Just the Job, Lad

by Mike Pannett

  ‘1015 to control. Just approaching Sherburn crossroads, suspects doing seventy in a thirty zone.’ That was another offence racked up and recorded – if we caught them.

  ‘Hello, what they up to now?’

  This time the lights were at green, but they braked sharply so that we were within feet of their rear end. I felt my hands tighten on the edge of the seat. I did not like being a passenger, and although Jayne was doing OK so far, she was still an unknown quantity to me. The lad in the back of the car had turned around to face us, and was shouting over his shoulder at the driver. ‘Giving a bloody running commentary,’ I said as they shot ahead once more.

  ‘Whoa!!’ We were speeding towards the crossroads at East Heslerton when they slammed on the anchors once more and veered to the right at the last minute. Or tried to.

  ‘Steady, lads!’ I shouted. They overshot the turn and lurched sideways onto the verge, ploughing up two dark, curved furrows and throwing clods of earth into the air. The car spun around one complete turn, then hit the hedge head-on.

  ‘Bloody hell! 1015 to control, it’s a crash, crash, crash! East Heslerton crossroads. Stand by.’

  Before Jayne had even come to a stop I had the door open, gas in one hand. I was all set for a foot chase, but inside the Passat the three youths sat hunched and still. I ran up to the driver’s side and shone my torch inside. As I opened his door the lad at the wheel just blinked at me, shielding his eyes with raised arms. He looked very young, very pale, with a few sparse hairs sprouting from his chin. He was shaking.

  ‘Don’t move or I’ll gas you.’ Jayne had the other side door ajar and was standing with her canister pointed towards the youth in the passenger seat.

  I shone my torch into the rear. The lad there had his arms round a bundle of light waterproof jackets, still in their plastic wrappers. The seat beside him, and the footwells, were crammed full of golfing clothes and equipment: Pringle sweaters, boxes of tees, golf balls, an umbrella with a wooden handle, three or four shoeboxes, and a pile of Ping caps, the same as the ones they were wearing.

  ‘Right,’ I started. ‘Is everybody all right?’ I grabbed the car keys out of the ignition.

  ‘I think so,’ said the young lad behind the wheel.

  ‘Well, I think you’re in a lot of trouble, don’t you?’

  None of them said anything.

  ‘Right Jayne, do you want to do the honours or shall I?’

  ‘I’ll do it, if that’s OK. I’ll take the driver and passenger and you take the one in the back.’

  ‘Sounds like a deal.’

  You do keep a sort of score sheet for your arrests. They count on your record. So when you’re involved in a joint job it’s the done thing to share the prisoners, so to speak.

  ‘Right you two, you’re both under arrest on suspicion of burglary and stealing this car.’ Jayne cautioned them both while I arrested and cautioned the lad in the back.

  ‘1015 to control. We have all three suspects detained and a car full of golfing equipment. All occupants held in the vehicle.’

  ‘That’s received, you’ve got the Filey van and traffic car just approaching you. Do you require an ambulance down there? Is everyone OK?’

  ‘Yeah, control, no injuries thank goodness. Ambulance not required.’

  ‘Right, let’s get some handcuffs on and then have a look in the boot, shall we?’ I said to the lads. ‘Well well, well.’ Inside were three sets of new golf clubs, a crowbar and a small mound of pound coins in a cardboard box. ‘You have been busy, haven’t you?’ I shielded my eyes as the headlights of the Filey car lit up the night.

  We placed all three prisoners in separate vehicles and transported them through to Scarborough, along with all of the stolen property from their car. We left the traffic car to deal with the accident site and arrange recovery of the stolen vehicle.

  Because they were suspected of involvement in a series of burglaries that needed to be investigated, the prisoners were booked into custody and would be dealt with the next morning by the CID. This meant that once we’d given our evidence of arrest to the Scarborough custody sergeant, we could make our way back to Malton to complete our paperwork.

  As we headed back to our car outside the police station I said, ‘Shall I drive, Jayne? You’re probably feeling a bit drained, aren’t you?’

  ‘Suits me.’ Jayne settled back in her seat and fell silent as we cruised along the main road. I waited. The thing with Jayne was, even when she wasn’t talking you could generally sense when she had something on her mind. You could almost hear her brain ticking over. She’d frown, or chew a nail or fiddle about with her hair. And sure enough, as we approached the Malton turn-off, she asked the question.

  ‘So,’ she began, ‘what d’you reckon to this hunting ban then?’

  ‘Strewth. That’s a big question. Do you mean am I for it, or are you asking me what I think will happen?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Yeah. Thought so.’ I took a deep breath, changed down and indicated left. ‘First and foremost, as I’ve said to a lot of people this past year or so, I’m not a fox-hunter. I have bagged the odd gamebird in the past when I’ve been invited out on shoots, but I much prefer fly-fishing for trout and salmon.’ I paused a moment, braking for the thirty zone in Old Malton. You always have to be careful what you say on this subject. It’s so contentious. ‘It’s all part of being a country lad,’ I continued. ‘It’s what you’re brought up with. One thing however, I’ve never shot a deer.’

  ‘Do you eat it though?’

  ‘Eat it? Oh yes. I love it. It’s just that I don’t fancy shooting one, I like to see them in the wild. As for the ban . . .’ I sighed. We were about to pull into the yard now and I was suddenly feeling the effects of what was my third night at work in a row. ‘As for the ban, just you mark my words. There will be trouble. Something will kick off. These people out here – and don’t forget, Jayne, I know them; they’re on my beat, my constituency, you might say – these people will not, I repeat, will not take a ban lying down.’ I killed the engine and yanked on the handbrake. ‘But what form their resistance takes – well, we will find out in due course. But one thing I do know is that we could well end up right in the middle of it all.’

  Inside, we got started on our reports. The station was deadly quiet. Ed and Fordy were in too, both of them hunched over their paperwork. Through the window I could just hear the slightly tinny sound of the church clock striking five, meaning the wind was coming from the south. I was starting to think that we’d got past the time of night when villains are most active, that we were probably on for a sharp getaway and a couple of hours’ kip. I was wanting to be out and about mid-morning. I had a few things to see to, then a couple of days off.

  ‘Tell you what Jayne, if you go and put the kettle on, we can celebrate our knock-off over a brew. Give us your statement and I’ll go and fax them through to Scarborough custody.’

  ‘Suits me, Mike. I hate that fax machine. It belongs in a museum.’

  I wandered through to the front office. It was all quiet, lit by the sixteen CCTV monitors. The front office is closed at night and the monitors are left on record mode. I began the slow process of loading the fax machine and trying to get a connection to Scarborough by the autodial. I knew it was going to take quite a while, so when the paper started to slowly judder through the machine I pulled up the big comfy office chair and sat down with my feet on the table, grinning to myself. It’s the sort of thing you can only get away with in the middle of the night. I’d been sitting there a few minutes when I noticed a couple of shadowy figures walk past the motorcycle shop in Commercial Street. A bit early for people walking to work at the bacon factory, I thought. I logged onto the CCTV system with Phil’s password and zoomed the camera in to have a closer look. Both the figures were now nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Now what you up to?’ Jayne walked in and plonked my tea down on the front desk.

  ‘Just saw two youths near the motorbike shop,
but they’ve disappeared now.’

  Jayne pulled up a chair alongside. ‘Do you know Mike, I’m absolutely bleedin’ shattered, but I’m really, really pleased with that result earlier.’

  ‘Right place right time Jayne. You need a bit of luck sometimes as I always say . . . eh up, bloody hell. What . . .’ I couldn’t believe what I was seeing on the CCTV camera.

  Papers flew everywhere as I scooted my chair back, whacked the side of the table with my leg, and stumbled towards the door with Jayne right behind me. ‘Come on, let’s get ’em. Fordy, Ed! Get your stuff, lads. We’ve a break-in in progress, Commercial Street.’

  ‘1015 to control’ I shouted over the radio as I ran to the car in the back yard.

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘I’ve just seen on CCTV two youths smashing the front window of the motorbike place in Commercial Street. Looks like they hit it with a sledgehammer. We’re all en route, over.’

  ‘Received.’ Julie’s voice was slightly more high-pitched than usual – it sounded as though we’d jolted them into action too.

  Jayne and I were in the car and making for the road. Fordy and Ed were right behind us. Over the radio we could hear control putting the call out. ‘All units. Burglary in progress, Commercial Street.’

  It took no more than four or five minutes for us to arrive at the scene. The place was deserted. The pavement outside was covered with broken glass. Flashing my light inside the shop, I could see where a bike had been knocked over. A couple of helmets and several pairs of leather gloves lay on the floor. A clothing rail had also been toppled over and the alarm was on, full throttle. I glanced around the street to see whether any lights were on or any doors open in the houses nearby. Surely somebody was going to poke their head out to see what was going on. But there was nothing. The intruders must have got in quick, grabbed what they could carry, and left – but where to?

  I got on to control: ‘Yeah, we’re on scene. I can confirm it looks like a smash-and-grab. Looks like the suspects have left. We’re going to search the immediate vicinity. Can you put a message out across all channels for the information of all units? We have no further details over.’

  ‘How about we try the bypass?’ Ed said. ‘They’ve either gone that way or the Beverley road.’

  ‘Yeah. Sounds good.’ Ed was right. They wouldn’t have come back through town or we would have seen them, and nothing had passed us on the way down.

  Jayne and I set off along the Beverley Road, and travelled flat out for several miles, but it was a forlorn hope. They couldn’t have had more than two or three minutes’ start on us, but there was nothing to say they hadn’t cut across one of the back roads – or that they weren’t just lying low in some residential street on one of the housing estates. And of course we had no idea as to what vehicle, if any, they were using.

  At North Grimston we gave it up. ‘We aren’t going to find anyone,’ I said, ‘unless we get seriously lucky. And I think we’ve used our quota of luck tonight. Best get back and seal off the scene for the SOCO to deal with it when he comes on.’

  ‘Bugger it.’ Jayne was as disconsolate as I was. ‘To actually watch ’em at it, and then find they’ve got away. We couldn’t have got there any quicker. It drives you mad at times, this job.’

  ‘I’ve got an idea. Let’s go and have a look around the bacon-factory car park, shall we? Doesn’t feel like a local job, this.’

  ‘No, especially this time in the morning.’

  It was a long shot, but worth a try. The bacon factory employs hundreds of people, a lot of whom travel from miles away. They also had a shift due to start at six. We left Ed and Fordy at the shop and drove up to the factory where we patrolled the car park. But no, there was nothing suspicious.

  Back at the station we reviewed all the CCTV footage we had, but it wasn’t a lot of help. The earlier images were fuzzy to the point of being useless. All we could see was two grainy figures wielding what looked like a sledgehammer, or an iron bar, to put the window in. You could see them leaving within thirty seconds with armfuls of stock. Then they were out of shot on foot more or less straight away. We had nothing – no facial images, and no vehicle.

  ‘Well,’ I said to Jayne, as we signed off at seven o’clock, ‘could’ve been worse.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Jayne sounded as flat as she had at the beginning of the shift.

  ‘Come on, it wasn’t a bad night. I mean, we got one brilliant result at least.’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right, and the bonus being you survived.’

  ‘Survived what, Jayne?’

  ‘My driving.’

  I now had two days off to look forward to, and the thing on my mind as I drove up towards home was the future of Keeper’s Cottage. We had Soapy wanting his money for the roof repairs, and Algy – well, we hadn’t set eyes on him in a while, which was unusual. Was he really assuming we were going to buy the place and pay Soapy’s bill? Or was Soapy leaping to conclusions? I was all for popping round with a bottle of wine, sitting down and getting the thing sorted, but Ann – naturally – took a more considered approach.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘we’re in the driving seat here. Soapy needs paying, and if we’re to believe him Algy wants the whole thing sorted without any hassle. We play our cards right and we could secure Keeper’s Cottage for a fair price.’

  ‘So what are you suggesting?’

  ‘That we ask him to meet up with us for a friendly chat. Tell him there’s a couple of things we’d like to talk over with him.’

  ‘I s’pose you’re right,’ I said. ‘OK then, how about asking him to meet us down at the Farmers? Tonight. I mean, it’s the last time we’re off together for a few days.’

  We set off to the pub early that evening, thinking we might have a bar meal before Algy arrived. As Ann said, if you’re going to negotiate, you need to be on top of your game. And that means starting out with a full stomach.

  It was a cold night. We were well into autumn now, and we walked down the lane through drifts of dry, fallen leaves. As a light breeze stirred the tops of the larch trees a shower of needles fell to the ground. Our breath was coming in clouds.

  ‘I love this time of year,’ Ann said, clasping my hand in hers. ‘I mean, the run-up to the shortest day. Not so keen on January and Feb, mind, but the back-end – I don’t know, I find it sort of energising.’

  ‘Aye, me too. If we could have a short sharp winter, a nice lot of snow for Christmas and then go straight into spring, I’d be well happy. Tell you what, though’ – I pulled my hat low over my forehead – ‘this is cold enough for me. Wouldn’t be surprised if we have a frost tonight.’

  Ann disagreed. ‘Too cloudy,’ she said. ‘C’mon, let’s crack on. Get the old circulation going.’

  By the time we got down there we were good and warm – so much so that we had to step away from the fire that was blazing in the hearth. There weren’t many in, just one or two regulars sitting in the bar and a couple of lads enjoying a game of pool out the back. We sat and ate our homemade steak-and-ale pie in relative quiet. We were almost done when Walter came in. He didn’t say a word, just looked me up and down, peeled off an outsized pair of gardening gloves and held out his hands. ‘Now then,’ he said. ‘Tek a look at them.’ He thrust them closer to me. ‘Aye, go on, tek a good look.’

  ‘Blimey, Walt, what you been up to?’ His fingers were all taped up with sticky plasters, and he had a sort of elasticated bandage round his left wrist.

  ‘Why, it’s what you get when folks let you down,’ he said, easing himself into the seat beside Ann.

  She was staring at his hands. ‘What on earth happened to you, Walt? How did you get yourself into a state like that?’

  ‘Why, a certain party said he’d come round and help me. And he didn’t. That’s the sum and substance of it, lad. It’s a good job I still count that certain party as a friend,’ he added, pulling a brown paper package out of his pocket and plonking it on the table.

  ‘Is
there a connection?’ Ann asked, pointing at the package.

  ‘Aye, there is, lass. And if your young man’ll fetch me a drink I’ll tell you all about it. I’d get me own, but with these’ – he held out his injured hands – ‘why, I can’t properly get me hands in me trouser pocket.’

  ‘By heck, I’ve heard some excuses in my time!’ I said. ‘Can’t get your hands in your pocket? I shall have to remember that one.’ I got up and fished my wallet out. ‘Go on, then. Pint, is it?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right good of you, lad.’

  I went to the bar, got him his drink. ‘And while we’re at it,’ I said to the landlord, ‘I reckon we could do with a couple of desserts. What you got?’

  I placed my order and carried Walt’s beer back to the table. ‘Cheers, lad.’ He mumbled the words, his mouth being crammed full.

  ‘I see. Can’t get your hands in your pockets, but you’re fit enough to nick my grub off my plate,’ I said. I put the glass on the table, sat back down and stabbed the last couple of chips with my fork. ‘So anyway, have I got this right? You’re saying that the state of your hands is all my fault?’

  ‘Very tall, that hedge o’ mine,’ he said. ‘Remember?’ He cast an accusing eye at me, then downed half his pint in one go.

  ‘Hedge?’ I said. Then I remembered. ‘You, Walter, were supposed to ring me to let me know when you wanted me, you daft old bugger.’

  ‘Well I tried, but I couldn’t get hold of you.’

  ‘No, that’s because I’ve been at work. Been very busy this last week or so. Why didn’t you ring my mobile? It’s always on.’

  Walter flinched, and lowered his glass to the table. ‘You what, lad? Ring your mobile? D’you think I’m made of money? Anyway, in the end I had to fetch me stepladder to it. And what wi’ dodging them thorns . . .’ He took another drink, all but draining the glass. ‘And remember how all the best fruit was at t’top, out of reach?’ He didn’t wait for me to answer. ‘Aye well, reaching up for them, d’you see, that’s how I tippled over.’

  ‘Ouch.’ Ann was grimacing.