by Mick Norman
Israel Penn did not love the Hell’s Angels. Most of all, he didn’t love Gerry Vinson.
‘You saw what happened?’
The policeman nodded. His face was grim, the lips thin and tight. ‘Yes, Vinson. I saw you murder that man by pushing him under the van.’
‘What?’ Gerry’s face reflected the horror he felt.
‘Yes. Murder, Vinson. Don’t try anything. I’d be happy to shoot you for resisting arrest. Now, I must ask you to accompany me to the nearest police station where I believe you can help me with inquiries into a charge of wilful murder.’
The formal phrases dripped from his lips like leaden honey. For a moment, the mask of officialdom dropped. With all the hatred naked on his face, he spat: ‘Got you! You cunt!!’
Three – Ballad of a Thin Man
Surname: Penn.
Christian name(s): Israel Pitman.
Age as at 1.1.8–: Thirty seven.
Height: Seventy-four inches.
Weight: One fifty-seven pounds.
Eyes: Brown.
Hair: Dark.
Distinguishing marks and scars: No lobe to right ear – birthmark. Jagged scar on back of left hand. Scar on right side of abdomen, below ribs. Vaccination scars on left shoulder. Deformation of sternoclavicular joint on right side, owing to poor healing of injury. Thumb joints both weakened by cricket accidents.
Joined force: September 24th, 196—
Rank on joining: Constable.
Rank as at 1.1.8—: Assistant Chief Constable, attached to Mercia Constabulary with peripatetic brief.
Marital status: Married once (Janet Compton), divorced by mutual consent on March 19th, 197—. No issue,
Comments: For all case histories, including the controversial incidents withdhe Hell’s Angels, see attached sheets 2-18.
His record is, basically, that of an efficient and hardworking officer. But, his attitude has occasionally upset high-ranking officers and, on one noteworthy case, the Home Secretary. Penn is too often prepared to bend the rules in what he believes to be a good cause.
But, this is a minor problem, compared with the trends outlined in the psychiatrist’s report attached below. It is felt that this is of some significance, and could easily lead to a major incident unless it is checked. Attention is drawn to the case of the sixties when an officer who became unwell in this manner became the focus of a deal of adverse publicity. It was felt by many that the force dropped a brick over that. Without the utmost attention, the Penn case could be a repeat of that.
(Signed: Chief Constable Augustus Owsley, seconded to the Home Office on special matters of public concern.)
Psychiatrist’s Report: I have been asked to keep this as simple as possible and avoid any technical terms. I assume this is to cater for the limited intelligences of Home Office officials.
I met the subject, called ‘P’ for the sake of anonymity, on several occasions during the winter and early spring of 198— and 198—
Although I place little reliability on first impressions, I must note that I was surprised. The man wore clothes that are called, I believe, ‘trendy’. Far more so than one would expect for an officer of such a high rank. He carried himself confidently, and did not seem at all surprised to be interviewed by a psychiatrist.
His whole appearance is one of confidence, and I do not think that he is the sort of man who would suffer any kind of fool gladly. If at all.
I talked freely with him, and gradually I began to get glimpses of the state of mind that has worried other officers both above and below him. The phrase, ‘Find out what makes them tick’ began to reappear as he grew more at ease in my presence. By pretending to go along with his theories, I was able to draw him out more and more.
The key to his obsessional preoccupation with the minds of criminals lies with his private life. Since the failure of his previous marriage (incidentally, P. blames the failure on his wife’s lesbian behaviour. Is this true?) P. has only had one sexual relationship of any depth. Interestingly enough, this has been, and continues to be, with a fringe practitioner of mental medicine. I hesitate to use a more specific phrase.
Her name is Doctor (although I doubt her qualifications) Angela Wells. She seems from his comments to be a very dominant lady, who has imposed her extreme theories on him. Her ideas, as far as I can understand them, involve digging back into the past adventures of young criminals to try and determine a pattern. Or, to find a reason for their anti-social behaviour. Once the clues to their past have been located, they can be used to change their present and make them useful members of the world.
That is her theory. Personally, I do not subscribe to it. I feel that a senior police officer such as P., when exposed to this pernicious twaddle, is in danger of losing his objectivity and trying to get criminals to pour out their tedious pasts while he plies them with tea and digestive biscuits. Instead of getting out and catching them.
On his last visit to see me, he was even more convinced of the rightness of his ideas. Over the period of several months that I have had consultations with him, I have been alarmed by his progressive deterioration. His idea is truly becoming fixed. The problem is that another alienist might well be deceived by his cleverness and his reasonableness for most of the time. But, when I risked contradicting him, the change in his manner was quite frightening.
I would advise that P. is relieved of his duties and is persuaded to enter a nursing home for a spell as a private patient. Having said this, I quite realise the difficulties of doing this.
If he is left alone, I cannot see any improvement in him. Indeed, if he once has a chance to put his plans into practice, I must stress that the consequences could be utterly disastrous.
V.’
Home Secretary’s comments: On the advice of my experts, I am inclined to give this officer enough rope and then smartly hang him. I, have been aware of problems connected with him in the past. Let things go, but watch him carefully. Was he not the officer who had the unhealthy preoccupation with the motorcycle gangs known as Hell’s Angels?
Four – Talk that Talk
It hadn’t been a fair cop – not in any sense of the word. But, Penn had the gun, and that was the kind of argument that Gerry understood better than most. But, there were other things that he didn’t understand.
Like, why Penn paid no attention to the shocked driver of the Transit, who still sat at the roadside, his head sunk between his knees. Like, why there was such a tearing hurry to get away from the scene. Threatened by the Minim in the policeman’s hand, Gerry managed to hoist his hog into the open boot of the white Jaguar and tie it in place. The Harley was too heavy for him to lift on his own, and Penn panted alongside him, the gun waving dangerously around.
After, they were away. Just as the first other vehicles started stopping. Most had passed unseeing, as there was little to see. The body was partly covered in the ditch, and there were none of the obvious signs of a pile-up that drew the ghouls like rotting meat attracts vultures.
Israel handcuffed him, clapping the steel manacles behind his back, and then fastened them to the reinforced door handle. It wasn’t the most comfortable way to travel, but he was able to brace himself against the corners with his knees. Penn made no attempt to talk to him, concentrating on driving very fast, cutting off the main road as soon as he could and belting along twisting side lanes.
After about ten minutes of this zig-zagging, Gerry found that his doubts were being confirmed. When he first got cut up by the sports car, he had been fairly close to Ludlow. The chase hadn’t gone on that long. Yet, they seemed to be heading away from the town.
‘Israel. Can I ask you a question?’
The grunt from the hunched figure in the front of the car sounded affirmative.
‘Where the fuck are we going?’
‘Station.’
‘Liar.’
They were in the depths of the country, and the sun was sinking behind the high hedgerows. They hadn’t seen another person for some m
iles.
At Gerry’s words, Penn brought the big car to a skidding halt, sending splinters of gravel bursting into the long grass at the side of the road. He swung round, and he held the gun in his hand. The barrel gaped unwinkingly at Gerry.
‘Listen, Vinson. Talk like that will get you fucking dead, fucking fast.
Gerry sensed the tension in the voice, and felt the finger of cold fear inch down his spine. This wasn’t the same man that he’d known in two previous encounters. There was something different about Penn. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Whatever it was, all his senses told him to step very lightly.
‘What’s the idea, Israel? You know bloody well that I didn’t kill that man. It’d never stand up in court. So, what’s the idea? Take me out in the country then shoot me in the back while I’m running away. Is that it? I’m disappointed in you, Israel.’
The sharp front sight dug a furrow in his cheek as Penn lashed out at him with the gun. His voice still calm, the policeman went on as though nothing had happened.
‘It’s “Mr. Penn” to you, Gerry my boy. If you want to have a chance of staying alive and out of the nick. I’ll explain it all when we get where we’re going. But, you needn’t worry about getting shot. You play ball with me, Vinson, and I’ll play ball with you.’
Gerry kept his face calm, feeling hot blood trickle down his face and dribble on to the front of his colours. His face was calm, but his thoughts raced. What the hell was Penn up to? He runs an instant frame on a murder charge, and that could easily mean a thirty-forty year sentence. Ignores the driver that really did it, and drives off, chopper in the boot, with Gerry handcuffed in the back. Taking him where?
The last question was soon answered. In a way. After a few miles more of twisting and turning, Penn again stopped the Jaguar. He reached over into the back and pulled a black linen bag over Gerry’s head, tying the drawstrings around his neck. The cloth was thick enough for Gerry not to be able to see out, but not quite too thick for him not to be able to breathe.
‘True what my old schoolmaster said, you know Vinson. Always be prepared. Heard a little whisper from a little bird who owed me a favour that you might be up this way. Knew you liked hills, so I had the roads off the Mynd watched. Soon as I got the word, it wasn’t hard to pick you up and follow along. That’s the thing with you, Vinson, and the rest of your mob, you know. Trouble doesn’t exactly stay away from you. If it hadn’t been a murder charge, I could always have come up with something equally good. Now, you sit quiet, while I take us the last few miles.’
Gerry had a very well developed sense of direction, but he didn’t know the area at all well. Even with the masking cloth over his eyes, the dying rays of the sun still penetrated, and he guessed that they were somewhere south of the Long Mynd. About twelve miles he reckoned. But, for all the good that knowledge might do him, he could as well be on Mercury.
Finally, after crunching over some loose gravel – probably a driveway – Penn stopped. There was the creaking noise that all cars make when they stop after being driven hard. Oil, petrol and water all find their own levels, and hot metal begins to contract.
Gerry heard Penn get out, slamming the door. There was a painful wrench on his wrists, as the back door was unlocked and swung open. The policeman was no fool. He unlocked the Angel from the door, but kept his hands securely cuffed behind him. By now the chromed steel was biting agonisingly into Gerry’s wrists, but he wasn’t about to complain.
Israel grabbed the cuffs and twisted the arms high up behind Gerry’s back, forcing his head down. He didn’t resist. There wasn’t any point at that stage. Old Newman used to say: ‘Don’t waste your time when there’s no point in trying. But, as soon as you see a half-chance, then you move, and you move fast.’
There was the sound of a door opening, and a muffled exclamation from someone. Then, he was pushed into a house. He guessed it was a house from the depth of the carpet, and the smell of polish. It was a clean house. Next thing he knew, Penn had pushed him flat on the floor, giving him no warning and no chance to save himself.
His kung fu training gave him the split second to pivot, even as he fell, so that it was his shoulder and not his face that took the shock of landing. Despite that, the blow was heavy, sending currents of agony lancing through his shoulders and arms.
For a moment, he passed out. When the blackness cleared from his mind, he realised that someone was fumbling to untie the hood.
There was a sudden flood of orange light that seared his eyes and made him blink. When his sight cleared, he found that he was gazing, at very close quarters, up a woman’s skirt. He could only see her thighs, firm and well-rounded, without stockings or tights, vanishing up into the darkness beneath a green skirt, with the entrancing sight of the vee of a pair of light pants.
That was all he could see. Then she stood up, seeming to tower above him like the incredible fifty foot woman. Flat on the floor it was difficult to see, but she seemed youngish, maybe in her mid-thirties. Nice hair, cropped short on to her shoulders. Then a boot slammed into his back, over the kidneys, sending him skidding across the floor.
‘Keep your eyes to yourself, Vinson.’ Then, in a different tone: ‘Well, Angela, what do you think of him?’
There was a pause. They might have been examining a new specimen in a laboratory. When she answered, the woman’s voice was cold and impersonal. ‘He seems all right, Izzie. Is this the animal you told me about?’
Penn bent down and hauled him to his feet, pulling his head back by his long hair. Gerry was beginning to not like the tall, skinny policeman.
‘Sorry, dear. I should have introduced you. Gerald Vinson, also known as Wolf, self-styled leader of the Hell’s Angels gang who call themselves the Last Heroes. Doesn’t look much of a hero now, does he? Vinson, this is my fianceé. Doctor Angela Wells. She’s a psychiatrist. She and I are going to help you. Isn’t that nice of us?’
Gerry tugged his head free of the gripping fingers. ‘Oh yes, Izzie, Very nice. I can hardly wait.’
He had banked on the presence of the woman checking any violence from Penn. That was a miscalculation.
‘Israel!’ The voice was like the crack of a whip. ‘Teach that animal a lesson in manners.’
Assistant Chief Constable Penn didn’t need telling twice. With a restrained savagery, he beat Gerry brutally about the face and body. Restrained by the handcuffs, there was nothing that Gerry could do to protect himself. It was a great relief when a pool of darkness opened at the back of his mind, and he was able to sink into it.
‘So, Vinson, that’s what we want you for. This is why Israel brought you here. Now, if you will agree to be reasonably co-operative, then you will find that the murder charge will disappear as though it had never been.’
As the woman had talked to him, bathing the cuts and weals on his face, gently brushing ointments on the deeper scratches, Gerry had seriously wondered if he’d finally lost his mind. Or, maybe he’d got concussion. What she had said to him, in a reasonable, educated voice, was so bizarre that even now he couldn’t really believe it,
‘All right.’
‘Miss Wells,’ she prompted gently. ‘We might move on to first name terms a bit later on.’
‘All right, Miss Wells, let me run through it again to make sure I dig what you’re saying.’
She smiled at him. For the first time. It was quite a nice smile. ‘Of course. That’s what I want you to do most of all. Talk to me.’
He shook his head to clear it again. With a struggle, he managed to find a more comfortable sitting position. Both Miss Wells and Penn had promised him that the cuffs would come off in a couple of days. After Penn had made some arrangements. Which sounded ominous. But, at least the atmosphere seemed more friendly.
He had sat at the table and shared their meal, with Miss Wells feeding him. They had frozen steaks with duchess potatoes and green beans. Strawberries and fresh cream had completed the meal. One wine was much like another to Gerry.
As far as he was concerned, there were only three kinds. There was red, white and pink. With the steak, they had red.
The conversation hadn’t exactly flowed, as the woman had to keep getting up to get a clean cloth to mop the worst of the blood off the Angel’s face.
Penn had even made a sort of apology for that. ‘Thing is, Vinson. You have to realise how precarious your position is here. One word from me, and you will serve a life sentence that will make the Great Train Robbers look like a load of lads on an extended vacation. So, don’t mess us about. Angela here will explain it all to you.’
And she had. Now, it was his turn to make sure that this Alice in Wonderland world was for real, and that he hadn’t been mysteriously transported to the magic land of nutters.
‘Right, Miss Wells. You reckon that I’m about the hardest case in Britain, as far as the unconvicted criminal elements go?’
‘Yes. Please don’t feel ashamed about that. I asked Israel whom he recommended for our little scheme, and he gave me your name without a moment’s second thoughts.’
‘You’ve got me here, at what we might call a bit of a disadvantage. If I don’t go along with what you want, then Israel gets me framed on a killing and I vanish into the stinking bowels of Durham nick for forty years.’
‘Not framed, Gerry.’
This was something he hadn’t sussed out at all. Israel had actually told her that he’d really killed that stupid bastard driver. For a second, he was on the verge of blurting out what a lying cunt Penn was. Then, caution took over. If she was in love with the policeman, then whose word would she take? His face would be bruised for days from the last beating. If he told the truth, she might well get all uptight again and dish out another knocking. No, that would be something for later.
‘No, No, Miss Wells. Course not. Sort of a habit to say that when Old Bill pulls you in.’
The smile told him he’d said the right thing. He felt a bead of sweat edging its way down his forehead. This wasn’t going to be that easy.