Horse's Arse (18 page)

    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.

    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.'