Danny Dempsey and the Unlikely Alliance (3 page)

Harrington nodded. Superintendent Clifford could be extremely precise and to the point when the occasion called for it. At times like this, nobody would believe he had an eccentric bone in his body. When it was necessary, he could sum up a situation and rapidly arrive at the correct answer before most people could understand the question. That, Harrington thought to himself, was why he was a Superintendent.

‘And now,' Superintendent Clifford continued, ‘we have that preposterous Mrs. Pearson causing a commotion at the reception desk, and nobody here except one of us to listen to her idiotic complaints. Tell her I'm not in my office.
You
deal with her.'

‘But, sir,' Harrington protested, determined not to tell a lie even if it meant upsetting the Superintendent. ‘You
are
in your office, and she thinks dealing with me is beneath her. I--'

Before he could continue, the Superintendent arose smartly from behind his desk and skipped out into the corridor. ‘I'm not in it any more, Harrington, am I?' he asked softly, careful to keep his voice low enough to avoid it carrying outside to the reception area. ‘So you won't be telling her anything that isn't perfectly true.' He looked at Harrington to see how that grabbed him. ‘After all, it wouldn't do for the forces of law and order to be telling porkies to the public, now would it?' Seeing Harrington's hesitation, he pointed a finger out towards from where the impatient complaining was continuing. ‘Off you go, now,' the Superintendent ordered, ‘and tell her my office is presently unoccupied.' He smiled as Harrington set off biting his lip. ‘And may I wish you the best of luck with the dear lady.'

Superintendent Clifford remained exactly where he was until he heard Harrington explain to Mrs Pearson of his vacant office, then, deciding enough time had elapsed to confirm the truthfulness of the statement, he went back inside, gently closing the door behind him.

I
mmediately the Superintendent had seated himself behind his desk, he reached for the phone and punched in a number. While he waited, he pondered on the top secret documents he'd received not half an hour ago by special courier from the Chief Commissioner. They were still lying on his desk, and he eyed them with concern. The information they contained was extremely disturbing. He wondered how long it would be before the papers got hold of it. Then all hell would break loose.

‘Hello,' he said into the receiver when the mobile number he'd called was answered. ‘It's the Super here, Danny. I've an emergency on my hands. I need your help.' He listened for a while, stroking his chin as he did so, then gave a smile of satisfaction. ‘Good lad,' he finally said. ‘I knew I could rely on you. I'll fill you in on the details later.' He listened again. ‘The usual location. I'll bring my fishing rod to make it look authentic. But will you for heaven's sake make Charlie turn himself into a toad or something. Half my men are out looking for him as we speak.'

*

Outside at reception, Harrington was doing his utmost to convince Mrs. Pearson he was perfectly capable of dealing with her complaint.

‘But you're a mere junior officer!' she said cuttingly, as though people of such rank were beneath contempt. ‘Nothing more than a glorified messenger boy! You couldn't even
begin
to understand the trauma I've been subjected to!'

‘I'll try, Mrs Pearson,' Harrington said wearily, desperately attempting not to lose his temper. ‘Now, if you'll just give me the details, I'm sure you'll discover I'm not quite as stupid as I may look.'

‘I should certainly hope not!' Mrs Pearson shrilled in at him. She settled her elbows on the ledge directly in front of the wire-mesh grille, peering through it with narrowed eyes. ‘Now listen carefully, young man, and make sure you note every detail correctly.'

Harrington bent down over his notepad, biro poised to record whatever supposed disaster Mrs. Pearson was about to inform him about. He shifted his position slightly to avoid her glaring into his eyes, but to no avail. Mrs. Pearson immediately moved exactly as Harrington had done, staring directly into his face as though into a mirror.

‘Dermot!' Mrs. Pearson suddenly shrieked, startling both her husband and Harrington at one and the same time. ‘Come over here this instance and verify my statement! I don't want any misunderstanding to arise in the future should this minion take down an entirely different version of events.'

Mr. Pearson, who'd been pretending to read the various notices pinned to a board on the wall, muttered something under his breath.

‘What was that?' Mrs. Pearson demanded loudly.

‘Nothing, dear. Just clearing my throat.'

‘Well, kindly place your hand over your mouth then!' Mrs Pearson barked. ‘I don't want to pick up any of your germs, thank you very much.' She turned back towards Harrington, as her husband came over to join her. ‘I couldn't say for certain whether it was a crocodile or an alligator that put me in danger of my life this morning, but it most certainly was one or the other. I want something done about it, young man, and I want it done
immediately!'

Harrington's eyes opened wide in amazement. He realised what day the Superintendent had informed him it was, but still - -. Mrs. Pearson didn't at all strike him as the type who went in for practical jokes, whatever day of the year it might be. And there'd been an earlier report of the very same nature. He stared back at Mrs. Pearson, his mouth now almost as wide as his startled eyes.

‘What's the matter with you, young man?' Mrs. Person said. ‘You haven't written down a single thing I've told you yet!'

Harrington did his best to pull himself together, bending to address his biro to his notepad in as efficient a display as he possibly could to show he was in control of his emotions, as any good guardian of law and order should be at all times. ‘Would you mind telling me where you saw the – the beast, Mrs. Pearson? And at exactly what time? Was it near the centre of town?'

‘What on earth are you blabbering about?' Mrs. Pearson retorted sarcastically. ‘And what in the name of heavens would I be doing there at half-past six this morning?'

‘I see,' Harrington replied, carefully noting the time of the alleged sighting. ‘Half-past six this morning. And where might you have been at that time, Mrs. Pearson?'

‘Why, taking in the early morning milk, of course! You don't expect I was gallivanting in the middle of town in my night clothes, do you?'

Harrington baulked at the image of such a sight. He was sure it would give him nightmares for months afterwards. As far as he was concerned, seeing the alligator, or whatever it was, would have been preferable than being forced to watch Mrs. Pearson cavort around publicly in her nightdress.

He duly took note of the remainder of Mrs. Pearson's complaint, refraining from allowing even the flicker of a smile assail his mouth on being told she'd been locked out of her house to be left at the mercy of the beast. He also couldn't help wondering if the poor animal would have died from food poisoning if it had been foolish enough to sample one of her arms or legs.

And every time Mrs. Pearson relayed another portion of the saga, she called on her stick insect of a husband to confirm it. ‘Isn't that correct, Dermot?' she turned to him on each occasion as her complaint progressed. ‘Am I or am I not a lucky woman to be alive this minute after the narrow escape I've had?'

Dermot, of course, collaborated every single word Mrs. Pearson was conveying to Harrington. In between her demands for his confirmation, he was thinking about other things. Wondering, for instance, why it was that whatever new electronic immobiliser he spent months making, it never had the slightest effect when he tried it out on his wife.

As he automatically said,
‘Yes, dear!' ‘That's right, dear!' ‘Absolutely, dear!'
he was at a loss as to why the bane of his life was impervious to all his wonderful inventions. He wondered if it was all that blubber she carried around which didn't allow the rays to affect her. He'd tried all sorts of gadgets. Almost a year ago, he'd created one particular beauty he was certain would do the trick. It had taken him six months to complete. Using every up-to-the-minute microchip he could get his hands on in the electronics plant in which he worked, he was positive he'd solved the problem once and for all. The device had a twofold application.

Mr. Pearson had been delighted with it on its completion. He'd tried it out on the cat in the garage and it had worked a treat. Then driven out to the countryside and experimented on a cow in a field. It was the largest, fattest cow amongst the herd. Mr. Pearson, being thinner than a garden rake, manoeuvred himself without the slightest difficulty through the barred gate, then stole along the edge of the field.

It worked like a dream. The device had twin buttons. He flicked the one on the right. Immediately, the cow he trained the ray on froze into immobility. It was in the act of selecting a nice juicy mouthful of grass, when the ray performed its function to perfection.

The cow was left like a stone statue, its mouth open, big brown eyes frozen in surprise, looking as though it had been sculptured into that exact position. Mr. Pearson felt like hugging himself. But he didn't quite go that far. Gadgets he'd had success with in the past had invariably let him down where his wife was concerned.

Before he'd left the field, Mr. Pearson flicked the second button, and the cow was instantly restored to its former state, seemingly not even aware it had been experimented on as it continued with its chewing of the succulent grass. Mr. Pearson drove home in excellent humour.

This was what he'd always aimed for. Something to make him an equal in his own house. He'd be capable of turning Mrs. Pearson on and off at the touch of a button. Just like a television set. The second she wound up to give him an earful, press one. When he'd considered she'd been frozen long enough to allow him a bit of peace and quiet, press two. She'd more than likely come out of her state of suspended animation thinking she'd finished giving him the ear-bashing she'd set out to do, and that would be the end of it.

But it, like all the other gadgets he'd created to control Mrs. Pearson, had failed miserably when directed at her ample proportions. Where the cat and the cow had succumbed at the press of a button, the rays hadn't the slightest effect on Mr. Pearson's wife. They appeared to deflect off her body as though she was wearing some invisible shield. Mr. Pearson was at a loss to understand it. It had worked without the slightest bother on that Dempsey boy this morning.

He was completely stumped where Mrs. Pearson was concerned. He was sure the solution had at last arrived to solve his dilemma. But even after his most recent failure, he, like all inventors, still harboured hopes that he'd one day come up with the device to switch her on and off at will.

‘Isn't that right, Dermot?' Mrs Pearson's shrill screech cut into his hopeful thoughts, catapulting him back to reality.

‘If you say so, dear,' he replied, wondering what on earth it was he was supposed to agree with this time.

‘And you definitely saw it too, sir?' Harrington enquired

‘I – I - -', Mr. Pearson replied. ‘It – it was - -'

‘Stop dithering!' Mrs Pearson said, taking his shoulder and drawing him yet nearer to the grille. ‘You had an excellent view from the bedroom window. You couldn't possibly have missed it, even if your first priority was to have come racing down the stairs to protect me from being torn limb from limb.'

‘Ah, indeed,' Mr Pearson said quickly, finally realising it was the beast that was under discussion. ‘It was enormous, officer, absolutely enormous. And very frightening altogether.'

‘I don't know what
you
had to be frightened about!' Mrs. Pearson said contemptuously, ‘I was the one who was in mortal danger. And you didn't even phone the police!' She turned her attention back to Harrington. ‘I want that Dempsey boy arrested. Why he's allowed to sully the environment for so long with that animal compound of his, I'll never understand! It simply lowers the tone of the neighbourhood. Isn't that correct, Dermot?'

‘Absolutely!' Mr Pearson agreed. ‘It most certainly does, dear.'

‘Good!' Mrs. Pearson declared triumphantly, peering in at Harrington questioningly. ‘Are you certain you've taken down everything exactly as I've told you?'

‘Yes, Mrs. Pearson,' Harrington replied as patiently as he could manage. ‘I'll see that the matter's looked into as soon as possible.'

‘Young man!' Mrs. Pearson screeched, her face commencing to turn an unsightly shade of crimson. ‘I want this matter dealt with immediately! Haven't I already told you so! Don't you realise there's a monster on the loose out there, only biding its time to devour some poor law abiding citizen? It could be eating someone now for all we know!
As soon as possible, indeed
! Inform Superintendent Clifford to phone me the second he returns to his office.' She turned on her heel then, taking her husband's elbow as she did so, ushering him towards the door. ‘Come along, Dermot,' she said rather unnecessarily as they departed, Mr Pearson already being borne along beside her like a rag doll. ‘The Superintendent will have that dreadful Dempsey boy under lock and key before very long.'

S
uperintendent Clifford phoned Mrs. Pearson not ten minutes after she'd arrived home.

‘I'm pleased to hear it, Superintendent,' Mrs Pearson said, after listening to what she'd been told. ‘You taking care of the matter personally was exactly what I suggested to that foolish young officer I had to deal with. I sincerely hope he recorded all the facts correctly. If you like, I can repeat them to you now so that there will be absolutely no confusion.'

At the other end of the phone, Superintendent Clifford made a face which Mrs. Pearson most definitely would not have approved of. ‘That's quite all right, Mrs. Pearson,' he said quickly. ‘I have all the facts I require to deal with your complaint. Officer Harrington made an excellent job of your statement. Rest assured the unfortunate incident is under investigation as we speak.' He glanced up wryly at Harrington, who was standing in front of the Superintendent's desk, listening to the conversation. ‘Every officer in the station has already been despatched to track the monster down.' He couldn't resist another meaningful look in Harrington's direction. ‘With nets and guns and tranquilliser darts, not to mention every squad car at the station's disposal.'

‘That's wonderful, Superintendent!' Mrs Pearson declared, evidently of the opinion that it was she herself who'd been responsible for the safari. ‘And please be kind enough to let me know the minute you have that Dempsey boy in custody. I'll be only too glad to testify to ensure he's put away where he belongs in some institution for juvenile delinquents. For that's
exactly
where he belongs.'

‘Goodbye for now, Mrs. Pearson,' the Superintendent replied rather curtly. ‘We'll cross that bridge when we come to it,' he said, putting down the phone before she could say anything else. ‘Silly old --'. He refrained from completing out loud what he had in mind, thinking to himself if she only knew the half of what himself and Danny had accomplished together, she'd be thanking her lucky stars instead of talking about things she was better off not knowing about. ‘Well, Harrington,' he asked, ‘what have you to report on the big game hunting expedition you let Sergeant Neville undertake on this of all days?'

‘Sir, I don't have the authority to tell Sergeant Neville what to do,' Harrington replied in his defence. ‘It - - '

‘But you were the one the telephone complaint was made to, weren't you?'

‘Yes, sir, but - -'

‘It's all right, Harrington, I'm only teasing you. I presume you've already radioed him to remind him someone's merely played a prank on us.'

‘Just as soon as Mrs. Pearson left, sir.'

‘Good. Now let's hope nobody from the media has found out about the expedition. They'd have great fun at our expense if they tumbled to it. We've a lot more important things to be doing than chasing after alligators and the like. Eh, Harrington?'

Harrington bit his lip. The Superintendent could tell at a glance that his brain-cogs were working overtime, and he suspected exactly what it was he was attempting to come to terms with. Harrington was no fool. He'd no doubt already put two and two together and was having difficulty in arriving at the correct figure of four.

‘But don't you think it strange, sir, that Mrs Pearson should come in with the very same story long after I got that other phone call this morning?' Harrington finally voiced what was apparently bothering him. ‘
Two
reported sightings in one day. Doesn't that strike you as a bit odd, sir?'

‘She was probably the one who made the phone call, Harrington. That woman thrives on making a nuisance of herself.'

‘But it was a man who phoned, sir.'

‘No doubt she made Mr. Pearson do that part of it. She's an attention seeker, Harrington. Loves the spotlight. She's obviously concocted the whole thing to get at the Dempsey boy. She's been making complaints about him at least once a month for ages. She once stormed in here and insisted she saw him going past her house in the early hours of the morning, riding bareback on a goat as big as a horse. Not only that, but she claimed the goat had wings, that the pair of them were five or six feet above the ground at the time. Sergeant Neville took her statement regarding that particular hallucination. He told me afterwards, when he'd managed to stop laughing, that is, that he was tempted to tell her we couldn't do anything about it, as when they were caught on camera, they were well within the speed limit at the time. That's Mrs. Pearson for you, Harrington. Heaven knows what her next story will be.'

The Superintendent hoped he sounded convincing. The tale he'd related to Harrington was perfectly true, but fortunately, nobody believed a word of it apart from the Superintendent and Mrs Pearson. There were several other people who had seen, or perhaps imagined they had, extraordinary incidents in which the name of Danny Dempsey cropped up from time to time.

Of course, nearly everybody who
imagined
they'd seen him sparring with a kangaroo, or having an earnest conversation with a Siberian sabre-toothed tiger, usually kept it to themselves. All these peculiar happenings allegedly took place either very late at night, or very early in the mornings. People who thought they saw them were perfectly normal individuals, most of them keen to retain their reputations of sanity amongst their friends and neighbours, so they remained silent regarding things they convinced themselves they couldn't possibly have
really
witnessed.

The odd few who reported them to the Gardai, apart from Mrs. Pearson, that is, did so rather sheepishly, almost apologetically, adding as they left the station that they were perfectly sober at the time. Though maybe, they said, this or that might be worth investigating, if only to put their minds to rest. One old gentleman explained that he'd only recently had his glasses changed, so perhaps - -

Of course, upon Superintendent Clifford's insistence, each and every case was thoroughly followed up on. Danny always received a warning phone call from him prior to the many visits the Gardai made to his animal compound beside the shack in which he lived. Danny invariably made a big show of surprise on their arrival, then happily gave them a tour of the enclosures in which lovely bunny rabbits chewed away contentedly at lettuce leaves, adorable puppy dogs chased their tails, little kittens clawed at balls of wool, trying to unravel them, and white fluffy lambs gambolled happily in their pens.

Despite several thorough searches of other areas of the compound which Superintendent Clifford always ordered to be carried out, none of the exotic creatures people had claimed they saw Danny consort with were ever discovered. Which wasn't at all surprising in view of the Superintendent's phone call advising Danny in advance of the supposedly
random
inspections.

Superintendent Clifford's response on being informed that everything was as it always was at Danny's compound was the same on each occasion. ‘Just as I thought,' he'd say, shaking his head at the very idea of anything other than harmless animals being uncovered. ‘I wish people would stop wasting our time like this. That boy's a credit to the town, taking so many abandoned strays into his care. It's a disgrace the way people buy them for their children's birthdays or at Christmas, then get tired of looking after them, drive them a few miles out into the country and discard them at the side of the road. Only for the Dempsey boy, the poor things would starve to death, or fall prey to predators before very long.'

Now, after hearing of Mrs. Pearson's sighting of the enormous winged goat long before he himself arrived at the station, Harrington appeared convinced that what the Superintendent had said regarding the double reporting of an alligator on the loose was indeed a mere coincidence. Either that, or the Superintendent's contention that Mrs. Pearson had made Mr. Pearson phone the station with her incredible story was correct. And even though Mr. Pearson had claimed that he had also seen the beast, it was pretty certain he'd have agreed with his wife's version of events even if there'd been a couple of dragons and unicorns involved.

Then, to Harrington's utter astonishment, Superintendent Clifford stood up from behind his desk, making him gasp at what he saw. The Superintendent was wearing bright yellow, thigh-high fishing waders, which he seemed totally unconcerned about letting Harrington see. He looked comical as he made his way around the desk, his immaculately cut tunic with the silver buttons and magnificent epaulettes in complete contrast to the brightly coloured waders.

‘Like them, Harrington?' the Superintendent asked casually, as he unbuttoned his tunic and slipped it off. ‘They glow in the water. Confuses the fish no end. Some of them even come up so close to inspect them, I could pick them clean out of the river if I had a mind to. But that's not the honest fisherman's way.' He stood back a little further, his jacket dangling from his hand, almost as though he were modelling the waders. ‘Well? Eh?'

‘They're – they're very nice, sir,' Harrington replied, wishing he had a pair of dark glasses to protect his eyes. ‘Very nice indeed, sir.'

‘Cost a fortune, Harrington,' the Superintendent told him amiably, as though they were in a bar having drink together like a couple of old buddies. ‘But that's the way, isn't it? You get what you pay for.'

Which, Harrington couldn't but agree to without demur. He'd always found it to be the case himself when he went to his local supermarket. He bought his groceries, paid at the checkout, and had never once been challenged as he departed with his purchases to the car park.

Harrington, of course, didn't voice his agreement with the Superintendent's last statement. He was too busy watching his superior slide open a built-in wardrobe at the end of his office, hang up his tunic, loosen his tie and drape it over the shoulder of the tunic, then take off his white shirt to reveal a vast muscular chest which a strongman in a circus would have been envious of.

The Superintendent hung the shirt neatly beside his tunic, flicked along a line of casual wear, selected a bright red shirt and put it on. Next, he unearthed a lumberman's tartan jacket and donned it, adding a soft tweed hat in which were embedded dozens of fishing hooks with brightly coloured flies attached to them. A fishing rod and straw creel, the strap of which the Superintendent slung over his shoulder, completed the outfit, and Harrington stood gazing at the apparition in silence, debating with himself as to whether or not he was actually awake.

‘Nothing as relaxing as a spot of fishing, Harrington,' the Superintendent said cheerfully when he was all kitted out and ready to leave. ‘I think I've earned it after all the nonsense I've had to listen to here today. I'll see you tomorrow. And if you get any more weird phone calls, for heaven's sake don't take any offers from anyone trying to buy the police station.'

With that, Superintendent Clifford departed, chuckling to himself as he did so. Harrington returned to the reception area, feeling chastened at his superior's remarks, though still wondering to himself if Mrs Pearson had really gone to all the trouble of making her husband phone up the station before arriving herself to make a fool of him, especially as he remembered quite clearly her shouting at Mr. Pearson,
‘You didn't even phone the police!'
.

He wasn't looking forward to Sergeant Neville's return, either. Heaven knows what jibes he'd have to endure from him and the rest of his colleagues when they did get back.