Modern Crimes

by Chris Nickson

  Then he was there, holding a mug against her lips, tipping it gently. She swallowed. Tea. Warm, sweet. But the shaking wouldn’t stop. Her whole body now.

  He held her. Gently, like a child. Shuddering, shivering. Her body was beyond her control. Slowly, very slowly, it passed, smaller and smaller spasms until it was gone completely. McMillan picked up the mug from the wall and put it in her hands.

  ‘Drink up,’ he ordered. ‘Then we’ll get you home.’

  ‘But—’ she began. She knew the procedure. A statement at the station. Questions and more questions.

  ‘It can wait until the morning. I don’t think you could do it now anyway, even if you wanted to.’

  He was right. The whole thing was a jumble in her head. Like a film, a small clip that played over and over, one she couldn’t turn off.

  In the car she gazed at the roads without really seeing them. She wanted to cry again, to let all the feelings come out and never return. She wanted a long, hot bath to wash the day away. Most of all she wanted to be with Geoff.

  McMillan only said one thing as he drove: ‘I wish you’d listened to orders.’

  At the house he helped her inside. She felt as if she was in a daze that she couldn’t shake off. Geoff took one look and folded her tight in her arms. Finally she felt safe. She felt secure. The world couldn’t hurt her here.

  McMillan was speaking, his voice low and urgent, but she paid no attention to the words. She knew what had happened. She knew it all too well. It was still going on behind her eyelids.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  LOTTIE sat on the hard chair, back straight, hands clasped together in her lap, uniform neat and clean. Facing her, on the other side of the long table, sat Mrs Maitland, Inspector Carter, and the Assistant Chief Constable in his dress uniform, all the scrambled egg of rank on his collar.

  An official disciplinary hearing, with a secretary sitting off to the side taking every word down in shorthand. They’d already heard testimony from the two constables she’d seen after escaping from Donough. McMillan had also been in front of them. He couldn’t lie; he’d told her that beforehand and she didn’t want him to. There was nothing shameful in the truth. She’d disobeyed his direct order. She was willing to admit it.

  At least Irene Walker would survive. For the first few hours in hospital no one could predict either way. Somehow she’d managed to stay alive. She’d lost plenty of blood and she’d still need more operations but eventually she’d return to something approaching normal life.

  That was the only good thing to come out of this.

  Calm, in control of her voice, Lottie recounted everything that happened after the sergeant found her at the bus stop. Going to Meanwood, the house, the shot, following Donough, the way he’d caught her, how she’d manage to break free. All the details she could recall.

  ‘To be absolutely clear,’ Carter began. He was smiling, trying to look solicitous, but he was relishing every second. ‘You were aware that Sergeant McMillan had given you an express order not to go back into the woods.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She fixed her stare on him. ‘There was no mistaking it.’

  ‘But you ignored it,’ he continued.

  ‘I did, sir. I thought it was my duty.’

  ‘You don’t believe it was your duty to obey orders?’ Carter’s voice was rising. A gesture from the ACC silenced him.

  Mrs Maitland gave a small cough. ‘Wait outside while we discuss everything, Armstrong. We’ll send for you when we’re ready.’

  The hardest part was sitting alone in an empty room, the only company the ticking of the clock. She knew what the decision would be. So did they. It was simply a matter of form, letting a few minutes pass before they announced it.

  That was fine. It felt strangely like a play, all of them acting out their roles.

  She’d given her statement the day before. Reported for duty on time, then spent most of the shift in an interview room going over every tiny thing again and again. She’d expected it. That was the routine. Geoff had urged her to take a day to recover, but there was no point; it was simply postponing the inevitable.

  He’d been wonderful. As soon as McMillan left he’d been attentive, taking off her uniform, heating water and washing her from head to toe. By the time he finished drying her like a baby, all the energy had drained out of her body. He helped her up to bed, kissing her softly.

  ‘I love you.’ He stroked her cheek tenderly. ‘You’ve no idea how proud I am of you,’ he said as he turned out the light.

  In the morning her uniform was hanging up, cleaned and smoothed. Whatever he’d done, it had worked like magic; the material looked like new. Maybe it was something he’d learned in the war.

  She put it on, standing proudly in front of the mirror. Right, she thought. Right.

  The door opened and Mrs Maitland stood in the opening.

  ‘Come in, Armstrong,’ she said.

  Standing at attention for the verdict, she looked from one face to the other. They were giving nothing away. Finally the Assistant Chief Constable gave a small sigh.

  ‘We’ve had a chance to deliberate. No one’s going to deny you’re a very brave young lady,’ he acknowledged with a dip of his head. ‘However, you’re well aware of the parameters of duty for a woman police constable. They exist for your own safety. You’ve exceeded those on numerous occasions lately. This time, though, you defied a very specific command from Sergeant McMillan. Your put your own life in danger. If he hadn’t been such a good shot you might have been killed. That’s very grave.’

  She stayed silent; the last thing he wanted was an answer.

  ‘In the light of that,’ he went on, ‘and on top of everything else, I’m sad to say we have no choice in the matter. It’s been decided to dismiss you from the Leeds City Police force.’

  Lottie raised her chin. ‘Yes, sir.’

  She turned and marched out of the room.

  It was what she expected. Cathy had warned her. McMillan had warned her. She knew it would come. But that didn’t make hearing the words any easier. Something else burned into her brain.

  Standing in the toilet she removed the insignia and badges from her uniform, weighing them lightly in her hand. She’d leave them on Mrs Maitland’s desk.

  Not a copper any more. Lottie smiled wanly. She’d done what she felt was right. She’d done her duty. She’d done her job. Carefully, she applied lipstick. When she walked out of here she was going to look her best.

  She was dabbing her lips when Cathy came in.

  ‘I heard. It’s all over the station.’

  ‘Everyone loves juicy gossip.’ She tried to smile.

  Standing next to her, crowding her aside, Cathy began to remove her own badges.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Resigning. What do you think?’

  ‘Why?’ Lottie stared, uncomprehending. ‘You weren’t the one on the carpet.’

  ‘You did what the men they employ here should have done if they’d had the guts. In return they dismiss you.’ She shook her head. ‘That’s not right. And my Jimmy’s been after me to turn in my notice. Now he’s earning he says he wants a wife at home, the way it should be. After the way they’ve treated you…’ She shrugged, took off the cap badge and grinned. ‘Come on, let’s go out in style.’

  They walked down the corridor arm in arm. McMillan was waiting, looking as if he wanted to say something. Lottie smiled at him as she strode past. Outside, the light seemed very bright.

  ***

  Next in the series

  (Due Autumn 2017)

  THE YEAR OF THE GUN

  CHAPTER ONE

  Leeds, February 1944

  WHY are there suddenly so many Americans around?’ Lottie asked as she parked the car on Albion Street. ‘You can hardly turn a corner without running into one.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s not just your driving?’ McMillan said.

  She glanced in the mirror, seeing him sitting comfortably in the m
iddle of the back seat, grinning.

  ‘You could always walk, sir.’ She kept her voice perfectly polite, a calm, sweet smile on her face. ‘It might shift a few of those inches around your waist.’

  He closed the buff folder on his lap and sighed. ‘What did I do to deserve this?’

  ‘As I recall, you came and requested that I join up and become your driver.’

  ‘A moment of madness.’ Detective Chief Superintendent McMillan grunted as he slid across the seat of the Humber and opened the door. ‘I shan’t be long.’

  She turned off the engine, glanced at her reflection and smiled, straightening the dark blue cap on her head.

  Three months back in uniform and it still felt strange to be a policewoman again after twenty years away from it. It was just the Women’s Auxiliary Police Corps, not a proper copper, but still… after they’d pitched her out on her ear it tasted delicious. Every morning when she put on her jacket she had to touch the WAPC shoulder flash to assure herself it wasn’t all a dream.

  And it was perfectly true that McMillan had asked her. He’d turned up on her doorstep at the beginning of November, looking meek.

  ‘I need a driver, Lottie. Someone with a brain.’

  ‘That’s why they got rid of me before,’ she reminded him. ‘Too independent, you remember?’ McMillan had been a detective sergeant then: disobeying his order had put her before the disciplinary board, and she’d been dismissed from Leeds City Police. ‘Anyway, I’m past conscription age. Not by much,’ she added carefully, ‘but even so…’

  ‘Volunteer. I’ll arrange everything,’ he promised.

  Hands on hips, she cocked her head and eyed him carefully.

  ‘Why?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘And why now?’

  She’d never really blamed him for what happened before. Both of them had been in impossible positions. They’d stayed in touch after she was bounced off the force – Christmas cards, an occasional luncheon in town – and he’d been thoughtful after her husband, Geoff, died. But none of that explained this request.

  ‘Why now?’ he repeated. ‘Because I’ve just lost another driver. Pregnant. That’s the second one in two years.’

  Lottie raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh, don’t be daft,’ he told her. He was in his middle fifties, mostly bald, growing fat, the dashing dark moustache now white and his cheeks turning to jowls. By rights he should have retired, but with so many away fighting for King and Country he’d agreed to stay on for the duration.

  He was a senior officer, effectively running CID in Leeds, answerable to the assistant chief constable. Most of the detectives under him were older or medically unfit for service. Only two had invoked reserved occupation and stayed on the Home Front rather than put on a uniform.

  But wartime hadn’t slowed down crime. Far from it. The black market had become worse in the last few months, gangs, deserters, prostitution. More of it than ever. Robberies were becoming violent, rackets more deadly. Criminals had guns and they were using them.

  And now Leeds had American troops all over the place.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chris Nickson is the author of the Richard Nottingham and Tom Harper series (Severn House). He has also written The Crooked Spire and The Saltergate Psalter, set in fourteenth-century Chesterfield, and the Dan Markham Mysteries, all for The History Press. He lives in Leeds.

  www.chrisnickson.co.uk

  COPYRIGHT

  First published in 2016

  The Mystery Press is an imprint of The History Press

  The Mill, Brimscombe Port

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  This ebook edition first published in 2016

  All rights reserved

  © Chris Nickson, 2016

  The right of Chris Nickson to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  EPUB ISBN 978 0 7509 7415 8

  Original typesetting by The History Press

  Ebook compilation by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk