Read Three Steps to Hell Online
Authors: Mike Holman
Three Steps to Hell
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mike Holman was born in Hampshire. As a young man in the mid 1970’s he joined the police force, his long career being spent almost exclusively as a Detective. Over the years, as a result of promotion and specialist squad duties, he gained extensive experience in the whole spectrum of front line Detective work, encompassing numerous high profile major criminal investigations in various parts of the United Kingdom and a specialisation in surveillance.
Now retired, he has written this his first crime fiction novel and hopes that it gives the reader a realistic feel for the dangerous, frustrating and stressful side of Detective work coupled with the sometimes amusing and lighter hearted aspect of the profession.
With very special thanks to my wife Clare for her patience, help and constant encouragement. Also, to my dear friend Christine for her valued input and support and to Vanessa for her assistance in the final stages.
Thanks also to my three children Debbie, Chris and Jon just for being great kids.
Tom Lancaster woke abruptly to the all too familiar sound of the phone ringing. Half asleep and unsure of where he was or what day it was, he fumbled for the receiver on the bedside table. The telephone fell to the floor as he snatched at the receiver and put it to his ear. Knowing full well that it could only be work, he blasted angrily,
“What do you want, can’t I be allowed any sleep this month?”
“Morning Tom,” the caller cheerfully replied, “It’s Ken from Control Room.”
Ken Lake was this week’s night shift Control Room Sergeant at Brampton Police Station. When he was on nights he rarely seemed to grasp the fact that others were in bed asleep trying to get well-earned rest and appeared to get some sort of twisted pleasure out of waking colleagues.
“What do you want Ken?” Tom bellowed.
“I had a phone call from the hospital about 40 minutes ago to say that a guy had been brought into casualty suffering from two quite deep stab wounds and he seems to have a lot of grazing to his arms and legs as if he’s been in quite a battle. He told the hospital that he didn’t want the police involved but he has been so abusive to their staff that they called us to send a bobby down anyway to try and calm him down.”
“So why are you calling me? Get him to deal with it and earn his wages. I’m not the only Police Officer in this part of the world am I? What time is it for Christ’s sake?”
“It’s 2am Tom.”
“Look, I finished work at ten last night and got to bed about midnight, that’s two hours sleep, phone someone else or get the bobby you sent to the hospital to deal with it instead of trying to pass the buck.”
“Calm down Tom, I’m just doing as I’m told. The guy who has been stabbed refuses to talk to any Uniformed Officer and just throws a torrent of abuse. The duty Inspector, Frank Steele, feels that a CID Officer should visit the hospital to try to get to the bottom of what’s happened.”
“I bet he does, it would be too much trouble for him to get off his backside and do any police work, I bet all he’s worried about is that newspaper article he did this week saying how Brampton Police are taking a pro-active stance against the drunks and trouble-makers in the town. Useless idiot, the only pro-active thing he ever does is get up from behind his desk to make a cup of tea.”
“Yes alright Tom, I know how you must feel but you are the Detective Sergeant on call tonight and he wants a DS called out, so it’s down to you I’m afraid. Also I think you know this guy so it may be that he’ll talk to you.”
“Why what’s his name?”
“Wayne Evans.”
“Oh great,” Tom said sarcastically. “He’s all I need at 2 in the morning,” he sighed deeply.
“Okay I’ll be there in about 30 minutes. Have they had to operate?”
“No, apparently, although fairly deep, the stab wounds totally missed any important organs, he’s being stitched up at the moment so you should be able to see him by the time you get there, that is if he hasn’t discharged himself.”
“I hope for my sake he has, I’ll ring you later from accident and emergency.”
“Thanks Tom.”
Tom picked up the phone from the floor and replaced the receiver. He lay on his back in bed for a couple of minutes to try and get his mind together. No wonder Helen left me he thought, I think she must have seen more of the dustman and he only came round once a week.
Tom was a very proud man who over 23 years in the police service had developed into an exceptionally competent Detective with a relentless desire to get to the truth of whatever incident he was investigating. An excellent interviewer with a reputation for the highest standard of court files, he found himself constantly in demand by his superiors to take on more and more work, often due to the lack of experience and law knowledge of many of his junior colleagues. An outspoken man, he had regularly voiced his discontent to the higher ranks regarding the cuts in police training, the drop in standard of recruitment to the CID and his frustrations surrounding the way in which the police force had changed over the years from being run as a strong, efficient and effective public service to being managed by Senior Police Officers as if it were a commercial enterprise.
Tom regularly referred to the good old days when, as well as taking exams, Police Officers had to prove themselves as being effective and thorough investigators and upholders of the law before being promoted through the ranks. Days when the higher ranking Officers would make decisions and judgements affecting their men, which were based on a sound and extensive understanding of the problems facing their front line colleagues. Instead of this Tom now found himself surrounded by so called managers, completely preoccupied with management meetings and projects, which had little to do with fighting crime or improving working conditions. Their priority seemed to be budgets, the maintenance of which often adversely affected those that the high ranks had previously stood up for. A task for which they were totally unqualified. He believed budgets should have been left to County Council Accountants and Police Officers should be absorbed in catching criminals and maintaining law and order in an effort to gain the confidence of the public who after all pay their wages. A scenario far too sensible and straightforward for current day Governments.
Because of his length of service Tom had seen so many detrimental changes and cuts in resources. In his opinion the 1970’s and 80’s had been the best years when he felt very proud to be a Police Officer. Now, in the 90’s he felt disenchanted as did others in the front line of policing. It seemed as if it was purely Sergeants and Constables doing police work whilst Inspectors and above played their management games. He feared for the future of the service and regularly counted the days to retirement through frustration and exhaustion.
Tom looked at his watch whilst dressing. It was now ten past two. He washed and shaved whilst considering what delights awaited him at the hospital. He was a handsome man convinced of the importance of appearance, especially when dealing with the public. In his view smartness normally gained respect, even from the likes of Wayne Evans. Tom was not a great supporter of the new 90’s generation of young Detectives who dressed casually in trainers and jeans, an influence, which in his opinion, stemmed from so many shallow American Detective television series. Properly groomed and dressed in a smart grey suit he walked downstairs and into the kitchen. Since his divorce two years ago Tom lived alone in a 1930’s style three bed semi in the village of Mantleford about five minutes drive from Brampton. His only companion was his black Labrador Misty who like Tom’s ex-wife was not particularly enamoured with his hours of work or his lack of attention.
Misty, who was in her basket in the corner of the kitchen, opened one eye and gave a disapproving look probably due to the early hour.
“Morning Misty, guess what? Yeah, I’ve been called out again, no peace for the wicked. Do you want to go out in the garden?”
Tom often had long one-way conversations with his dog. He imagined Misty’s reply, “For Christ’s sake it’s 2.15 in the morning, bugger off and leave me in peace.”
Tom felt duty bound to give Misty the chance to empty her bladder as it would be about 10am before Jenny Ryan from next door would pop in to take her for a walk. Jenny was a kind and thoughtful neighbour who cleaned for Tom and walked Misty. Like Tom she was in her mid forties and divorced and had secret desires to take their friendship further but hadn’t the confidence to make the right approaches. In the meantime she was happy to help him in any way she could which was predominantly washing, ironing, cleaning and dog sitting.
Misty came in from the garden and gave Tom another disapproving glance before sinking back into the warmth of her basket with a heavy sigh.
There was a heavy dew and after wiping the car windows Tom started his journey to Brampton. He decided to call into the police station en-route to quickly refresh his memory from the computer about Wayne Evans’ past and his previous convictions. He was a great one for having as much information to hand as possible before starting an investigation. He was only at the police station for a matter of minutes whilst he got a print out on Evans from the Crime Intelligence computer. He heard footsteps coming down the corridor and was greeted by Frank Steele, the Duty Inspector.
“Thanks for turning out Tom, I really think a stabbing should be investigated even though Evans has refused to speak to police. If the press get hold of it they’ll want to know what the police have done.”
“Frank, unlike you I’m not just worried about what the press might say, I’m interested that there may be something more sinister behind this bearing in mind Evans’ previous convictions and dubious associates. Anyway, why me again? I’m not the only fucking Detective in the Division. I need sleep sometimes as well.”
“But you’ve got the experience to deal with the likes of Evans Tom and you have the knack of getting to the bottom of these sorts of things.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, heard it all before. And how do you think the other men on the division are ever going to gain the necessary experience if they are not getting the bloody training or opportunities?”
“I know how you feel Tom, but the job has changed.”
“Frank, go and sit behind your desk and I’ll get on with some police work.” Like many of the other Senior Officers Frank Steele didn’t like the way Lancaster spoke to him with such an apparent lack of respect for rank, but was reluctant to do much about it as deep down he could understand his frustrations and respected his ability and professionalism on the street. Tom snatched the printout from the printer, pushed passed the Inspector and left the station to make his way to Accident and Emergency.
He was greeted by the Staff Nurse as if he were a fellow NHS employee.
“Hi Tom, what’s the matter? Can’t sleep?”
“Very amusing Wendy, where’s that shit Evans?” “He’s down in the bottom left cubicle, the further away the better as far as I’m concerned. He really is an arsehole Tom. He’s been stitched up and it won’t be long before we have to let him go. We’ve just held up dressing the wounds waiting for you to arrive otherwise I feel he would have discharged himself very quickly. He’s made it very clear that he doesn’t want the police involved. There’s something odd about this though Tom. Wayne’s been in here many times before after street fights resulting from too much drink but this time he was as sober as a judge and he seemed really frightened. In my opinion he’s been mouthing off at everyone and causing grief to make it seem as if it’s the result of another drunken brawl, but I reckon deep down someone has really scared him.”