by Luke Delaney
‘Fuck me,’ Williams tormented them. ‘You could have made an effort.’ But still they said nothing, occasionally looking to one another as if they were communicating telepathically – their plight about to get significantly worse as King pulled open the only fitted cupboard in the room and stared inside almost disbelievingly.
‘Danny,’ he called over his shoulder without looking away from the contents of the cupboard. ‘You’d better take a look at this.’ Williams could tell by his tone that he’d found something even more serious than the stolen goods and approached almost in trepidation until he too stared into the cupboard and let out a long whistle before turning back to the men.
‘You two are well and truly fucked,’ he told them as King pulled the two black balaclavas, baseball bats, knives and – almost most damning of all – a roll of thick black gaffer tape from the cupboard and laid it all out neatly on the floor for the men to see.
‘Things just got very serious, gentlemen,’ King told them. ‘This isn’t just burglary any more – this is aggravated burglary. You could get life imprisonment for this.’ Still they said nothing and King wondered whether they even cared. Their lives had been over the minute they started smoking crack and heroin. ‘All right,’ he told Danny, the excitement in his voice suddenly replaced with a resigned sadness. ‘Call up some transport for the prisoners, will you? And you’d better let CID know what’s coming their way. It’s all over for these boys. By the look of them, has been for a while.’
King was in the custody suite back at Canning Town Police Station, having just finished booking in the last of the three prisoners from the estate, when Marino appeared quietly on his shoulder.
‘That’s a top job you’ve brought in there,’ Marino told him as he began to examine the paperwork on the prisoners. ‘Two for aggravated burglary and one for handling. Very nice. But I don’t see a search warrant anywhere here.’
‘Didn’t need one,’ King answered with a stony face. ‘We had reasonable grounds under Section 17 to enter and arrest, which then gave us power to search the flat under Section 18.’
‘Reasonable grounds?’ Marino looked him in the eyes.
‘We followed Weller from a well-known handler’s address to the squat and while we had it under obs we saw one of these slags approach and enter carrying a flat-screen TV I recognized from the crime report.’
‘Uh huh,’ Marino smiled. ‘Good work. We’ll take it from here.’
‘I’d like to keep the job,’ King asked, but Marino shook his head.
‘Sorry, Jack,’ he explained. ‘Aggravated burglary is strictly a CID matter. They may be good for a few clear-ups elsewhere on the borough as well. Don’t worry – I’ll make sure you and your team get full credit for the arrests.’ King shrugged disappointedly. ‘You’ve done your job and you’ve done it well,’ Marino tried to encourage him. ‘You should be proud of it.’ Still King said nothing. ‘And I for one am certainly looking forward to seeing what else your team can bring in. Now finish up your arrest notes and drop them on my desk when they’re done.’
King again remained silent as he watched Marino walk away with the paperwork for the job that he felt should have been his. He quelled his rising resentment by reminding himself that one day in the not too distant future the likes of Marino wouldn’t be able to take anything off him unless he ordered them to. He decided to console himself by taking his team for a celebratory drink at the nearby pub favoured by the local police. He reckoned they deserved it.
King entered the Trafalgar pub. It was a stone’s throw from the police station and therefore guaranteed to be popular with the local uniformed officers so long as the drinks were reasonably priced and place was kept clean; whereas the local CID preferred to hide themselves away in more far-flung watering holes, out of sight of indiscreet eyes. The pub was already busy and noisy with the late shift, but he found his small team easily enough, standing apart at the far end of the bar. He eased his way through the crowd and made his way over to them where he was greeted with smiles all round.
‘I thought you’d bailed on us,’ Brown accused him.
‘Just had to finish up some paperwork,’ he explained.
‘Drink?’ Renita asked.
‘Of course,’ he told her. ‘Lager – a pint. Anything that’s not Australian.’
‘That’ll be the Heineken then.’ She pushed her way to the bar, getting served almost immediately despite the men who’d been waiting before her.
‘Shame about having to hand over the burglary prisoners,’ Brown reminded him.
King couldn’t be sure if he was just making conversation or setting something up. ‘Couldn’t be helped,’ he answered. ‘Aggravated burglary’s a CID matter.’
‘Still,’ Brown eyed him, ‘would have been nice to keep hold of a job like that – take it all the way to court.’
‘We could have dealt with it,’ Williams joined in. ‘The job was as good as done anyway. We had the prisoners, the property. What else was there left to do?’
‘Interviews,’ King pointed out, ‘forensics, paperwork, pump them about other burglaries they may have committed. If we’d taken it on we’d be tied up in the station for the next two or three days. Better to let the CID have it so we can get on with patrolling the estate.’
‘Or maybe the CID just didn’t trust you to put the job together properly.’ Brown smiled unpleasantly just as Renita turned back towards them handing King his drink.
‘Maybe,’ he told Brown as he took the drink. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. Everything all right?’ she asked.
‘Everything’s fine,’ he assured her.
‘Aye,’ agreed the still smiling Brown. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Drink up then, Sarge,’ Williams encouraged him.
‘On the streets it’s Sarge,’ King explained. ‘In the pub it’s Jack.’
‘Fair enough,’ Williams nodded, happy to oblige, as were the others. ‘And here’s to a solid start.’ They all raised their glasses and took a drink before King spoke again.
‘It’s been OK,’ he pulled them back, ‘but it could have been better.’
‘You think,’ Renita asked. ‘How exactly?’
‘The burglars were good arrests – very good,’ he admitted, ‘but they weren’t locals. They weren’t faces. I doubt anyone on the estate even knew them. Probably glad to see the back of them. No one wants to see a couple of loose cannons running around with knives and baseball bats committing aggravated burglaries. Not even our delightful locals. As much as we can, we need to keep our efforts concentrated on the indigenous wildlife. Only that’ll bring the estate to heel.’
‘Aye, maybe,’ Brown partly agreed, ‘but it could have been even better if we took the gloves off a bit. It’s all very well and good sticking to the rules, but I don’t see the local slags playing by any rules. Maybe we should even the game up a little, know what I mean?’
‘No,’ King forbade it. ‘I told you – neatening things up is one thing. Anything other than that is not acceptable. We’re better than that. We keep our integrity.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Brown said in a sulk.
‘You’ve got a lot to say for yourself,’ Renita told Brown. ‘For someone who hasn’t had an arrest on the Unit yet.’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Williams joined in. ‘The only one who hasn’t.’ Everybody smiled but Brown.
‘Yeah well,’ he defended himself, ‘enjoy it while you can. Won’t be long before I’m top dog.’
‘Come on,’ King ended Brown’s humiliation. ‘Drink up. It’s my round.’
4
King felt something rocking him and dreamt he was on a small boat lost in a large sea until Sara’s voice broke through his tiredness and the remains of the alcohol and he realized he was in his own bed in his own flat with very much his own stinking hangover.
‘Time to get up,’ she told him unsympathetically loudly. ‘You’ll be late.’
He sat upright too qu
ickly, the sudden movement of blood in his head making him feel like he was back on the boat. ‘Shit,’ he complained as he grabbed his head in both hands. ‘What time is it?’
‘Almost nine,’ she said without looking at him. ‘Good night, was it?’
He ignored her sarcasm, but could tell she was enjoying herself. ‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’
‘I’m not your keeper,’ she laughed.
‘Ahh, Christ,’ he complained as nausea crept up on him, making her laugh all the more.
‘And it’s a bit early to be celebrating your success, isn’t it?’ she warned him. ‘A few days on that toilet of an estate – a few arrests and you think the job is done. I don’t think so. You may be the talk of the borough right now, but you’ve got a long way to go before I for one will be convinced. Now I’m off to do some real police work. I’m on one of the response cars again. Some of us have to cover the whole borough – not just one estate. Being the superstar that everyone thinks you are, I’m sure you’re capable of getting your own breakfast.’ She kissed him on the forehead and swaggered out the bedroom, while all he could do was flop back onto the bed and let out a groan of misery.
King entered the Unit’s small office at Canning Town and found Renita and Brown already in full kit and ready to yet again take on the estate. Both somehow managed to look considerably better than he felt, despite having all left the Trafalgar at the same time. They passed knowing glances at each other and smiled at his misfortune, for the first time making him suspect they’d spiked at least one of his drinks. Still, he’d enjoyed the sensation of numbness and the sleep that was free of his usual nightmare.
‘Morning, Sarge,’ Renita grinned from ear to ear. ‘You look well.’
‘Very funny,’ he told her, pulling a face.
‘You wanna be more like me,’ Brown unhelpfully advised him. ‘Trained soldier, me. Take more than a few bevvies to bring me down.’
‘I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘Nothing a decent brew won’t sort out.’
‘I’ll get the kettle on,’ Renita came to his rescue, heading for the old kettle in the corner of the office they’d commandeered from nobody quite knew where. She was in the process of filling it with water from a tiny, dilapidated sink when a gentle knock on the doorframe of the office halted her. They all looked in the direction of the disturbance to see Inspector Joanne Johnston standing in the entrance to the office – her green cat-eyes darting between King, Renita and Brown, as if she was deciding which mouse to pounce on first.
‘Good morning, everybody,’ she said cheerfully, if a little drily. They murmured good mornings in return, but still Johnston didn’t enter. ‘Just thought I’d call by and congratulate everyone on the excellent start you’ve made. You’re quite the talk of the Senior Management Team. It won’t be long before everyone’s beating a trail to your door wanting to know how you did it.’
The team looked at one another before King answered for them. ‘Thank you, ma’am. But it’s only a start.’
‘Yes. Yes it is. I’m glad you understand that,’ Johnston agreed with her famous pixie smile. ‘But a good start all the same.’
‘Thank you,’ King said again, unable to think of anything else to say.
‘Good,’ Johnston replied, her clear, sparkling eyes boring deep into King’s. ‘I appreciate policing the Grove Wood can be very challenging and at times there may be a temptation to bend some of the rules to get the job done.’ She waited for a reaction, only continuing when none was forthcoming. ‘Just make sure bending doesn’t mean breaking.’ Again she waited for a reaction, but still the others just stared back at her until she gave up. ‘Keep up the good work.’
‘We’ll do our best,’ King told her with a look that let Johnston know he had nothing else to say.
‘Very well then,’ she smiled, looking satisfied with herself. ‘Before I forget – any progress with this sexual assaults on children business? The SMT wants him stopped before things become even more serious. Sexual assaults of this nature are not a Service priority, even on children, but serious sexual assaults are. So far he’s gone no further than exposing himself and touching them in intimate places. If he progresses to making them perform sexual acts on him, or worse, it’ll make the whole borough look bad.’
‘We’re on it,’ King assured her. ‘But it’s difficult.’
‘Spare me the excuses,’ she dismissed his plea. ‘I’ve had enough of those from the CID.’ She paused as she checked their faces for a reaction. ‘Just keep me informed.’ King nodded once as Johnston spun on her slightly higher than regulation heels and disappeared from the doorway. They stood in silence, as if they had been temporarily frozen for almost thirty seconds, before simultaneously breaking into stifled laughter, more with relief that Johnston had left than anything.
‘Some piece of work, that one,’ Brown said what they were all thinking. ‘Mind you I wouldn’t mind giving her—’
‘All right,’ King stopped him. ‘Just remember – you report to me. Not Johnston.’
‘I’m beginning to understand why they call her the Poisonous Pixie,’ Renita added, before looking more serious. ‘She’s sharp though. I wouldn’t be trying to take the piss with the pixie around. Remember – the more beautiful the snake the more poisonous it is.’
‘Enough fun and games,’ said King. ‘Let’s get out there. Like I said last night, the aggravated burglary arrests were good, but they weren’t locals, so let’s get on with harassing those who need to be harassed. I want everyone on the estate to know who’s running things now. Everyone.’
King walked along Millander Walk still nursing his hangover – trying to breathe in fresh air, but the air on the estate at the beginning of summer was anything but fresh. It was as if it had been permanently trapped by the surrounding buildings that never allowed a clean wind to blow away the stale smell of humanity piled too high on top of each other – the heat of the sun igniting the stench from the communal bins and rubbish chutes that were rarely cleaned. The odour of a thousand different meals escaped from seemingly every window and vented cooker hood, mixing with the smell of the dog excrement that sporadically littered the walkways and grassy play areas set aside for children, but which were only ever used by the local youth gangs and their cross-bull-terrier dogs who crapped where they pleased, undeterred by their owners who had no interest in cleaning the foul mess. King almost gagged on the stench until the sight of Susie Ubana standing outside her fortified maisonette distracted him from his sickness.
Her attractiveness and general appearance surprised him. He’d only ever seen her mugshot, which was from a few years ago and probably had been taken after she’d been in custody for hours, if not days. It was a stark contrast to the well-dressed, slim black woman in her early thirties he was looking at now. She stood casually smoking a cigarette, standing on the walkway looking over the wall at nothing in particular, staring in the direction of the grassed area and beyond, unbothered by his presence – whatever drugs she possessed being safely hidden away in her home. Her front door was open, but the metal grid across it remained securely locked. King knew Ubana wouldn’t be stupid enough to have the keys on her, which meant there was someone in the maisonette holding the keys for her.
King decided it was time he introduced himself to one of the estate’s better-known residents and walked the short distance to where she stood and leaned on the wall next to her, slipping off his flat cap and smoothing his hair.
‘Good morning,’ he told her with a smile. She neither looked at him nor said anything – smoking her cigarette as if he wasn’t there. ‘Thought it was about time I introduced myself,’ he persisted. ‘My name’s Sergeant King. Sergeant Jack King.’
‘I know who you are,’ she finally acknowledged him, but still wouldn’t look at him.
‘You do?’ King questioned.
‘News spreads fast in a place like this,’ she told him.
‘Like a prison, eh?’ he deliberately reminded her of her time behind bars.
‘That’s what this place is, isn’t it?’ she answered, surprising him a little. ‘We’re all trapped here.’ She gave a short ironic laugh. ‘That’s what this place does to you. It traps you. Maybe one day you’ll be trapped here too.’
‘I don’t see how,’ he argued. ‘Once my job’s done I’ll be moving on. Even now I arrive in the morning, do what I have to do then I go home to my nice flat and my nice girlfriend. All this,’ he explained, waving his hand across the entire estate, ‘means nothing to me. It’s just a mean to an end.’
‘Gets you up the next rung of the ladder?’ she smiled.
‘Exactly,’ he smiled back.
‘Well,’ she continued, ‘while you’re here people will just enjoy having a bit of law and order about the place.’
‘You telling me you’re happy we’re here?’
‘Of course,’ she answered, confused by his surprise. ‘Too many little bastards on this estate running wild. It ain’t good for living and it ain’t good for business.’
‘Even your business?’
‘Especially my business,’ she insisted. ‘The shit they pull brings you lot sniffing around and that makes the punters nervous.’
‘Is that how you see it,’ he asked, ‘as a business?’
‘Of course it’s a business,’ she laughed. ‘I just provide a quality product that people want. You don’t see me selling crack and heroin to fucked-up losers, do you?’
‘No I do not,’ he admitted.
‘I provide a leisure product that’s less harmful than alcohol,’ she explained. ‘Not my fault a bunch of public schoolboy politicians decide to keep it illegal. Won’t change nothing though. Where there’s a demand there’ll always be a supply.’
‘Law’s the law,’ he reminded her. ‘There are no good laws and bad laws as far as I’m concerned. Just laws and I’ll enforce them all.’
‘I know you will,’ she told him. ‘Your reputation precedes you.’