Horse's Arse Page 12

  'Muster room, ten minutes,' called Clarke as he hurried out of the custody area in search of Psycho. Jim had mentioned the locker room, so he walked down the main corridor and opened the locker room door at the far end. 'Psycho,' he called loudly.

  There was no reply and he paused briefly before he stepped back into the corridor. Before the door shut, he heard a voice from the locker room say, 'Who's that?' and put his head back round the door.

  'Psycho?' he called again.

  'Who's that?' repeated the voice from the other end of the locker room.

  'Bob Clarke. Psycho, is that you?'

  Psycho appeared from behind the lockers at the far end and grinned. 'Hello, Bob. What's up?' He looked relieved.

  'What the fuck are you up to, Psycho?' said Clarke, walking up to him. Psycho didn't reply, but moved to one side to allow Clarke to squeeze past him. On the bench seat by Psycho's locker was a shoebox that Clarke could see contained half a dozen thunder flashes. They had been carefully taped together, and their fuses wound into one. Clarke turned and stared at Psycho. His face asked the question.

  'Relax,' said Psycho. 'They're for that bitch Bott. Either under her car or under her toilet door, I haven't decided which yet.'

  Clarke shook his head. 'You're a fucking loony Psycho, and getting worse. Listen, I don't want to know about that, but I could use you on a little job of mine. Can you give us a hand to take out some of the Mafia? Briefing's in ten minutes in the muster room. Should be fun, Psycho. You could really let your hair down.'

  Psycho considered the offer. Clarke was right: he could really indulge himself with the Mafia, but the down side was that none of them would complain about him. He'd have to perform to an audience.

  'Yeah, sounds like one not to miss, Bob. I'll be there,' he replied finally.

  'Thanks, Psycho,' said Clarke, quickly leaving the locker room, and, as he would one day be known, the Handstead Khazi Bomber.

  The Brothers, Bovril and Pizza had left the canteen together and wandered downstairs. As they strolled along the corridor towards the muster room, Bovril suddenly branched off into the report- writing room.

  'Just got to make a quick phone call. I'll see you in there,' he called to the others. He was relieved to find the room empty, and picked up the phone on the desk in the corner. He dialled Lisa's number and became anxious when she didn't reply after a few rings. At last he heard her voice.

  'Hello, darling. It's only me,' he said softly.

  'David,' she said, sounding pleasantly surprised. 'I've been thinking about you ever since you left.'

  'I've been thinking about you too,' he said. And he meant it. But how to tell her without sounding a complete twat? How could he tell her that she was the only person in the world who called him David, and he loved her for it?

  'How are you, honey?'

  'Lonely and neglected.' There was a teasing pout in her voice. 'I wish you were here now. I really need a big cuddle.' He felt himself begin to harden as she continued to whisper to him. 'You make me feel like a different woman, David. You do things to me that I've never experienced before. You make me feel special. I never want that to stop.'

  'Please, please, I'm going to do myself an injury like this. I've got a briefing to go to,' he protested, laughing.

  'Briefing? What's that about?' she said, suddenly sounding a little anxious.

  'We're going out with the CID shortly to nick some of the Mafia. Should be a bit of fun. Listen, can we meet tonight?'

  She had heard about the Mafia from him before. Her tone changed. 'David, please be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you. Promise me you'll be careful.'

  'Honey, honey,' he said reassuringly, 'of course I will, I promise. It's no big deal, honestly. I can tell you all about it tonight if you can get away. Do you think you can?'

  She didn't reply immediately — something was bothering her.

  'Honey, you still there?'

  'Yes, I'm still here. Sorry. Look, why don't you ring me when you finish and we'll sort something out?'

  'OK, sure,' said Bovril, a little confused. 'Is everything all right?'

  'Everything's fine, David,' she said, brightening. 'Promise me you'll ring later?'

  'I promise, darling.' He paused and summoned the courage to continue, 'Lisa, I really feel something different about you. I just can't explain it to you very well. You're very, very important to me. I hope you understand that.'

  'I think I recognise the feeling as well, David,' she said softly. Neither spoke for a moment.

  'I'd better go, honey. I'll ring you when I get back, OK?'

  'You'd better,' she replied, 'or there'll be trouble. Promise me you'll take care.'

  'I promise, I really do. Don't worry, I'll ring you as soon as I get back.'

  'Speak to you later then, David. I love you,' she said, and put down the phone. Bovril held the buzzing receiver to his ear as her parting words ricocheted around his head. She loved him. She loved him. She'd plucked up the courage and told him. He loved her but couldn't bring himself to tell her.

  'You wanker,' he told himself, putting down the phone. As he walked to the muster room, he resolved to tell her everything when they got back. He felt euphoric, and when he slumped into a chair next to Ally he put his head back, closed his eyes and smiled happily.

  'What're you so fucking happy about?' growled Ally. 'You're going to be up to your elbows in shit shortly.'

  'Ally, life is good, God is in his heaven, day follows night, Uncle Percy has a ginger moustache,' he replied dreamily.

  'He's fucking mad,' said Ally to Piggy. 'Been poking his knob where he shouldn't. I told you you'd catch something,' he said loudly. Bovril laughed and remained as he was.

  The Brothers were sitting behind him with Pizza a respectful two seats from them. The six of them were joined shortly after by John Benson, Bob Clarke and two other DCs, Dave Thompson and Steve Lloyd. Clarke perched himself on the desk at the front, whilst the others pulled up chairs.

  'I'll be as quick as I can, lads; we need to be off as soon as possible,' he began. 'As you know, the Mafia tried to run the Hoop and Grapes last night and GBH'd the landlord. Eight are currently locked up; the other seven we're after are probably in a flat at the Grant Flowers. We've got a warrant for flat 612, Alan Baker's place. Sixth floor, so we don't have to worry about anyone going out of the back window.'

  'Who're you expecting to be in?' asked Jim.

  'The hard core,' replied Clarke, reading from his piece of paper. 'Baker obviously, Thomas, Driscoll, the Reillys and Des Anderson, and last but not least, that evil bitch Baldwin.'

  'Oh, very nasty,' said Jim. 'Can't see any of that lot surrendering quietly.'

  'Not a chance,' said H. 'It's got to be a case of sticks out and ask questions later.'

  'Agreed,' said Clarke, 'but just a few reminders about what we need when we're in there. We'll get fuck all in interview, so we need some forensic. Seize any clothing and footwear and make sure you can attribute it to someone. Steve's going to be the exhibits officer, so get everything to him and make sure it's logged. Don't just leave it with him and assume he knows where it's from.'

  He paused as he noticed the very odd looks he was getting from the uniforms.

  'You're doing it again, Bob. We have done this before, you know,' said H.

  'Sorry, lads. I'm not trying to teach you how to suck eggs, I just can't emphasise enough how important some tight forensic evidence is going to be. When we get in,' he continued, 'take a prisoner each, if possible, subdue them if you have to, cuff them and search them. If they give you loads of verbal, try to remember it. You never know, one of them might fuck up. Once we've got them tied down, we'll search the place systematically. Don't let them move around, keep them where you nick them. Any questions at all?'

  'What about weapons?' asked Psycho.

  'You can't take any,' said Clarke.

  'Not me, you twat,' said Psycho to loud laughter, 'them.'

  'Can't discount
them, can we?' said Clarke. 'They used fists and boots and a bottle on the landlord. Nothing else as far as we know, but most of them have got form for carrying.'

  'Carrying what?' said H.

  'Knives, pickaxe handles, bicycle chains and the usual homemade stuff.'

  'What about shooters?' asked H. There was a loud, heavy silence in the room as they all waited for an answer. It hadn't happened to any of them yet, but they all accepted that one day they would be confronted by someone with a gun. They all hoped that they'd do the right thing, whatever that was.

  'No. Why do you ask that?' said Clarke. 'None of them has got any previous involving shooters. Have you heard something then, H?'

  'No, but it's only a matter of time before we see one. This bunch of nutters are top of my list to start using them. Do you think it might be a good idea to take an AFO with us?' The other uniforms murmured their agreement. An authorised firearms officer might be very helpful.

  'We'd never get it authorised, H. We've got no information or good suspicion that they've got access to a shooter, have we?'

  'No, I suppose not,' admitted H. 'Still, I'd feel a lot happier shoving the barrel of a shooter up their noses first,' he added to more laughter.

  'Wouldn't we all?' Clarke laughed. He looked at his watch - 10.50 a.m. 'Let's make a move and meet outside the Grant Flowers front door. We'll put the flat door in as soon after eleven a.m. as we can.'

  They all got to their feet and began to filter out of the room.

  'Can I ride with you, Bovril? I was on foot this morning,' said Pizza.

  Bovril was full of the joys of spring. 'Pizza, it'd be a pleasure to work with you. Grab your stuff and meet me in the yard,' he replied. He strode purposefully down the corridor feeling benevolent and at peace with the world. Pizza was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected welcome, but didn't need to be told twice and trotted off to collect his overcoat and helmet. Bovril was a decent bloke and he promised himself he'd not let him down at the flat. They'd be there as partners. It would be a first for Pizza.

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  In her office, Hilary Bott dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and tried hard to pull herself together. Gradually the sobs subsided and she sat quietly contemplating the wreckage of her career. Things had gone wrong the moment she arrived at this hellhole and had continued to get worse. What had happened this morning was that Gillard had finally shown his true colours and torn away the pretence of supporting her. She shook her head as she remembered her humiliation. It wasn't really her fault. As a PC she'd done the bare minimum and had never dealt with a traffic accident on her own. She'd always relied on someone else to help. Unfortunately, her innate inability to admit any shortcoming or lack of knowledge or experience had led her to blunder into the Brothers' POLAC and get it completely wrong. She was prepared to admit that to herself now, but to no one else, certainly not that bastard Gillard. She would learn from today though. Lesson One. You're on your own, girl, she said to herself.

  She felt slightly better and got up from her chair and walked towards the toilet door. As she neared it, a familiar stench assaulted her nostrils. Oh, God, not again, she thought. Surely not.

  She took a deep breath, cautiously opened the door and peered in. The room was in darkness, so she reached round the doorframe, found the light cord and pulled the light on. Everything seemed in order. Still holding her breath, she walked to her toilet, which had the lid down. She was fast running out of air, but was determined to check her toilet. Lifting the lid slowly she peered underneath.

  What she saw made her gasp, drop the lid and cry out in horror, which in turn caused her to gag and retch as the stench attacked her nervous system. She began to stagger and wave both her arms in the air as though she could somehow push the smell away. Her eyes were streaming and she turned to find the door, which had begun to shut after she had entered the room. It had snagged against the carpet and was half open, edge on to the staggering Bott. She blundered away from the horror in the bowl and straight into the edge of the door with a crack like a perfectly hit cricket shot. Unconscious, she slumped to the floor. The door freed itself from the carpet and closed quietly.

  Gillard had heard the single, blood-chilling scream from her office and stopped leafing through his Caribbean cruise brochure. Spider or something, he'd thought. However, the more he thought about it, the more he realised that it wasn't a spidery sort of scream; more a scream of extreme shock. Christ knows what the bloody woman is up to now, he thought bitterly as he got to his feet and went to her office to investigate. As he knocked at her door, he was joined by the DI who had an office further up the corridor.

  'Did you hear that?' asked Barry Evans.

  'Yeah,' said Gillard wearily, knocking again. There was no answer. He opened the door slightly and put his head into the office.

  'Hilary, you all right?' he called. He and Evans walked in and stood sniffing the air.

  'What the fuck is that?' said Evans. Gillard noticed the light shining under the toilet door and motioned to him.

  'In there,' he said, walking to the door and knocking on it. 'Hilary, are you OK in there?' he called, with his ear pressed to the door panel. There was still no reply. He looked quizzically at Evans. 'I suppose we'd better have a look,' he said, 'just in case.'

  'Just in case of what?' replied Evans. 'If she's having a dump she's going to go fucking mental. By the smell of it I'm not surprised she can't speak.'

  Gillard pushed the door open and peered into the room. He winced and held his nose with his fingers as he took the full force. Looking down to his right he saw the prostrate Bott on the floor.

  'Better call an ambulance, Barry,' he called over his shoulder. 'She's passed out.'

  Evans pushed past him and went over to the toilet bowl, also holding his nose. He lifted the lid and peered in.

  'I'm not fucking surprised she's out cold. Is she still breathing? This thing's big enough to be making contributions to the pension fund.'

  He made a hurried exit to the main office to telephone for an ambulance as Gillard went to see for himself before kneeling down next to Bott and patting her face. 'Hilary, Hilary,' he called softly.' 'It's me, Pat Gillard. Can you hear me?'

  She began to murmur and move her head from side to side, but her eyes remained shut.

  Evans returned to the room. 'Ambulance is on its way,' he said, and began to flush the toilet. After four goes it was finally clear. As Gillard continued to speak quietly to Bott, he located an air- freshener can under the sink and began to liberally spray the room. The spray fell on to Bott s face and she slowly opened her eyes. As her vision cleared, she saw Gillard kneeling next to her, patting her hand, and Barry Evans standing alongside him.

  'What happened?' she croaked. 'What are you doing in here?'

  'Don't worry about it, Hilary,' said Evans cheerfully. 'I've clubbed it to death; it was a bastard to flush away, though.'

  'What?' said Bott. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Listen, Hilary,' said Gillard, 'next time you need to take a shit, let me know and I'll make sure there's a midwife on standby.'

  'Or a seal trainer,' added Evans.

  'What?' repeated Bott, before the terrible realisation of what these two morons were on about dawned on her. 'No, you don't understand . . .' she began.

  'Forget it, Hilary,' said Gillard soothingly. 'We understand. Women's problems and that sort of thing. It's happened before, hasn't it? You're going to have to speak to a doctor about it though, aren't you? I did wonder why the Japanese whaling fleet was moored outside,' he added, warming to his task and taking a lead from Evans.

  'No, I walked into the door. It was already in there,' she said hysterically.

  'Calm down, calm down,' said Gillard, before looking up at Evans and saying, 'She's starting to hallucinate, Barry. It could have done some damage internally.'

  'It was already there,' screamed Bott, trying to free her hand from Gillard's and get up off the fl
oor.

  'You stay where you are, Hilary,' he said firmly. 'It's done more damage than you think.'

  She began to struggle violently and shouted, 'Let go of me, you fucking idiot. Let me go.'

  'Give us a hand, Barry,' said Gillard. 'She's lost it completely.'

  Evans knelt down on the other side of her, and both men held her to the floor as they waited for an ambulance crew. 'Must have been fucking agony,' said the Chief Inspector, sounding genuinely sympathetic as Bott thrashed around underneath them.

  Psycho was walking past the door when he saw the ambulance crew in the front office with their casualty chair, waiting to be buzzed in. He opened the door from the corridor and held it open as they bundled the chair in.

  'You here for us?' he asked. 'Something up?'

  'Got a call to the first floor, an Inspector Bott's office, report of a female collapsed.'

  Psycho was temporarily speechless. Surely nothing to do with his handiwork?

  'Can you lead the way, mate?' said an ambulanceman.

  'Yeah, of course,' he replied slowly, and led them to the stairwell. As they climbed the stairs they could hear Bott screaming.

  'She's conscious, then,' said Psycho. 'Can't be too bad.'

  He took the two ambulancemen into Bott's office, where they paused as they caught sight of Gillard and Evans struggling on the toilet floor with Bott. The ambulancemen hurried to help, leaving Psycho with their chair.

  'What happened?' asked one of them.

  'Passed out after a huge shit,' replied a perspiring Gillard. 'She's started to hallucinate and become hysterical.'

  'It was a fucking monster,' added Evans. Psycho glowed with pride as he listened from the door.

  'OK, we'll take over,' said the other ambulanceman, opening his kitbag and removing a syringe. He plunged the needle into a small glass phial containing a clear liquid, squirted some of the liquid into the air and flicked the syringe with a finger. Bott had stopped struggling and was watching him, wide-eyed.

  'What are you doing?' she shouted.

  'Just relax, darling, this'll help you no end,' he said without looking at her. He then addressed Gillard, Evans and his colleague. 'Turn her over for me, lads. I'm going to need plenty of flesh for this one.'