Confessions of a Police Constable

by Matt Delito

  I did my best not to react when I saw the result, and we continued taking not-DiCaprio’s DNA (a quick cheek swab) and mug shots for the police database and arrest records.

  Once we had returned to the custody desk, I signalled for the skipper to look at his screen. The results of the Livescan check would be showing up in front of him. He nodded as if he already knew what the result was going to be, and pressed a few buttons on his computer, before taking Syd aside briefly. The custody skipper was careful about not being overheard. I could not tell for certain what they were talking about, but from the look on Syd’s face, I could see it was something rather serious. Once they’d finished their discussion, Syd turned and spoke into his radio.

  The custody skipper began to make idle conversation with DiCaprio for a few minutes, about toothache-inducing inane things; I had a feeling he was doing that mostly to stop the prisoner from listening in on Syd’s conversation.

  A few seconds later, three officers from my team casually strolled into the custody suite, taking up positions all around the custody desk.

  ‘Thank you, Syd,’ the skipper said, before turning to DiCaprio.

  ‘The machine you just used, Mr Everett, was a fingerprinting machine. We have positively identified you, so I know who you are. I know that your name is Lee Everett, and this officer here,’ he said, pointing to Syd with his hand shaped like a gun, ‘has something to tell you. Listen to him carefully.’

  Sid took a step forward, and all the other officers surrounding the-man-formerly-known-as-Leonardo-DiCaprio-now-known-to-be-Lee-Everett seemed to tense up and lean forward as well.

  ‘Mr Everett,’ Syd began, ‘I have heard evidence of an incident that happened on Thursday, where your brother was seriously injured during a vicious assault by an unknown assailant. He has not regained consciousness yet, but witnesses state that you and your brother had had a loud argument only hours before the assault. In light of this, I am further arresting you for the attempted murder of Daniel Everett. You do not have to say anything, but …’

  As Syd completed the caution, I contemplated what had just happened.

  I have to say, I was a little bit envious of Syd. I’ve been a police officer for quite a few years now, but I’ve never actually done an arrest for anything quite as serious as attempted murder.

  I was keeping a close eye on Lee, who was standing in the middle of the custody suite floor. Five police officers, along with the usual collection of Designated Detention Officers and custody sergeants that mill around in custody, were surrounding him. On hearing the word ‘murder’ the FME44 popped out of his office as well, to take a look at our suspect.

  When Syd completed his caution, the custody area fell into complete silence. Only the hum of the ventilation system and a distant howl from one of the other prisoners (who, come to think of it, had been screaming the whole time we had been there) was audible.

  Finally, the custody skipper broke the silence.

  ‘Right. You should know that every inch of the custody suites are covered in CCTV and audio recording. As this officer just reminded you, everything you say may be given in evidence; that includes the CCTV tapes. I have to ask you a few questions before we move you to your cell, so please approach the desk.’

  The skipper nodded at the surplus officers and they left.

  Lee meanwhile stood limply, like a hot air balloon that was being slowly deflated. He became a lot more cooperative, answering all the standard questions asked by the custody sergeants. Questions about his welfare (whether he had ever tried to self-harm; whether he had suicidal thoughts; whether he used any medication; whether he wanted to talk to a drugs worker) and that of others (whether he had any dependents, such as kids, or whether anybody might suffer from his being detained), and a whole series of other questions as well. Lee answered each of them with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’, signed all the things he needed to sign, and eventually allowed us to move him to cell M5 – the same one where we had strip-searched him about 45 minutes earlier.

  ‘So, how are you feeling?’ I asked Syd, once we were sitting in the writing room doing the reams and reams of paperwork involved with preparing the information for the case progression unit.

  ‘Pretty good. How did I do?’ he asked

  ‘How do you think you did?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I was piss nervous. I barely remember any of it all, to be honest.’

  I laughed.

  ‘Don’t worry, you did really well. A couple of little glitches here and there, but bugger me if it didn’t turn out that your very first arrest was one for attempted murder! I’ve never done a murder arrest before in my life!’

  ‘Seriously?!’ Syd asked.

  ‘No! Unless you find someone at the scene, it’s usually the BSU45 that gets used for those arrests,’ I said. ‘Makes sense, I suppose; when someone knows they may go down for murder, they might feel as if they have nothing to lose, which could make them violent.’

  ‘Ha,’ Syd said, and suddenly remembered the sharpened screwdriver. ‘Holy shit, do you think that screwdriver might have been the murder weapon?’

  ‘Well, I can tell you for sure that it isn’t a murder weapon, since his brother isn’t dead. But either way, you know more than me, mate. I only found out he might be an attempted murder suspect when you arrested him for it!’

  ‘The skipper didn’t say anything about the specifics of his injuries, so I don’t really know,’ Syd said. ‘Can we look it up on CRIS46?’

  He was asking whether we could look at the case notes for investigation of the assault.

  ‘Answer your own question, my friend,’ I said. ‘Is the CRIS report relevant to the notes we’re writing up?’

  ‘Yeah, of course, I arrested the guy for it!’

  ‘Hmm. Not quite. You arrested him based on information given to you by the custody skipper, and that is what needs to go into your notes.’

  ‘And after I’ve written my notes?’

  ‘Are you involved in the investigation of the assault?’

  ‘No …’

  ‘Well, then, no. I don’t want to be an arse, but the computer guys are really strict about stuff like this. If you start poking about in databases around cases you aren’t actively working on, you could get in trouble. Everything is logged, and you had best have a really good explanation for why you’re looking at a particular case.’

  ‘But … I’m really curious now!’

  I grinned.

  ‘Me too! Tell you what, write down the CRIS reference number from the custody cover sheet, and then, once we’ve written up our notes, you can ask the team skipper; tell him you want to learn more, and that you’ve just made an arrest for attempted murder. He’ll tell you whether you can take a peek, or perhaps explain to you how you can find out more. Call me paranoid, but I never go deeper than I absolutely have to for investigations I’m working on.’

  I helped Syd write up his reports statements. We also had to go back to the supermarket to get a statement from Nick the shop security guy; to my delight, he had one ready filled in when we got there.

  ‘Wow, I guess you get a lot of shoplifters, eh?’ Syd said.

  ‘Yeah, a few. One of the Safer Neighbourhood guys came in here one day and gave me a template we could use, to save us some time and to make their life easier, so we always include the right bits and pieces.’

  Syd looked at the A4 sheet in his hand, mumbling as he read: ‘Observed a male aged approximately … Attempted to pay … Card declined … Placed goods in pockets … Attempted to leave …’

  Syd looked up at Nick. ‘This is fab, thank you! If you wouldn’t mind just signing it as well, we’ll be on our way!’

  After that we had to fill out a simple MG11 witness statement explaining the circumstances and events of the attempted murder arrest.

  When the printer next to us woke from its slumber to print out the final versions of our statements, Syd sat back and looked at his iPhone. ‘Crap, this arrest took nearly five hours! Is tha
t normal?’

  ‘Some things go a little bit faster once you get used to it. If there’s no queue at custody, I can do a shoplifting arrest in a couple of hours or so. Yours took longer because you’re not used to the forms, and because you still have to think about how to put together your statements. Don’t worry – it’ll become second nature, and you’ll soon be able to do your witness statements as fast as you can type ’em up. Like anything else, it comes with practice,’ I concluded.

  We walked through to the custody suite to use the ATR47 to stamp our statements and other paperwork. Once stamped, we took the paperwork to the stuffy office occupied by the Case Progression Unit, where we handed over the cases. And that was that.

  ‘So, what’s going to happen next?’ Syd asked.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but my shift finished about an hour ago, so I think I’m going to the pub, and I’m bringing you with me. We’ve got to celebrate your first arrest!’

  Syd laughed. ‘Well, I can’t say no to that, but I meant with the guy.’

  ‘Oh. Well, the CPU48 will be taking over from here. They’ll interview Lee on tape and prepare a case. They then hand it over to the CPS49 to see if they want to prosecute the case. I have a funny feeling that Detective Carson is going to get on him first, though; he’s the guy investigating the assault of Lee’s brother. Lee will be up in magistrate’s court soon, and they’ll probably bounce him straight on to Crown court, because I imagine he’s going to be charged with at least grievous bodily harm, if not attempted murder or – if his brother dies – actual murder. Either way, the punishment for any of those crimes is longer than six months’ imprisonment, which is the maximum sentence a magistrate can impose, so it’ll be a one-way ticket to Crown court for Mr Everett.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Syd said.

  We walked out of the changing rooms into the yard behind the police station, and straight into the arms of ten guys from our response team who burst into applause and cheers.

  ‘Welcome to the team,’ said the team skipper. ‘Obviously, it’s your round. Mine’s a lager top.’

  A long climb

  Pete and I were standing outside a block of flats towards the north end of the borough. Our destination was on the eleventh floor, but sod’s law had struck, and of course the lifts were out of order. Of course. Why wouldn’t they be? With a sigh, we began the long climb.

  I started whistling a song, but noticed that Pete didn’t join in. He’s usually one of the merry ones.

  ‘What’s wrong, mate? You’re awfully quiet today,’ I said to him.

  ‘I had a dog of a shift yesterday,’ Pete responded.

  ‘That bad, huh?’

  ‘Yeah, I couldn’t sleep last night, to be honest. I’m knackered.’

  ‘Bloody hell. That doesn’t sound like you, buddy. What happened?’

  ‘Mate, it was grim.’

  ‘Go on …’

  ‘Got sent to a call, right, from a nineteen-year-old chick who was worried about her neighbour.’

  ‘Sudden death?’

  ‘Ha,’ Pete said, shaking his head slowly. ‘Well, yes, it was, but it was the worst one I’ve ever been to.’

  ‘Seriously? Worse than the one at the tail-end of last year, where you had to shove your face down a toilet every six minutes?’ I laughed.

  Pete’s face broke, slowly, almost into a smile. He didn’t offer a reply to my question.

  ‘I’ll just take that as a “Yes, it was worse”, then.’

  ‘So, the neighbour was a thirty-odd-year-old lady. When we got there, I could smell death right away, but she was fine,’ Pete said.

  Ah, the smell of death. There’s something so primally disgusting and piercing about that smell – I could feel it burrowing its way into my nostrils when Pete mentioned it. I’d happily place my hand on a Bible and swear that I could smell it right there on the stairwell.

  ‘She seemed completely lucid, like there was no problem at all,’ Pete said.

  ‘But the smell?’

  ‘She was carrying a baby.’

  ‘Ah noooo …’ I said, sensing where his story was going.

  ‘Yeah, mate. It was grim.’

  ‘Shit. How long?’

  ‘The baby had maggots crawling all over it. It was horrible. The mother seemed completely oblivious to the fact that her kid must have been dead for at least the best part of a week. Coroner wasn’t sure how long.’

  I stopped on the landing, leaning a shoulder against a wall. We deal with a lot of deaths in this job, and I’ve lost my lunch more than a few times as a result. This was the first time I’d felt as if I should play a violin solo just from hearing a story.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I called for backup. I’m glad I did, mate – as soon as we said we needed to take the kid off her, she went fucking bananas. She refused to let us take the sprog. She ran inside her flat and tried to fight us off. She ended up cleaving Jake in the arm with a knife.’

  ‘What? Jake? Seriously? How is he?’ I asked.

  Jake is one of the toughest officers we have – he normally works on the robbery squad, and he’s usually the first person to dive head-first into a fight. He’s good at it and he likes it, which is lucky because on the robbery squad he gets plenty of opportunities for three-dimensional, technicolor adventures in fisticuffs.

  ‘Eh, you know Jake. He’s crazy. Proud of every scar. I’m sure he’s chatting up some cute nurse right now, the bastard,’ Pete said, smiling sadly.

  ‘Jesus,’ I said, not knowing what else to add.

  ‘Anyway, so we had to section her, and ship her baby off to the morgue. Turns out it was probably a cot death or something, but she just continued changing the little boy’s clothes and diapers and trying to feed him as if nothing had happened. She was just in complete denial about it all.’

  ‘Dude, that’s fucking horrible.’

  ‘Yeah, tell me about it. I’m pretty shook up. It just makes you think about stuff, you know. The woman seemed completely fine when I met her, but it turns out she was probably the craziest person I’ve ever met.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, mate. Have you spoken to anybody?’

  ‘Just you.’

  ‘I’d give the helpline a bell, buddy. The number’s on the wall next to the lockers up on the third floor. Blue poster. Sounds like it may be worth getting it all off your chest to someone who knows what to say.’

  Pete shrugged non-committally.

  ‘Seriously, mate,’ I said. ‘Nobody’s going to think less of you for talking to someone. I’m feeling sick just hearing about it, and I wasn’t even there. I can’t imagine how you feel.’

  Pete started walking the last few flights of stairs going up to our next call, but turned before he reached the top.

  ‘You know what was really fucked up?’ Pete said.

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘She called NHS Direct, apparently.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah. She told us, once she calmed down a little, finally. She called NHS Direct and said that her baby wasn’t eating properly.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘They told her to go to a doctor, but she decided to wait for a few days. I think, deep down, she knew that the little boy was no more, but she just wanted to put off being told.’

  Hearing that completely broke my heart. For a moment, I thought I might cry.

  ‘That is the single saddest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, I know, right? I mean … How do you deal with something like that?’

  ‘Well, she’s been sectioned, so she’s being looked after. Your turn,’ I said, and looked up the steps at Pete. ‘Seriously, promise me you’ll talk to the people? I’ll come with you if you like?’

  ‘I really appreciate it, mate,’ Pete said.

  Climbing up to Pete’s level, I hugged him. It seemed like the only useful thing I could do.

  ‘Shall we?’ he said, after a short pause.

  ‘Let’
s do this,’ I said, and we finished making our way up the last flight of stairs.

  When we arrived at the right apartment, we found ourselves about an inch of cheap wood away from a cacophony of noise and chaos.

  ‘Here goes nothing,’ Pete sighed, and knocked on the door …

  Twisted Sister

  To say that there was no response when we knocked would suggest we could hear anything over the racket from inside.

  Pete took his handcuffs out of the carrying pouch, and used them to bang again on the door. This, it appeared, was more effective. The shouting and squealing stopped. (Though the barking continued.)

  ‘Who is it?’ said a none-too-friendly voice from inside.

  ‘Police, open up,’ Pete shouted back, and then awkwardly bolted on a ‘please’ at the end.

  I had to smile – Pete had recently been accused of being too gruff. However, nobody had told him that we’d all been taken aside – as part of the SMT50 plan to make the police force more approachable – and told individually that we’re too gruff and grouchy. It might be true for some of us, but Pete’s one of the good guys; I felt a little bit bad that he’d taken the management-induced criticism to heart.

  A man – aged around 30 or so – opened the door, but only a tiny bit. He took a quick look at us before worming his way through the gap to join us outside.

  ‘I’m surprised you came,’ he started.

  ‘You are? What’s the problem?’ Pete replied.

  ‘It’s a complicated story.’

  ‘Not to worry … What’s your name again?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I’m Roger Samson. Call me Rodge,’ the man replied, and held his hand out for us to shake. We did. As Pete shook the man’s hand, I saw a look of recognition – maybe warmth, even – on his face.

  ‘Well, Rod—’ Pete started, but then halfway through decided that he was not, under any circumstances, going to call this man ‘Rodge’.

  ‘Well, Roger …’ Pete finished. ‘Start at the beginning, and I’m sure we’ll get there.’