Call & Response (4 page)

‘Your mum thinks that the Police is prejudiced in favour of ethnic minorities?’ Copeland tried, and failed, to keep the surprise from his voice.

‘No, don’t be daft. She reckons that you’re all shit-scared of being accused of being racist, that’s all.’

‘Well no one can say that about me, now can they? I don’t care what colour an offender is, Ashley, I promise you that. I’ll nick anyone I need to, irrespective of race, colour or creed. But one other quick question. When I speak to Mo tomorrow, what do you think he’s going to say to me?’

Ashley shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘That I’m a slapper. A slag. That I was asking for it, like.’

‘But not that you consented to him uploading those pictures?’ She looked confused by the question. ‘Will he say that you gave him permission to upload the pictures?’

‘No. I don’t think so. I never, anyway. But would that get him off, like?’

‘Let’s wait and see, shall we? I’m sure that you’ve already been told that as of right now just putting up explicit pictures of someone without their consent isn’t necessarily an offence, in itself.’

‘Fuck off, mate. That can’t be right. Of course it’s a bloody offence. He’s posted pictures of us having sex. You can see everything, like. Well, of me, anyway.’

‘I’m afraid it is right, Ashley. But we don’t make the laws, we just try to uphold them. And, based on what you’ve just told me, I’d say that there’s reason to believe that we might be looking at a potentially very serious offence here. But I’ll need to check with my boss first, OK?

‘So you’re just the monkey? Not the organ grinder, like?’

Copeland smiled. He just couldn’t help himself. He didn’t usually make allowances, but the kid was properly upset.

‘That’s right, Ashley. I’m just the monkey.’

He grinned across at the WPC, who remained stony faced. She’ll have been on the course then, thought Copeland.

Afterwards he walked thoughtfully back to Pepper’s office.

‘How did it go?’

‘He’s 31, and she was sixteen when the pictures were taken, tops.’

‘Tops?’

‘Exactly. She’s saying she was sixteen, but I’ve got my doubts.’

‘Have at the bloke then, Rex. Whichever way you cut it you’ve got to be a total slime-ball to post pictures like that, so at the very least you can give the bastard something to think about.’

‘There’s a complicating factor.’

She laughed. ‘He’s a copper.’

‘No, thank God, not that. But worse, probably. But he’s of Pakistani heritage, this bloke. Name of Mo Afridi.’

‘So what?’

‘So nothing, as far as I’m concerned. Just wanted to let you know. And I wondered if we had any contacts in the community, so I can get a feel for this bloke, his family, all that. Just in case it turns out to be something, you know, more systemic.’

‘Like Rotherham, you mean? I bloody hope not, for all our sakes. But yes, that’s a good thought. The community in the city is pretty small, to tell the truth, but we do have a WPC in traffic who’s of Pakistani origin, although she’s Carlisle born and bred, like. Funny enough I saw her in the canteen about ten minutes ago. If you’re quick you’ll catch her.’

‘Is she, you know, discreet?’

‘Abla? Absolutely, she is. She’s a great kid. Send her my best, and let me know how you get on. But either way you follow this one up, Rex. I’ll back your instincts.’

He followed the smell of bacon down to the canteen, and Abla exactly wasn’t hard to spot. He walked over, introduced himself, offered her a brew and was declined, and then he sat down.

‘Pepper Wilson sends her regards. Listen, I just wanted to ask you something about a person from the local Pakistani community. Name of Afridi.’

‘Oh, aye. Which one?’

‘Mo.’

‘And given that’s there’s CID interest I assume we’re not talking about a bust brake light on his cab?’ Copeland shook his head. ‘Say no more, marrer. What do you want to know?’

‘What’s he like?’

‘Are we talking in code now? Are you asking if he’s likely to be on the next plane to Syria, or owt like that?’

‘Is he?’

‘No way. He and his brothers have never shown any interest in religion, they certainly don’t go the mosque. Not that it necessarily means anything I suppose. But I’d say that Mo and his brothers are more worldly, if you get my drift.’

‘Are they popular, in the community?’

‘No, not at all. The opposite, I’d say. People always assume that minority communities are always as thick as thieves, if you know what I mean, and of course that’s just wrong. It takes all sorts, doesn’t it? But I’d say the Afridis are pretty unusual in that they have no real ties to the community at all. They moved up here a few years ago, from Birmingham or somewhere, and they haven’t really integrated. They drink, and they seem to hang about with a few of the local low-lifes. My old fella would probably cross the street to avoid them, put it like that. Actually, my dad organised a convoy of cabs to take some of the kids from the Infirmary out for the day in the spring and the Afridis told him where to get off when he asked if they’d take part, I do remember that. He wasn’t best pleased, I can tell you.’

Copeland nodded, and waited. He was sure that Abla had something else to say.

‘Can I ask,’ she said, ‘but is the possible offence of a sexual nature?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Grooming?’

‘What makes you ask that?’

‘My brother mentioned that he’d seen one of the Afridi brothers with a couple of young white girls a few times. This was a few months back, mind.’

‘Really? That’s useful thanks.’ He didn’t elaborate, and she didn’t ask him to.

‘No problem, anytime,’ she said.

‘I’ll let you get back to your mates, and I’m sorry for ruining your break.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve heard all their stories about fifty times. They weren’t even that funny to begin with, like. Did you say your name was Rex Copeland?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Has anyone told you that Copeland’s a local name, from round here?’

‘Blimey. Small world, eh? I wonder how that happened.’ They both smiled. ‘And your name’s Abla, isn’t it? What does it mean, do you know?’

‘I do, but you’ll laugh if I tell you.’

‘I’ll just Google it after, if you don’t.

‘It means perfectly formed.’

Copeland was flustered, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say. So he got up quickly, thanked her again, and made for the door.

DC Armstrong was at his desk when Copeland returned. He’d been thinking about what Pepper had said, and decided that she was 100% right. Amanda Brown was just a con, exactly like any other. It didn’t matter how she’d got herself into this situation because it was all her fault, her choice. So he’d process her fast when she came in, and both he and PC Jackson would be out of the door on the dot of six. He was going to the cinema with his girlfriend that evening, and it would be good to have the chance to grab something to eat first, and then shower to wash the smell of the station off his skin.

And PC Jackson was impressed with the way it went. Pepper must have knocked some sense into the lad, he thought, because DC Armstrong barely made eye contact with Amanda, and rattled through the charge sheet. The duty solicitor kept nice and quiet too, which made a pleasant change. All in all it had turned into a nice, efficient collar. One for the quarterly target, with no stress and no hassle. The kid seemed to be looking a bit strangely at Armstrong, as if she’d expected something different, but he didn’t seem to notice. No doubt about it then, the lad was learning. And not before time, either.

Armstrong got out of the station, which he always thought looked like a cruise liner beached among the bones of the old factory units, as fast as possibly could. But Jackson still drove past him when he’d barely set off on foot through the industrial estate. Henry was thinking about the evening ahead when he turned down the footpath to the main road, so he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him until the very last second. He half turned, felt the fear rising in his throat, and then the first blow fell. It came from behind, and it felt like a kick in the small of his back. The pain was intense, and he fell forward, first onto his knees, then face down on the gravel path. He tried to curl up, but he was too slow, and the next kick caught him full in the stomach. Was this really how he was going to die? Two hundred yards from a bloody Police station, and after he’d been a total shit to that poor young girl. And he wondered, just for a moment, if it could actually be her who was doing this to him.

He blacked out after the next kick, so he didn’t hear the shouts from the end of the lane, nor did he hear the young PCSO who had left the station a minute after him calling for an ambulance and shouting ‘officer down’, like she was on an American cop show. She shouted a description of the man who’d turned and run down the lane, but she knew it was too vague to be of much use. But she kept repeating ‘medium height, slim build, young, jeans, blue hoodie’ over and over until half a dozen cops came running down the road from the station. She pointed down the lane as one of the cops shouted ‘which way?’, and she watched them dash past. She’d never seen a bobby move so fast before.

When he came round Armstrong was in the ambulance, and although he kept telling the Paramedic and the Duty Inspector who was riding shotgun that he was fine they didn’t take any notice. ‘You stay still, son’, said the Inspector. ‘Did you get a look at whoever it was who attacked you?’

‘No, he came at me from behind.’

‘But it was a man?’

‘Aye.’

‘Age, size, anything you remember?’

‘Not old, not especially tall. I’m sorry, but he had me on the ground pretty fast.’

‘Don’t worry. Now, anyone you fancy for it? A recent collar, maybe?’

Armstrong thought about it.

‘Honestly, sir, I can’t think of anyone. Sorry.’

‘That’s fine. We’re already going through your current cases and recent convictions. We’ll find him soon enough, don’t you worry.’

Dr. Henry Armstrong was talking to a consultant when his son was wheeled into the private room. He was sitting up on the bed, and he looked embarrassed.

‘I’m all right to go home tonight, dad. They just won’t listen.’

‘No, Henry. You do need to stay in overnight, just for observation. It’s just a precaution. I’ve brought you an overnight bag, and I’ll run you home in the morning.’

‘All right, thanks.’

‘There’s a uniformed Police officer standing in the corridor, son. Is there something you need to tell me?’

‘Is there? I’m sure there’s no need. I’ve no bloody idea who attacked me, or why.’

‘Well, I’m glad to see that they’re taking this seriously. If that young woman from your station hadn’t come along I hate to think what that animal might have done to you.’

‘I’m going to give her a ring later, to say thanks, like.’

‘Christ, Henry, you’re not thanking people for birthday presents. This is serious. You’ve been seriously assaulted within a few yards of your place of work, and in broad daylight as well. So you know what I’m going to say next, don’t you?’

‘Not this again, dad. I’ve told you, I’m not leaving.’

‘We don’t have to talk about it now, but just think about it. You’re a sensitive boy, your mother always said so, and I just don’t think you’re cut out for this line of work. Honestly, I really don’t.’

There was a knock at the door before Henry could reply, and a small boy, waving a model Spitfire around in front of his face, ran in.

‘Ben, hold on’ called Pepper Wilson, following him in. ‘I’m sorry about this, Henry. How are you?’

Henry said he was fine, introduced his father, and they all chatted uncomfortably for a couple of minutes. Ben stayed on the chair that Pepper put him on for less than thirty seconds, then started running round the room, making machine-gun noises. Henry wondered if it was hard wired, somehow.

‘Well, Henry’ said his father, ‘I’d better leave you to talk to your colleague. I’ll be round to pick you up after surgery in the morning, OK?’

‘There’s no need, dad. I’m sure that someone from work will run me home.’

‘I will’ said Pepper. ‘Just name the time.’

‘No’ said Dr. Armstrong firmly. ‘I will be collecting my son, and he will stay with me at home until I judge that he’s fit to return to his duties. Do I make myself clear, Ms…?’

‘Wilson. DS Wilson. Yes, that’s quite clear. Henry is certainly lucky to have a doctor as a father.’

‘No, he bloody is not’ said Henry, when his father had gone. ‘When I was a kid he was either depressed or drinking, and sometimes both. No wonder mum left.’

‘Tough job, being a quack.’

‘So they tell me.’

‘I bet he’s worried about you though, isn’t he?’

‘Dad? No, not really. He knows I’m fine, better than anyone, probably. He just sees this as a golden opportunity, I expect.’

‘He doesn’t like you being a cop?’

‘No, he hates it. He says it’s not the career for me.’

‘What is, then?’

‘He doesn’t say. Not that I ask for his opinion, like. But he keeps saying that the only good coppers actually come from the criminal classes, whatever they are. It’s all bollocks though, obviously.’

Pepper laughed. ‘Well it’s true enough in my case, actually. My old man’s been nicked loads of times over the years, including since I’ve been in the job. Bloody embarrassing, is that. But it’s one of the reasons I joined, to tell the truth. And I’d love to be the one putting the cuffs on the old bastard next time.’

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely, aye. He made our lives a bloody misery when we were kids. He never worked, not properly, and he pissed away mum’s Family Allowance on betting and booze, so we lived in fear of the loan shark’s boys, amongst others. Over the years he tried his hand at a bit of burgling, all the usual, but he was shit at that too.’

‘Is he still alive?’

‘Aye, worst luck. Mum left him years ago, so we don’t really see him now, but he hangs on like a bloody infectious disease. But enough of all that. Parents are a waste of bloody time. Let’s talk about this hiding you took. Do you really not know who it was?’