Kind Hearts And Martinets Collection

Chapter 19

Jack, subdued in voice and manner, addressed the team now seated, ‘I can be a tad difficult at times, but I thank you for your support.’ Stifled laughter, short lived, Jack had his serious head on. ‘We have a hill to climb, and I may have to ask you to jump off a cliff for me, along with other metaphors,’ a ripple, ‘what we do now, we do for Biscuit, for the women and children. I will not ask you to do anything I would not do myself, it will be dangerous, but know this,’ and he looked around, emotion scrawled on his already ravaged face, ‘I’m going after the bastards.’

He expects to be able to do what he asks others to do, Mandy thought. Despite his age and being the clumsiest i***t she had ever known, and she feared for him. Jack carried on, ‘Paolo, I want to bury the hatchet, and not in your head,’ muted laughter, ‘this is no time for grudges. We owe it to Biscuit, we owe it to the little girl I carried out this morning, the woman stabbed to death, to get our act together. Paolo, comments please?’

Paolo stood, thinking Jack was alright, took in the faces turning to him now. ‘My team will focus on Biscuit, what was he working on? Question vice, they will be expecting us, they will cooperate, but, well, you know, eyes and ears, and I’m happy to defer the ground to you, Jane, but keep us in the loop, please.’

He sat and Mandy rose. ‘I propose we skip the group hug,’ a stifled reaction, ‘team briefings first and last thing unless something comes up. Paolo, Cyrano, and Jane, you report to me, I will keep the Commander and Chief up to speed. If you think you’re out of the loop, tell me, do not stew.’ She looked to Jack, ‘Lay out your thoughts, Jack.’

Jack walked to the crime wall, ‘Nobby, you’re responsible for this wall, liaise with Sissies on updates.’ Nobby nodded to Paulo. ‘Cyrano, a small team of bandits, and if I read it correctly, they don’t want to get big?’ The head of drugs swayed his head. ‘Whoever this is does not want to irritate the established criminal cognersentry,’ a titter, ‘we have several trails to follow,’ and Jack signed for Nobby to write on the wall:

‘One, Vice, Biscuit picked up something and it got him killed; p**********n, women and children? I’m not convinced this is s*x trade, maybe child p**n? Talk with crimes against minors. Is this revenue? If so, funding what?

‘Two, East Cosham,’ Jack shook his head, ‘not convinced. Something not right about the

Christian house nearby? The guys this morning, Right Wing organisations?

‘Three, Frankie and Confucius, a lot to do, and if you need more kit, Frankie?’ Mandy

noticed another familiar exchange. ‘Websites, European, local women and children, keep an open mind, missing persons slipped under Social Services radar? Computers records can be manipulated, and Social Services are stretched, even more so these days. Tread carefully, they drop the ball occasionally, but social workers care, it’s not fame and fortune, but there may be a rogue? About five years ago there was a stink around the head of Social Services, he sits on the poncey police committee, so I could be prejudiced... it faded to nothing. Find out what it was. If it was something, how did it go away?’ Mandy noticed he handed Frankie the piece of paper from the phone conversation this morning, ‘Some suggestions.’

‘Four, Political, who printed the fliers, who’s the organisation behind the rhetoric, are

they targeting something specific? Who are the guys we’ve arrested, their affiliations? Do they have an end goal, apart from the obvious?’ Jack removed another piece of paper from the breast pocket of his rank shirt, and again handed it to Frankie. ‘Follow this up, Franks, sweet’art.’

Mandy had to ask, ‘Another piece of paper?’

‘Don’t interrupt my juices, Babes.’

Mandy muttered, ‘Farted, have you?’ Jack nodded his touché.

‘Five, Street, Jo-Jums, any murmurings, discontent? Liaise with Cyrano.’

‘Six, Drugs, Cyrano and you, Jo, streets, dealers, users, big wigs, is there word on someone funding civil unrest, minority groups, activists? Just a thought, we have Nazis, is there something left wing?’

Jack checked his fingers, forgot what number he was on, so mumbled, ‘S’vnnnnate? ‘Lateral thinking, no idea too small, get out of jail free cards, especially if you have any ideas on what this thing is all about.’ He pointed to the centre of the chaos table, picked up a sheet of paper and took the marker pen from Nobby’s hand, scribbled “any ideas,” chucked it into the centre of the table. "Ideas, write them out and put them here, anyone can pick and sift, anything has merit, Nobby put it on the wall. Aye-than-yow.’ It was his bus conductor’s sign-off, the team stunned, meeting over as Jack began sifting his multitude of post-it notes, scraps of paper with lists, his personal form of the chaos table. Ordinarily Jack was neat, but his notes and lists were allowed to pile and scatter. Jack had previously explained about chaos theory, but nobody understood. Frankie stood alert, thinking another slip of paper was coming, but it didn’t. Jack waved a note. ‘Anyone, apart from Alice Springs, I need a lift to Bazaar Bikes?’

‘Fat chance me driving you, but I’m still offended. Consider yourself off the kissing list,’ Alice said, a wry grin. Mandy stopped in her tracks and looked at Alice. Jack thought, daggers or confusion? Nope it was daggers. Nobby looked jealous.

‘Take it up with my cardiganologist, the driving and the kissing, Spanner,’ and to Mandy, glibly, ‘Still waters, sweet’art.’ The hubbub told Jack two things, one, they were working, good, and two, nobody gave a toss about giving him a lift to get a new bike; not so good. ‘Right, I’ll get a bluebottle cab.’

* * *

Jack, waiting for his patrol car taxi, warily planted his elbows on Sid’s counter and rested his chin in his hands. Sid mimicked him and mumbled through his fingers, recognising the advantage of his position and the vulnerability of Jack’s. ‘While you’re waiting, perhaps you’d like to watch some CCTV footage? You’ll like this, an old bloke rides off on a bike, and later, that same man is seen carrying a lump of scrap metal.’ Sid spread his fingers so Jack could glimpse his victory grin, eyebrows arched.

Jack pricked his balloon. ‘Sid, I haven’t got time to watch telly,’ the bluebottle cab arrived, and Jack headed out.

‘It can wait, Jane.’

‘Don’t wait on my account, Sid,’ last word, very important. A disinterested observer would call that a draw, but Jack got the impression Sid thought he’d won; amateurs!