The Bad Detective

by H. R. F. Keating

  ‘Stallworthy, you dozy bastard, come ‘ere.’

  Shaking the gloom out of his head, he went across.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You know Marvin Hook, don’t you? Well in with all that lot, ain’t you?’

  ‘Well, I know Marvin, yeah. What’s the mad bugger been up to now?’

  ‘Only holding Aide Jane Lane with a shotgun to her head.’

  ‘Christ. You never sent her to sort out Marvin?’

  ‘I’m not quite as stupid as you like to think, Sergeant. No, seems that silly bitch was passing Marvin’s place, out on the St Oswald Estate - she was up there on some inquiry - and Marvin’s wife or girlfriend, whatever, comes screaming out into the road saying Marvin wanted to kill her.’

  ‘Dare say he would have done, too. Or damn nearly. Ought to have been locked up long ago, by rights. That mad bugger.’

  ‘I dare say. But, thing is now, bloody Jane Lane just went in there thinking it was some minor domestic, and Marvin seems to have taken exception.’

  ‘So what you want me to do about it?’

  ‘There’s a couple of PCs outside the place, called by the neighbours, but they don’t know what the hell to do. I’m having the gun team from Palmerston Park get up there, but the last thing we want with any of the Hook lot is a full-scale shoot-out. So how about you get your skates on and have a few quiet words with our Marvin?’

  ‘And get a load of shotgun pellets in my gut? Thanks very much.’

  But he wheeled away and left the room at a trot.

  Suppose, he thought as he revved away from the parking area behind the station, I do know bloody Marvin better than anybody else. Penalty of drinking with a few of those Hook bastards, time to time. Not that it ever did me much good. Too sodding anti-Law the whole lot of them. And what chance I’ll get of talking to Marvin, I don’t know. Nobody yet ever talked him out of doing whatever came into his barking mad head.

  The St Oswald Estate, street after street of mean little houses put up by Abbotsport City Council in the sixties, was no great distance from the central police station, if well remote from Palmerston Park’s big houses and solid Headquarters building. So, before Jack had time to work out how he might go about persuading Marvin Hook to behave like a good little lamb, he had reached the house.

  He came to a halt, jumped out and went over to the PC who was dividing his attention between looking nervously at an upper window of the house and trying to keep the small crowd of onlookers on the far pavement out of shotgun range.

  ‘Well,’ he asked him, ‘what’s the sitch?’

  ‘Don’t really know, Sarge. I mean, look at the fellow’s girl-friend there. My mate’s having to hold her back now. Wants to bloody go back in, though whether it’s to tell that mad idiot she’s sorry and won’t do it again or to tear his flipping eyes out, it’s hard to tell.’

  He looked across in the direction the PC had indicated. Sure enough, his colleague was holding a thickly made-up blonde girl by her elbows as she bounced and bucked trying to get out of his grasp.

  Not much to be done there.

  ‘You know it’s an aide to CID in there?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah. Used to be on the beat round here. Jane Lane. Bit of a whizz-kid.’

  ‘I’ll say. So, you seen anything of her inside?’

  ‘Yup. He came to that window up there with her. About ten minutes ago. Sawn-off stuck in her neck.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Haven’t seen either of them since then. Are they sending some fire-power from HQ? Can’t see any other way of getting her out.’

  ‘No. Dare say you can’t.’

  And, turning, he set off at a jolting run across the road.

  Only thing to do. If anything was to be done.

  But with every step he had felt his wobbly gut turning to water.

  Garden gate leaning rottenly back on its hinges. Thank Christ, nothing to have to stop for. Five yards of front path. Six. What if now …?

  But, no. No, safe. Safe in the lee of the house.

  The sweat was thick at his every pore. His breath was coming in long hollow gasps.

  In a minute, if I don’t pull myself together, I’ll spew up all over the front step. Which, no doubt, pissed-out-of-his-mind bloody Marvin’s done more times than you could count. And that stupid bitch of a girl-friend of his, too, like as not.

  He forced his back straight, and gulped in two or three deep breaths.

  So what now?

  Got to get in somewhere. No use trying to talk to bloody Marvin unless I can see him eye to eye. Know when to fling meself out of the way of that sawn-off. If I can.

  All right, off we go. Sidle round the house. Take a good look in at the windows. See what the back door’s like.

  It was the back door that in the end provided him with what he wanted. Or, perhaps, did not want.

  If I can’t get in here, it’ll have to be the bloody siege team. Trouble ever after with the Hook firm or not.

  Very carefully trying the knob - wondering whether just on the other side of the door Marvin would be standing, Jane Lane with her arm twisted behind her to one side, sawn-off pointing straight ahead-he found it turned perfectly smoothly.

  Right. Next, a gentle little push. If Marvin ain’t noticed the knob moving – if he’s standing there waiting, and not upstairs, after all – then just let’s hope he won’t see the door opening a fraction. Tell me whether there’s a bolt on it or not.

  The door moved inwards as he pressed on it. But more easily than he had counted on. A full quarterinch in a sudden little jerk.

  But no shotgun blast came through the thin panels.

  He breathed a long sigh of relief. Then swallowed.

  So nothing else for it now. Do your duty, Detective Sergeant Stallworthy.

  And…

  Door flung hard back, step away one instant. No reaction from inside. And in.

  Kitchen. A filthy mess. Might have expected it. Sink piled with crocks. Three or four empty cups on the little red plastic-topped table. Half a dozen beer cans. Bit of a pong. Probably from the rubbish bin.

  And any sound from up above?

  He stood still, trying to get his breathing quieter. Feeling the sweat trickling down his back.

  But all seemed to be silent. Could Marvin really not have heard that door when I flung it open?

  He glanced back at it.

  Yeah, it hadn’t actually hit that dresser there. Something stopped it? Yes. Some good in the muck the pair of them let lie on the floor. Empty take-away packet. Door never went banging right back. Piece of luck.

  And, by God, I needed it. And I’m going to need a lot more before I’m done. Hell of a lot more.

  He swallowed, dry-throated.

  Well, nothing else for it again. Looking after a fellow officer. Got to be done. Even if it is that stuck-up bitch.

  He crept over towards the far door. Ajar, thank God.

  Breathing still far from right. Puffing like a fucking grampus, in fact. Hardly make it easy, taking Marvin by surprise.

  Narrow hallway. Standard arrangement. Stairs going up at the side. Any noises from above? No. So weren’t they up there, after all? Come down to the front room? Door shut there. Go in? Same old TV trick? Only no gun in my bloody fist. No Hollywood-style crouching. Just wham in and hope.

  But, no, if Marvin’s there he’ll have seen me thundering up that garden path. Certainly heard. And he wouldn’t have hesitated to loose off a shot or two then. Not mad Marvin.

  Those bloody Hooks. What they call inbred. Years and years of criminals, one after another.

  No time for heavy social comment now, though. If Marvin’s up there with the girl something’s got to be done about him.

  Take the stairs at a charge? Or creep? Better make it creep. Doubt if I’ve the puff to get to the top all in one go. Should have stopped smoking. Cut down on the drink. Been a good boy.

  But I didn’t. I wasn’t. I haven’t been.

  They could put it
on my gravestone. He was not a good boy. And this could bloody easily be a gravestone affair, come to that.

  Poor old Lil. What’ll she do? Needs someone to look after her. Always has. Always knew she did, too. And knew how to get someone to do it. Like me. Still, bloody lucky for me I was the one she picked on in the end. Some good times …

  Suppose she won’t have too much trouble getting somebody new. Even now. A bloody good-looker. And knows how to let a bloke know there’s plenty in the way of reward waiting there. If he earns it.

  As I-

  Oh, come on. Less think. More do. Stairs. Creep, creep, creep. One by one. Don’t hurry. Take care. Keep well to the edge.

  Yes. Good. Landing. And round we go.

  Any doors open up there? Not quite high enough up yet to get a proper look. So, second flight. And—

  ‘Jus’ keep fucking quiet.’

  Marvin’s voice. Talking to bloody Jane. Tell it anywhere.

  So, nothing happened up to now that can’t be put right. If I manage okay. If I do.

  What now? Keep on creeping up? When the least little squeak from one of the boards is going to alert him, me near as this? Do the charge thing? Unless he’s standing looking out of the fucking window I’m not even going to get in the room before he looses off.

  And then it’ll be, He was not a good boy, all right. Well, maybe they’ll make it, A good police officer. After all, killed in the line of duty. They couldn’t do much different, not whatever’s on my confidential record. What you call ironic, though. Bloody ironic.

  Well, try one step more. Maybe two.

  Got to see how the land lies, creak or no creak.

  One. Heave up on the banister. Okay. But still can’t see if that door’s open, or ajar, or anything.

  One more, then. Hand on the stair-rail, and …

  Yes. Door just ajar. Think I can hear our Jane Lane breathing heavy. Trace of a sob there? No, don’t think so. Good girl.

  Right. Well, try the chat. Too old, too fat, too sick inside for anything else.

  ‘Marv. It’s me, Jack Stallworthy.’

  Silence from inside.

  Or may be something like a little squeak from the girl. Well, don’t blame her.

  ‘Marv, we should talk.’

  ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘Look, mate, take it easy. You know what’s going to happen to you unless you give over now. You’ll go inside for life. Life. That’ll be it.’

  Listen.

  Can hear them both breathing now. Marvin thick and heavy. Girl lighter. Managing it.

  Good for her. Still got her wits about her.

  ‘Marv? You hearing what I say?’

  ‘Sod you, Jack Stallworthy.’

  ‘All right, sod me, if you like. But you just think of yourself. Let the girl go now, and what’re you up for? Nothing too much. Three months, maybe. And you’ve done more than that in the past, ain’t you? And come out laughing?’

  ‘Too right I come out laughing.’

  He’s talking. I could do it.

  From outside, plain to hear, screeching tyres, voices shouting.

  The bloody siege team. All guns and loudhailers. Once they start …

  ‘Marv, I’m coming in. You be a good lad, eh?’

  Don’t give him time to think whether he’s going to be good or not.

  And it’s okay.

  I’m in. I’m in. And still in one piece.

  ‘Right, Marv. Give us the old gun, and we’ll call it a day.’

  Reach out. Take it.

  Christ, got it. Done it.

  Jesus, I feel rotten.

  Chapter Nine

  Jane Lane took over. Jack felt too bushed to stop her. In an instant she had Marvin Hook, crazy Marvin, in the approved arm-behind-the-back hold. Then, without another word, she was marching him down the stairs and out to the waiting siege team. Through the window Jack heard a scatter of applause from the small crowd of gawping onlookers.

  And half of ‘em hangers-on of the Hook mob, he said to himself. Marvin’s mates, but happy enough to see the mad bugger out of the way. Dare say two or three of ‘em already got their eyes on that blonde piece of his.

  He wondered if he should go into the bathroom, heave up his guts. Have no trouble doing it. Christ, he felt lousy.

  But the thought of what state the bathroom was likely to be in, judging by the mess in the kitchen, decided him against.

  He stood, legs apart, in the middle of the room - Yes, bed looked as if the sheets on it had been there since sheets were invented - and took three deep breaths.

  Then, with a shake of the head, he went downstairs in his turn. Outside in the fresh air he felt a lot better. Almost back to his old self. The Jack Stallworthy who seldom let a day pass without adding one more collar to his arrests record.

  And, he thought wryly, who seldom let a week go by without letting some toe-rag get away without being collared. In exchange for a few notes.

  Jane Lane came up to him.

  ‘Well, skipper, he didn’t give too much trouble in the end, eh?’

  He looked at her.

  ‘No, not too much.’

  ‘Nice the way you came in when you did, though. Made it just that much easier.’

  Could this be true? What price A good police officer on the old gravestone now?

  ‘Yeah. Well, glad to have been a help.’

  ‘Oh, you were. You really were.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  Anna Foxton rang again before Jack had contrived to dream up any other wild possibility of getting at the blue folder. Let alone the foolproof plan he knew he ought to have.

  ‘Mr Stallworthy.’

  That voice.

  He glanced over to Lily, tucked in her chair with her magazine. Would she recognize who it was? Something in the rhythm some people spoke in told you who they were straight away, even though it was only a sort of squawking you heard from the phone. If the voice was loud enough.

  Thank God, at least bloody Anna Foxton’s voice was quiet. Quiet, but with a hell of an edge to it sometimes. Like now. In just those two words.

  ‘Yep. It’s me.’

  ‘I said I’d call again.’

  ‘Yep. You did.’

  ‘Well, haven’t you anything to report?’

  ‘Look, I’m working on it. Christ, it’s only been three days since you were on at me last. I told you then, it’s bloody difficult.’

  Across the room Lily, glancing up from Hello! magazine, was looking over at him.

  Keep it bit cooler, or she’ll think something’s up.

  ‘That’s hardly good enough, Mr Stallworthy. We expect more than excuses.’

  He looked back at Lily again. She seemed well absorbed in Hello! But …

  ‘Look, this isn’t the best of times.’

  ‘Your wife is there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I enjoyed the chat I had with her at that place. Antonio’s, was it called? Some Italian-y name. If not exactly an Italian doing the styling. Still, it might be nice to meet there again.’

  ‘Listen.’ He dropped his voice almost to a deep whisper. ‘Listen, you’ll get that–You’ll get what you want. No need to go rushing off into anything. But you’ve got to give me time. If something’s bloody difficult, it needs time to sort it out.’

  ‘And you’re taking time, Mr Stallworthy. Altogether too much, if you ask me. Haven’t you thought of anything? Anything at all? I mean, isn’t there someone there you could pay to get it for you? Or to let you take it? People will always do what you want if you offer them enough, you know.’

  She telling me that. She’s got a fucking cheek. Who’d she and her big boss lover offer that bloody Ko Samui hotel to? God, I’d like to …

  ‘Listen. You leave my business to me, right? And I’ll leave yours to you. I’ve said you’ll get what you want. Just let me get on with it in the way I know best, yes?’

  ‘All right, all right. I’ll do that. And you’ve still got plenty of time. If you
make use of it. But, remember, Mr Warn—Remember we can’t wait a day beyond the sixteenth. Not a day.’

  The phone put down.

  Going back to sit down again, his mind blank but boiling with unfocused resentment, he snapped on the TV.

  Stop Lil asking stupid questions. God, I’d start yelling at her, she begins.

  Slumped in his chair, he could not even see the screen. But only give Lily the idea he was watching something and it would keep her off his back. While he thought. Tried to think. Of something. Some way of getting into sodding Mac MacAllister’s sodding office.

  Then the voice issuing from the TV impinged on his consciousness. Somebody, a police spokesman - no, a bloody Chief Constable by the smoothie, pumped-up sound of him - talking away about some naughty coppers somewhere …

  Hey, could be us. Abbotsport City Police. That might be the Big White Chief himself. What if the bloody press has got on to Harry Hook having somebody from HQ on his pay-roll, somebody high up … How about CI Parkinson, sodding Emslie’s pet boy? Be a right laugh, that.

  He swung round to watch the screen.

  But, no. Not the Big White Chief. Some other high-up from somewhere, uniform fitting him like he was a bleeding dummy in a tailor’s window, silver-wire insignia on his shoulders glinting like stuff on a Christmas tree, going on and on about ‘determined to root out … isolated example … the British police officer is still as honest as he ever was …’

  He leant forward and snapped off the set. You could take only so much of that sort of guff.

  Lily looked up from Hello!.

  ‘I was listening to that.’

  ‘No, you bloody weren’t.’

  ‘I was. I was. It was interesting.’

  ‘What was it about, then?’

  She sat back, letting Hello! slip on to her lap.

  ‘It was about something. Something to do with the police, wasn’t it? Why d’you switch it off?’

  ‘I thought at first it was to do with Abbotsport. Some high-up caught with his hand in Harry Hook’s pocket. There’s always rumours he’s got someone feeding him. How he gets away with all he does. But it wasn’t us. Some other bugger.’