Call & Response (3 page)

Mary Clark laughed and stood up. Pepper did the same.

‘Remember what I said about the complaints though, Pepper. And if DI Murray isn’t well enough to come back soon, then there’ll be a vacancy here. I’m sure of it. It would be a shame if you weren’t in a position to apply.’

‘Thanks, ma’am. I’ll certainly do my best.’

‘Good. And let’s go out for drink sometime soon, if you can spare the time. Other than my little house in Stanwix, the gym, the supermarket and this place I wouldn’t know Carlisle from a hole in the ground yet.’

‘An easy mistake to make, some would say.’

‘Would you?’

‘Absolutely not. I’m Carlisle born and bred, not that it’s any reason to stay. But so long as you keep away from a few spots this is as good as any city to live in, and better than some, I dare say.’

‘And you’ll show me some of the places that a respectable woman shouldn’t ever be seen in then, Pepper?’

‘Aye, ma’am. I will that. They’re all my regular haunts, like. But if this new DC is no good at the job then the drinks will be on you, OK?’

‘Fair enough. Send me an email when you’ve had a chance to decide. But, judging by his file, it’ll be you who’s buying.’

DC Rex Copeland was driving slowly, trying to get his head round Carlisle’s one way system. He’d already been past the floodlit castle twice, and that couldn’t be right. And it was just so quiet, it was making him nervous. Like there’d been a zombie apocalypse or something, and no-one had told him. It was only just after eleven, and the roads were almost completely empty. Back in Tottenham they’d still be busy, and there’d still be people on the streets. He’d hardly seen a soul, so there was no-one to ask for directions.

So when the blue lights lit up behind him he was almost relieved, and he pulled over into a bus stop and looked down at the address of the hotel he was trying to find. By the time the traffic officer had reached the car he’d checked the address, and had the window rolled down.

‘Good evening, officer.’

‘Is this your car?’

‘Yes, it is. Actually I’m a copper, and I’m trying to find my hotel, on William Street. Could you point me in the right direction please, mate?’

‘Turn off the engine and get out of the car, please.’

Copeland shook his head, turned off the engine, and got out of his shiny but middle-aged BMW coupe. He smiled at the copper, but it didn’t seem to help, so he reached into his pocked for his Warrant Card. It was from the Met, and while the traffic cop was big he didn’t look the brightest, although Copeland was still pretty confident that he could read. But Copeland didn’t even have time to open it.

‘You’re not big enough to be a bobby, son. You’re more drug-dealer size, I’d say.’

‘There’s no size limit in the job, mate. Not any more. And there’s no colour bar either, if that’s what you’re getting at. You need to learn a few manners, mate. Look, let me show you my ID and we can all get on our way, how’s that? I’m sure I’ll see you down the nick sometime, and we can have a laugh about it.’

Copeland took a conciliatory step forward, felt the Warrant Card between his fingers, and started to open it. ‘Here, look.’

What happened next amazed him, because the cop went for him, stick suddenly out, and swung hard at his head. Copeland ducked the blow easily, grabbed the cop’s outstretched arm and used his weight and momentum to throw him onto the ground, so that the man landed on his back, the breath rushing from his lungs. Copeland moved forward, pinned the man’s broad shoulders to the ground with his knees, pulled out his Warrant Card and shouted ‘Police, and you stay right where you are’ to the other cop, who was only half out of the car. He did exactly as he was told. ‘Radio in and check if you like. I’m DC Rex Copeland, and I’m starting work at Carlisle nick tomorrow. So thanks a bunch for the warm welcome, lads. You shouldn’t have bothered, though. You really shouldn’t.’

Five minutes later the cop who Copeland had put on the ground was still apologising, with what little breath he could muster.

‘So why did you stop me, John?’, Copeland interrupted. It had been a long drive, and he didn’t want to hear it all again.

‘Why? Going too slow, I suppose.’

‘What’s the limit on here?’

‘Thirty.’

‘And what was I doing? You were recording, I take it.’

‘No. It was just a hunch, like. You know, out of area car, a bit flash, going slower than we expected.’

‘And a black man driving it?’

There was a pause.

‘We didn’t notice that. How could we? We’ve not got super-powers, like.’

‘Because I drove past you, didn’t I? You were parked up somewhere back there. Don’t bullshit me, mate.’

‘All right, aye, we were. We saw you drive by.’

‘And you do know what racial profiling is, don’t you?’

‘Aye, we know.’

‘And did you do that, do you think? Stop me because of my colour, I mean. You don’t get many IC3s around here, I expect.’

The bobby literally squirmed slightly, his big, fleshy body wriggling like a worm on a hook.

‘You just didn’t seem tall enough, that’s all. That’s why I didn’t believe you were a copper, like.’

‘You must have got us confused with giants, mate. Black people come in all shapes and sizes, just like you. On my island most people are actually pygmys, so I’m actually really, really big. It’s all relative, see.’

It was a long five seconds before the other cop laughed. ‘Joke, right?’

‘That’s right, mate. Got it in one. My dad came over from Barbados on the Windrush in the ‘60s to drive a bus for London Transport, not by canoe from Borneo or somewhere.’

‘So no hard feelings?’ asked the cop he’d thrown. ‘Will you need to report this?’

‘Will you?’

‘Fuck, no.’

‘Well, that’s fine then, lads. And I hope I didn’t do any damage when I threw you, John.’

‘No, I just tripped and fell, really.’

Rex laughed. ‘Of course you did. Well, listen lads, nice to have met you, and don’t worry, I won’t mention this to anyone down at the nick. Unless I hear that one of you two has, in which case all bets are off. You get me?’

‘Aye, we get you, Rex. We’ll say nowt to no-one. Pretend it never happened, like.’

‘OK. That’s your best bet, I’d say. Now would you lads do me a favour and give me a Police escort round to William Street? I just want to get a few hours kip. I’m on duty in the morning, and I don’t want black circles under my eyes, now do I?’

The two cops didn’t laugh, so Copeland smiled, to indicate that he’d made a joke. And then they did. It was the sound of relief.

‘Very good, Rex. Aye, very good.’

PC John Foster looked in the rear view mirror as he drove away from the hotel. They’d offered to help Copeland in with his stuff, but he’d said he’d be fine.

‘Decent bloke.’

‘Aye.’

‘I’m still surprised they let them into the job though, when they’re that small, like.’

‘He still put you on your arse, John.’

‘Like I said, I tripped. He was lucky, that’s all.’

‘Aye, well.’

‘And I expect you need to be pretty handy, if you’re on the job down there. What with the gang wars, and all. I expect he’s come up here for an easy life, like. Bit of fresh air, and that.’

‘Welcome to Cumbria.’

‘Aye. And he could have done a lot worse, like.’

‘Scotland?’

‘Aye, exactly.’

Pepper Wilson looked at her watch, again. It was almost half eleven, and she’d told Adam that she’d be home by now. But it was a fifteen minute walk, and The Working Poor showed no signs of leaving the stage. Well, not so much a stage, more the corner of the bar, with ten or a dozen people watching, and clapping briefly at the end of each tune. She wondered how many of them weren’t connected to the band by bonds that were stronger than a shared love of the songs of protest. There were four more of them in the band, all younger than Justin, and Pepper guessed that the Working Poor’s actual fanbase was probably not more than half a dozen. It was a shame, because they were good, as far as Pepper could tell. She wondered, briefly, if she could go, but Justin kept catching her eye as he played, and the look of concentration had always given way to a smile when he did. She’d just have to stick it out.

As soon as they’d finished, and the last ripple of applause had died away, Pepper got up and walked over to Justin, who was already coiling his guitar lead between his elbow and hand.

‘That was great, love. Excellent. But I have to go. Adam needs to get off.’

‘Come on, Pepper. Just a quick drink. I’m parched.’

‘All right, just a quick one, then. What would you like?’

When she came back from the bar Justin said something to the drummer, busy dismantling his kit, and the long-haired lad glanced up at her. She wasn’t quite old enough to be his mum, perhaps, but she could easily be his oldest auntie.

‘It’s a young man’s game, is this’ she said, passing Justin his drink.

‘Leonard Cohen is touring again, and he’s a bloody good age.’

‘Aye, but wasn’t he originally famous when he was, you know..’

‘A lot younger than me? I dare say he was, but I’m only just finding my voice now, Pepper. This is our time, love. I can feel it in the air.’

She didn’t think it would be helpful to observe that his voice sounded much the same as it had when she’d first met him, fifteen years before. Possibly in this very pub, or in one just like it.

‘Anyway, I enjoyed the new material’ she said. ‘And the band does sound good.’

She could tell from his expression that she’d said the right thing.

‘They do, don’t they? You see what I mean, love. Good songs and the best band I’ve ever had. It’s going somewhere this time, I’m certain.’

‘That’s great. No, honestly love, I mean it.’

But the look on his face told her that he didn’t believe her. Not for one second.

‘I know you hear people saying that ‘it’ll be different this time’ and all that other shit, every day, in your job,’ he said. ‘But I really mean it. I know you’ll never understand, but I do need to do this, Pepper.’

‘Need what exactly? You’re a good photographer, Justin, everyone says so.’

‘It’s not the same. All I do is take pictures of people looking too bloody pleased with themselves, whether it’s weddings or stuff for the local papers. It’s all bollocks, honestly, love. Like I say, I need this.’

‘I know you do. That’s why I’m here. I just don’t want you to be disappointed. You know, if it doesn’t quite happen for you.’

He laughed. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? Look, I know you think I’m selfish and irresponsible….’

Pepper had glanced at her watch again. She just couldn’t help herself. ‘I’m sorry, love, but I really do have to go.’

‘Aye, you go then. Don’t want to keep Adam waiting, do we? I expect he’s still got his socks to iron when he gets home.’

Pepper laughed.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised. Look, I’m sorry I can’t stay any longer, I really am. And you were great. Really. Let’s hope that The Working Poor puts you straight on the path to stardom, love. Fame at last, eh?’

Pepper was pretty certain that she’d said the wrong thing this time. But it was too late, and she was too tired, to try to sort it out now. So she hugged Justin, waved a vague goodbye to the rest of the band, and made for the door. If she was lucky a patrol car would spot her and give her a lift home. And, sure enough, when she reached English Street a marked car pulled up just ahead of her.

‘All right, lads?’ she asked, as she got in. ‘Nice quiet evening, I hope?’

‘Aye, nothing happening at all, love. Quiet as the grave, tonight. That’s just the way I like it, mind.’

‘I know it is, John. I know it is.’

Wednesday, 3rd September

10.05am, Detective Inspector’s office, Carlisle Divisional HQ.

‘Put wood in hole, Henry’ said Pepper, and DC Armstrong closed the door behind him. ‘I wanted us to have a quick chat, while we have the chance.’

‘Is it about Amanda Brown, boss?’

‘Partly, but we’ll come back to that in a bit. First, I wanted to let you know that we’ve got a new DC joining today. Up from London, would you believe. He’s got a couple more years in than you, and an excellent arrest record. So I’m sure he’ll be really useful to you.’

‘Great, boss.’

‘Don’t look like that. It’s not a demotion, or a vote of no confidence. We’re chronically under-strength, what with the DI being off and everything. And he’ll learn a lot from you too, Henry. You’re Cumbrian born and bred, aren’t you?’

‘Aye. We’ve been in Keswick for four generations at least. And all doctors too, except me.’

‘There we are then. And my family have been begging and dossing around Carlisle since the Romans put up Hadrian’s Wall. It’s true. I’ve heard it said that it was a Wilson who made his money by nicking the stone from one bit of the Hadrian’s Wall and flogging it back to the Romans when they got to that tricky part up on the Whin Sill.’

‘So that’s why you joined the job then, is it, Sarge? To give back something that your ancestors had nicked, like?’

‘Very funny. But in a way, aye. To prove I’m different from all of them, I suppose. But I don’t think about it much, to tell the truth. The past can bloody look after itself, can’t it? And how about you, Henry? Why did you join us lot? You were at uni in Durham, weren’t you?’

‘Anthropology, aye. But I joined up as a Special while I was there, and then found a job as a PCSO back here. Then I managed to get taken on properly, like.’

‘How did you like uniform?’

‘Not much, to tell the truth. I passed out at a couple of RTAs early doors, one of them had a little kid in it, and I was going to chuck the job in because of it. But my dad arranged a bit of help with dealing with the blood and that, which has made it easier. A bit, anyway.’

‘We did nowt to help you, I suppose?’

‘Christ, no. I kept my mouth shut here, boss. I’m only telling you in confidence, like.’

‘You’ll go far, Henry. You’d have had the piss taken for the rest of your career by the lads, and the bosses would have done sod all to help. But if you’ve got any problems in future you come straight to me, you hear? I’ll never grass you up to the bosses, or anything like that. Some of us develop coping mechanisms, or whatever they’re called, and some of us don’t. But you’ve got the makings of a good detective, Henry.’

‘Cheers. Thanks, boss.’

He smiled like a boy, she thought. ‘And you got on to the CID fast-track transition scheme because you made life difficult for Gary Flynn, when you were based out at Shadygrove, the cop-shop that time forgot?’

‘Aye, that’s right.’

‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bloke. He’s an absolute piece of shit, is Gary. He was nicking the boilers from those new housing association houses in Morton, wasn’t he? My nan fancies one of those, as a matter of fact.’

‘They look nice. But aye, that’s right. I had a tip-off from an old girl who lives right next door to the site, but no-one wanted to follow up on it. My Inspector told me that the witness was likely to be unreliable, given her age and everything.’

‘But you didn’t agree?’

‘No, I suppose I didn’t. She’s as straight as a die, is Elizabeth, and her eyesight is better than mine. So I waited until I knew that the boilers had been replaced, then I watched one night when I was off duty. Sure enough Flynn turned up and had another go. So I nicked him in the act, like.’

‘Nice one. What did he draw? I haven’t seen him around the city in a while, so I assume he went away again?’

‘No, he bloody did not. I nicked him on the premises, actually at it, and he coughed to it right away. But when he was down the nick and his brief was with him he said that he’d been passing the site, seen an intruder, and just followed him in. He said that this imaginary other bloke had got away, while I was nicking him, like.’

‘And the CPS believed that? Christ, what a load of utter bollocks. My Ben’s only six, and he could do better than that.’

‘They didn’t believe him. At least I don’t think they did. But they said that I was a young off-duty officer, that my evidence was uncorroborated, and that Flynn’s brief was claiming that I had some kind of vendetta against their client. So they decided not to proceed. Not in the public interest, apparently. My Inspector did sod all about it, in fact he pretty much told me that I’d made a bit of an arse of myself, so I decided to try to get on to CID. And here I am, like.’

‘And here you are. So what lessons did you learn from trying to nick Gary Flynn?’

Armstrong thought about the question. ‘I don’t know, really. Never rely on the bosses, maybe?’

Pepper smiled. ‘Apart from that. It’s taken as read, is that one.’

‘Never try to do it on your own then, without back up.’

‘Exactly. You remember that, young Henry. I don’t care about you missing out on a conviction, because Gary Flynn is always a collar in waiting, but I do care about my officers taking risks with their own safety. I won’t have it, OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Good. But before you go, we do need to talk about your Ms. Brown.’

‘You were right, about her benefits.’

‘I know, but that’s not it, Henry. Look, I understand that you’re concerned about her, and her poor bloody kids, but we just don’t have the time for all that. People like her, you get them in, charge them, and get them straight out. She’ll be back again soon enough, anyway. There are more bloody budget cuts coming, Henry, so get used to telling people who’ve been burgled to go and buy there own bloody print dusting kits, because their chance of ever seeing a SOCO is about the same as me meeting George Clooney in the Costa in town on a Saturday morning.’

‘Understood. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.’

‘Don’t worry about it. But we honestly don’t have time to actually help anyone any more. Those days are gone. Christ, I heard on the radio the other day that some forces have got victims going out and collecting their own CCTV footage, before they’ll even look at starting an investigation. I wish I was bloody making that up, but I’m not.’

‘I get you, boss. Every minute I spend on Amanda Brown is a minute that I’m not giving to a victim of crime.’

‘Exactly. That’s the real priority, whatever the bosses say. Although even the bloody cons make out they’re victims these days, the sly bastards. They even believe it, some of them. And one other thing about Amanda, just for information. And I worked this out on the way in to work this morning, actually. Because I reckon that after I’ve paid for my childcare, my mortgage and my Council Tax, I’ve got less money in my pocket every week than Amanda Brown has. And I’m not going out and nicking stuff, either. So you think on that one too, Henry.’

‘I will, aye.’

‘Right, you get on with it. And just think yourself lucky that you’re not in DC Copeland’s expensive looking shoes.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because he’s currently enduring that awful bloody health and safety induction. At this very moment that stupid prat Matheson will be walking him slowly round the building, pointing out where the bloody fire extinguishers are. And this is a copper who spent six months undercover last year, infiltrating a pretty serious drugs gang in north London. So something tells me that he and Jim Matheson will just have developed a slightly different perception of what constitutes an actual risk.’

But DC Copeland wasn’t on the health and safety tour, because he’d told Jim Matheson that he had special dispensation to do it at a future date, due to ‘pressing operational factors’. He repeated the phrase twice, because in Copeland’s experience it made the pen-pushers feel like they were somehow assisting in the never-ending fight against the forces of evil. Or something like that, anyway.

‘Of course, of course,’ Matheson had said. ‘I understand completely. Give ‘em hell, DC Copeland.’

‘I’ll do my best’ said Copeland firmly, and set off to find the coffee machine.

Five minutes later he was sitting opposite Pepper Wilson. She was aware that she was taller than him, but Copeland hadn’t noticed because most adults, both male and female, were.

‘How did you know I have it black, with no sugar?’ she said.

‘I asked that tall lad outside. The one with the fringe and the Lady Di expression.’

‘Oh, Henry. Look, Rex, let’s have a proper introductory session later, but are you able to pitch right in for me, today I mean? I wouldn’t ask, but I’ve got to be in court in half an hour and we’ve just had a walk-in, a young girl who says she’s the victim of a revenge porn attack.’

‘How old?’

‘Seventeen.’

Copeland made the sort of face that Pepper was used to seeing on the face of the mechanic who kept her old Toyota on the road.

‘It’ll be a waste of time then, Sarge. I know the law’s changing, but the way things stand we’ll get sod all out of this. Unless the bloke’s been at it for ages we won’t get him for harassment, worse luck, and if he’s written nothing to go with the pictures we can’t do him for malicious communications either. I had loads of these in my old job, two or three a month towards the end. It’s an epidemic, but we never got a bloody thing out of any of them. I’m not saying that the girls were asking for it, of course I’m not saying that, just that we never got a conviction out of any of the complaints. All it does is look bad on the stats.’

‘Sod the stats. I’ll worry about those. I know what you’re saying, but still have a word anyway, OK? The civilian on the front desk told me that the lass looked pretty distressed, and this is the woman who has to tell our PCs when the sandwich van has broken down again. So she does know what distressed looks like, I can promise you that.’

DC Copeland laughed. Perhaps coming up here wouldn’t turn out to have been such a bad decision, after all. Even if the decision hadn’t been entirely his to make.

‘I thought it was going to be a lady detective’ said Ashley Weekes, before Rex Copeland had even sat down. The middle-aged WPC who was sitting with Ashley in the pastel-painted family suite looked surprised to see him too, although he doubted that it was only because he wasn’t a woman. The girl had been crying, and Copeland made a note to check that she really was seventeen. She certainly didn’t look it.

‘I’m sorry, but my colleague DS Samantha Wilson is in court this morning’ he said. ‘She can’t send anyone else in her place I’m afraid, Ashley. She has to be there. So she asked me to have an initial talk with you today.’

‘I can come back. Another time, I mean.’

‘No, don’t do that. Let’s just have a quick chat now, OK? I know how tough it must have been for you to come in to see us at all. We’re here to help you, if we can.’

Ashley looked at the WPC, who smiled encouragingly. ‘That’s right, love,’ she said.

‘I only need to ask you a few questions at this stage’ said Copeland. ‘We’ll be done in five minutes. It won’t hurt a bit.’ He smiled again, and Ashley smiled back, wanly and briefly.‘So let’s start with an easy one. How old are you, Ashley?’

‘Seventeen. It was my birthday last week.’

‘Congratulations. And it’s photos we’re talking about, yeah?’

‘Aye, photos off Mo’s phone, they are.’

‘Mo?’

‘Mo Afridi.’

‘And this Mo lives in Carlisle, does he?’

‘Aye. You want the address?’

‘Let’s come back to that, shall we? When did he take these pictures?’

‘Ages ago. Last year. I don’t remember exactly.’

‘And how old were you then?’

Ashley paused. ‘Sixteen.’

‘You don’t sound sure. Don’t worry. Just tell us if you’re not sure about anything. You’ve done nothing wrong, remember. Nothing at all.’

‘I was sixteen.’

‘But might you have been fifteen?’

‘I might, I suppose.’

‘And how old is Mo?’

‘He’s 31.’

‘OK. So he’s posted these pictures online, is that right?’

‘Aye. You’ll want to see them, I expect.’

‘Not at the moment. We just need to know where to find them. And you’re sure that it was Mo who posted them, are you?’

‘Oh, aye. It was him.’

‘How do you know?’

‘He told me. Told me where to find them too, the bastard.’

‘When was this?’

‘The day before yesterday. He came round to the house, like.’

‘And was anyone else there when he was telling you this? Your mum, maybe.’

‘No, I was on my own.’

‘OK. So why did he do this, Ashley?’

‘Because I split up with him, last week. He’s been scaring me. Always talking about the other girls he’s had as well. And he’s tried to introduce me to his mates, other cabbies, like. I can do better. That’s what my mum says. And not because he’s coloured, neither.’ Ashley’s eyes widened slightly. ‘No offence, mate’, she added, quickly.

‘None taken. Just a statement of fact. Mo is of Pakistani heritage, I take it?’ Ashley nodded. ‘And has this Mo been sending you nasty texts, following you, hassling you, anything like that?’

‘No. But I expect he’s been saying all sorts to his mates, like.’

Copeland glanced at the WPC, who shook her head slightly. She had nothing to add, or to ask.

‘All right, Ashley, thanks’ he said. ‘We’re about done, for now. You’ve been really brave coming in like this. All I’ll need for now is Mo’s address, and the URL of where we can find the images.’

‘So you’ll go and see him?’

‘Oh yeah, you can count on it.’

‘Will you nick him?’

‘That depends.’

‘Will he know it’s me, who’s been in, like?’

‘I certainly won’t tell him.’

‘He’ll guess though, won’t he? I knew it, you’ll do sod all about it. And it’ll be me who’s in the shit with him and his brothers.’

‘I’ll go and see him, just like I said. Today, or tomorrow latest. How’s that?’

‘You’ll not do anything though, because he’s Pakistani. That’s what my mum says.’