Just the Job, Lad Page 15

  They called it a day after that. They said they would go to Simmonds, or rather to his solicitor, and relay my response to him. Rather to my surprise, they called back the next day to say Simmonds had decided he didn’t want to proceed. I wasn’t surprised, to tell the truth. I think he realised that he’d been well out of line, both in the assault and in the way he reacted to me. Maybe he was even starting to see that I had a point. When it came down to it, Simmonds wasn’t a complete tearaway. He had a job, and I believe he had a steady girlfriend. It was another case of ‘He’s fine until he gets a few beers inside him’. How many times do we hear that?

  As things turned out, this was a good example of how effective a suspended sentence can be. I actually ran into Big John a few months later in town. I was off duty, but he recognised me right away. He approached me, asked if he could have a word, and told me that his family, and his girlfriend, had given him a seriously hard time about what he’d done and that he felt this might have been a turning point in his life, a wake-up call.

  After the dust had settled on the whole business, I occasionally thought back to the events that night in the marketplace. I asked myself whether I’d been out of order in saying what I’d said to him. The acid test in these things is, would you advise a young copper to do what you did? And the answer, I suppose, was no. I should have kept my mouth shut. But I would defy anyone to witness the sheer ferocity of Big John’s attack on young Will from Easingwold – not to mention the verbal abuse he threw our way – and not to react. We’re all human, after all.

  Ann was pleased, and relieved, at the way things had turned out. I think she felt responsible, in the sense that she’d suggested how I should deal with the interview. I would never have thought of going to the dictionary, and I told her so. ‘Maybe that’s why you’re a sergeant and I’m not,’ I said as we sat outside on the log, the evening after my final discussion with the Leather Heel squad, and enjoyed a glass of chilled white wine. The sun was just going down over the meadow and the old fox was trotting across from the neighbouring field to the rabbit warren in search of his family’s supper. He and his mate had had two cubs that year and we’d sighted them more than once, frolicking about in the long grass.

  ‘The only reason you’re not a sergeant,’ Ann said, ‘is because you haven’t decided it’s time to be one. You’re perfectly capable of doing the job. You’re just too happy being a PC if you ask me.’

  ‘Funny you should mention that,’ I said. ‘Cocksy’s on holiday in a couple of weeks and they’re looking for someone to act up in his place.’

  ‘Perfect.’ Ann dug me in the ribs with her elbow. ‘You want to get in there. Be a valuable experience.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Maybe.’

  Back at work the next day I was all set to approach Chris and ask him what the chances were, when he handed me his phone. ‘Call for you,’ he said. ‘Customs and Excise, Dover.’

  ‘Wonder what the hell they want,’ I said as I took the receiver from him. ‘Hello? Mike Pannett here.’

  By the time I’d heard what the C & E man had to tell me I was grinning from ear to ear and punching the air in delight. You don’t always get a satisfactory outcome in our job, but just once in a while everything comes together – and this was one such case.

  It seemed that our man Jed Baker had driven down to the Kent coast and taken a ferry to France. Calais, I think it was. Since we’d flagged him up as being of interest to us, it automatically showed up on the Immigration computer. Baker arrived at the ferry terminal in the company of the lad Ronnie Leach had mentioned to me that time we met up in the station café, the one he’d described as not the brightest pebble on the beach. Using CCTV cameras, officers at Dover had watched Baker embark on the ferry, and noted that he didn’t associate with the other fellow at any point. They had decided the best option was to let them run and pick them on the return journey.

  They returned just twenty-four hours later. They came off the boat separately. From the moment they were recognised they were under close surveillance. They went through passport control, then were seen going to the same car together and getting in. Before they could leave the parking area customs officers had pounced, searched the two men’s luggage and found a case containing some 5000 ecstasy tablets with a street value of around £50,000. Both men had been detained in custody pending a court appearance. This was, for North Yorkshire, a fantastic seizure. It would stem the supply to the street and hopefully put Baker and his mate behind bars. I couldn’t wait to find Fordy and tell him the news.

  ‘Good old-fashioned policing and intel gathering,’ I said when I caught up with him. ‘You can’t beat it. Mind you, mate, it would have been even better if we’d nailed him up here. But I guess it’s teamwork, isn’t it? The bigger picture and all that.’

  ‘It’s a hell of a result,’ Fordy said. ‘What do you think they’ll get?’

  ‘No idea, mate. But I tell you what, it’ll send out a message, loud and clear.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘I mean to anybody who fancies dealing on our patch. Intelligence, mate, that’s what it’s all been about. Gathering intelligence and piecing the jigsaw together.’

  ‘And teamwork,’ Fordy said. ‘You know – crime analysis, Customs and Excise.’

  ‘Definitely. Even my initial informant, who shall remain nameless. No, we can all take credit for this one, matey. Isn’t it amazing how things turn around? Couple of days ago I was sweating cobs, getting ready to face the Spanish Inquisition there . . .’

  ‘The who?’

  ‘The Leather Heel squad, buddy; the C & D. Complaints and Discipline.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  A few days later Birdie called us all up – me, Fordy, Amanda and Des – for a pat on the back. The chief superintendent, he told us, was over the moon. All of the intelligence we’d gathered was going to be extremely helpful in future operations in the region.

  If I felt good that afternoon, I felt even better a month or so later when Baker and his mate went to the Crown Court and received a sentence that genuinely sent a shock wave through the rural community. He went down for seven years. And that, as I said to Fordy, was a result.

  Chapter 8

  Testing Times

  My shift had just ended, I’d got changed out of my uniform and I was all set for home, and Birdie wanted to see me. Again. And once more, Cocksy wasn’t giving any clues as to what it was about. Well, I thought, I’ve done nowt wrong, so I’ve nothing to fear. I made my way across to his office. It was always an odd sort of feeling when you visited the wendy house. It was occupied by the senior officers on our area and their civilian support staff, the HR people and so on. For security reasons we weren’t allowed the door code and so you had to stand there like a lemon, rain or shine, waiting to be let in. As I stubbed my cigarette out and waited on the porch I had a little chuckle, thinking about the current management buzzword: ‘my door is always open’.

  It was now, and the chief superintendent’s secretary was there to greet me. ‘Hi Mike, back again so soon?’

  ‘You know me, Carol. I keep turning up – like the proverbial bad penny.’

  ‘What is it this time? Good news or bad?’ she asked with a wry smile.

  ‘Well, you’re the one at the hub of this little universe. You tell me.’

  ‘I could, but that would spoil the fun of watching you squirm.’ She looked down and pulled a face. ‘Have you seen the state of those?’

  I followed her gaze. ‘Muddy boots? Standard uniform for rural officers.’

  She laughed and let me in. I made my way to Birdie’s ground-floor room. I suppose you’d call it compact, if you were an estate agent. In the wendy house the office size was in direct correlation to the rank of the occupant. If I ever got a move over there, I was thinking, they’d have to find me a broom cupboard.

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Mike. Have a seat. Cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh, thank you v
ery much sir.’ Tea was the last thing I wanted at that particular moment – I’d just come from Rich the gamekeeper’s place out at Hovingham – but you never turn down a hospitable gesture from your senior officer.

  ‘Help yourself to a biscuit.’

  I was starting to feel uneasy. Something was in the air.

  Birdie leaned forward, rested an elbow on his desk and rubbed his chin. ‘I understand you’ve been studying for the sergeant’s exams.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thought it was time to have a look at it. I mean, who knows? One day . . .’

  Thankfully he cut me short. ‘How are you getting on?’

  ‘To tell the truth, sir, I’m struggling. To find time, I mean. Bookwork’s never been my strong point. There’s always something I’d rather be doing.’

  ‘Hmm – more of a hands-on sort of person, eh?’

  ‘Yes, you could say that – sir. Prefer to crack on with the job, learn it as I go along.’

  ‘Right then.’ He sat back in his chair, clasped his hands together and cracked his knuckles. ‘Sergeant Cocks is about to start two weeks’ annual leave. How d’you feel about standing in – acting sergeant?’ Before I could answer – not that I was sure what I was going to say – he carried on. ‘We’ve looked at finding cover and the fact is there aren’t many options. Scarborough are stretched to the limit, and it’s all hands to the pump over at York just now. Plus all the usual shortages with annual leave, sickness, officers attending courses. You know how it is. So, unless we draft someone in from outside the area, which would bring its own difficulties . . .’ He tailed off, then just as I was thinking it was my turn to say something he carried on again. ‘But I don’t see why you shouldn’t grab the chance to get some experience. Might help you make sense of all that book learning that you find so difficult.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I mean yes, sir. No, I think you’re right. I’ll give it my best shot.’ To tell the truth, he’d caught me on the hop. But this was an opportunity I wasn’t going to miss.

  ‘Good. I’m sure the rest of your shift will pull with you.’ He glanced up at the wall-chart where he had all the shifts marked up. ‘It’s a full fortnight straddling the Bank Holiday weekend.’ He took a biscuit and sat there for a moment with it in one hand, dabbing crumbs off his desk with the forefinger of the other. Then he looked up and said, ‘If you really are serious about going for promotion this’ll do you a lot of good. Open your eyes to what a sergeant actually does. I suspect there’s more to it than you think.’

  I felt strangely unsettled as I drove home. The fact was, I’d said yes without really giving it too much thought. It was starting to dawn on me what I was letting myself in for. You carry a lot of responsibility as a shift sergeant, particularly at a rural station where you’re often the sole supervisor on duty in that area – especially at night. Still, Ann was coming off an early shift too, and I would talk it over with her. Last night’s weather forecast had promised us the first fair day in a week or more and we’d planned to go for a walk.

  We drove out in the direction of Pocklington and parked where the Wolds Way long-distance footpath crosses the Roman road. There’s a lovely gentle walk that takes you down a typical dry valley, gently curving between steep grassy hills, and nothing to disturb the tranquillity beyond the bleating of a few sheep and the twittering of skylarks – although on this particular occasion we had Henry’s strangulated gasps as he tugged on the new chainlink lead we’d finally bought him. The path winds downhill for a couple of miles, then levels out before bringing you onto the road at the top end of Thixendale village, just a few minutes’ walk from the Cross Keys where we planned to have a pint and a meal.

  I didn’t raise the subject of my conversation with Birdie till we were on our way, skirting Thixendale Grange and starting to enter the valley proper. ‘He kind of threw it at me out of left field,’ I said. ‘And I never really thought it over. I sort of heard myself saying yes. And straight away I wished I hadn’t. It’s got me fretting a bit.’

  ‘That’s only to be expected,’ Ann said. ‘It’s new, isn’t it? It’s the added responsibility. If you weren’t apprehensive there’d be something wrong with you, don’t you reckon?’

  ‘You’re probably right. It’s just . . . I started thinking about it on the way home. You know, wondering what kind of sergeant I’d be. Who to model yourself on. I mean, you start thinking about all the ones you’ve worked with over the years, and they all have their own particular style, don’t they?’

  ‘Well, when I got promoted I thought of the ones I’d known and drew up a list of their good points and bad points. Then I tried to imagine an ideal, how to combine all the best features.’ She laughed, and added, ‘Mission impossible. I ripped it up and decided to be myself.’

  ‘Sounds like good advice. But it still won’t stop me quaking in my boots, first day on the job.’

  ‘What do you mean quaking in your boots? You’re an experienced PC.’

  ‘Yeah, but you know me – things have a tendency to happen when I’m around.’

  ‘It’s only two weeks. I’m sure you’ll be fine. I was nervous as anything, but you know what you’re doing. Look, Mike, it’s a hell of an opportunity for you. And it’ll look good on your CV.’ She stopped, right in front of me. We were walking single file along a sheep path, a thin line of bare earth worn into the cropped grass, and I almost crashed into the back of her as she turned and asked me, ‘You have got a CV, I take it?’

  ‘Course I . . . haven’t.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘What do I want a CV for? I’m not applying for a job as such.’

  ‘What about when you applied to come up here? Didn’t you write one then?’

  ‘Yeah, but that was on the application form. I never kept a copy. I only knocked it up on a piece of scrap paper, then filled in the form and away it went.’

  ‘But what about all the courses you’ve done, major cases, assignments, secondments? Haven’t you kept a list?’

  I tapped my head. ‘It’s all in here, love.’

  ‘I bet it isn’t. Listen, you’d better sit yourself down one of these nights and get it all on record. You think you’ll be able to remember it, but trust me, you won’t – not without some serious thought.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said. The thought of yet more paperwork did not appeal. ‘Now come on, let’s get down to Thix. I’m starving.’

  ‘Thirsty, you mean.’

  ‘Thirsty goes without saying. But I am also hungry.’

  My fortnight as acting sergeant got off to a steady enough start, which was the way I wanted it. There was a lot to get used to. Firstly, I had to come in earlier than the other officers, get the heads-up from the outgoing sergeant and make sure I was aware of all the ongoing cases and ‘live’ situations. It felt strange setting up in the sergeants’ office and being on first-name terms with the very people I’d addressed as Sarge for the last couple of years.

  The office was next door to the parade room. It was spacious and had a great view of the trees and gardens that surrounded the building. As I took it in a squirrel scampered up the side of the old beech tree. I had a look around the room that was to be my base for the next fortnight. It was like something out of a stately home, with its high ceiling, ornate coving and ceiling rose. There was an old painted bookshelf along one wall, crammed full of law and reference books collected over the years. Stacked up in one corner was the door-forcing equipment and a couple of riot shields for emergency use. In another corner was a walk-in cupboard, containing all sorts of booty – stocks of CS gas, spare radios, pens, batteries, pocket books, Sellotape and all kinds of stationery. I never even knew we possessed such things – staplers, Post-it notes, ring binders, document cases – and here I was entrusted with the sergeants’ keys, which were not only for this cupboard, but for the entire station. There was a set for the large old drugs safe, another for the custody area and cells, another for the property store and a couple of offices that were normally kept
locked when not occupied. I couldn’t wait for my first night duty when I could have a proper root around the station and work out which key opened which door.

  For my first shift, as I’d expected, there was only one inspector available in the Ryedale area – our man Birdie – and he was working in the daytime only. It felt really strange being his number two. Even stranger was the realisation that once he went home I would be expected to handle the entire Ryedale area, although I could call on our neighbouring supervision over at Scarborough or Hambleton if necessary.

  To prepare for the shift briefing, I had to keep an eye on all incoming intelligence and jobs on the computer and prepare to pass on any relevant information to the officers on my shift. I then had to look at the roster and decide who would work the separate beat areas, who would double up on the night shift, when they would come in for refreshment breaks and what areas needed to be targeted from the current intelligence. When I’d got on top of this lot I could look forward to briefing Fordy, Jayne, Ed – and Thommo, who’d been drafted in as cover.

  It was an odd feeling, walking into the parade room with all my mates sitting round the table waiting to be told what to do. And the fact that one of them was twenty years my senior was odder still. I was glad when he broke the ice. ‘My God, it’s Acting Sergeant Pannett.’ Thommo looked around at the rest of them and rolled his eyes. ‘Is this the state of British policing today?’

  ‘Ah, PC Thomson, glad you could make it. You’ve just volunteered for the worst outstanding job of the day award.’ With that the rest of my crew started laughing – and took the wind out of Thommo’s sails. He sat back in his seat and raised a conciliatory hand. ‘Aye laddie,’ he replied, ‘it’s a fair cop.’

  The first shift was always going to be the most awkward. When you are acting up to a more senior rank, you’re always aware that it’s a temporary position and that you’ll soon be back to your normal rank and working alongside the people that you’ve been supervising. The service is based on a rank structure and everybody knows that at the end of the day you call the shots and they do as you tell them. The important thing is how you go about it. People like Thommo and Ed were brilliant to have on the team because they were experienced and were on hand to help me out as and when. It’s more difficult in some respects to act up with a team that you know and work with, so it was important that I made it clear that I intended to do a proper job. But I did make it plain that I looked to them to play their part in making things work.