The Cop Killer (3 page)

“This is a very busy place; we have thousands of tourists here in the day. I agree your knowledge of the Chinese lingo will help, but there are often demonstrations here and on race days there are thousands more drunken bums coming to the races most of them bloody Scousers or bums from Manchester.”

  “The officers here are very busy and can well do without having to chaperon another woman about especially an Inspector who should be leading.”

“Still I can’t do anything about it.  You will be wise to stay close to Sergeant Striker, a very experienced officer, take all your guidance from him.”

“I will be keeping in close contact with him to see how you are performing. Right that is it. Welcome, now if you wouldn’t mind going and making me a cup of coffee that would be appreciated, oh bring it upstairs to my office, that’s it Ling”.

She had remained silent though noted every word he had said and the manner in which he had said the abusive and disrespectful phrases.

Showing her personal file to an officer junior in rank, telling her to make the drink.  He had not she thought asked her to sit in her own office. Who was this, Denton-Smyth”?

 “Well” she thought, “he was not a gentleman”.

Having left “her office” she walked down the corridor and the first door on the left was marked sergeants’ office but it was empty.  She could hear voices lower down the corridor, this was marked parade room.

It was large, contained a long desk littered with papers and cups. There was a lectern at one end upon which was a thick file marked briefing.

There were numerous lockers around the walls many were damaged and the doors bent, some doors were open, some closed. The remaining wall had a large notice board again untidy but one notice was more prominent than the rest it advertised the annual police ball.

“Ah Ling”, it was Striker, “I take it he asked you to make him a drink, whilst you are at it you can take these cups, wash them and make us all a drink?”

“When you have done that I will show you round the place, off you go now, Chop, Chop, oops I didn’t mean that”.

It was not the time and place she judged, to cause a war with Striker, especially with the attitude of the Chief Super. 

It would be a decision and or judgement she would come to regret.

She collected the cups went to the kitchen down the corridor, washed them then, boiled the kettle.  Pride of place would be the drink for the boss, there was a mug, it must be his for it was embossed “Leader of Men”. 

She made the drink as directed, then looked around her, all was clear, she spat in the drink and it was only moments before she was standing outside the office signed “Chief Superintendent”.

She knocked, waited and there came the word “Enter”, it was abruptly called. She opened the door.

“Ah Ling, and the drink, good girl".

As she walked across the room it was contemporarily furnished no different than any other modern office, there were two photographs of her leader positioned on his desk, pride of place.

She instantly recognised the scenes in the background, Bramshill College. 

She bent to place the mug on the table and noticed the inscriptions on the photographs, Bramshill, Junior and Intermediate special entry, command courses.

She thought, recalling what he had said of her lack of experience, he was also a hypocrite.

She thought he had some pride for she could see he was in the process of cleaning a pair shoes, black in colour but polished to an immaculate state, obviously used on his police ceremonial duties she thought, a man prepared to impress his seniors, well she had similar clean shoes also.

She walked to the door when he called “Oh, by the way Ling”.

“Yes Sir” she replied

“You know how to make coffee; best cup I ever had, make sure every one you make for me is done the same way”.

“I will sir; you can count on that, every cup”.

She left the room went downstairs and on entering the parade room Striker was inside drinking his coffee, on this occasion there were two uniformed constables in the room.

“Smith and Rogers meet your new shift Inspector Scott-Ling, we will refer to her as Ling, and we have no time here for bullshit double barrelled names eh Ling.”

Before a word could be spoken Striker called, “You know what they say about these double barrelled names, they were originally given to bastards, the parents not being married, their kids carried both the family names of the mother and bloke named as the father”.

They all laughed including another two a sergeant and constable who had walked in but said nothing.

“Right Ling, you come with Sergeant Striker me sowey you around the station, jump lively girl”.

She consoled herself to keep a low profile and learn what she could from this load of what appeared to be bigoted, racist bums no better than the race goers he had mentioned.

She had not gone more than three steps when Striker called,

“Ling a job for you?"

She stopped turned and returned, “yes Sergeant”.

“Ah, the chief has just telephoned down a job for you, two of our lads were found dead in their patrol car earlier today. The Chief Super wants you to visit the wives or should I say widows and break the news”.

“Will he be coming”?

“Seems not Ling, it’s down to good old Miss you, or can’t you manage it”.

She took a deep breath “I will do it of course but I would have thought being the Divisional Commander he would have at least come”.

“Mine or yours is not to reason why, just do the bloody jobs”.

”Yes of course” she replied.

“Here are their addresses,” he said, “I presume you can drive we don’t have anyone to spare to take you”.

She took the keys and his note with the addresses he had written down.

“Just tell them their husbands have been found dead in the car, no suspicious circumstances at the moment, the PM`s are to be done shortly, a woman pathologist so any result might rear its ugly head”.

“A shit job” she thought “but it had to be done”.

She put on the satellite navigation, typed in the first address but then a second glance showed that the addresses were next to each other.

“Very unusual” she thought two police officers not only working together doubled crewed on traffic but lived next to each. Still, it would make the job simpler from that point of view the only good thing in the dreadful task, her first day on duty.

Striker meanwhile returned to the custody suite and once inside interview room three he looked at the officer still standing guard, still not speaking, Striker nodded to him and the officer left.

Without warning Striker leaned over Ted Salmon and grabbed him, lifted him up then dragged him to the rear wall holding him tight against it.

Two short blows to the stomach caused Ted to sink to the floor, completely winded so that he could not speak.

Striker bent down and shouted in his ear, “You bastard left two coppers in the car, a star witness at that”.

Ted recovered and whispered “Why have I been arrested I didn’t do anything”.

“Didn’t do anything you bastard, you won’t be doing anything from now on.” 

“You haven’t been arrested, you have voluntarily come here as a star witness to help, what have you done?”

“I have come as a volunteer Sergeant to help you”.

Striker smiled lifted up Ted banged him down on the same chair at the table and said.

“Now get your things, the officer at the desk will take your full details, you will then fuck off, if we need you we will contact you.”

“How will I get back to my van?"

Striker laughed, “Your van, fucking walk it’s only twelve miles or get a taxi”

Ted stood up walked with a few pushes and arrived at the front counter, gave his details and left.

He had gone only a few paces when he heard a voice, “Wait here I called a taxi”.

He looked up and saw it was the young officer who had been standing guard over him.

In a moment or so, the taxi arrived, and he climbed inside.

The door suddenly opened it was Striker who leaned inside and whispered.

“Don’t fucking work in our area again, or else, get the message, now fuck off”.

He banged the door and the taxi was away.

“You have reached your destination” came the satellite navigation message”. Doris stopped the car and instantly realised why both officers lived as next-door neighbours. The houses were old and it was obvious they had been if still not, police issued houses.

The dour coloured brick, with a small office and garage on each side were consistent with the old police houses she had seen in the various villages as a girl when local Bobbies lived in villages. This one must have had a sergeant in one and a constable in the other.

“Jesus, Oh I shouldn’t say that she said to herself, there were two women in the gardens speaking over the hedge.

She looked at her watch it was 4pm it suddenly came home to her that both officers should have finished at 2pm and been home by now.

She need not worried the women were unsuspecting for their husbands were often late, part of the job; they had soon come to understand.

In fact, they had been neighbours before and both their husbands were often away or late on some other inconvenient course or trip, which made for a relatively uncertain family life.

Doris
turned after walking a few paces, clicked the handset to lock the police car door.

She recalled how Striker had warned her that Blacon, Chester was well reputed as a criminal area.

As she thought she heard the whirling above her, glancing up she recognised the helicopter as of the type used by the police. Seems Striker was correct this was a rough area, heavens she thought how dreadful now for these women losing their husbands and living here, she was to discover she was again naïve.

“Afternoon ladies” she deliberately left out the good.

“Good afternoon” they replied, just as two small school girls might do when the Head Master arrived and spoke to them.

“I am looking for Mrs Bob Friday and Mrs Sid Upton; I am Inspector Scott-Ling”.

The ladies turned and looked, one replied. “I am Mrs Wendy Upton”.

The other woman rather older smiled and then said, “I am Mrs Rachel Friday but Bob isn’t my husband he is my son”.

“Bastard Striker” she thought, “he definitely said they were both wives, he threw a banana skin down for me there and I slipped badly on it, heavens what a fuck up when bringing such news”.

“Well ladies I wondered if I might just speak to you both inside, they are rather confidential matters.”

“Why of course I will make us a drink,” said Mrs Friday.

Inspector Scott-Ling realised in only moments from now there would be no drink made for this new Inspector.

Arriving in the house, it was obviously a police owned house, there was still an old solid fuel fireplace, and the walls painted with the pastel colours similar to the police stations.