is it? Improve their fucking security?’

  ‘Aye, well, like I say, he’s not complaining, and we’re not talking about much. Just a couple of hundred quid’s worth of derv, that’s all.’

  Young was right in his face now, and Adams couldn’t help himself, he took a step back.

  ‘So that’s it, is it? You’d just tell him to get a bloody dog? No way. We’re the fucking guard dogs, son. That’s what Watkins pays us for.’

  But Adams didn’t get a chance to reply, because the first punch came from nowhere. He started to raise his own fists as the second blow landed, but he knew better than to hit back. Young wouldn’t really hurt him. Not for this. But that was before the left to the face came in like a hammer, and he saw stars, then felt the floor.

  ‘Don’t go bleeding on the fucking carpet,’ said Young, helping him up and passing him his handkerchief. Then Young walked back round to his desk and sat down, as if absolutely nothing had happened.

  ‘Do you see the point I’m trying to make here, son? Do you understand why I had to hit you? We can’t let anyone take liberties with us, not ever. Not even tiny ones. Because that will give them confidence, make them think that we’ve taken our eye off the ball. And then we’d be fucked, totally fucked. It’s all about respect. You do see that, don’t you?’

  The young man nodded, and tried to smile. He expected it to hurt, and it did.

  ‘Good. We’ve got enough problems with the fucking cops, without having other villains looking to take from us too. So, Jonny, what are we going to do about this wanker who’s trying to make dicks of us?’

  ‘Find him, boss.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Hurt him?’

  ‘And whose responsibility is that?’

  ‘Mine, boss.’

  ‘That’s it, good boy. It’s your responsibility. All yours. You earn from Watkins, so you protect him.’

  ‘But how do I find this bloke?’

  ‘That’s up to you. It’s why it’s called delegation. I tell you what needs doing, and you work out how to do it. I’m not a micro-manager, Jonny. That was mentioned at my last appraisal, actually. It’s a good thing, is that. Lets me take a more strategic approach, like. So you just get it done, and you bring me the person, or the people, responsible for nicking that diesel. Because I want a little chat with them, just like the one we’re having now, except not anything like as friendly.’

  Rex Copeland drove carefully over the unmade road to the big white caravan next to the show home on the edge of the new housing estate. Those raised manhole covers would ruin his rims, if he hit one. He parked, and sat and watched a young couple come out of the caravan holding brochures and chatting. He smiled, because they looked so happy. ‘Well, at least you can still afford to buy a house up here’ he said out loud, as he was turning off his music.

  The woman running the showroom was called Ruth, and she looked relieved when she saw his Warrant Card. It wasn’t an unusual reaction, and he’d almost stopped noticing, because this was probably the whitest place in the whole wide world. Ruth explained that when she’d come in to work she’d found that the patio doors to the show home had been forced, and that someone had been inside. Various items were missing, but before Copeland could ask any questions he heard the door open behind him, and his name being spoken. He turned, and was surprised to see Sandy Smith, carrying a blue SOCO case.

  ‘All right, Sandy? I’m surprised to see you turning out on this one. Isn’t this more a job for one of your minions?’

  ‘Blame Jesus, mate.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘It’s Easter Monday, you prat. Which means it’s a Bank Holiday, which means we can’t afford the overtime, which means that muggins here gets to cover nonsense jobs like this. Oh, no offence, love,’ added Sandy, smiling at Ruth. ‘It’s just that I usually do jobs where there’s blood everywhere. You know, right up the walls. Is there any this time?’ Ruth shook her head, but looked satisfactorily shocked. ‘Shame. He might at least have cut himself, the bastard, something like that. All right, Rex, lad, shall I get in there and get on?’

  ‘Yeah, you do that, Sandy. I’ll be through in a minute with a list of what’s missing.’

  ‘All right, fine. Listen, love, you haven’t got the coffee on, have you? And maybe a biscuit. I could eat a scabby horse, me.’

  When Sandy had slurped down her coffee and finished the last of Ruth’s biscuits she wandered off to start dusting for prints, and Rex watched her go. ‘Sandy’s one of the finest forensic scientists in Britain’, he found himself saying. ‘Now, about what’s missing. What did you notice?’

  ‘The laptop, obviously.’

  ‘Right, and what was it like?’

  ‘I don’t know, quite big. Black, it was.’

  ‘And what make, can you remember?’

  ‘What make?’

  ‘Yeah, what brand? Apple, Samsung, whatever.’

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t any brand, dear.’

  ‘You mean you can’t remember?’

  ‘No, it’s not that. It’s not real, love, that’s what I mean.’

  ‘Not real? You mean it’s a dummy? It just looks like a real laptop, but there’s nothing inside?’

  ‘Aye, that’s it.’

  Copeland threw his head back and laughed. He’d been keeping a private log of all the stupid things that cons did, almost from the start of his career, and this one was a belter.

  ‘Anything else? Tiny twigs in a miniature vase, maybe?’

  ‘There aren’t any twigs, dear. Nothing like that. And I clean the show home every day, before we open. The little ones have such sticky fingers these days, don’t they?’

  Copeland wandered through to the living room of the show home, where Sandy Smith was working, and he told her what had been stolen. She enjoyed it almost as much as he did. ‘Wankers’, she said, when she stopped laughing. It sounded almost affectionate. ‘Nothing missing from upstairs?’

  ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘So he pinched the laptop from over here? Looks like he took the power cable too. Can’t get any prints off the socket, though.’

  ‘I doubt there was a lead, Sandy.’

  ‘Shit. I suppose you’re right. You’d think he’d have realised the thing was fake when he picked it up, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I would, but it seems that he didn’t. So is there anything else in here?’

  ‘Nothing. You want to hang on while I check the kitchen? They almost always open the fridge, don’t they?’

  Copeland sat on the sofa, checked his phone for email, and tried to imagine himself living in a house like this. It didn’t work, or at least it didn’t until he imagined a family living there with him. But his train of thought was interrupted by Sandy, calling him through to the kitchen. He found her crouching in the far corner, looking at something on the floor.

  ‘You won’t bloody believe this, Rex, but it’s a plastic wine bottle. It’s against nature, is that.’

  ‘How did it get there? Our man tried to open it, couldn’t, and chucked it over here?’

  ‘Sounds reasonable. I get pretty pissed off if I can’t open a bottle of wine, I can tell you. I always keep a pair of mole grips handy, just in case I struggle with a screw top, like.’

  Copeland wasn’t surprised. ‘Any prints?’

  ‘Aye, looks like it. Might only be partials, though. I’ll take it back to the lab and see what I can do. Because I bet you’re dying to nick this criminal fucking mastermind. What a way to spend a Bank
Holiday, eh?’

  ‘I know what you mean. But what would you be doing if you weren’t here?’

  ‘Not much, to tell the truth.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘What a pair of sad bastards we are, mate. Tell you what. Give me ten minutes to get finished up here and you can buy me a real glass of wine from that pub down the road, how’s that?’

  ‘Good idea, you’re on.’

  ‘Is the right answer. I must say one thing for Pepper Wilson. She does know how to train her boys properly.’

  Tuesday, April 7th

  DI’s office, Carlisle Police HQ, 9.07am

  Acting DI Pepper Wilson read the crime report again, and then looked up at Henry Armstrong. She hadn’t been sleeping well, and she felt muzzy-headed, so maybe she was missing something obvious.

  ‘So what you’re saying, Henry, is that we’ve got a right vicious bloody criminal here, who’s spending his time breaking into charities and giving them free diesel. Is that right? What a total bastard he must be.’

  ‘I know, but it’s odd, isn’t it? This bloke has broken into two charities that we know of, the food bank and St. John’s, and in both cases he’s filled up their vehicles with diesel, then secured the premises again when he left. That’s a bloody strange way to make a donation, isn’t it?’

  ‘So he’s some kind of Robin Hood you reckon? Robbing the rich to give to the poor, something like that?’

  ‘Pretty much. That fuel must be nicked, mustn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose so, aye. But there have been no reports? No tanker lorries gone missing, owt like that?’

  ‘No, none. That’s what’s so odd.’

  ‘Maybe it was nicked somewhere else, and then brought here.’

  ‘Aye, that’s possible, but it doesn’t seem likely. It’s all so small scale, is this. It feels local, almost like a community thing, you know? We’re not talking about someone turning up with a great big lorry. As far as we can tell it’s just one bloke, wheeling a big plastic barrel about. He’s got some skills though, I’ll say that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well he can pick a lock, no problem, and make an electric pump work when it shouldn’t. Not easy, apparently. He’s fit and quick too. With the two jobs we’ve got on CCTV he’s just so focussed, I suppose you’d say. Like he’s been trained, you know?’

  ‘One of us, you mean? A copper? No way, Henry. None of our lads are generous enough.’

  ‘I don’t know, it was just a thought, like. I just wanted to ask if I could spend a bit of time on it, that’s all.’

  Pepper took a sip of the coffee that Henry had brought in with him. It was good, she had to admit that, but it would make no difference.

  ‘I’m sorry, Henry, but you know how it is. We’re bloody snowed under, and these are nothing offences, aren’t they? There’s not even a victim, as far as we can tell. I can see why you’re interested, and I admit I’ve never seen anything like this before, but the days when we could look at something just because it took our fancy are long gone, I’m afraid. It’s just one scumbag at a time now, even though we’ll never, ever get through them all.’

  ‘What about the risk of fire, or an explosion? We’ve got fuel, electricity, possible vapour issues. It could all blow up in his face, quite literally.’

  ‘I thought you said your boy was a pro?’

  ‘He seems to be, aye, but how can we be sure? What happens if it all goes tits up, and he blows himself to bits, and maybe takes the local St. John’s Ambulance HQ with him? That’d make a few headlines, wouldn’t it?’

  Pepper smiled, and shook her head. ‘You knew how this discussion would go, didn’t you Henry? So you’re playing the public safety card here, right?’

  ‘I know how stretched we are, aye.’

  ‘All right, stay on it. I suppose Sandy couldn’t help?’

  ‘No. but did you know that she’s a volunteer at the local St. John’s Ambulance?’

  ‘I didn’t. And you help out at the foodbank, don’t you?’

  ‘Just a few hours a week, aye. I just help moving stuff about in the warehouse, that’s all.’

  ‘Aye, well I can understand why they wouldn’t want the clients to see you. Half of them would run a bloody mile if they ever caught sight of you, what with the pointy hat and everything.’

  ‘Actually, Pepper, not all poor people are cons…’

  ‘Spare me, mate. I’ve heard it all before, honestly. But just let me be quite clear about one thing, Henry. Whoever this bloke is, he’s committed an offence, probably several, and he does want nicking. You spend the time on this, then I want a collar in return. I hope that’s understood.’

  ‘Aye, of course.’

  ‘All right. Just because you’re the kind of person who tries to help people, even when they don’t deserve it, doesn’t mean that this bloke is as well. For all we know he might be up to all sorts here. So I expect a result, Henry, a proper result. We’re not some kind of bloody charitable institution, now are we?’

  Ten minutes later Armstrong was scanning his emails, a little nervously as usual. Because although he’d been out of uniform for a year and more he still had the vague sense that he was about to get found out, and that some stupid investigative error was about to come to light. It hadn’t happened so far, but the feeling was surprisingly hard to shake.

  He was almost content that there was nothing to fear in today’s torrent of verbal diarrhea from the top floor - why they even bothered copying him he had no idea - when his eye was caught by one from Josie Jackson, the volunteer who helped out in intelligence collation and CCTV analysis. It was called ‘An idea’, and he opened it first, in advance of one from the Super, and three from Pepper Wilson. The email was short, simply asking Henry to pop down if he had a chance, because Josie had spotted something interesting related to what she called the ‘great fuel un-theft mystery.’ Un-theft, he thought, that’s nice. He opened the online duty roster and saw that Josie was just about to finish her shift, so he ran down the stairs and met her just as she was leaving the CCTV suite.

  ‘Were you looking for me, Henry?’

  ‘I was, but you get off. I don’t want to keep you from, you know, anything, like.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. You got my email, then?’

  ‘I did, aye.’

  ‘Come on, and I’ll show you. I’ve watched it through a few times, and there’s something that’s struck me.’

  ‘Right, aye.’ Henry was struck by how glossy Josie’s hair was, even under the harsh strip-lights, but he didn’t want to mention it. ‘All right, thanks. After you.’

  It took Josie a couple of minutes to log back on, so Armstrong went and made them both a coffee. When he got back she told him that she didn’t have to be at university until later on, so there was no rush. He was surprised to hear that she was still a student, and his expression must have said so.

  ‘I’m doing a post-grad, at the university here in town.’

  ‘Oh, aye, what in?’

  ‘Law and criminology.’

  ‘This must be a bit of a busman’s holiday for you, then.’

  ‘Not really. I enjoy it. College can be a bit, you know, abstract.’

  ‘The shit we deal with is real enough, that’s true. Depressing though, most of it. It’s not all serial killers and master criminals, is it?’

  ‘Tell me about it. I spent half my shift pulling together the CCTV evidence against a couple of dick-heads who attacked a taxi driver in town last month. Even they don’t know why they did it now, apparently. And then they even had a go at the WPC who attended.’

  ‘They’re keen on equal opportunities, are some of our regulars, I’ll say that for them. They’ll batter anyone, irrespective of gender or race. Anyway, what have we got?’

  Josie cued up the CCTV and played it through, without saying anything.

  ‘What have you spotted? I can’t get a look at his face, anything like that.’

  ‘Oh, no, Henry, it’s nothin
g as clear-cut as that. It’s just how quick he is. Have you noticed that?’

  ‘Aye, that’s true enough. But I don’t see where that takes us, Josie, to tell you the truth.’

  Armstrong glanced at his watch, and for the first time in the fifteen minutes that he’d been with her Henry was aware that he really should be somewhere else.

  ‘Well, I had an idea. What if he’d done it before? What if he’d visited to make a donation, or whatever it is, before? Could he be so quick because it isn’t the first time that he’s done it?’

  It took Armstrong a moment to see what Josie meant. ‘It’s a thought, certainly. But Ted at the foodbank would have mentioned something if it had happened before, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Maybe he forgot.’

  ‘Possibly, but I doubt it. I volunteer there, so I know Ted pretty well. He’s a pretty switched-on old guy, to tell the truth. They get quite a few chancers in there, and he usually sees them off.’

  ‘You volunteer at the food bank? Really? I’ve been thinking about doing that.’

  ‘Great. Why not come with me one evening then, and I’ll introduce you.’

  ‘I’d like that, thanks. So is it worth checking with this Ted bloke? Just on the off chance, like.’

  Josie smiled at him, and Henry fished his personal phone out of his pocket, and called the foodbank. Josie listened to his half of the conversation as he spoke first to Ted, and then to one of the volunteer drivers.

  ‘So about two weeks ago, you think this was? And the vehicle seemed to have more fuel in it than it had the previous day? OK, thanks.’ When he rang off he smiled at Josie. ‘Nice one. It looks like you were right. Our man has done it before. So if he’s done it twice…’

  ‘He may go back again?’

  ‘Exactly, he just might do that. Pepper, my boss, has told me that I can spend a bit of time on this one, so I will. Thanks for the heads-up, like.’