Death's Privilege

by Darryl Donaghue

  ‘Sunbury nearly cost me my career.’

  ‘It nearly cost you your life.’

  Sarah wanted to scream at him, but instead took a deep breath. ‘Not now. Not this morning. We’ll discuss this later.’ She looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. In less than four hours she’d be filling out her collar number and name on top of the exam paper.

  Mark raised his hands. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t me—’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Good luck. You’ll do great, I’m sure.’ He replaced the tea towel on the rack, took the Post-it note from the fridge and left the room.

  Walking into the exam hall reminded Sarah of her high school tests, being ushered into the school assembly hall and looking for her nametag on one of the old-style single-student desks. She’d always have her bottle of water; four pens, in case two ran out and one dropped beyond the reach of her foot; two pencils, in case the fourth pen leaked; and an eraser. She’d been a well-organised teenager and, as she riffled through her handbag for a black biro, she wondered where those good habits had gone to over the years. In the hours since arguing with Mark, she’d tried to fill her short-term memory with some last-minute facts, but nothing seemed to stick.

  She made it with two minutes to spare. Only one seat was left: third column in and halfway towards the back. She walked past nervous smiles and forlorn looks, pen-clickers and table-tappers. Some of them were from the revision classes, but most were unknown and from all over the county. Joel waved discreetly from the back of the room. She sat down and the invigilator, a small, thin bald man standing at the front, announced the exam would start in one minute’s time and they were to write their names and warrant numbers on the front page of the answer booklet.

  Her pen was dry. It wouldn’t write. She drew circles on the back of the booklet, but nothing came. She shook it before glancing around, licking her finger and rubbing it on the nib. Not a particularly polite way of dealing with it, but raising her hand to say she’d attended without a working pen was likely to have her name recorded somewhere. Thankfully her saliva appeared to have ink-coaxing properties and she wrote her name at the top of the page just as the invigilator signalled for them to start.

  She read the first question and her mind went blank. People around her were already turning to the second page. She started to panic. She slowed everything down and remembered what Manford had said. One is obviously wrong. Go with the first answer that comes to mind. She read the first question:

  Shenton breaks into a corner shop and takes packets of cigarettes. As he climbs out of the window with the stolen goods, PC Griffin is waiting and tells him he is under arrest. Shenton punches PC Griffin in the face. Shenton’s intention is to cause Griffin only sufficient injury in order that he can escape. However, the punch actually fractures the officer’s skull.

  Does Shenton commit an offence of causing GBH with intent contrary to s18 of the Offences Against the Person Act 1861?

  A. Yes. Shenton intended to resist arrest and therefore the offence is made out.

  B. No. Shenton did not intend to cause grievous bodily harm, therefore he only commits an offence contrary to s20 Offences Against the Person Act 1861.

  C. Yes. Shenton intended to injure PC Griffin and fractures his skull, therefore the offence is made out.

  D. No. Shenton has no intention to cause serious injury therefore he only commits an offence contrary to s47 Offences Against the Person Act 1861.

  Sarah read through the answers again. A. Probably. No, it is. A. Well, it’s not B. Or D. A. Let’s go with A. First answer’s best and all that.

  After the first few questions, her momentum picked up. There were some she was confident about, but guesswork played a heavy role in most of her responses. Her energy flagged and she felt her eyes closing. Dropping off to sleep in the middle of the Detectives Exam would give the fast-track bashing brigade far too much ammunition. She suddenly noticed just how little air there was in the hall and that they must have had the heaters turned right up.

  Before she knew it, she’d nodded off and was looking up to see the invigilator standing above her. ‘Keeping you up?’

  ‘Clearly not.’ It was the post-slumber daze speaking. She hadn’t meant it to come out the way it had. He gave an audible hmm, collected her paper and moved on. People around her had noticed.

  Once he’d finished collecting the papers, the invigilator told them it was over and everyone stood up to leave.

  ‘Early morning? Or late night?’ There was that deep, comforting voice. Unmistakable.

  ‘Don’t ask me how I think I did.’ Sarah turned around and looked up at Joel. He had a way of drawing her in. His dark eyes and wide shoulders gave off a feeling of safety and warmth, two things she needed right now.

  ‘I’m sure it’s better than you think. It’s always better than you think.’ He put his arms around her. Inappropriate maybe, but she didn’t push away. ‘Some of us are going out this evening, celebrating the end of the exam. Maybe a night off from it all would help?’

  Mark had offered to take the kids out for the evening, so she struggled for a reason not to. Getting an early night may have been a smarter move, but that would have to wait. Celebrating anything had been long overdue.

  ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Come on, you’ve already used your veto this week. Only one flaking allowed.’

  ‘Okay. But just for one.’

  ‘A few from the revision class are coming. Don’t worry, I’ve not invited any of the weird ones.’

  Sarah smiled. ‘Well, you have now.’

  Seventeen

  It was soon nine o’clock. The one drink had turned into four large reds in two different venues. What started in a quiet pub in Rhystown had moved further along the high street to Harper’s, an upper middle-class wine bar with a rather obtrusive modern playlist.

  ‘It’s a bit loud in here.’ Sarah hooked her bag over her chair and sat down at the circular table. Only four of them were left. Joel was at the bar, Alison and Emma, two other exam candidates, sat on either side of Sarah.

  ‘He’s lovely.’ Alison, a brunette in her early twenties, gave out a faux shudder. ‘Is he single?’

  ‘Joel? I’m not sure. It’s never really come up.’ Sarah hadn’t ever asked, but had assumed from overheard conversations between him and Hayward that he spent a lot of time in bars like this one with various women. She looked over and, as if on cue, he was whispering something in the bar girl’s ear. Whatever he said caused a big grin to spread across her face.

  ‘It’d be the first thing I’d ask if I worked with him.’

  ‘Not the sort of thing I need to worry about.’ Sarah tapped her wedding ring, hoping she was right. ‘I can’t imagine my husband would appreciate the question.’

  ‘Neither would my boyfriend.’ Alison laughed. Sarah and Emma smiled awkwardly. Joel came over holding a tray of drinks: a glass of red, two fruity cocktails and a glass of Coke, no doubt containing a spirit of some sort.

  ‘So, what’s CID like?’ asked Emma.

  ‘Hard work and long hours.’ Sarah sipped her wine.

  ‘And none of the glamour,’ said Joel.

  ‘I’m sure you still manage to have some fun.’ Alison grinned at him, eyes glazed like a hungry puppy’s. Joel was easy on the eyes, but there was no need to salivate.

  ‘That’s not the reason I took the exam. I want to develop my career, do more interesting work, that kind of thing,’ said Emma.

  ‘That’s the best bit for me. Sinking my teeth into more serious jobs.’ Sarah kept an eye on Joel and Alison. He’d edged his chair closer to her and they were now side by side. Sarah tried to listen to what they were saying, whilst nodding politely at Emma’s monotone voice and dry topics. Why do people want to talk about work all the time?

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I mean. Just do something that matters,’ said Emma.

  Bet you said that during your first interview and you’ll say it again when you transfer out.
Making a difference to anything took time and dedication. Changing jobs or moving departments wouldn't do it. People made a difference in their everyday behaviours and common courtesies. Sarah knew what Emma was getting at; she wanted to save someone. She wanted to be the person who comforted the weary crime victim or locked up the predatory villain. Sarah understood that. It was one of the reasons she’d joined the job. Making a difference took a particular personality and, as her mother was fond of saying, like charity, started at home. Home was somewhere she should have been a long time ago and where she’d be going as soon as she’d had enough of watching Joel and Alison whispering to each other.

  ‘What do you think? Is going to strip clubs cheating?’ Alison’s question came out of the blue. The wine had made her a little dozy. She’d lost track of Emma’s conversation, but reasoned that she probably hadn’t missed out on much.

  ‘Oh, odd question. Erm.’

  ‘We were just talking about cheating and where the line is.’

  I bet you were.

  ‘Joel thinks a man should be allowed to visit strip clubs whenever he likes. But he would, I suppose.’ Alison shot him a look like she was telling off her own boyfriend. Far too familiar for people who’d only just met. ‘I mean, porn’s okay, but actual women is too far.’

  ‘Porn does involve actual women.’ Emma spoke up, appearing to state the obvious, but it was clear what she was getting at. ‘It’s easy to distance yourself from it through a screen, but each of those women are being used for their bodies.’

  Alison looked at her blankly, either from not understanding her difference of opinion or because she didn’t know how to respond. Sarah felt for Emma. With the advent of excessive exposure to pornography, and the widespread acceptance of it in everyday life, moral objectors were often rebutted with accusations of prudishness and calls to lighten up. Emma had a point, but it was a hard one to make against the normalisation of sexual imagery with a billion-dollar industry behind it.

  ‘They do get paid. They choose to do it and earn far more than we do. They’re hardly prisoners,’ sniped Alison before turning back towards Sarah. Emma didn’t respond, and instead casually turned away from Alison, clearly feeling this was an argument best to walk away from.

  ‘I don’t mind. Mark’s been. It’s harmless, as long as it’s not a regular thing. I certainly wouldn’t forbid him from it.’

  ‘No way. How can you say that? He could be bringing back all sorts of things.’ Alison was lecturing Sarah on how to maintain a healthy relationship. Alison, who had clear intentions of walking out of here with Joel whilst her boyfriend sat at home. Sarah found herself conjuring all manner of assumptions about this woman she’d just met as her opinion of her fell further and further. ‘Who knows what diseases they have.’

  ‘Ladies, no touching goes on. Touching a girl in a place like that would get you dragged into a back room and pummelled by the door staff. And before you ask, I went to a few in my youth. Not something I’ve cared to do any time since then. There’s something about spending all night staring at naked women who you’re never going to sleep with that just doesn’t appeal.’ Joel spoke up before Sarah could respond. The extra few seconds of thinking time may have saved her taking this young upstart to task.

  ‘People don’t need strip clubs to cheat; dishonest people do it in bars just like this one.’ Sarah looked straight at her. Alison backed off and quietened down. ‘And if you think women who work in strip clubs or in prostitution are all diseased and immoral, you may be in the wrong job.’

  Alison’s face dropped. Sarah thought for a second she’d read the conversation all wrong, that this was all just friendly banter she’d taken too personally.

  ‘Well, we could go and find out? There’s that one at the far end of the high street. Candy Club, is it?’ blurted out Joel.

  ‘Like you don’t know.’ Alison let out a little louder than natural laugh. Exaggerated either by her mojito or her attempt to defuse the tension.

  ‘I’ve never been. Guys just like to know where these kinds of place are, ya know. Shall we?’

  Sarah looked at the time. It was gone eleven o’clock. Mark and the girls would be asleep and, although she had an early start in the morning, she didn’t have anything booked in. She drank the rest of her wine in one hit. Alison wasn’t going to make her look old and mumsy.

  ‘Let’s go then.’ She looked back at Joel with a big smile.

  He looked at Emma. ‘You in?’

  ‘No, definitely not. You guys enjoy yourselves.’ Her response was to be expected considering her initial reaction. Her tone was laced with a little shock and a little snobbery. She had a right to be; this wasn’t the way Sarah had been intending to spend the evening either.

  They stood up and said their goodbyes to Emma. Alison followed with a snide remark about her being stuck-up and old-fashioned. As they walked out Alison stumbled, put her arm around Joel’s waist for support and left it there. She struggled to walk from the table to the door. Her high heels didn’t help hold her up and she swayed into Joel before overcompensating the other way and almost falling onto a table of late-night diners. Joel strode next to her, sober as a day in the office, forced to hold her up or let her fall flat on her face. Alison hung off him as he opened the door and walked her outside. They’d been flirting all evening. Flirting, or maybe that was just how men and women spoke to each other these days. When sober, and a little less abrasive, maybe they could have got along. But the way Alison was tonight, Sarah hoped Joel had better taste.

  Sarah was surprised the bouncer let them in. Alison could hardly stand, but somehow convinced the door staff there was more filling her legs than five garish cocktails. Joel held her up and had taken out her ID prior to reaching the door, as fumbling around in her bag wouldn’t have made the best impression. Sarah would never have suggested they go to a place like this had Alison not brought it up, but once the decision was made, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. Being turned away now would have almost been disappointing.

  Everything after the disgruntled bouncer—she wasn’t sure there was any other kind—was more pleasant than she expected. A busty, glitter-bikini clad woman sat in an old-fashioned cinema-style ticket booth. It was a twenty-pound cover and Joel paid for all three. Sarah declined at first, before realising she only had her card. The last thing she wanted was THE CANDY CLUB popping up on the account statement, especially considering the situation at home. She felt a mild headache coming on at the thought of restarting that discussion. Either that, or it was that she’d had too much alcohol. Oh, give yourself the night off.

  The next door led to the club. A catwalk stage split the room almost in two, with tables and black leather chairs all around it. Katy Perry told everyone they were fireworks from the booming five-foot floor speakers in each corner. Pink ceiling lights focused on the main attraction, a brunette secretary stretching her leg vertically up a silver pole. As men left countless cash notes at her feet, Sarah wondered how the lady on stage managed to do all that without a single ladder in her tights.

  ‘Woah.’ Alison let out an excited wail with a facial expression to match, like a child being taken to her first theme park. She walked ahead to the nearest free table and sat down, enamoured by the place and engrossed in the secretary’s on-stage antics.

  Alison staying off her feet for as long as possible was probably best for everyone. Sarah shuffled in between two tables on the way to join her. A man sitting on his own made brief eye contact with her then looked down, looking ashamed he’d been caught in a club staring at the bare jiggly bits of a woman less than half his age. Men at a table further along were eyeing up Alison, no doubt imagining what she looked like naked and what moves she’d pull off if on stage. The chances of her being able to dance coherently in the state she was in were pretty slim and from the salivating looks they were giving her, that was something they wouldn’t mind in the slightest. Sarah took the seat between Alison and their table, blocking their view. That ou
ght to burst that little fantasy. Nothing but comfortable pants and an ill-fitting bra under all this, honey.

  The secretary unclasped her skirt and pulled it off with such force, it was surprising it didn’t launch into the crowd. Letting go of that little number would have caused a mosh pit like no other. She kept her heels on and only a white lacy underwear set remained.

  Joel stayed quiet and Alison was glued to the spectacle. ‘This is awesome. See? I told you.’

  It was awesome in all the wrong ways. Awesome that men were throwing incredible amounts of money—stacks of twenties covered the base of the runway—all to stare at a young girl’s body. And awesome that in this day and age, people still thought this was a credible profession worth aiming towards.

  ‘I’m not sure who I feel more sorry for,’ said Sarah, not aware anyone was listening.

  ‘There’s no one to feel sorry for. The girls choose to be here and the guys choose to pay. Nobody loses.’ Alison held the drinks menu and looked around the room for a waiter. 'It's good money, and they must rake it in on the tips. We're the mugs for working so hard for it.'

  ‘Just anyone who values their dignity. Are you sure another drink is a good idea?’

  Alison rolled her eyes. ‘You’ll make a good mother one day, just not tonight.’

  ‘I already do.’ You judgemental over-assuming tart. Ouch. Where’d that come from?

  Joel snapped out of his thigh-induced stupor and waved over a server. ‘Corona for me.’ He looked at Sarah, who shook her head and then at Alison, who ordered a mojito. The server looked at Alison a little longer than the others and decided she was sober enough to keep going.

  ‘Stopped drinking already?’ Alison continued to goad her on silly little points that normally wouldn’t bother Sarah at all. Had she been out with the girls, there’d be no drama if someone didn’t want to drink at all, or if they shot off early to take up the kids or any other family emergency. It was unusual that anyone would get a rise out of her, but for some reason this woman, this girl, had sparked her competitive side.