Santa

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

She was in deep s**t and she knew it. Inspector Bissel was a new officer-class management clone, thinking only of self-advancement. The old days of loyalty had gone and now it was every man for himself. Soon every cop would have to wear a body camera. Every conversation would have to be recorded. Politically correct assessors would analyze every interaction for deviance. Surveillance culture robbed everyone of personality or humor. If she had her time again she’d be a heavily armed anarchist hermit. She wouldn’t have had a best friend who had run off with her husband, wouldn’t have waited until she was thirty-nine and on her own to long for a child. She was where she was, in the s**t with a late shift ahead of her.

As a community officer she had an amount of freedom. She collected her in-tray of reports and signed out an unmarked car. She wanted to get away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the station. She drove to Coldharbour Lane and sorted through her paperwork. She had a dozen or so people to see about stolen bikes, trouble with neighbors, kids smoking w**d in the stairwells, and on and on. A couple of times she passed by Meadowchef Foods and couldn’t resist parking up in the wet darkness of the evening, just to see whatever there might be to see. It was 6:30 p.m. when a scruffy Ford Transit minibus drove in through the gates. Her impression was that it was full of workers. Her guess was that this was the night shift and that the day shift would soon be coming out. She started the motor and watched as the bus emerged. By chance she was pointed the same way. She let two cars create a gap and pulled out to follow. She could see several workers inside but the windows were steamed up. One of the tail lamps wasn’t working, something that could be very useful if she chose to pull in the driver. The London traffic was a slow red-and-white smear of steamy exhausts and exasperated car horns. The bus just got through an amber traffic light and she had to force her way through on red to stay in contact. So far she’d been lucky. She followed the bus north toward central London, until it turned east and headed for Peckham. She was well off her own patch and she hadn’t told anyone of her mission. If anything went wrong she was well out of line. They’d entered a tangled housing estate, with blocks of older style brick-built flats. The bus stopped as she switched off her lights and held back in the darkness. She counted eighteen persons as they darted out into the block. She smiled to herself. If all else failed she could get them for overloading. The Ford Transit drove off but she’d noted the registration. For now she wanted to know where the Meadowchef workers had gone. She considered her options. She was in uniform and that could be an advantage. When in doubt she knew that fortune favored the bold. She picked up her folder of papers and walked into the block. The foreign-accented voices of the group were above her, echoing down the damp concrete steps. For sure there would be minders and maybe an actual g**g-master with them. She felt alone and exposed but she’d come too far to back down. A door banged shut and the voices became muffled. They were on the third floor. She could just leave it now, file a report, leave it to the bosses. If she had a flat number she could run a voter’s register check.

The front doors of the separate apartments looked out onto an open landing. The voices were coming from the furthest door. She began to walk toward it when suddenly it snapped open and a white male figure hurried in her direction. It was the big ugly form of Billy McCarthy. She immediately stopped and knocked on the first door. A light came on inside. The guy was on top of her now. She spoke to him directly.

“Excuse me, sir, there was a burglary on the ground floor this afternoon. Were you at home and did you see anything suspicious?” she said.

“Nah, can’t help you,” he said.

“Well, be aware then, sir. You know, there’s villains about.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He scampered on down the stairs. That could have been difficult. She’d only seen him once before at the station when he’d been locked up for stabbing a man in a nightclub. The door she’d knocked opened on a chain. An old woman peered at her through the gap.

“I’m looking for Mr Briggs. Do you know him?” said Paula.

“Not here.”

“Thanks. Sorry to trouble you.”

The door closed. She would have liked to go in and ask a couple of questions about the neighbors but she knew that could be bad news for the resident. People didn’t talk about the McCarthy brothers. She strolled up to the end apartment and noted the number; 17. Through the kitchen window she could just see into a lounge covered with mattresses. Her luck had held out. Time to go home.

If she filed an honest intelligence report, Inspector Bissel would know that she’d been out of her area without consultation or permission. If he was looking for a cop to bust, she was already in the frame. The next two days were off duty. She needed a break and soon enough the complaints bureau team would be adding to her troubles. She also needed a drink. Her cellphone rang.

“Honey, is that the loveliest, sweetest, safest, smoothest bus driver in the world?”

“No, Sally Smith, it is not. You’ve got the wrong number.”

“Right now I’m seeing the tears rolling down the cheeks of a little guy in a wheelchair ’cause he can’t get to see the Christmas lights in town.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“I’m seeing him in my imagination.”

“You’re a dangerous fantasist. Someone should call the cops before you do some harm.”

“I’ve called you. Help me. Please?”

“It’s going to cost you.”

“Name your price.”

“A Kentucky Fried Big Daddy and bring your own wine.”

“Diet Coke?”

“Nah, full fat. I’m only eating natural products these days.”

“That poor little boy has almost stopped crying.”

“Tell him to stop snivelling or the driver will give him a slap.”

“You’re a star.”

“I’m hungry. You’ve got about forty-five minutes. Don’t forget your own wine. I can’t feed your addiction as well as mine.”

She no longer kept a car and travelled home on the 45 bus. She needed some company and Sally was a good person even though she was from a rather different world. She was an educated woman of about forty-five, dedicated to her life as a social worker. She dealt with areas like respite care, kids with family problems, and learning issues. Paula often watched her wince when she used words and banter from the street. She’d met her when a child had kicked off on the bus and bitten the escort. She was posh, immensely patient, and often needed a volunteer community bus driver at short notice. So far she’d never truly talked to her. Perhaps today would be the day to see inside.

It wasn’t long before the finger-l*****g bonhomie and a Walmart bargain merlot turned the vino into veritas.

“I was so glad you called. I didn’t want to just come home alone and I would have ended up in the pub with the savages. They’re good guys, but you can’t really talk.”

“Did you want to talk?”

“Your counselling slip is showing.”

“Oh dear, am I that obvious?”

“At home we just said nosey and got on with it.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, I was a bit defensive or maybe passive-aggressive.”

“Maybe I’m nosey, so let’s get on with it.”

Paula laughed and poured two more glasses of wine.

“We’ve still got your bottle.”

“I’ve got to drive.”

“Crash on the sofa. I’m guessing you’ve got no one waiting at home?”

“Now your counselling slip is showing.”

“Don’t waste your chance then.”

“I’m on my own, yes. Just didn’t happen.” Sally took a good slug of the wine. “You sort of feel ashamed, or at least I do.”

“At first I felt empowered in a sort of defiant way. I felt I’d just scored a solo goal and all the crowd was cheering and patting me on the back. Then the game swept on, the noise stopped and the crowd went home.”

“What happened?” asked Sally.

“I was married. I had a best friend. She screwed my husband. The good news is that so far I’ve not been arrested for a double murder.”

“Where did you hide the bodies?”

“They’re under that sofa. Sweet dreams.”

“You must have felt betrayed.”

“I guess that’s how I felt. It was the shock, the sense of having been duped. It’s not easy living with a cop, so I can see reasons. If you work different shifts you’ve got loneliness and opportunity. The truth is that a cop’s closest family is often the work team. You go through things together you can’t share at home.”

“And your future?”

“Looks like I’m going up the West End to see the Christmas lights at some point. I’m fighting a formal complaint at work and to be honest I’m wondering if I care if they kick me out.”

“Would you be able to help? I’ve got a group of kids with learning issues. I want to give them a treat and something they can do together. A lot of them haven’t got transport and if we pick them up from home everyone can come. Often we do stuff and only the richer ones can join in. It’s good for the parents to meet and form little support groups, just to chat, or swap tales of desperation. It can be tough on these families.”

“How could I refuse that? You’ve damn near got me in tears.”

“We’ve got a thirty-two seater. There’s fourteen pick-ups and several with wheelchairs.”

Paula blew out her cheeks.

“Well, it’s a challenge.”

“I know it’s not a dream job. I think that’s why the driver bailed out.”

“Of course I’ll do it.”

Paula was quite astonished to find herself hugged as Sally sprang from her chair.

“I was frantic and now I’m so happy. Most of the parents will be there and I’ll be there to help, or at least get in the way as a bumbling do-gooder.”

“And when is this?”

“Saturday.”

“Let’s open the second bottle and then you tell me why a lovely woman like you never made it happen with the right guy.”

“Counselling?”

“Nosey. Start with the dating website horrors. Perhaps we’ve dated the same monsters.”