Inspector Kirby and Harold Longcoat

by Ian Martyn

  ‘I don’t care, he’s coming with us,’ Kirby said as he got out of the car. Two minutes later Kirby emerged from the shop and held the door. ‘Why?’ he shouted. ‘Because you’re the one who professes to know what’s going on… what?… no! Leave them behind.’

  Thirty seconds later a disgruntled-looking Harold emerged, pulling on his coat. He was about to put on his hat, but decided not to when Kirby opened the back door for him.

  ‘In the back?’ Harold asked.

  ‘Let’s put it like this, I’m not going in the back of my own car and you’re not sitting in my lap.’

  Harold shuffled into the back seat with a growl.

  ‘You should get some corks for that hat,’ Shirley said as they pulled away.

  Harold glared at her in the mirror. ‘Don’t like riding in the back. I gets car sick.’

  ‘Tough,’ Kirby said. ‘And you’re not going to be sick in my car.’

  ‘Turn left,’ Harold said as they approached the end of Clayton Road.

  ‘Why?’ Kirby and Shirley asked together.

  ‘We need Geraldo.’

  Kirby turned to look back at Harold. ‘What? Why? I’m not running some pensioners’ day out scheme here you know.’

  Shirley stopped at the junction.

  Harold leaned forward to poke his head between the front seats. ‘If they’re in Alnwick, it means there’s a gateway nearby and it’s not one we know about. I’m guessing it was opened by Marianne.’

  ‘She can do that?’ Kirby asked.

  Harold shrugged. ‘With the power she’s taking from this world, it’s certainly possible.’

  ‘Great.’

  Shirley glanced across at Kirby. ‘Er, sir, I’ve got a white van behind me and in it is a large man with a red face.’

  ‘If the gateway’s still open,’ Harold said. ‘Geraldo just might be able to close it,’

  Kirby tutted. ‘Left, Constable.’

  The van sounded its horn as Shirley looked right to spot a gap.

  Kirby glanced behind. The horn sounded again, twice. ‘Blues and twos I think, Constable,’ he said. ‘Oh, and why don’t you wait for a really big gap, just to be on the safe side?’

  Shirley grinned. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Better leave this to me,’ Harold said as they pulled up outside the university theatre.

  ‘I’m looking forward to this,’ Shirley said a few minutes later when the back door to the theatre opened and Harold emerged.

  Kirby glanced across at her as she rubbed her hands together in anticipation. ‘Why?’

  ‘Talking rabbit, sir. Let’s face it, it’s not something you get to see every day.’

  ‘Thankfully,’ Kirby added.

  Harold got back into the car along with a grumpy-looking Geraldo.

  ‘They’re not going to like this,’ Geraldo said, folding his arms and looking out of the side window. ‘Does nothing for my reputation.’

  ‘Yes, well funnily enough,’ Kirby said, ‘neither does having goblins running around Northumberland do much for mine, or the force’s for that matter.’

  Geraldo grunted in reply. ‘Don’t suppose there’s likely to be any compensation for my loss of earnings?’

  Kirby shook his head. ‘You suppose right. Tell you what, if you’re good I’ll buy you an ice-cream.’

  Shirley glanced in the mirror as she set off. ‘Where’s Ronaldo?’

  ‘Doesn’t he play for Barcelona?’ Harold said as he struggled to find his seatbelt.

  ‘Real Madrid,’ Kirby answered. ‘Anyway, she means Roberto.’

  ‘Not fond of cars,’ Geraldo said, glaring at Harold, whose seatbelt-searching hand had strayed under Geraldo’s bottom.

  ‘Sorry,’ Harold said.

  Shirley glanced in the mirror again as if to make sure. ‘Damn.’

  ‘Anyway he has trouble keeping his mouth shut at times which, as you might expect, doesn’t always go down too well. People think I’m taking the p… anyway they don’t like it.’

  Shirley huffed her disappointment. ‘Blues and twos, sir?’

  ‘Perhaps not.’

  Shirley huffed again. ‘And I thought this might be fun.’

  ‘If you don’t watch it, Constable, there’ll be no ice-cream for you.’

  thirty-five

  As they pulled into Alnwick police station Constable Cuthbertson emerged, putting on his helmet.

  Kirby wound down the window. ‘Going somewhere, Constable?’

  ‘We thought they’d gone, sir. Now we’ve got a report of a disturbance in Fenkle Street. Kids in grey hoodies trying to nick handbags and ransacking a sweetshop. Some of the boys have got them cornered down by the castle.’

  ‘Right,’ Kirby said. ‘Tell them not to do anything more than contain them until we get there, OK?’

  ‘Sir? The sarge’ll want something to show for this.’

  ‘Trust me, Constable, the sergeant’s imagination is going to be severely challenged trying to charge this lot.’

  ‘Sir,’ Cuthbertson said in a voice that suggested he felt he was going to get it in the neck from someone, whichever way this went.

  ‘Oh, and tell your boys they’re not to get too close, understood?’

  Cuthbertson nodded. ‘Yes, sir. Nasty little devils, are they?’

  ‘Something like that. I’d give you a lift, but,’ he thumbed to the back of the car, ‘we’re a bit full with…er, expert help.’

  Constable Cuthbertson glanced in the back of the car, then across at Shirley, who just gave him a broad smile.

  ‘If you say so, sir. I’ll get me bike.’

  ‘Go on then, Constable,’ Kirby said to Shirley, who grinned and flicked on the blues and twos.

  Harold sucked in air through his teeth. ‘That’s not good,’ he said as Shirley turned the car around.

  ‘What’s not good?’ Kirby asked.

  ‘The sweetshop. All that sugar.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And the “e” numbers,’ Geraldo chipped in.

  ‘So?’

  Harold leaned forward and poked his face between the two front seats. ‘All that sugar, they’re not used to it and with the “e” numbers it’s likely to get them a bit hyper.’

  You don’t say,’ Kirby said as they sped down Grey Place.

  At the bottom of Hotspur Street, they turned left on to the main road and only made about twenty yards before coming to a halt. If anything, the blues and twos were making it worse with cars trying to pull over where there was no room to pull over, as if being seen to make an effort was enough. Kirby pointed to a road on the right, not far ahead of them. ‘Down there, Shirley.’

  Shirley pulled out into the wrong side of the road, which was clear until a white van decided to try and take advantage of the car in front, mounting the pavement while trying to get out of the way. Kirby leant out of the window and gesticulated his feelings on the manoeuvre. The van stopped, blocking the road he’d hoped they would go down.

  Kirby glanced into the back of the car. ‘I don’t suppose you two,’ he waggled his hands, ‘could do anything about this?’

  ‘Such as?’ Harold asked.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no then,’ he said, getting out of the car. ‘Back up,’ he shouted, waving both hands in the appropriate way at the van driver, who now had his head out of the window looking around him.

  Kirby waved his hands above his head. ‘Oi, didn’t you hear me? Back up.’

  Instead of doing as commanded, the driver grinned at Kirby. ‘So where’s the cameras then?’

  Kirby stopped mid-stride, so unexpected was the reply. ‘What!’

  The driver continued to crane his neck out of the window. ‘I heard you was here.’

  Kirby resisted the temptation to correct the man’s grammar. ‘Well that’d be the siren and the flashing blue light, always a bit of a giveaway. Now get out of the way.’

  ‘Is she here?’

  Again the man had managed to come up with a response which was outside
those that were acceptable. ‘Who?’

  ‘You know, Brenda what’s-her-name, Vera.’ The man grinned again.

  Kirby covered the last two steps, whipping out his warrant card as he did so, holding it an inch from the man’s nose, causing his head to recoil back into the van where Kirby wanted it. ‘Does this say BBC anywhere on it?’

  The driver’s face was now turning from pink to red and the hand that had been casually draped out of the window clutched the steering wheel as if he was afraid it was going to fall off. The man glanced in his mirror. ‘Er, sorry, there’s nowhere to go.’

  Kirby leant out and looked behind the van. While the bizarre conversation had been taking place, the car behind had been edging forward as if fearing someone else might take advantage of his original good-citizen attempt to get out of the way.

  ‘Why does this always happen to me?’ Kirby muttered as he held his card in the air towards the car and motioned it to back up. The vehicle moved a few feet, followed by the van, which provoked a honking from behind. Other cars joined in like a flock of geese in flight trying to make contact with each other in the fog. He wondered for a moment how anyone could think that sounding their horn might improve such a situation. Glancing back, Shirley was giving him the thumbs-up.

  ‘You sure?’ Kirby asked as he got back in the car.

  ‘Yeah, no problem,’ Shirley said as she edged past the van and the lamppost on the corner of the road they wanted to go down.

  ‘Watch it,’ Kirby said as their passenger wing mirror dipped under the van’s mirror with less than an inch to spare. Shirley corrected and a scrunching sound announced that the opposite wing mirror had connected with the lamppost.

  ‘Oops,’ she said.

  Kirby glared at her while Shirley kept her eyes straight ahead. ‘Oops indeed, Constable. That’s definitely no ice-cream for you. Now let’s see if we can get to the castle with the rest of the car in one piece, shall we?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘What happened?’ Constable Cuthbertson asked as Shirley got out of the car.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ she said.

  ‘And do you know that your wing mirror’s hanging off?’

  Kirby gave Cuthbertson points for agility as he dodged the kick Shirley had aimed at his shins. ‘Never mind the wing mirror,’ he said, glancing at Shirley while adding, ‘for now.’ ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘The boys have just got them cornered near the Barbican, sir.’

  ‘The Barbican?’

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s what that bit’s called. If you live around here, the castle’s just about an annual school visit,’ Cuthbertson explained.

  ‘Glad to see your education wasn’t wasted, Constable,’ Kirby said as they headed that way.

  ‘Er, thanks. And, sir, apparently my inspector is asking why we’re not making some arrests. I’ve stalled him for now, but…’

  ‘Blame it on me.’

  Cuthbertson smiled. ‘I’ll take that as an order, sir.’

  As they approached, Kirby could see that a small crowd of tourists had gathered, a number of which were holding up cameras and phones as if this was all part of the Alnwick Castle experience.

  ‘Oh, just great,’ Kirby muttered. He turned to Cuthbertson. ‘You and Shirley, see if you can do something about this lot.’

  Cuthbertson approached the dozen or so people with his arms outspread as if herding cattle, which Kirby supposed wasn’t far from the truth. ‘Come on now,’ Cuthbertson said, lapsing into police speak in a voice that was a few tones lower than normal. ‘Nothing to see here, nothing to see.’

  ‘Yes there is,’ someone shouted from the back.

  ‘There’s always one,’ Shirley said from alongside Kirby.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be helping him?’

  ‘He’s a big lad, sir, and I wouldn’t want to cramp his style.’

  ‘You mean this looks like more fun?’ Kirby said as they approached four police officers, who were blocking the escape route of what appeared to be six teenagers in grey hoodies, shuffling and fidgeting around each other. He would have said with their eyes darting everywhere, except that thankfully he couldn’t see them. He was also thankful that no Galgans were on show.

  ‘I don’t think arresting them would be a good idea,’ Harold muttered from over Kirby’s shoulder.

  ‘Really?’ Kirby said without looking back.

  The local sergeant glanced across at them. ‘Keep an eye the little… the… misunderstood young persons.’ he said to the other officers before joining Kirby.

  ‘Well done, Sergeant ,’ Kirby said.

  ‘Cuthbertson said you wanted us to hold off, sir.’

  ‘Correct.’

  The sergeant cast a wary eye at the crowd. ‘Yes well I can’t see any of the local press yet. That doesn’t mean they’re not around though.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Can we make some arrests now, sir?’

  Kirby looked over his shoulder to see Cuthbertson still doing his cattle-herding impression as the small crowd edged backwards. He glanced at Harold and Geraldo, who both shook their heads. The sergeant narrowed his eyes and muttered, ‘Newcastle types, huh,’ as if that explained all peculiarities. ‘I take it that’s a no, sir.’

  Kirby smiled.

  ‘My inspector’s not going to like it.’

  ‘Believe me, Sergeant, he’d like it a lot less if he had to read the charge sheets.’

  The sergeant examined Kirby’s face, as if trying to discern further meaning from his expression. However, Kirby was a master of the “giving nothing away” look.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ Seeing the look again, he added. ‘Sir.’

  ‘In your own good time, Sergeant.’

  The sergeant huffed. ‘OK, lads, step back real slow-like. We don’t want to spook the little… them.’

  As the officers edged away, the goblins saw their chance and, as one, bolted for the gap like ferrets down a rabbit hole.

  ‘My, they can’t half move,’ Shirley said, ‘considering they’ve only got stumpy little legs.’

  ‘Yes well, come on,’ Harold shouted as he set off behind them with Geraldo, who to Kirby’s amazement also seemed quite fleet of foot.

  ‘Oh hell,’ Kirby said, this being the second time in as many days he’d been forced to run. ‘Stay,’ he said to the sergeant, who looked relieved at such a command. ‘Cuthbertson!’ Kirby added as he started to lag behind the other three. Cuthbertson overtook him as they rounded the corner of the castle wall and headed on to the sloping ground where the castle faced the river Aln. By now Harold, Geraldo and Shirley were fifty yards ahead of him but there was no sign of the goblins. The trio came to a halt at an indentation in the wall. Kirby caught up with them and stood with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath.

  ‘I really could suggest a good gym, sir,’ Shirley said.

  Kirby looked up at her. ‘If I were you… Constable… I would keep my… suggestions… to myself.’

  ‘Sir.’

  Kirby straightened up to see Geraldo with his nose about an inch from the wall. ‘So?’

  ‘This is new,’ Geraldo said.

  ‘It’s new,’ Harold repeated.

  ‘Yes, I got that.’ Kirby said. ‘Running has rendered me a little short of breath,’ he gave Shirley a glance that said, ‘don’t you dare’, ‘not deaf. I take it this is Marianne’s work again?’ Harold nodded and Kirby noticed the worried frown creasing Harold’s forehead. ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s not easy,’ Geraldo answered for him, ‘opening gateways like this. It means she’s growing in confidence and in power. Which in turn means she’s sucking more power from this world and as she does that the growth of her powers will only accelerate.’

  Kirby leant against the wall, studying what to him looked much like all the other stones the castle was built from. ‘Oh, whoopy do.’

  ‘Er, sir,’ Shirley said, pointing at Cuthbertson, who was listening open-mouthed to his
radio.

  ‘Constable?’ Kirby said when Cuthbertson had closed his mouth.

  ‘Well, sir, there’s reports of a group of men on horseback dressed in furs galloping along the beach at Dunstanburgh golf course. At first some of the locals thought they must be filming or something, except they then made a bit of a mess of some of the greens and fairways.’

  ‘Not all bad then,’ Shirley said. Then added, ‘Sorry’ as Kirby glared at her.

  ‘Connie,’ Harold said.

  Kirby turned to him. ‘What?’

  ‘Embleton’s near the golf course. That’s where Connie lives and where Susie is as well, since she’s visiting her mum.’

  ‘I’ll get the car and bring it close,’ Shirley said as she sprinted back up the slope with the others following, Kirby walking.

  ‘You’d better squeeze in the back,’ Kirby said to Cuthbertson as they approached the car, which already had its blue light flashing.

  ‘Well, I’m not going in the middle,’ muttered Harold. ‘Not with my back.’

  Cuthbertson folded himself into the middle seat in the back of the car with Geraldo and Harold either side. Kirby forced the door shut at the second attempt, amid loud complaints from Harold and Geraldo. ‘Right, everyone, comfortable?’ Kirby asked as he got in the front seat.

  ‘What do you think?’ Harold said.

  ‘Siren, sir?’ Shirley asked.

  ‘I think that would be appropriate, Constable.’

  ‘Yee-haw,’ Shirley shouted as the front wheels spun and the car did its best to accelerate.

  thirty-six

  As they arrived, Kirby could see a flashing blue light over the heads of a group of people wearing interesting jumpers, golfers he presumed.

  The back door opened and Harold fell out as the internal pressure was released. He took a deep breath as he picked himself up. ‘I’m sure my lungs have been squashed.’

  ‘Quit moaning,’ Kirby said as Cuthbertson toppled sideways and crawled out.

  Kirby ignored the groans and complaints behind him as he and Shirley nudged their way through the multi-coloured throng and angry voices. He could hear a shout, in vain, of ‘One at a time, please. One at a time,’ from somewhere near the middle. Emerging next to a young uniformed officer, Kirby showed him his warrant card. The officer looked relieved and tried to take a step back, but then jumped forward again after a shout of, ‘Oi, get your size twelves off me foot,’ from behind him. This pushed Kirby nose to nose with a red-faced man with a bushy moustache, who was wearing a tartan hat with a pompom. He wondered if the man was wearing the hat for a bet, but decided it best not to ask. Instead, he held his card above his head, which had the effect of attracting the eyes and silencing the voices. ‘Everyone get back please and give us some room to breathe.’ There was a bit of shuffling.