Santa

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The note in her in-tray asking her to report to Inspector Bissel probably wouldn’t be good news. She’d done the early bus run for the day center kids with Irene and come directly to work. She knew she was in a daze, a delicious confusion by the name of Max. She knocked on the office door.

“Come.”

“You want to see me, guv?”

“PC Middleton, yes. Sit down.”

His face was spotty and pale. His shoulders were narrow and droopy, his white neck long and thin with an Adam’s apple like an elevator in a high rise block. His hands looked soft and almost feminine. She tried to adopt an expression of formal neutrality.

“Two things. I’ve had a memo from the complaints bureau. For some reason they’ve asked me to withdraw your official notice of investigation.”

“For some reason, like what sort of reason?”

“What?”

“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you, sir. Complaints bureau don’t vaguely withdraw a complaint. There will be a reason and I want to know it.”

He sighed with an ill-concealed impatience and leafed through the file.

“The complainant has made a statement saying that he was misinformed by one of his staff and your actions were correct.”

“Well, that’s some pretty clear sort of reason.”

The inspector drew his thin lips into a grimace which she imagined could be a smile.

“And now there’s an even bigger problem.”

“Not the crooked hat again? I’ve told you it’s the shape of my head.”

He ignored her response and let out an effeminate whinny.

“On Wednesday you signed out a detective pool car.”

“Guilty.”

“That vehicle was flashed by an enforcement camera in Peckham, for running a red light at forty-six miles per hour in a thirty zone.”

Shit. Now she had to think fast. She remembered running the light chasing the bus carrying the Meadowchef workers. She was out of her area and hadn’t notified anyone. With most bosses she could tell the truth and that would be the end of it. This guy was out to bust cops to prove his politically correct credentials. She needed to play for time.

“There’ll be a photograph and a printout of the camera calibration in that case.”

“Of course. What were you doing there and why did you break the law to the danger of other road users?”

“May I offer you some advice on the application of the law, sir?”

“I don’t think I need that from you, constable.”

“Well, take some advice from one her majesty’s citizens accused of a crime. You have questioned me about an alleged offence without issuing me with the notification of my rights. On this occasion I can overlook that and not file a report.”

“You are impertinent.”

“Impertinent and completely right, sir.”

The young inspector flicked through the papers spread in front of him. Even now she had some sympathy with him. If he didn’t wise up, his life was going to be struggle.

“That’s it for now, constable. I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, your driving permit is suspended.”

“Happy Christmas, guv,” she said as she closed the door.

She walked along the corridor, her head down.

“Can’t be that bad, Paula?”

She raised her eyes to see Superintendent Jack Miller, head of the detective department. She’d worked with him on several serious cases, the last one being a baby battered by the mum’s new boyfriend. She’d been credited with getting the mother to give evidence against him.

“Things could be better, guv.”

“Let’s get a coffee. I owe you a least a bottle of scotch for that last job.”

“Can I drink it now?”

“This ain’t like you.”

“What am I like then, guv?”

“Blimey, you’re my favorite community officer with a heart of gold. You could still be a detective if you wanted that.”

He was a kind man from the old school. He defended his troops even when they’d overstepped the mark. His face was reddened with broken veins perhaps reflecting his own love of a wee sip of whisky.

“Thanks, but I’ll stick to what I know.”

“Coffee. Don’t go all b****y purist-vegan and ask for a decaf latte with soya milk. This is Brixton.”

“Strong black. This sure is Brixton, guv.”

“I think that might be non-PC. Thank God I haven’t got too long to serve.”

She sat in the corner of the canteen while he got the drinks. She knew that he could solve all her issues but it wasn’t her style to go upstairs with a problem. He settled back to face her.

“I’ve been having a little look at the McCarthy brothers.”

The old detective’s expression changed to one of alert intensity.

“Someone needs to skin those bastards. Tell me what you know.”

“They’re supplying workers to businesses. I don’t know the details but my guess is that they’re all illegals without papers.”

“Modern s*****y. The old-fashioned variety never ended, really.”

“I don’t know where they get them, but I’ve heard it’s Russian Mafia types.”

“Don’t get your pretty head blown off, Paula.”

She studied his face. She was certain he wouldn’t want this problem. Street robbery was the absolute priority. The commissioner had been dragged in front of a parliamentary committee to explain why such offences were escalating. The answer was simple; resources had been moved to twenty-years-out-of-date celebrity s****l offences and everyday modern counter- terrorism.

“I’ve got an address in Peckham where they keep a mob of these poor sods. The McCarthy boys run the show locally. They approach a business and tell the boss he has to take their labor force. If they don’t cooperate, bad things can happen to the premises or the man himself.”

“It’s a perfect business model.”

“A lot of these jobs are low paid anyway so it’s hard to find workers. No one can live in London on a normal wage.”

“Paula, I hate the McCarthy boys to the depth of my soul. They swagger around South London and everyone lives in terror of them. The Russians add a massive element. It’s like throwing a stone at an aircraft carrier and I haven’t even got a stone.”

“What about those men living ten to a room while these thugs steal all their wages?”

“You’re a lovely caring woman, Paula. Do you still do that community bus stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“I know those guys are humans like us. They’re bound to be illegals so more than likely they’ll be deported. Some of them may be on the run from police back home and any life here is better than jail in Azerbaijan or wherever. I know what you’re saying, but we could bust our balls on something like this and not even get a conviction.”

“What about the PR side to it? I don’t want to be cynical, but it’s Christmas. Getting those guys a decent dinner would be fabulous TV. The commissioner might buy it on that basis.”

Jack Miller leaned back and let out a long breath.

“You know you just could be so, so right. Caring cops bring the gift of freedom for Christmas.”

“Are we sad, bad people, guv?”

“Yes, we have to play the media game.”

“You could dress up as Santa and Inspector Bissel could be a little elf.”

He looked to heaven.

“You know, Paula, I look at some cops these days and I wonder how the f**k we’re going to stand up to those evil bastards out there. Inspector Bissel could carry a little seaside spade to pick up the reindeer shit.”

“You shouldn’t say that.”

“No, you’re right, but there you go. Now, from this minute you’re seconded to me. Let’s find out where the McCarthy boys are hanging out and all the addresses they use. Let’s find out where they’re using their slaves. Let’s see how they’re working with Russians. I’m at Scotland Yard this afternoon and I’ll bend a couple of ears. If I can, I’ll get you a bit of backup. Sign yourself out a pool car.”

“Problem there, guv. My police driving permit is suspended. I got flashed on a red light following the McCarthy’s bus a few nights ago. I had to go for it or I’d have lost them.”

“Who’s got the camera ticket?”

“Inspector Bissel.”

“Forget it. That’s shredded. I’ll enjoy advising him on how to do it if he can’t figure it out for himself”

“Where do I start?”

“I’d get all the latest intelligence on the McCarthys and then identify their home addresses. Don’t leave the office. For the rest of today this is a desk job. Write me a report on everything you know so far and get it to me by one-thirty.”

“Thanks, guv. I really needed someone on my side.”

“Paula, this is a strange old job these days. We should all be on the same side. When we put up the mistletoe in the office, wait about underneath and I’ll allow you to express your gratitude.”

“That’s an inappropriate sexist remark but I’ll look forward to that, guv.”

“And I still owe you a bottle of scotch. Now, get writing.”

She found a desk and hammered out her report. Every minute her mind turned to Max Muswell. How would her new assignment sit alongside her relationship with him? He was right in the mix, a fact that her report failed to mention. Would it compromise her police work to discuss it with him? She had a whole day before she saw him again. A whole day. God, she’d turned into a b****y kid again. His touch and his kiss played and replayed in a loop of happiness, desire, and fear. Yes, fear was the biggest one. Fear of falling helplessly in love, fear of his underlying unknown nature, simply a fear of being a stupid foolish woman desperately wanting a man because he’d shown her attention. She’d interviewed so many streetwise folks who had believed they could never fall for a scam. And yet. And yet she longed for him, a man she had only met a couple of times. In her marriage she’d never been that bothered by s*x. She’d never taken the lead, in fact would have been embarrassed. With this man she could get wet at the sound of his voice. She could pull off his clothes and grip his c**k to make him want to be inside her, ruthlessly holding her open and f*****g her.

“Dolly daydream you are. You in love or something?”

She snapped back to the present, to find Jack Miller smiling in front of her. Oh God, she was wet. She’d been squeezing her legs together under the desk to tease the pleasure out of her s*x.

“Just making sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.”

“Top job, Paula. I’ll speak to you in the morning. I’m going to see who’s looking at people-trafficking and who’s looking at Russians. There’s still a couple of real cops at the top. The smart kids will love the PR angle with a bit of luck. Oh, by the way, that ticket is shredded. I gave your inspector a bit of operational advice.”

For now she’d done what she could. If she wanted to she could finish her day and go home. Her cell was ringing.

“Paula, it’s Max.”

Her heart pounded. It was his voice. It was that man.

“Hi Max, it’s Paula.”

“I had the boys come round earlier to discuss the situation of my labor force. I told them to f**k off and one of the McCarthy boys has gone home to mummy crying with a split lip. Justin went to the park this afternoon and my housekeeper Rachel tells me that a blacked-out Range Rover followed them home. I’m just giving you this little bit of intelligence as a concerned citizen.”

“f*****g hell, Max. We do need to talk.”

“I’m getting Justin and Rachel out of here. They’re already on their way to Manchester with a couple of suitably equipped guardians. The McCarthys are local pond-life and they’ve got no network outside of London. I’m going to be a lonely old fella watching TV tonight with a takeout pizza.”

“I’m not even going to try to imagine what a suitably equipped guardian is.”

“Best not think about it. Other than this load of trash, I’ve been thinking about you, wondering if I can hang on until tomorrow. I don’t think I can.”

“What about my Thai fish soup?”

“I’ll stop by the Thames and catch something fresh.”

“How could a girl refuse?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“You do that Max, and stay safe.”

She clicked off. A wave of excitement swept down through her belly. Was she expected to take a bottle of wine? Or a toothbrush? Best take both just in case.