by Pete Adams
‘It’s okay, little one, let me see your face, oh you are such a pretty girl aren’t you.’ Maybe it was Gail’s Pompey accent working the miracle, or maybe the earth mother, but there were signs. ‘What lovely hair you have.’ Jack thought it was mousey, but supposed mousey could be lovely. The ambulance woman draped a bright red blanket on what remained of the distance between the distended, pregnant belly of Gail and her knees. ‘My name’s Gail, sweet’art,’ she said, close in on the child’s face, smelling her and planting little kisses on the cheeks. Tiny tears appeared, and Gail picked them up with the end of her finger and put them to her own mouth. This continued for some time before the spindly arms left Jack and reached out, Gail gathered the girl to her lap and wrapped the blanket around her.
Jack blubbed. Gail put her hand on his, how do mothers do this, they’re like octopuses. ‘We’re going to the hospital together, love, I will not leave you, but we’ve got to let Jack go so he can catch the bad men, okay?’ A mew, a nod.
Gail flicked her head, Jack kissed the girl on her forehead and whispered, ‘You’re a beautiful girl, and I love you,’ backed out of the ambulance, stumbled down the steps, grabbed the side rails just containing his cussing, and then he melted. His supposed tomfoolery caused Gail to laugh, and after a moment, so did the girl; nothing like a clown, why do women always laugh at me, Jack thought, but it was worth it to see a sparkle in the girl’s green eyes.
The ambulance doors closed and it drove away.
Seventeen
‘Well Jane, another wagon of shite?’
Jack knew the voice, didn’t want to turn and present his emotionally ravaged face to the assembled press. He spoke to the disappearing ambulance, ‘Paolo, thank God you’re here.’
‘Jack.’
This time he turned, ‘Amanda?’
She took in his look, ‘Jack, take Paolo and me around the scene, then casualty, get checked out. Is it true about Biscuit?’
Jack nodded, ‘Amanda, get someone to check the rest of the houses in this block.’
She put her hand up like she was stopping the traffic. Jack was inexplicably offended, the hand came down onto his and gripped; it was all he needed, all he needed ever, loneliness and grief was shredding his heart. Jack felt tired and emotional, tried to convey this to Mandy, but she was focused, not unreasonably, and he knew this, but unreasonably he resented it; was he expecting special treatment?
‘When you’re ready, Jane.’
There were times when the nicknames haunted him, times when he wanted to be Jack, and with Amanda, also unreasonable. He trudged to the house with Mandy and Paolo in tow, and that is what it felt like, dragging a dead weight, taking them around the house, describing the sequence of events. The paramedics had the situation under control, crime scene tape sealed the front bedroom; his mind drifted.
Mandy noticed, ‘Jane, focus, please.’
He didn’t, he couldn’t, he was feeling light-headed and nauseous, aware as he grew older he became sensitive of what had been happening to his body over the years, it seemed so logical, difficult to bear, and sometimes he wished he could shut these feelings off, knew this would be impossible, and in his more rational moments, he wouldn’t want this, but for now, he wanted oblivion.
On the upstairs landing it was not difficult to see into the scene and Biscuit’s prone form; the smell, of course, you never get that on the telly. Mandy took a little time after looking at Biscuit and had heard him express his thoughts. Jack looked at her, she was probably thinking her own thoughts that she did not share, but he could guess; so final, senseless, a family man, the poor wife and the children, who will go to see them with the news? Should it be her, Jack, or someone from vice, although technically he had transferred to Jack’s team, so?
‘I’ll go to see his wife, Amanda.’ Her gaze penetrated, grateful he had read her mind, felt bad making him do this tour of the scene, was moved also, he had called her Amanda. She noticed he was not looking well, but this has to be done, and he would know that. ‘We have photographs of the scenes here and in the other bedroom,’ he said, ‘obviously I had to disturb the room for the little girl, and the paramedics...’ Mandy nodded.
Alice stepped from the second bedroom, ‘One of the women is dead, stabbed looks like, the others, including the kids, look out of it; drugs. Off the record, Barry thought the stains and smells were older, that the occupants of the room may only have been here a short period; suggests a turnover of kids and women, Ma’am.’
Mandy nodded, her mouth was dry, her lips felt like they were cracking; she licked them. ‘Thank you, Alice. What do you think, Jack?’
He noticed she had switched to Jack and he felt immediately better, had seen her dealing with the dry mouth, knew what that was like, looked at her lips and wanted to kiss them, to moisten them for her; his senses heightened.
‘First of all, this is my case, and who is Barry?’ Paolo asserted, agitated.
Jack snapped his head up, immediately calmed, and spoke in a deceptively quiet tone, ‘Paolo, this is not about turf or territory. We have a dead copper, and some serious stuff here,’ nodding to the bedrooms. ‘Barry’s a paramedic, we know, he often has an opinion, it’s not formal or expert, but it gives us a heads-up at a scene. So, Paolo, initial thoughts?’
Mandy had to hand it to Jack. Whilst being nice and respectful, he had backed Paolo into a corner, but saw, his heart wasn’t in it.
‘Ma’am, scenes of crime are here, we should maybe let them get on?’ Alice interjected.
‘Thank you, Alice. Jo-Jums and Kettle are on their way. Paolo, if you are okay, I suggest Jo takes the rear bedrooms, your guys focus on Biscuit. Alice, can you coordinate what needs to be done until Jo gets here please,’ and turning to Jack, looking deep into his eye to see how he was, but still talking to Alice, ‘Jane said to check the rest of the houses on the block, so organise a few uniforms please.’
‘We’re already onto that, Ma’am.’
Mandy hemmed, deep in thought, ‘Good, where now, Jack?’
Paolo answered for him, ‘Back to the station, and let's turn over what we have,’
Mandy was still looking at Jack; he’d not answered.
‘Ma’am, I’ll see you back there.’
Mandy dismissed Jack’s sarcasm and answered her phone, ‘Yes, sir, we're just leaving. I wanted Jack to get a once over at casualty, it was hectic here, and I’m worried he took a bit of a pasting last night.’ Jack was still in a daze, she did care; why was he so sensitive about her? She was still talking, and he was guessing what was being said on the other half of the conversation. ‘Yes, Sir, sorry, Biscuit is dead, gunshot looks like.’ She listened for a little longer, ‘Just one moment,’ she held the phone to her chest, ‘how’re you feeling, Jack. Jamie wants you back at the nick, he’s sitting with Captain Pugwash (this was the nickname Jack had appointed Captain Littleman RN) and a couple of his Committee cronies...’ she went back to the phone, ‘sorry, Sir, Captain Littleman, yes indeed, heaven fucking forbid, Sir.’ She pulled a harrumph face at Jack.
Jack was not responding, looking like he could slide down the wall. ‘Tricky call, casualty or Pugwash, Pugwash casualty, chips or no chips?’ he said.
‘Alright, Jack, you seem okay to me, yes, Sir, he can come back.’ Mandy listened intently. Jack thought she’s trying to hear what the Commander is saying to Pugwash, satisfied, she pressed end and looked to Jack. ‘Get yourself to the nick, I want a case conference straight after lunch, so clear Pugwash ASAP, and let’s get some serious work done.’ Her phone went again, she was impatient. ‘Hello, who, just a second,’ she looked at Jack, her face unreadable, ‘a Father Mike O’Brien, for you?’ She put her hand over the phone, ‘Why does he have my phone number? Who is he?’
He looked at her as if she was learning impaired, ‘Der! My phone is broken, you know.’
She was temporarily struck dumb by the crazy logic, ‘Jack, you cannot do that.’
‘Mands, Shush, I’m on the phone! Ye
s, Mike, what can I tell yer?’ he listened, and listened some more, ‘hold your Angels, Mike,’ and Jack flicked his fingers, ‘Mandy, pencil and paper?’
Mandy was not a happy bunny, and this was conveyed in the vehemence of her response, ‘I thought all police officers had a pad and pencil?’
He flicked his head in frustration, ‘Yes, that’s why I’m asking for yours.’
‘Paolo, your pad and pencil please,’ Mandy said, and before Paolo could be embarrassed, a uniform offered his.
‘Mike,’ he started to write, ‘okay, got it. Mike, will you look in on the girl up at the hospital, tell her I asked after her,’ a smile developed into a laugh. ‘Brass knobs, Mike, see you at mass,’ he handed the phone back. Mandy had to close the call for him. ‘Thanks, Mands,’ well, she’d called him Jane.
‘Mass, Jack?’
‘Bless you, Ma’am,’ and he sketched a blessing in the air, ‘if I go to this meeting with Pugwash, that’ll be two days running no deckchair? Just sayin’...’
Paolo looked bewildered, Mandy shook her head. ‘Feck-off, and, Jack, shame we couldn’t get to Biscuit sooner, but well done here; good call.’
He pivoted on the ball of his foot, not easy in bovver boots despite his ballet training. The stairs and landing were getting congested as he tippy toed. He looked a last time into Biscuit’s room, sighed, and glanced towards Mandy. There was no need for words, except she managed some, of course, ‘Ballet, Jack?’
‘Why do you put up with that idiot?’
‘Because, Paolo, he’s a good copper...’ she paused, watched Jack leave, tugged her bottom lip, ‘...I think?’
Climbing the steep garden slope, Jack met Jo-Jums fuming her way in, ‘You knew something, didn’t you, because it would have been nice to involve me, and this business with Biscuit?’ She looked down at the ground as she kicked her toe against the footpath kerb, subdued. ‘Bad business, wife and two kids,’ she rallied, ‘you knew, Jack?’
He responded politely because it was Jo, gesturing with his head for her to follow him away from the press. ‘Sorry, but I wasn’t sure what I was going to find, and had there been nothing, it would not have looked good for the team. Anyway, the drug angle is still important.’
Jo was mollified, ‘Okay, but I want to be fully briefed, here on in, you forget I know you, and trouble follows you like a, like a... feck, what is it, who cares, but I want you to keep me informed.’
He felt let off. ‘The kids and women could be local, not imports, what d’you think that’s about? Check local missing persons? I’ve got to go, I borrowed a bike and want to get it back before it’s noticed.’
Jo spun back to him, ‘Jack, you plank, Hissing Sid was all over the place looking for that bike, berating the poor constable who didn’t lock it up, his defence it was inside a police station not getting him very far.’
He smiled as he pictured the scene, ‘I’ll sort it.’
‘Lord, give me strength,’ Jo sighed.
‘I’m sure he will, Jo, come to mass with me, bring Tanner and the kids.’
Nothing more to say, they went their separate ways, Jo-Jums thinking he’d gone holy Joe, called back, ‘Bad smell.’
‘What?’
‘Follows you like a bad smell, you stink.’
He looked down at his shirt, smeared with the girl’s mess, as he leaned forward up the slope of the garden path, thinking he should retrieve the bike wreckage and scam a lift back to the nick. The crowd was showing no sign of dispersing, the news wagon’s still here, irritating, and Jack stood transfixed by the mangled bike when Bernie appeared.
‘What’s the score, Jack?’
‘How d'you get through?’ A shrug of shoulders from a uniform. ‘There’s a press conference late afternoon, so don’t bother me, I've got to get this bike back to the nick, and then I’ve a meeting with Captain Pugwash,’ Jack replied, distracted.
‘Captain Pugwash?’ Bernie’s mind ticked over. ‘Put your bike in my car, looks like it might fit, now, I can drive you back. I like the sound of Pugwash, and anything else, anonymously attributed of course?’
Jack smiled, saw a solution to his problem for a price he was prepared to pay, ‘Bernie, you’re a tart.’
Jack brazenly carried the bike wreck into the undercover parking bays where he left it. Passed through reception where Hissing Sid was hiding behind his pencil.
‘Jack,’ Sid said shaking his head, ‘nasty... you know, Biscuit. We have prisoners, are they the perpetrators?’
Jack was noticeably subdued, ‘Well, they sure as hell knew about it, so make ‘em comfortable, Sid, get my drift?’
‘I’ve no idea what you’re suggesting?’
Jack leaned on the counter, exhaled loudly, ‘Fiddling kids as well, so clear the bottom of the pond for their dinner,’ lethargically he shaped to move off, ‘and Sid, some bugger's left a bike by the back entrance, get it shifted, I nearly fell over it.’
Sid became animated. ‘You’re kidding, we’ve been looking for a bike all morning...’ Jack shrugged, Sid calmed. ‘Commander said to go straight up, but maybe you should change your shirt?’
Jack was reminded of the girl. He stopped on the stairs and sat, not wanting to go any further.
Sid simpered, ‘You okay?’
He lifted his head from his knees, flicked his floppy hair with his hand and forced a smile, exhaling his words, ‘Tough scene. I’d like to have a time where I could feel happy, I miss that feeling; happy,’ and his feet on automatic, plodded the stairs. He went directly into the CP room and phoned the veterinary hospital. Martin was making slow but steady progress, probably staying in another four or five nights for observation. Jack’s mind responded, I bet he will, courtesy of Uncle Alfie, amazing how snotty bastards become accustomed to the filthy lucre, and reacting to a tap on his shoulder, Jack jumped; shit, I’m edgy.
‘Sorry, Jack, how’s Martin?’ It was the Commander.
‘Slow but steady progress. Sorry I didn’t come to your office, but I needed to know how Martin was doing, and, well,' he sighed, 'been a difficult morning.’
‘No problems, must cost a fortune. I presume you have pet insurance?’
‘Sort of, you could say that,’ and Jack felt better about Alfie’s money. You see, you just need a good explanation, as the psychiatrists would say.
‘I’m beginning to hear about this morning, Biscuit, Jeez, hate it when something like this happens. Nobby’s okay, thank God. How’re you?’
Jack humphed, ‘Last night, Biscuit, what we’ve found, women and especially the kids, suppose I’m fecked. Nobby was good, and Biscuit aside, I suppose we’ve had a result.’
‘Yeah, but you up to meeting Pugwash, you look like shit, and what’s that all over your shirt?’
Jack humphed again, but his mood lightened, he liked it when his nicknames were quoted back to him. Pugwash was a classic, based on Jack’s memory of an old children’s cardboard cut out animation series in the sixties. Pugwash was an inept pirate captain, the names of the characters double entendre, Seaman Stains, Master Bates, and Jack managed a smile as he pictured the chairman of the Community Policing Committee, thinking, I bet he’s called Pugwash in the Navy. Captain John V. Littleman RN was a serving Navy officer and, in Jack’s view, so full of his own importance he fell between two stools, the inept and a total martinet gobshite. Jack looked at the Commander, okay, he’d not spoken that thought. ‘I’ll be okay, let’s get this over with, I need to focus on the really important things like finding my bike,’ but the Commander wasn’t listening.
Eighteen
Pugwash sprung to attention as if Jack was an Admiral boarding the office, no discordant whistle, just a proffered hand. Not a good sign Jack thought, a bit like the kiss of death when a football club owner announces the manager has his full support. Jack returned the limp, clammy handshake. ‘Captain Little...man,’ dragging the name. Jack resisted wiping his hand under his armpit, thinking, how can a bloke rise to Captain in the Navy with a handshake l
ike that? Pugwash was a tall, wiry man, about fifty, thinning hair he had cropped, probably ginger at sometime, but despite his height, he did not impress and seemed to know this, leaning forward to greet; must think it compensates. He had a weak chin and a slippery persona, and Jack thought he was like an erect Uriah Heap but without the humbleness, indeed the contrary, he was a self-engrossed martinet.
‘Please, call me John,’ a cheesy grin, which Jack retuned with brass knobs, thinking, I could throw up all over you mate.
‘Then you must call me Jane, John,’ Jack said and noticed the Commander roll his eyes, probably wondering why he'd not told him to stay away for a couple of hours. Jack could tell him, a mixture of fear of this naval tosspot, and a lack of empathy due to the rarefied air in the dizzy heights of the police upper chevrons. When do you stop being a copper and become a knob-head? No councillors here, Jack noted, relieved.
Pugwash indicated to sit down, mentioning he probably meant echelons, which Jack ignored as churlish and not at all manly, listening in on his personal thoughts, and not understanding how the Commander could let this man take over his office. Big Society, he supposed, where, in Jack’s view, jumped up middle-class turds assumed they ruled the roost regardless of ability to do so, and only because they thought it their birthright. Come the resolution, Jack thought, maybe in C&A’s tonight. He thought of Alice, then Martin, the little girl, Biscuit, and his only marginally elevated mood, spiralled.
Jack took the seat by the wall, more or less where he sat when he was with Mandy yesterday morning, only a floor higher, and he looked out of the window. He could see the top of Mandy’s tree swaying in a stiff breeze, verdant, that strange sunlight you get when a storm is brewing, and it was. This seat also allowed him to direct his gammy eye to the Captain and his two ladies in waiting, aware they found this discomforting. At a previous meeting they had insisted he wear an eye patch; bollocks, he’d thought.