by M W Foolster
"Si... You a know this bastardo?"
"Unfortunately, nae. However, it daes match the description of a burglar who's been operating in this area. Please dinae be alarmed, but we have reason tae suspect that he may o' entered this property last night."
Both Carlo and DS Fuller gasp in shock. After a quizzical look across at the DS, DI Jordan continues,
"Now, Mr Fernandes, I need yah tae think back tae last night. Tae approximately 11:30pm. Dae yah remember hearing any strange noises?"
"Si. The stupido fuck Kouch, now, he a come down the stairs a banging on the walls. I in a here with my bella Prudence and hear him a slamming the stupido door. It a sound like he a drag something up the stairs."
DI Jordan's eyes light up.
"Kouch?"
"Si. Aleksey. He a live in top flat."
"Daes he now? And Mr Fitzgerald?"
"I no a hear him."
DI Jordan deep in thought, looks up to find DS Fuller drooling at Susie who's now appeared at the flat door. The DS, a goofy grin plastered across his face, is disappointed to see that she’s changed out of the flimsy crop top and is now wearing a baggy red t-shirt, bold white lettering spelling out the slogan, ‘Use It or Loose it’. Smiling sweetly, she wanders towards them.
"Sorry. I don't mean to interrupt. But any chance of my borrowing some milk Carlo?"
With tears in his eyes, a distraught Carlo rushes across to her.
"Carlo... You okay?"
"No, Susie, I been a robbed. Was this a drug pissed talco bastardo, he a beat me and take a my money. See?"
He points at the purple bruise on his head.
“That's terrible. You poor thing.”
Wrapping her arms around him protectively, and much to DS Fuller's annoyance, pulling him close, a concerned Susie asks.
"Who the hell did this to him? Is it something to do with this burglar? "
A seething DS Fuller shrugs indifferently, DI Jordan crosses his arms and smiles at her.
"That, Miss French, is whit we are attempting tae ascertain."
Having watched on as Susie accompanied a distressed Carlo up to her flat, his head buried in her boobs as she'd attempted to console him, DS Fuller kicks out at the camp bed beneath the window in anger. Regrets it immediately. And is now hopping around the room clutching at his foot. The still peckish DI Jordan helps himself to the last of the chorizo sausages in the fridge, takes a bite at it as leans back against a wooden worktop, and then he spots the brown paper bag behind a mug stand. Wondering how he'd missed it earlier, has a quick nose inside, smiles to himself on finding a sausage roll. And with the bag now safely deposited in his jacket pocket, the DI wanders out from the kitchenette with a bemused look on his face.
"Whit the hell are yah doing?"
"Knocked my ankle. Bloody hurts."
"Will yah stop wi' the theatrics?"
Now wagging a sausage at him, DI Jordan starts to pace backwards and forwards.
"Right then, where are we?"
"Ehh?"
"Get wi' it, John. Whit have we learnt?"
Having shifted the silk bed linen to one end, DS Fuller plonks himself down on the camp bed. Pulls the note book from his jacket.
"Learnt. As in?
"As in our enquiries, yah numpty."
Bent over and scrubbing at the scuff mark on his Italian shoes, the DS looks up to find the DI leaning over him.
"Yer, sorry Gov. That of the five occupants, we have at least two who are definite suspects. Jason Sinclair and Aleksey Kouchevski. Need to find the illegal to rule him out, though."
"Hmm, agreed. His name again?"
The DS thumbs through his notepad, "Ivan Bostanov."
"That's it. And did I hear her right? That he lives in a shed in the back garden?"
DS Fuller sits staring aimlessly across the room.
"John."
"Sorry... What?"
"Will yah stop thinking about Susan frickin French and concentrate."
A weary sigh as he looks up at the DI.
"Sorry, Gov. But you have got to admit, she is gorgeous."
Taking another bite from the sausage, the DI stands glaring down at the DS.
"And not remotely interested in yah, lad. Besides, I have nae ruled her oot o’ being involved yet. She was hiding something earlier and could well be Sinclair's accomplice. And apart from being a female, we still dinae who was riding the feicking bike last night, dae we?"
Pulling one of the heavy blue curtain to one side, the DI is frustrated to find his view of the garden obstructed by a rusty old washing machine, and what looks to be a crumbling brick barbeque. He goes back to pacing the room.
"Right, we are still going tae have tae go find the illegal living in the garden shed. But got a gut feeling we should start wi' the unemployed Aleksey. The lass did nae hear him until midnight and Carlo said he wis crashing around on the stairs at 11:30, or so. That makes him our prime suspect. Agreed?"
"What?"
DI Jordan snatches at the notepad and attempts to read through the scribbled, and barely legible notes. He flicks over the page. Now shaking his head in disbelief on finding a sketched picture of Susan French, he wallops the DS across his head with the pad several times before throwing it at him.
"Are yah taking the piss?"
Blushing furiously and clearly embarrassed, the DS hangs his head in shame.
"Will nae tell yah again, yah had better get your sodding act taegether. Do yah understand me? Got nae intention o’ losing oot on those diamonds. Nae way."
"Yer, look, am really sorry, Gov and swear it won’t happen again."
"Good. So yah put your sodding love life on hold until this is over wi’ and stay focused. Now, are yah up for this, or not?"
"Damned right I am." DS Fuller picks up the notepad from floor. "And guess we should call it in, right?"
"Whit?"
"The druggie burglar operating in the area. Best call in the description, reckon he will be easy enough to spot."
A swift and hard clip around the back of his head has DS Fuller falling forward on to his knees.
"For fuck sake, Gov, what the hell was that for?"
"Are yah for real?"
Rubbing at his head, a still shocked DS Fuller mumbles, "What?"
"I despair wi' yah, I really dae. There is nae sodding burglar yah bloody numpty."
"But you said."
Face flashed, and chomping noisily on the sausage, the DI roars.
"I KNOW WHIT I SAID,”
DI Jordan with his hand raised, DS Fuller cringing as awaits another wallop.
"What did yah expect me tae say, yah eejit? That it was us two who'd helped ourselves tae his cash and belongings?"
"Ohh."
"I'll give yah feicking ‘ohh’. Did it nae cross yur mind that it matched the description o’ the nasty bugger we nicked last week? Remember. The mugger we caught in the high street."
"Well, yer, the description did sound kind of familiar. Was the talcum powder that had me stumped."
The DS ducks just in time to avoid another hefty smack.
"The sodding talc yah keep throwing over yur hands yah mean?"
"Can't help it, Gov, my hands get sweaty."
Gulping down the remainder of the sausage, and having wiped his greasy hand down the wall, the DI heads towards the door.
"I think it's time we went and had a wee chat with Mr Kouchevski before I commit a feicking murder."
"You really think he could be our guy then? And not Jason Sinclair?"
"Aye, am starting to suspect that he might be. Sinclair, assuming he’s the eejit from the pub, wis wasted and in nae fit state tae go running around a cemetery. Besides, the ghost was nae in Sinclair’s room, and in’t just disappeared in tae thin air, has it?”
“Well ghosts can d….” DS Fuller winces at seeing the DI’s clenched fist.
“Jist shut it, will yah. And only one way tae find oot if Kouchevski is our man, right?"
"Gies me a han
dkerchief, will yah?"
DS Fuller reluctantly pulls an expensive linen handkerchief from his jacket, pauses as he looks down at his embroidered initials, but the DI’s grubby fingers are soon snatching hold of it. DS Fuller seethes on seeing the DI using it to sift through the smelly, and steaming socks draped over a radiator.
"For crying out loud, Gov. Do you know how much that cost me?"
"Schhhhhh. Yah want tae wake him?"
Nodding towards the bed beneath the window, at the snoring male curled up in the duvet, whom the DI assumes to be the unemployed drummer, Aleksey Kouchevski.
DS Fuller whispers, "What are you doing anyway?"
"Checking for mud. Never rule anything oot, remember?"
DS Fuller soon loses interest, and with his eyes having now adjusted to the darkness, picks up the bottle from a free standing chess table. He can't quite make out the label but looks foreign, screws open the top and sniffs at it, and is soon recoiling at the smell of Vodka,
"Phew, that's strong."
"Schhhhhh."
A whispered apology from the DS, and he's then tiptoeing across the striped floorboards towards an electric guitar propped up against a huge amplifier. Looks expensive. Runs his finger down the body of the guitar, accidently catches the strings, a loud twang leads to the body curled up in the duvet turning over, and muttering in his sleep. DS Fuller cringes, can almost feel the DI's eyes boring into him. Several seconds later, and with the room once again full with the sound of snoring, the DS turns his attention to a built in wardrobe. Poking open the wardrobe door open with his shoe, the DS can only watch on as the clothing spills out. Puts his hand across his nose, the piles of clothes reek of stale sweat. Obviously not that fussed about cleanliness, is the snoring Mr Kouchevski. And having then spotted the pile of CD's on top of the mini fridge in the corner, he can't resist taking a look through them, but are all heavy rock and none that appeal to him. Glances around the room, is relieved to see that the DI is still preoccupied with smelly socks. He's then scratching at his head, completely baffled as to why there would be a small, metal temporary bus stop in the middle of the room. Who in their right mind would steal a .. But then he sees them on top of a coffee table. In his excitement, he smacks his elbow hard into the temporary bus stop, the room suddenly full of a vibrating metallic sound. The DS freezes on the spot, gulping as he looks towards the now fuming DI Jordan, and can almost imagine the steam coming out of his ears. Neither move on hearing the snoring male stirring, but several snorts and grunts later, Mr Kouchevski just rolls over and returns to his slumber.
"Will yah be careful, yah twat."
"Sorry."
DS Fuller creeps towards the coffee table at the end of the bed, a perverse grin on his face as he thumbs his way through the pile of glossy magazines. One in particular catches his attention, turning it at differing angles as he silently mouths, ‘phewwww’. He rolls it up and tucks it inside his jacket. Choosing his footsteps carefully so as to avoid a pair of dumbbells, the DS heads back towards the wardrobe, the DI having indicated that he wants it searched thoroughly. Screws his nose up as he pulls the door open. Only two of the hangers have clothing hung from them, the rest empty, shrugs his shoulders at the DI who then points a finger at the piles of clothing at the base of the wardrobe. The DS pokes around at the contents strewn across bottom with his shoe, nothing but bundles of dirty clothing, just screwed up and tossed inside. He turns and watches as DI Jordan works his way meticulously along one wall of the sparsely furnished room, as he pays special attention to the open fire place, poking around in the dead embers with a pen before heading into the kitchenette.
"Pssssstttttt."
The DS looks up to see the DI beckoning him over, and whispering.
"Nowt in there, nae even any food. Did yah search the drawers in the TV stand?"
"No, Gov, not yet."
“Okay, I will. Going tae inspect his boots for traces o' mud first. Yah check the bed, jist in case he's got the damned thing hidden in there."
The DS nods, and cautiously makes his way towards the snoring Aleksey. He lifts the duvet slowly, peeking underneath, tenses on seeing a naked backside, but is more perturbed by the fact that Aleksey appears to be clutching hold of something. A quick glance across at the Gov, but he’s still preoccupied with shining his pen torch at the soles of a pair of boots; it’s going to be down to him then. Gritting his teeth, he leans across the sleeping body and starts to carefully pull back the duvet from the wall side. A snorting Aleksey suddenly turns over, trapping the DS's arm in the process. At least DS Fuller now knows it was a pillow that he’d been hugging. But his arm is still trapped. And he daren't whisper to the Gov for help, Aleksey's hairy face is far too close, only inches from nose. He gasps as Aleksey's eyes suddenly shoot open, now staring straight up into his, but they don't seem to be focused on anything, the DS sighing with relief to see them closing. He proceeds to slowly pulls his arm free of the fidgeting male. Is on the verge of moving away from the bed when a strong arm suddenly wraps itself around the back of his neck. Unable to prevents himself from being dragged head first towards the slumbering male, he's left gasping for breath as his face suddenly plummets into a thick black rug of chest hair. Aleksey then starts to mumble in his sleep, "Susie, you ist so hot babe. The Kouch, he make you scream in pleasure, yes."
Gulping loudly on seeing the pyramid shape starting to appear further down the duvet, a now panicky DS attempts to wriggle his head free of Aleksey's grip, squirming as he drags his face past a sweaty armpit. Thinks he's succeeded. But a powerful hand suddenly grabs the back of his head pulling him forward, and being off balance, he’s unable to resist. Before he knows what's happening, finds that his lips are pressed against Aleksey's. And panic takes over on feeling Aleksey attempting to thrust his tongue into his mouth. The DS leaps backwards, spitting hair from his mouth as he gags at the taste of vodka on his lips. Arms flaying wildly and shaking violently, he quickly backs away from the bed. It’s just unfortunate that his foot now happens to find one of the dumbbells. Flying backwards at some speed, he collides heavily with the DI, who’s still bending over Aleksey's boots. A shocked and confused DI Jordan suddenly finds himself hurtling forward, his head crashing into the bus stop and, in so doing, bringing the now stunned and still doubled over DI to a sudden halt. The impact with the DI’s backside sends DS Fuller leaping into the air. He performs a perfect pirouette mid-air before sliding heavily across the DI's stooped back, creating enough forward momentum to send the pair of them charging uncontrollably towards the door. Sat astride a now swearing DI Jordan, DS Fuller smacks heavily into the lintel above the door and crashes back down to earth with a loud thud. DI Jordan thunders straight through the open door, his head crashing into the plasterboard partition wall opposite.
Having been knocked over by the detectives as they'd stormed the door, the bus stop now springs back up, smacking a totally confused and disorientated Aleksey forcefully in the chin. The impact sends him stumbling backwards, and he trips over the other dumbbell before landing back on the bed.
Having helped the DI pull his head free of the plasterboard wall, DS Fuller stands tutting at the gaping hole left behind, and at the strands of green wallpaper flapping around in front of it. With the nonchalant shrug of DS Fuller’s shoulders not having been appreciated, the DI yells.
“Whit the feick dae yah think yur doing? Yah… Yah.”
DS Fuller grimaces on seeing the ferocity in the DI’s bulging eyes, the pulsating purple vein in his forehead looking as though it’s about to explode. Perhaps he shouldn’t offer to help the DI brush the dust and plaster from his head and shoulders, but then again, he has missed the cobweb hanging from his ear. Hand slapped away viciously as he reaches out for it, the DI’s face now scarlet with rage.
“Jist… Jist…”
“What the hell is going on up there?”
Susie’s horrified face appears at the bottom of the landing.
His huge hands frantically scrubb
ing away at his head, DI Jordan emerges from the dust cloud he’s just created and smiles down at her.
“Jist a slight mishap, Miss French. There is nothing tae be concerned aboot.”
“Mishap? I don’t believe this. I mean, are you for real? My light fitting is, like, hanging off, got like chunks of plaster all over the floor and a huge crack running across the ceiling.”
Having been slapped hard around the back of the head and received a swift boot up the backside, well actually it didn’t quite get that high, and skimmed off his calf, a sulking DS Fuller goes to her assistance. His mood changes immediately on seeing her smile, chooses to overlook the fact that it's anything but friendly.
“I am so sorry, Susan. Okay to call you Susan, isn't it?"
“Well it is my name.”
The DS chooses to ignore the sarcastic tone to her voice.
"I... Hmm… Am DS Fuller... John, I mean."
"That's nice for you."
The DS stands staring at the lettering on her t-shirt. An irate, and suddenly very self-conscious Susie, snaps at him.
“EXCUSE ME? You could at least have the decency to look at my face when talking to me.”
DS Fuller, having turned crimson, stutters,
No, I wasn’t looking at… Look… Sorry... Just… It’s the wording, is all… Use it or lose it… Just… Was… I saw a flier.”
“Well, if you must know, I am a member of the Save Borrington Central Library action group. Use it or lose it. Get it?”
Seeing his blank expression, she rolls her eyes.
“Oh come on, you must have heard about it? Been all over the local news, all the bullshit about it no longer being financially viable to keep it open. At least, that’s the crap Councillor ‘The Snake’ Fuker is spouting out. Doesn’t matter that the council hasn’t spent a penny on it in years, just left the building to deteriorate. And now we all know why. Well, don’t we?”
His stupid grin starting to infuriate her.
“Surely you’ve heard about him? Fuker? The leader of Borrington Council who wants to close the library and sell off the land to a supermarket chain?”
“I don’t really pay much attention to the news. Don’t live locally and what with working long hours I...”
