Dynasty

Chapter 3

Chapter 3She dressed in her one-piece skin-tight Lycra cycling shorts and top. Her only underwear was her pulse monitor chest strap. Her skin was a deep honey satin loveliness that she selfishly flaunted. It was a gorgeous summer’s morning and she felt a rare exhilaration as if she were a child again. In the city she would have worn her earphones and pedaled hard to David Guetta’s “Nothing But the Beat,” or the raunchy tracks from a favorite album by “Purgatory Hill.” Today she wanted to be aware of the world and its beauty. Seven years at Brixton had worn her down and perhaps she deserved a short time in the sun. She got out her Trek mountain bike, grabbed her iPhone, police warrant card, helmet, and dark glasses. Very few people would recognize her as she sped by on her bike. Before any serious training, there was one place she wanted to check out.

Ben had given a good description of the house. She rode south along the main road towards the end of the village. About a mile into the open countryside she saw a new development. A show house with flags was still at the entrance. A large sign read “Badger’s Knoll. A luxury gated environment of exclusive homes.” Luckily the gates were open. She swept in to find a single crescent of enormous individually gated houses. CCTV cameras covered every angle. Each one was constructed as a pastiche of some original style. There was a Georgian, a Tudor, a Cotswold stone, and an incongruous mishmash of a place with country cottage flint facing, a classical Romanesque entrance and Palladian-style dormer windows. Shannon was no student of style but to her it was some kind of architectural bus crash. A nameplate on the lawn read “Bluegrass.” She smiled. They had to be kidding, right! She was certain this was the house Ben had described. On the drive was a white soft-top Audi. Behind, there was a black Chrysler 300C with darkened windows and chrome wheels. She quickly memorized the registrations and swept back out through the electric gates. Once she was out of sight she put the numbers on her iPhone and wheeled her bike back to the show home to look in the sales window. Prices started from two million and went up to four and a half if you wanted your own unique design. Considering the house, she was looking for a banjo-playing 18th century Greek farmer’s boy with a bling fixation. At least, Sherlock Holmes would have seen it that way. But Shannon already knew. She absolutely b****y well knew that these folk were villains. She felt her old surge of adrenalin. Somehow she was going to nail this lot. Wow! She felt like a cop and, since last night, she was feeling like a woman.

She rode like the wind, joyful at her life. She felt her blood pumping and the strength in her legs. She knew she had a type of arrogance in her nature. She was slim, full breasted, and toned but all that had always been just for her. She had been a picture in her own album. Suddenly she wanted to be what she was for someone else. She checked her pulse-rate monitor. She was running 175 and feeling strong. For the first time ever she eased back to a slower pace and smelled the air.

In the sky above, aircraft turned and stacked waiting to land at London Heathrow. The ceaseless thrum of traffic from the M25 orbital motorway wore at her soul like a constant sea eroding the cliffs of their beauty. Fleetworth-Green seemed almost set aside from time. She could hardly believe she was here. Three days ago she had been in court giving evidence in the case of a guy who had burgled at least a hundred homes just to feed his craving for c***k cocaine. He was an emaciated shell of a being on his way to the grave. She knew why she was a cop. It wasn’t for society. It was for that hopeless guy, and not too many people knew that or wanted to know.

She made a grand sweep of her patch, riding off road wherever possible. By the time she arrived back at the police house she was soaked in sweat and breathless. She saw a police patrol car in the small car park. A balding middle-aged police inspector was knocking at her front door.

“You can never find a b****y copper when you want one. If you’ve had a few too many drinks and you’re just trying to drive home the bastards are everywhere,” she said.

The inspector turned and stared at her.

“Do you need the police?” he said.

“We all need the police, Guv’nor. I’m Shannon. I expect you’d like a nice cup of tea.”

“Yes, thanks. I’m Inspector Lilly from Z District HQ at Croydon,” he said.

“Blimey, PC Flowers, Inspector Lilly—what a bunch, eh? Good job I’m not a Rose.”

Inspector Lilly appeared to be bemused, yet maintained his limp smile. She took pity on his wordless confusion.

“Lovely to meet you, Guv,” she said.

She saw him stiffen a little. The term “guv” was a normal and respectful form of address for a senior officer in the Metropolitan Police. Perhaps at this distant edge of the Empire things were more formal. She unlocked the door and led him through to the kitchen. The house was almost bare. She had a bed, a sofa and the curtains that PC Flowers had left behind. It was possible the police had issued curtains. She hadn’t checked to see if the pattern was of truncheons, handcuffs, piles of official forms or Alsatian dogs. The front room had been converted into an office with a desk and two swivel chairs. Shannon handed him a cup of tea and followed him.

“Shannon, it’s great to have the chance to meet you and have a chat,” he began.

She sensed his nervousness despite his superior rank. She watched warily as he fumbled in his briefcase and pulled out a thick file.

“Well, Shannon, firstly welcome to Z District and to Fleetworth-Green. I guess—I expect you’ll find it a bit different,” said the inspector, leafing through the papers. Shannon could see that it was her complete service record.

“Seven years takes a few trees and a bit of ink,” she said, nodding at the file and trying to relax the poor guy. She could tell he was on an errand he didn’t really relish. She noted that her presentation in tight lycra presented him with all kinds of eye contact issues.

“Yes, indeed. Well, this is a very special kind of place,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m amazed to be here. When I saw you I thought you’d come to tell me there’d been a mistake,” she said with a broad smile.

“Really?”

“No, not really really, Guv. I mean there I was scrapping with a guy who had tried to jump the ticket barriers at Brixton tube station when I got a call on the radio. Half an hour later I’m in the L District commander’s office looking at that very file on his desk. He tells me I’m transferring with immediate effect,” she said.

Inspector Lilly cleared his throat and made a big show of reading the file. Shannon affected her most angelic and innocent look.

“Yes,” he began slowly, “but I believe there had been some kind of incident hadn’t there?”

“Oh—yes—there had been a bit of—you know—politics. It was all just a misunderstanding and I had to take it on the chin.”

Inspector Lilly leaned back, gave a chuckle, and looked at her kindly.

“I think you’re a bit modest. You know exactly why they transferred you, don’t you? I haven’t had the time to read all this stuff. So why don’t you just tell me,” he said.

She smiled at him. He was a well middle-aged guy and not looking for dramas. For all that he would have seen most things in his time. She knew she could keep him onside.

“Guv, I was a bit out of order. I mean, looking back I can see that. I got a tip off from an informant that a geezer had a shooter in his flat. The story was that he was just moving the weapon on and would only have it for a couple of hours,” she said.

“So what did you do?”

“I hammered round there, put the door in, and nicked him,” she replied casually.

“No consultation, no risk assessment?” said the inspector.

“I didn’t need a risk assessment, Guv. I knew it could be dangerous. But, I knew the geezer was too soft to use it. He was a nobody, bigging himself up to impress some real villains.”

“You had a trainee community patrol officer with you, I think—some lad with six weeks in the job.”

“Yeah, six weeks in the job and six years in an insurance sales call center. That’s what I call extreme aggro. After that a man is ready for anything,” she said.

The inspector let out a sigh.

“Shannon, you know you can’t just steam in like that. SCO19 and Scotland Yard deal with firearms incidents—not a general purpose car driver with a civilian trainee. Officers at the highest level make this kind of decision. You know that. Did you just want fame or death or some sort of spark to set off community riots?” he said seriously.

She looked back at him. He had a point.

“Guv’nor, I know you’re right. There was a bit of ego in the mix, and I didn’t want d**g-pushing scumbags to have yet another b****y shooter because the plods are having a conference.”

“Plods?” he replied with an edge of irritation.

“You know what the police are like these days, Guv,” she said.

He shook his head but couldn’t resist a smile.

“Shannon, I admire your spirit and courage, even though it’s reckless. Some police officers love you. The police service does not and I’m being quite frank about that. If the wheel comes off your wagon you’ll be crashing all alone. I guess you know that. Let me tell you this. These days we’re afraid of our own shadows. In two years I’ll be out of the job. I’m on your side up to a point but procedures are what we do,” he said.

She nodded.

“So, here I am then, Guv’nor—a nice girl, carefully building my career profile,” she said.

“Exactly Shannon, that’s wonderful. Now, what I’m going to say to you is in total confidence.”

The inspector’s face took on an air of profound sincerity. He spoke slowly. “Fleetworth-Green is a remarkable and unique place. I believe you’ve already been to Bloxington Manor, the residence of the 11th earl.”

“Indeed, Guv. Spence the welder himself,” she replied, picturing his appearance in overalls.

“Spence the welder?”

“Yeah. He’s a handy engineer. He was welding the floor pan on a really sexy old Jag racing car.”

“Do you call him Spence?” said Inspector Lilly, seemingly astonished.

“Not yet. We’ve only just met,” she said.

“All of Fleetworth-Green belongs to his Grace, including this police house. The earl wants this place to be an English village. Take a look around. There is a post office, proper shops, a village green, a cricket pitch and pond. The local pub, The Hunter’s Inn, serves warm English bitter beer and steak and kidney pudding. They do not offer Super Sizzling Hunter’s Burgers, a cone of chips, onion rings with a choice of pre-packed plastic dips. There’s no hypermarket, no DIY extravaganza warehouse or retail computer outlet.”

Shannon tried to assume to same serious air, but something snapped inside her.

“And der am not dee fried chicken for me and Tiger Woods,” she said in patois with a laugh.

Inspector Lilly looked to heaven and shook his head.

“And there are no racist remarks or comedy clubs either,” he said.

Shannon let out a sigh.

“Only joking, Guv. Anyway, none of it stopped his boy getting nicked for possession did it?”

“That was a strange business, Shannon. He had a tiny bit of resin. A young bobby in Kingston did a stop and search. I guess he was just unlucky,” said the inspector.

Shannon took in the information without comment. She recalled how the boy had said he was innocent and that she wouldn’t believe him. There was something here and something in the way Inspector Lilly phrased his remarks. A big “something” she would find out.

“And his mother died?” she asked.

“Yes, a skiing accident. It was a tragedy. The earl was devoted to her. They were from the same kind of family stable. It was a perfect alliance of temperament and nobility.”

“Really, does that sort of thing happen?” said Shannon, perhaps wondering if devotion actually meant duty and property.

“Yes, it happens. The Bloxingtons aren’t quite like us,” he said.

“Anyway, now he has Jasmine de Montfort?” said Shannon, trying not to spit the words.

“Ah, yes. She was a wonderful friend to Saskia. She has presented another small issue I have to raise with you. I believe you’ve met?”

“One has made a close encounter of the turd kind,” she replied in a faux posh accent and raising an eyebrow.

Inspector Lilly put his hands to his face.

“Shannon! You’re a b****y loose cannon. You seem to love this irreverence for everything and everyone. Anyway, yes, apparently there is a problem over her number plate.”

“No problem, Guv. It’s illegal and I offered informal advice. I expect she’s changed it now for a proper one.”

“I b****y doubt it. You know that too! Good God, you’re not the sort of cop to care about petty crap like this are you?” he said, almost pleading.

“She has an attitude issue, Guv. I guess she’s made a complaint.”

“Nothing formal. She called the superintendent and he rattled my cage.

“Look, if she puts her snooty head in my mouth I’ll bite the b****y thing off. It’s only a sixty-quid fine. That’s nothing for her,” said Shannon.

Inspector Lilly looked genuinely worried.

“Guv’nor—respect man—I won’t piss on her strawberries just for the sake of it. She’s an arrogant cow and some high pressure grab-it-all lawyer. She’s no friend of the police service,” she said.

“Shannon, in Fleetworth-Green no one pisses on the strawberries, but I think we understand each other.”

Shannon reached across the desk and patted his hand which held her file. Deep down, she was thinking of nothing other than Spencer Chamberlain-Knightsmith and the male atmosphere of his presence.

“Guv, you’re safe, OK. I’ll sound off to you, but I’ll play the game. You’ve done your mission.”

Inspector Lilly looked relieved. Her approach had been unusual and familiar but it had done the job. Watching him fidget uneasily she knew he had even more to say. He began slowly with even deeper gravitas.

“Thank you, Shannon. Now, there are other even more important factors. Again, I am speaking to you in the deepest confidence,” he began.

She adopted her most sombre mood, remembering when the family dog had been put down at the age of eighteen. She knew that this would fix her face in receptive seriousness.

“His Grace is very well connected. He entertains friends at the Manor. I mean friends of the most important kind.”

He paused to look into her eyes to check that she was fully aware of what he was saying.

“Christ! You don’t mean Dizzy Rascal, One Direction, or the prime minister, do you?” she said with a simple smile.

“No! You know I don’t mean them. I mean well above them. People of life-changing ultimate importance. You know....”

Shannon stared into his anguished face. She played it straight.

“Not Simon Cowell?” she gasped.

“No. I mean royals. I mean real power, property and tradition. The Earl of Bloxington is an insider. One of his ancestors was groom of the bed-sock to King Charles II or some such. All of the Estate is an image of Old England. It’s heritage on acid, Shannon. He’s a big wheel in the world heritage roundabout. He is a top guy with UNESCO—I assume you know about UNESCO.”

“Either they played at Reading Festival or it’s a supermarket,” she said with a laugh, “but it can mean United Nations culture and stuff.”

“Yes. World leaders, royal families, people at the a*s-piercing pinnacle of importance. They all come to Fleetworth-Green to visit his Grace and to breathe in the ambiance of traditional England,” he said.

“Wow, Guv’nor. And the Queen doesn’t even have number plates on her car,” she replied with a wide genuine smile.

“Do we understand each other Shannon? I kinda think we do. Please, no doors kicked in or maverick missions. Be at the parish council meetings. Express sorrow at lost pets and help to put up posters. Try all the stalls at the fete. Be nice to his Grace, Spencer Chamberlain-Knightsmith, 11th Earl of Bloxington. Keep your b****y head down and enjoy the view,” he said, obviously relieved.

“I’m allergic to cats, but no worries with corgis,” she said.

“Then that is wonderful Shannon,” the inspector replied warmly. He relaxed and finished his tea.

“Yorkshire Gold,” she said.

He glanced again at her skin-tight Lycra triathlon costume and almost seemed to sigh wistfully. She was enjoying this. He pulled his eyes back to her face.

“Thief-taking and animal cunning are old arts, Shannon. All that’s gone in today’s modern police service. It’s all about political correctness, following the rules and at all costs deflecting blame from yourself. Shannon, I hate it. I’ve had enough. Vicious scumbags can laugh at us a lot of the time but that’s the way it is. You show me respect and I’ll show it to you,” he said.

“Well, respect back to you, Guv. I’m gonna buy a tweed suit and jodhpurs,” she said.

“You’d look stunning,” he said.

Then, standing up, she put up her open palms offering a high-five. Inspector Lilly slapped his hands onto hers—and winked.