A Dog's Life (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 4) (36 page)

‘CID in Maidstone was infected with the twin diseases of apathy and corruption. Heads rolled there because they were bad at their jobs, lazy and dishonest. If they made a mistake they’d rather cover it up than own up and take the flak or better still try to do something about it. That’s what happened at Maidstone and that’s what the difference is between Maidstone CID then and Dover CID now.

‘Dover CID is far from my idea of what an effectively functioning CID should be like but for want of a better expression, from what I can see, its heart is in the right place. There is integrity here. There is loyalty. There is honesty. There is a willingness to work hard to get the right result.’ To Romney, it almost felt like a compliment. ‘So please pick up your warrant card and put it back in your pocket and stop acting like an overgrown schoolboy with a taste for amateur dramatics.’ Romney did as he was told. ‘Don’t think I don’t want and expect change around here. There is more to modern policing than – what was it you said? – catching the bad guys. But for now, all’s well that ends well. I view this as a satisfactory outcome. Now, instead of wasting what’s left of my evening and yours, why don’t you go home?’

Romney had his hand on the door handle when Boudicca said, ‘Oh, there is just one thing more that’s been bothering me: how did you know the dog had died of an overdose of Temazepam
before
you had it examined?’

Romney coughed into his hand for a couple of seconds and gulped. ‘Sorry. Copper’s intuition, ma’am. I’m a great believer in it.’

*

As Romney was driving, he received a call from Gareth Hedges, the superintendent of the Gateway. A resident had called Hedges with concerns about three young men acting suspiciously on the level where Joy had her flat. When Hedges had threatened to call the police they’d scarpered. Hedges had called Romney, as per Romney’s discreet request of a few days before.

It was not so unusual for muggers who suddenly found themselves with keys and an address to try their luck. And it wasn’t so unusual for them to be rewarded – changing locks was an expensive and time-consuming business and too many householders would procrastinate or just not have the money to spend on pricey new locks and their fitting, hoping instead that follow-up crime was too remote a possibility to warrant the time and expense after they’d lost their keys. People were lazy and stupid and a lot of them learned the hard way what a false economy it was to hope for the best.

Romney thanked his old colleague for the heads-up and asked him to call the local station – not the emergency number – and report it and then forget all about this call. He asked which direction they’d headed off in and was told the seafront. He was there within five minutes.

He parked up by the Customs House opposite the entrance to the Prince of Wales Pier, locked his car, shrugged on his Crombie overcoat and started walking in the direction of the Gateway. Under the gently glow of the street lights that stretched out before him, it looked like he had the whole promenade to himself.

As he walked he felt the adrenalin seeping to his extremities and tightening his senses. He welcomed it like an old drunk welcomes good spirits. He took out a cigarette, lit, inhaled affectionately and crossed his fingers. He was in the mood for it.

He slowed his pace as he neared the shelter with the smashed windows and he began whistling loudly and tunelessly as he allowed his progress to take on a slight meander. His brogues sounded heavily on the tarmac footpath as he dragged his erratic footsteps in the stillness of the night that was only underlined by the gentle sloshing of the English Channel against the shingle.

As he came abreast of the shelter, Romney noticed a body lying half in the shadows. He stopped and called across with speech that didn’t sound like his normal voice – a bit slurred.

There was no reply. He moved across to investigate. As he got close there was quick movement in the dark behind him and to his right. The body on the ground was stirring. A voice was raised.

Romney flicked his wrist and was rewarded with the satisfying sound of metallic action. He stepped to his left, swung around and brought the extendable baton down hard across the shoulder of a would-be assailant, felling him instantly. One down, two to go. The body on the ground was almost up. Romney aimed a toe-punt of one of his brogues into its ribcage. He heard the breath expelled like something pneumatic ruptured.

Number three was almost on him but the effective show of resistance and the telltale noise of a weapon caused him to hesitate.

Romney swung with the baton and missed. He swung again without contact. It was close enough for number three. He turned and ran. Romney wheeled around to face two and one. Two was on his hands and knees again. Not being one to shy away from kicking a man when he was down if the situation warranted it, Romney toe-punted him in the upper thigh and was rewarded with a cry that mirrored something of the intense pain the impact must have brought. This pleased him. A dead leg would slow up two if he managed to get back up before Romney had finished with him. One was back on his feet. He was clutching his shoulder and backing away. Romney growled and went for him but he turned and sprinted off into the night. That was fine. Romney had his bird in the hand and he would make sure it sang.

For luck, Romney kicked two hard up the backside, which propelled him forwards a couple of feet.  Then he pulled out his handcuffs, knelt on the youth’s back and shackled his hands behind him against policy guidelines. To the youth’s vocal protests, Romney pulled him up.

With the young man’s arms behind his back, Romney was able to manoeuvre him easily into the deepest, darkest recess of the shelter,  away from prying eyes and security cameras if anyone was watching. He forced the youth face-first up against the woodwork. Leaning into the ear nearest him, his breathing heavy after his exertions and excitement, he said, ‘What are their names?’

The youth’s high-pitched voice illustrated his fear and concern for his position: ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate. I never done nothing to you. I think you’ve broke my fucking leg. You’re a fucking pig. I’ll sue you for everything you got. You made a big mistake, mate.’ The sudden confidence and contempt for the law in his outburst made Romney angrier still.

Romney eased the youth’s extended arms upwards. The youth opened his mouth to protest at his treatment or scream with the pain but got the chance of neither as Romney rammed his handkerchief into the open orifice. A muffled cry was all he managed.

Romney eased off. He removed the handkerchief. ‘What are their names?’

‘I ain’t no fucking grass. You can’t do this. I know my rights.’

Romney lifted him sharply back up onto his toes. The mouth came open. The handkerchief went back in.

‘I’m going to count to three. Then I’m taking out the handkerchief and you’re going to tell me who your friends are. Or I’m going to dislocate one of your shoulders and then you’ll tell. You’ll tell me you wank off next door’s dog if that’s what I want to hear. You’ll tell me anything I want to know to stop me dislocating the other one. It hurts, you see. A lot. I’m told it’s the most painful thing you can imagine. Nothing comes close. Not even this.’ Leaning on the young man with his full weight, Romney reached around, took hold of the youth’s testicles and squeezed hard and long. In the weak street lighting that Romney’s eyes were becoming accustomed to, he saw the young man’s eyes bulging and watering. More agonised screams were muffled by the wadding in his mouth. Romney let go. ‘One, two, three. Ready?’

Shaking like a shitting dog, the youth nodded vigorously. Romney removed the handkerchief.

‘Paul Turner and Adrian Whitehead.’

‘Where do they live?’

‘Tower Hamlets.’

Romney believed him. ‘That’s better. Now, where do you want it?’

‘What you on about? I told you their names, didn’t I?’ There was real fear there now and Romney allowed himself the satisfaction.

‘You need to think up a new approach, you fuck-wit. You’ve given yourself away with unimaginative repetition.  That’s lazy thinking. You deserve a slap just for that.

‘Saturday night you assaulted a police officer. A female police officer. My sergeant. She was offering assistance to someone she thought was injured. You betrayed her trust and her goodness. On top of all that, you had to go and steal her car, have your fun and games and torch it. You don’t know what you cost her with that and what’s worse I don’t think you’d care. You’re scum. And you get special attention for that. That’s the way it is. Call it Romney’s Law. We can’t have the town’s scrotes thinking they can get away with that sort of thing, can we? Where would we all be? You can tell your mates to expect me too in the fullness of time. Oh, and her handbag with everything in it had better turn up back at the station within the next twenty-four hours.’

After a moment, the youth began to laugh. It was not a convincing sound. He guessed that Romney was joking. ‘Look, I done it, right? I’m not denying it. Arrest me for it. That’s all you can do, mate. And we both know it. And don’t think I ain’t gonna make a fuss about police brutality. You can’t do this.’

‘You just don’t get it do you? But that’s probably society’s fault. You and your kind make me puke. You’re not worth a dog’s life.’ The policeman sounded more tired than anything. Romney took a quick look around and then a handful of the youth’s thick curly hair. He twisted it in his strong fingers, pulled the youth’s head back and slammed his face into the wooden structure of the shelter. He let the youth slip to the floor. It would look better that way. Romney couldn’t be sure whether the crunch had been nose bone and cartilage or teeth. Unconcerned about that, he squatted down and had to raise his voice over the low moaning to be sure he was heard. ‘That was a nasty trip,’ he said. ‘See what happens when you try to run off in the dark with your hands behind your back? Don’t forget it because in less than an hour I’ll know where you live.’

Romney stood, moved away, took out a cigarette and lit up. He inhaled deeply and savoured the hit. Could he really ever hope to give them up? He took out his mobile to call for assistance. As it rang he looked out across the inky blackness of English Channel and the night sky. He took in the harsh ferry terminal lights, the softer twinkling of the illuminated shipping in the Channel and beyond that a rare glow coming off the northern coast of France and he thought he might take his old Beemer across the water for a couple of days before the weather properly turned.

***

Hello,

Firstly, I’d like to say thank you for taking a chance on downloading this book whether you have paid for it or not. I hope you found something in it to enjoy.

Secondly, I would like to invite you to visit me at
http://olivertidy.wordpress.com/
where you can find out more about
other books I’ve written.

Thirdly,
if you enjoyed the book, please leave a comment to that effect on Amazon. That sort of thing is really important for an author-publisher. Readers’ comments are all we’ve got to go by. Alternatively, I would be genuinely pleased to receive any comments, corrections or suggestions regarding any aspect of this book and my writing at the web address above where I have made a page available for feedback.

Once again, my thanks to Martin for his encouragement, proofreading and editorial suggestions.
Any mistakes in the text are entirely my responsibility, especially as I have a habit of changing things when he’s not looking.

Best wishes

Oliver Tidy

E-book titles availabl
e in my Romney and Marsh Files series:

#1 Rope Enough
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Enough-Romney-Marsh-Files-ebook/dp/

#2 Making a Killing
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Making-Killing-Romney-Marsh-ebook/dp/

#3 Joint Enterprise
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Joint-Enterprise-Romney-Marsh-ebook/dp/

#4 A Dog’s Life 

E-book titles available in my Acer Sansom series:

#1 Dirty Business
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dirty-Business-Acer-Sansom-Novels-ebook/dp/

#2 Loose Ends
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Loose-Ends-Acer-Sansom-Novels-ebook/dp/

E-book titles in my Book
er and Cash series:

#1 Bad Sons
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bad-Sons-Booker-Cash-1-ebook/dp/