Horse's Arse Read online

  'No one, no one. I've made a mistake,' said Morgan slowly.

  'I like you. You remind me of when I was young and stupid.' Benson reached down, took hold of the hair at the nape of Morgan's neck and lifted him from the floor. Morgan screamed in agony and clutched desperately at Benson's huge hand as the detective led him to a wooden chair behind a desk. The chair faced away from the door towards a blank wall, thus ensuring that interviewees would only be able to concentrate on their interrogators. Benson pushed him into the chair and he and Clarke pulled up chairs opposite him. Morgan sat trembling looking at them, rubbing his neck and occasionally wiping his still bleeding nose. His eyes were the size of saucers and he was panting with fright.

  'Do you smoke?' asked Benson.

  'Yeah.'

  Benson took a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, handed one to Clarke, took one himself and lit both with a lighter. He took a deep drag and blew the smoke towards Morgan who looked questioningly at him.

  'I wasn't offering you one, you prick.'

  Morgan looked desperately at Clarke, who was blowing smoke rings to the ceiling. Clarke smiled. He and Benson were only warming up.

  'Got something for you to sign, young man,' he said, indicating the papers on the desk in front of him.

  'You're having a fucking laugh. I ain't signing fuck all.'

  The CID officers looked at each other and raised their eyebrows.

  'That suit looks uncomfortable,' said Benson.

  'It's fine. You bastards took my clothes.'

  'It's all messed up. Looks like you've dribbled down the front.'

  'That old cunt chucked tea all over me.'

  'And there's claret all over it.'

  'You should fucking know.'

  'Take it off and we'll get you a clean one once we've sorted things out.'

  'Bollocks. My brief will want to see the mess I'm in.'

  'Brief? Which fucking brief would that be? No one knows you're here, you twat.'

  Morgan swallowed hard. 'I ain't taking it off. It's fine.'

  'It's upsetting me, all that mess. Best you get it off,' said Benson, getting to his feet and walking round the desk to stand behind Morgan. 'Let me give you a hand.' He tore the flimsy suit off Morgan's back, throwing handfuls of paper over his shoulder until Morgan sat hunched and completely naked in his chair. Benson returned to his seat. He and Clarke smoked another cigarette each and stared at Morgan who remained still, his head down, looking at the floor.

  'Don't know about you, John, but I can hardly see the short- arsed little bastard. I can't talk to the top of his head,' said Clarke.

  'Stand up, boy.'

  'Bollocks.' Morgan had a spark of spirit left.

  'On your feet,' hissed Benson menacingly through clenched teeth.

  Morgan raised his head when he heard Benson's chair scrape as he pushed it back and walked around the table.

  'UP,' Benson screamed, taking hold of Morgan's hair with both hands and yanking him to his feet. Morgan yelped with pain and grabbed at Benson's hands in a vain attempt to free himself.

  'See him properly yet, Bob?'

  'He's too small. Still can't see enough.'

  With one hand, Benson reached down and grabbed Morgan's testicles, and in one agonising movement lifted him on to the table. Bent double with pain, Morgan crouched there with tears running down his face as the two detectives watched him dispassionately. As the pain eased he gradually stood upright, clasping his aching genitals in both hands. Benson and Clarke began to circle him like vultures. Morgan turned with them, desperately trying to keep both in view. Benson then produced the essential interview item he had brought with him from the CID office: a two-foot length of industrial packing band which he began to stretch. Morgan stopped turning and stared at him.

  'We're going to need your signature on this interview and some names, son.'

  'I can't do that, you know I can't,' stammered Morgan. 'Fuck off, you bastards, you know I can't.'

  Behind him, Clarke stretched his own two-foot elastic band wide and released it with a resounding thwack into Morgan's buttocks. Morgan collapsed screaming on to the table before crashing to the floor. A deep purple welt was already in evidence as the detectives hauled the sobbing boy to his feet and threw him back on to the table. Then the interview began in earnest.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Piggy and Ally had left the station shortly after the Brothers and made their way directly to the rear of a 24-hour transport cafe just off the nearby motorway. The proprietor, standing at the front window, saw their panda car pull up and raised his eyebrows to the heavens. Another two free breakfasts pissed up the wall, but when he recognised Piggy struggling out of the driver's seat he knew only two breakfasts would be a right result.

  'Doreen, that greedy fat fucker's back. How are we for everything?' he shouted over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

  Doreen knew whom he meant and walked to the window wiping her hands on her filthy apron.

  'Oh, Christ,' she sighed, 'he doesn't stop. Do you think he ever bothers to eat at home? Look at the size of the bastard.'

  Piggy was waddling, at speed for him, towards the back door, rubbing his hands together at the thought of a lovely big, free 'fat boy' breakfast. He saw the owner and his wife looking mournfully out of the window and waved cheerfully.

  'Morning, Derek. We were just in the area,' he shouted. Any chance. . .?' He knew full well there was every chance of a freebie.

  'Can't even get my fucking name right,' hissed the owner, smiling through gritted teeth and waving back. He walked to the back door, opened it and greeted the two officers like a maitre d', albeit an unshaven, twenty-stone one clad only in a pair of filthy tracksuit bottoms and a string vest.

  'Hello, boys, how's things? Fancy a spot of breakfast?' he said, standing aside as Piggy bustled in.

  'You're a diamond, Derek. Only if you can spare it. Something smells good,' Piggy said cheerfully, pulling up a chair to the table in the middle of the kitchen. He glanced towards the main serving hatch to the cafe. 'Business good, then?'

  'Can't complain. Good days and bad days, you know how it is,' replied the owner, looking anxiously at his customers who had also seen Piggy and Ally arrive and were clearing their plates as quickly as possible.

  'What can I get you, boys? The full works? Cup of tea and bread and butter with it?' He was keen to get his unwelcome visitors on their way as quickly as possible.

  'Hope it's real butter, not that shit you normally slap on', said Ally sourly, standing by the door with his hands in his pockets. The owner laughed nervously.

  'Nothing but the best for you, lads. Doreen, full breakfasts for the boys with all the trimmings,' he shouted towards the back of the kitchen. With her back to them, Doreen didn't reply, but cleared her throat and spat quietly into the frying pan as she cracked some eggs on the rim. Piggy smiled contentedly as he listened to the contents of the pan start to sizzle.

  'Can't beat a good fry-up on a shite morning like this,' he said to no one in particular.

  'Since when did the weather become an excuse for you to fill your face?' said Ally, pulling up a chair opposite him. Piggy ignored the barb and again glanced at the rapidly emptying cafe.

  'Where the fuck are they off to in such a hurry? This place is normally heaving. Hope it's nothing to do with us, Derek,' he said in all innocence.

  'Christ no, of course not. Probably all got things to do. They'll be back later, don't worry.'

  Piggy couldn't give a toss if they came back or not, but felt he should show some sort of gratitude for his free breakfast. 'Well, I hope not. I know it must be difficult to make a business like this profitable.'

  Especially when a fat bastard like you eats me out of house and home for fuck all every time you turn up, thought the owner venomously as he placed mugs of tea in front of the officers with a big cheesy grin. Ally said nothing but took his mug in both hands and gingerly sipped the weak brown liquid. He imme
diately spat it on to the floor in a huge spray.

  'Fuck me,' he yelled. 'Is it me, Piggy, or is this tea absolute piss or what? Have you had your knob in the tea pot?' he bellowed at the startled owner. Piggy looked at his partner in horror. He could see his free breakfast disappearing into the distance.

  'You've put that fucking evil long life milk in it, haven't you?' continued Ally, who was eyeing the remaining contents of his mug with suspicion.

  'Bloody hell, sorry about that,' said the owner, hurriedly taking the mug from him. 'I'll do you another one, full cream milk, OK?'

  As he poured the offending tea down the sink, Piggy leant across the table and hissed at Ally, 'Will you fucking behave? I'm hoping to get a spot of breakfast without you fucking things up. Just behave and we'll be on our way.'

  Ally looked at Piggy with unadulterated scorn. 'You make my skin crawl, Piggy, you greedy fat scrote. You know I fucking hate coming here poncing food off that slag,' he whispered as he leant forward to go nose to nose with Piggy. 'He's a fucking villain and needs locking up.'

  'A villain? What the fuck are you on about?'

  'Jesus Christ, Piggy, where the fuck have you been? He's a fence, one of the busiest on the Division. How many of those arseholes who've been leaving since we got here do you think were here to refresh themselves? They were here to buy and sell bent gear.'

  Piggy looked at him in amazement. 'Derek, a fence?' he finally gasped. 'How do you know?'

  Ally rolled his eyes to the ceiling and leant back in his chair. 'His name's Reggie, Reggie Dawes. Not Derek. Never has been, you twat. He's been in the frame as a fence for years. Have you ever bothered to read any of the stuff coming out of the collator's office? All those fags whizzed out of that bonded warehouse at Bandley last month apparently came through this shithole.'

  Piggy continued to look thunderstruck. 'Derek? Are you sure?' he managed.

  'Reggie. Reggie Dawes. Yes, as sure as anyone can be. I clocked at least three faces out front that I know.'

  'Fucking hell, Ally, what do you think we should do? Fuck off, d'you think?' Piggy looked desperately towards the back door and the sound of Doreen's phlegm sizzling in the pan.

  'Now we're here we might as well take advantage and have a nose round,' said Ally. 'If nothing else we can scare the shit out of the slag.'

  At the sink Dawes could hear the two officers whispering and had to assume they were talking about him. He wished he'd blanked them when they'd arrived but he was going to have to brave it out now. The greedy fat bastard wasn't going to be a problem. He could lay a trail of buns back to their panda car for him, but that pint-sized Jock was a different proposition. He poured Ally another cup of tea, minus the long life milk, and walked back to the table with it.

  'Here you go. Sorry about that,' he said weakly.

  Ally kept his hands in his pockets and looked darkly at the mug and then at Dawes. 'How the fuck do you keep this dive going? It's a toilet - look at the fucking state of it. Don't the Health people ever pay you a visit?'

  Dawes swallowed hard and felt a bead of sweat unconnected with his sweaty trade run down the back of his neck. He knew this bastard was going to start pushing him. He would have to be very careful with him.

  'We got a clean bill of health only three weeks ago,' he said, trying to sound indignant and failing to mention that it had been achieved with the help of a bent, top-of-the-range car stereo system. 'Never had a problem with the council,' he added, and immediately regretted saying it.

  'I'll bet you fucking haven't. Who you bunging to get the green light here then?'

  'Bunging? You're having a fucking laugh,' said Dawes, a tad quickly.

  He was saved, albeit temporarily, by Doreen who shuffled towards them with two cooked breakfasts which she banged down in front of Piggy and Ally. Piggy immediately dived into his spiked meal and soon had egg yolk running down his chin. He didn't appear to draw breath as he shovelled the food into his constantly opening and closing mouth. Ally still kept his hands in his pockets and peered closely at the greasy offering.

  'What the fuck is this?' he shouted, and reached on to his plate to remove a pubic hair with his thumb and forefinger. He held it high in the air, his face a picture of disgust.

  'It's a fucking fuse wire, you dirty bitch,' he bellowed at Doreen, who was now standing next to her husband bitterly regretting the additions to the meal. Dawes looked at her with undisguised fury. He knew very well what she'd done to the meals. She always did when the Old Bill ate there, but he couldn't believe she hadn't hidden the hair in the fried potatoes. Piggy had stopped eating mid-mouthful and sat with puffed-out cheeks resembling a bloated hamster, looking down at his plate, then to the hair in Ally's fingers, and then at Doreen.

  'You dirty cow,' continued Ally. 'You've been raking about in your rat's pelt, haven't you, and dumped your fucking fuse wires in the food. What else is in here, you fucking slag?'

  Piggy felt his gills getting chalky and spat what was in his mouth on to the kitchen floor. He took a swig of his tea to clean his mouth.

  'Careful, Piggy. Fuck only knows what's in there. Had a piss in that, did you, Dawes?'

  Piggy spat the tea on to the floor and then threw his mug at Dawes and his wife. 'You pair of cunts,' he screamed. He could take most things, but messing with his feeding ritual was too much. He grabbed the end of the table and upended it, scattering plates, mugs, knives and forks and the filthy plastic tablecloth on to the floor. The table bounced on its end towards the Daweses who backed away in terror. Piggy was on a mission. He advanced on them with his fists clenched, intending to beat them both to a pulp.

  'Well, would you just have a look at this little lot,' he heard Ally say from behind him. He stopped, snapped out of his blood lust and turned towards Ally who was standing with his arms folded, smiling at a pile of boxes that had been concealed under the table. Piggy looked back at the Daweses, then back to the boxes. A smile broke out on his face.

  'What's in the boxes, Derek? No, no, don't tell me, let me guess,' he mocked. 'This is a cafe, so my money's on tinned potatoes, peas or carrots. What about you, Ally?'

  'Difficult one this, Piggy, but unless Panasonic have recently gone into the catering business I'm going to risk everything and have a little dash at stereos or video recorders. Who's right, Dawes?'

  Dawes groaned and said nothing.

  'Where'd you get the boxes?' Ally continued.

  'I'm looking after them for a friend.'

  'What's in them?'

  'No idea. He just left them with me and I stashed them under the table.'

  'Hid them away, you mean.'

  'No, just put them away safe. You can't be too careful these days.'

  'What d'you thinks in them?'

  'Fuck knows. He didn't say and I didn't ask.'

  'Not very clever, that. Got to be bent gear, hasn't it?'

  'Has it? I know fuck all about that.'

  'What's this friend's name?'

  'Can't remember.'

  Ally bent down to one of the boxes and tore away the packing tape. He opened the top, peered in and stood up triumphantly.

  'Oh dear, the fuck-up fairy's been to visit you, Dawes. Stereos,' he announced to Piggy.

  'You two are fucking nicked,' shouted Piggy with glee. 'Whilst we're at it, we'll have a look round. Anything else you're looking after for a friend?'

  Dawes and his wife remained silent as Piggy and Ally ransacked the cafe but failed to add to their haul of forty car stereo systems. They sat miserably in the kitchen as transport was arranged to get the gear back to Horses Arse, before they were unceremoniously bundled into the back of the panda car.

  'Christ, I'm fucking starving,' announced Piggy as they drove away, leaving the cafe unsupervised and at the mercy of the remaining patrons who were unlikely to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  The Brothers had been parked up with the engine running for about ten minutes without speaking. They watched the wipers clearing the windscreen, listened
to the sporadic radio transmissions and occasionally glanced out of the windows, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. H closed his eyes and settled lower into his seat. He was exhausted and it showed in his pale, lined face and the dark rings under his eyes. He sighed deeply and Jim glanced at him.

  'You look like shit, H. Why don't you have a kip for a while? I'll watch things; you get your head down.'

  H smiled and without opening his eyes said, 'I'm fine, Jim. I just need to rest my eyes for a while.'

  'Bollocks. What you need is some decent sleep. How long is it since you slept properly?'

  H didn't reply. Jim sighed, shook his head and looked out of his window. He was right. H desperately needed to sleep, but he couldn't - he daren't. If he went to sleep he knew 'the Dream' would come and crucify him as it had done for the last three months, every time he fell asleep, every day since he had taken that call on his own when Jim had a day's leave.

  During his eight years' service, H had seen most things - murder victims, horrific traffic accidents, bizarre suicides, industrial accidents. He had taken them all in his stride, considering himself to be immune to the horror and grief. Until he took that call.

  Three months earlier, on a Sunday Early Turn, he had arrived in the muster room to be told that Jim had been granted a day's leave overnight to deal with a domestic matter (his father-in- law's death, as it transpired). H had declined to let Pizza crew Bravo Two Yankee One with him, and took the area car out on his own. Early Turn Sunday morning was the time for officers to catch up on paperwork, and H was parked up on the Park Royal estate writing up a speeding offence process book when the job was passed to him. A 999 call had been received from a hysterical woman who couldn't be understood by the operator. The call had been traced to an address in Abbots Grove, and, as the area car, H was assigned to an abandoned 999 call, nature of call unknown. In such cases, the crews had absolutely no idea what would confront them. It all added to the dubious fun of it.

  H had responded quickly, and as he arrived outside the house shortly after 6.30 a.m. he could hear a woman screaming from inside. As he ran up the garden path towards the front door, he automatically and subconsciously noted things that were significant to him. The grass was neatly cut. The windows were freshly painted and the panes clean. The front door had new, bright brass fixtures and the doorbell worked as he pushed hard on it. From within the house he heard footsteps flying down the stairs and the door was flung open by a man wearing only a pair of underpants. His skin was the colour of parchment and H saw stark horror in his staring eyes. The screaming from upstairs was deafening. He thought she was screaming 'No' but the sound was so drawn out and distorted he couldn't be sure. The man said nothing but indicated upstairs with his eyes. As H ran up the stairs he mentally recorded the decent carpets, carefully hung wallpaper, pictures on the walls and fresh flowers in a vase on the landing. The screaming was coming from a bedroom at the back of the house and H barged through the door and into a nursery. Again the mental tape recorder noted care and order. The room smelt strongly of eucalyptus. Pink teddy bear wallpaper, mobiles hanging from the ceiling and an expensive cot in the corner of the room. His heart jumped into his throat, choking him, and his senses slowed. He knew what he was going to see. He seemed to go into slow motion and his hearing shut down. A woman knelt at the end of the cot, tearing at the wooden bars as if at the bars of a cell. Her hair was dishevelled, her face desperate and tear- streaked, and she turned and screamed at H but no sounds came to him. He saw her mouth open and close but heard nothing and began to walk like a man on the moon towards the cot. His head hummed and he could hear his racing heart beating. It was deafening. Already numbed, he approached the cot and saw something that utterly stunned him and rendered him unable to function for several moments. Lying on her back, quite serene, was a baby girl, her skin marble white with a blue tinge. Her eyes were closed and she was obviously dead. Her bedding and pink Paddington Bear sleep suit were rumpled, probably by her mother's frenzied efforts to rouse her, but otherwise she looked like a much-loved, well-nourished and healthy child, fast asleep. H stared at her for several minutes as the seeds for his coming nightmare were sown.