Just the Job, Lad Read online

  The question now was what should I do? I got into the village, passed the first few houses and then, as the road curved, I stopped, backed into an empty driveway and switched off the engine. Then I lowered the window and listened. The wind had dropped by now and it was a still, cool night. High in the sky a full moon was peering through broken cloud. Somewhere, perhaps a mile or so away across the fields, a fox was yipping; otherwise it was perfectly quiet. I put my seat right down and lay back. If they happened to come by on foot they shouldn’t see me. I certainly hoped not. I felt in my inside pocket to make quite sure I did have my police warrant card on me, just in case the occupants of the house came out to see who I was. I picked up the mobile again, and swore under my breath. Still no signal.

  I sat there, listening to the gurgle of fluids and the tick-tick-ticking as the engine started to cool. I couldn’t have been there more than three or four minutes, but that’s a long time when you’re on your own waiting and wondering what’s going to happen. As well as worrying about what the suspects were up to, I was frustrated that I couldn’t relay the information back to Brian and update the troops. Then I heard a vehicle approaching. At the same time a tall cypress hedge opposite was illuminated by headlights. It was the yellow pick-up coming round the corner, followed by the other two cars.

  Raising my head an inch or two so that I could see over the dashboard, I watched them all cruise slowly past, then eased myself upright, ready to start the engine and follow them. But they stopped in a line, right opposite the Blacksmiths Arms, not fifty yards from where I was parked. I suddenly felt very vulnerable. Had they spotted me? Had I inadvertently parked right next to the target premises? This was not a good situation. I was out of range and couldn’t contact the control room, and if these people had seen me and decided to challenge me I had no means with which to protect myself. I could be in grave danger. I needed an exit strategy, and the only one that made any sense was the obvious one. Flight. I pressed my foot down on the clutch, eased the gear lever into first and closed my fingers on the ignition key. If they got out of their cars and approached me there was no doubt in my mind what I would do. Fire up and drive off, fast – and let them do the worrying. I wasn’t going to attempt any heroics. Not with that lot.

  Keeping my head as low as I could, I watched as the pick-up doors opened and the three occupants got out. Would they be heading my way? My fingers tightened on the key, then relaxed a shade as I saw them approach the rearmost of the three vehicles, the Mondeo. What was puzzling me was, why the three-vehicle convoy? Was one going to be deployed as a look-out? A decoy? Or what?

  The guy in the Mondeo just sat there, his window half open. He seemed nervous, pulling on a cigarette and flicking the ash onto the road with his forefinger more often than seemed necessary. I now saw that his car was fitted with a stout towbar.

  The other four were clearly conferring, plotting their next move – but what had they got in mind? The pub? Maybe the antique shop further along the road. There had been a smash-and-grab there a few years earlier. I tried to make a mental note of each man’s height, weight, clothing and so on, but they were all dressed in similar fashion: jeans, sweatshirts or loose jumpers, and trainers. They all had woollen hats pulled down low, so that it was hard to see their faces.

  Whatever they had been discussing they’d clearly made up their minds as to their next move. The three men were heading briskly back to the pick-up. They got in and set off out of the village with the other two vehicles following.

  I gave them a minute or so, then set off, my heart thumping. Once again, I broke the rules. It’s just something you have to do from time to time. I’d already used my phone while at the wheel, and now I switched off my lights and drove by the light of the moon, which had broken through the clouds. The landscape was brightly illuminated, and I could clearly see the convoy up ahead, their brake lights glowing red as they hit the bends. I was feeling a little less vulnerable now, and a broad grin broke across my face as I remembered similar surveillance jobs in my Met days. The thrill of the chase – although in those days I was always part of a team, with all-important backup. This was different.

  I still hadn’t a clue where the convoy was going. Up ahead was West Lilling, and beyond that Sheriff Hutton. I knew I’d get a signal there, if not earlier, and that was my second priority – to contact control as soon as possible and alert them to what was going on. The first, though, was not to lose contact with the three vehicles. They were now round the bends and out of sight. It was make-your-mind-up time. I switched the headlights on. My best strategy now was to act as an ordinary member of the public on his way home. I got my foot down and started to gain on them, picking up the phone as I did so. Thank God for that. The full five bars.

  ‘Hello Mike, you all right? We were getting worried.’

  ‘Bloody signal’s hopeless round here, Brian. Listen, I’ve just left Flaxton, en route to Sheriff Hutton and – whoa, hang on!’

  I was just passing a gateway that led into a field of oilseed rape – and there was the pick-up, with nobody in it. I drove on by, maintaining a steady forty to fifty. Barely two hundred yards later I slowed on the approach to the crossing that takes you over the York to Scarborough line. On either side are a number of business premises – and on my right was the entrance to a small engineering works. And there, at the metal gates, and armed with a hefty set of boltcutters, were the three men from the pick-up. The Mondeo was tucked away just beside the gates, almost out of sight from the road. I might not have noticed it if the driver hadn’t just blown a cloud of smoke out through his side window.

  Bumping over the crossing I saw the other back-up vehicle. I drove on, looking straight ahead, keeping an eye out for somewhere I could pull over and renew contact with control. But that’s when Sod’s Law kicked in. The road ran straight as a die for a mile or so and I had no choice but to keep going. When I did finally get round a bend and out of sight, I picked up the phone to find I was out of credit.

  It’s at times like this that you thank your lucky stars for your backroom staff. I’d been sitting there less than a minute, cursing my luck and wondering what to do next, when the phone rang.

  ‘Mike, it’s Brian.’

  ‘You played a blinder there, mate. Bloody phone’s out of credit.’

  ‘Right, well, stay tuned. We don’t wanna lose contact. Any developments?’

  I filled him in on what I’d seen at the crossing, which was effectively a break-in in progress – and I reminded him I was still off duty, in civvies and unprotected. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve got backup organised but you’re looking at – at least ten, maybe fifteen minutes. There’s an armed response vehicle en route from the York area, and a Malton car – but that’s coming from Heslerton. Not even on the bypass yet.’

  I needed to gather my thoughts. Because my problem is I’m inclined to get carried away. Overenthusiastic, you might say. Right now, above all, I needed to stay calm, which wasn’t easy. I was sweating, and my heart was thumping. You very rarely come across villains in the act of committing a crime, and if these were the people who’d been plaguing us over the past few months, ripping off trailers and horseboxes, well, it could be a major clear-up. But what was I to do? Should I stay put and risk losing them completely, or go and see what they were up to? I had no way of knowing whether they were armed or not, but just the thought of those boltcutters was enough to make anyone think twice about approaching them.

  I put the car into gear and let out the clutch. Bugger it, I thought. What’s the worst that can happen? So long as I don’t get out of the car.

  ‘Brian, I’m heading back to see where they are. If I lose my signal again, just keep ringing, will you?’

  ‘Mike, whatever you do, do not go jumping in. Keep your . . .’ – he was fading again – ‘distance and be care . . .’ The signal was lost. Back over the railway crossing I found that the gates to the works were closed, and the two vehicles that had been there earlier were nowhere to be
seen. The third one, the Cavalier, was still on the roadside, with just the driver in it. Were the others inside the premises, or had they got what they were after and gone?

  I barely had a few seconds to take all this in, maintaining my speed as I was. I drove on by, back towards Flaxton. There I looked ahead, checked my mirror, and pulled into the same driveway I’d used earlier, glancing up at the bedroom windows, hoping the occupants hadn’t heard me. I crouched behind the dashboard and wound my window down a few inches, listening intently.

  I’d only been there a couple of minutes when I heard the roar of the dodgy silencer. Moments later the Mondeo came hurtling through the village, swaying to left and right, its headlights dazzling me briefly. It was pulling a brand-new Ifor Williams trailer – and looking as though it would part company with it at any moment. Hard on its heels was the pick-up, followed in turn by the Cavalier. These lads weren’t hanging about now.

  I started the engine, nosed forwards towards the road, and watched as the convoy disappeared from sight before following on behind. Thirty seconds or so later my phone rang.

  ‘Brian.’

  ‘What’s happening, Mike?’

  ‘All three suspect vehicles leaving Flaxton and heading towards the A64. The Mondeo is pulling a bloody Ifor Williams trailer. Nicked. They’ll hit the A64 any minute now.’

  ‘Right, Mike. The good news is the backup’s not too far away. York car’s just leaving the city centre. The Malton car’s coming down Whitwell Hill.’

  I’d got the tail-lights of all three vehicles in view now. At the junction with the A64 the lead car was straight out, barely seeming to slow down. It swerved, wobbled, and raised a puff of smoke as the driver hit the brakes at the last moment to avoid toppling it over. The pick-up followed, then the Cavalier, but as I followed him out into the main road the driver of this one swung to the left, braked hard and pulled over onto the verge to let me pass. I had a fair idea what he was up to. He reappeared in my rear-view mirror a moment later. Where the hell was my backup?

  My hands were now slipping on the steering wheel, my palms sweating and my heart racing. We were fast approaching the Hopgrove roundabout, just on the outskirts of York. The car behind had now closed right up behind me. In my rear-view mirror I could see the driver’s face lit up by his dashboard lights, flushed red as I put my foot on the brake. At first I thought he was just trying to get a closer look at me, but his lights, reflected in my mirrors, were dazzling me. Was he planning to take me out?

  ‘Brian, I’ve one on my tail – close up. Whoa, scrub that. He’s turned off towards Stockton-on-the-Forest.’ The question was, had he alerted the drivers in front on a mobile? They must know that something was up. I was directly behind the pick-up now, close enough to give Brian the registration number, just as the driver pulled out, accelerated and passed the Mondeo.

  ‘Yeah Mike, the pick-up has no registered keeper.’

  ‘What’s the backup situation, over?’

  ‘Malton car’ll be there in a minute or two. Just passing the Tanglewood. And you should see the York car any moment.’

  ‘Hope you’re right, mate. Hope you’re right.’

  I followed the pick-up onto the roundabout at speed. He didn’t signal, just swung sharply off, taking the first exit.

  ‘Brian, the pick-up’s gone Leeds way. I’m following the Mondeo plus trailer. Into York, by the look of it, over.’

  As we sped towards the outskirts of the city I saw the lights of the York ARV unit heading towards me – and then speeding right by.

  Surely they hadn’t missed us? No, they hadn’t. In my rear-view mirror I saw the driver execute a perfect 180-degree skid turn and race up behind me. Time for me to back off and let him pass. To my surprise, he’d no sooner signalled the Mondeo to stop than the driver did just that, barely a hundred yards down the road.

  I eased off and slowed down, drove on past the ARV guys and the Mondeo before pulling over a little way down the road. The last thing I wanted was to have my private car identified. If that got out on the bush telegraph I could look forward to all sorts of trouble. I left my car and walked the rest of the way back towards them.

  They had the driver out on the verge and were taking his details. He was what I’d call gaunt, sort of skinny with narrow shoulders, lank hair and a thick lip. With his eyes narrowed and the blue lights flashing into his face he looked a pretty sorry figure. I now saw that his left eye was swollen and the cheek below it bruised and grazed. He was busy protesting his innocence. ‘They made me do it,’ he kept saying. ‘They made me. They woulda killed me if I didn’t.’

  ‘Yeah well, you’ll have plenty of time to explain everything back at the station,’ the arresting officer said as they took him to their car. Then his partner turned to me. ‘Pannett, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘That’s right.’ I knew him vaguely, the way you do get to know a few faces from the beats that border your own. We’d met once or twice on various courses.

  ‘Hardly recognised you in civvies,’ he said. ‘What was this, an undercover job or what?’

  I shook my head, and watched his mate put the prisoner in the car. ‘No,’ I said, ‘I was on my way home when I came across this lot.’ He looked at me blankly. ‘I’m off duty,’ I said. ‘I was just in the right place at the right time, and – well, call it a sixth sense.’

  ‘What, and you gave chase in your own vehicle?’

  ‘Nah – I followed them, that’s all. And tipped off control. Not often you come across criminals in the act, is it?’

  ‘S’pose not. Bloody good job mate. Well done.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘looks like you’ve got everything under control.’ My only concern was that the Malton crew hadn’t been able to find the pick-up, but circulations were out for both of the outstanding cars and another unit was on its way to Flaxton to attend the premises that had been broken into, with the key-holder on his way. ‘I’ll meet you in York,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to give a statement, I guess. See you there.’ I lit a cigarette and made my way slowly back to my car.

  As I drove into York I had mixed feelings about the night’s events. It was brilliant that we’d made the arrest and recovered the property intact, but we hadn’t managed to pick up the other members of the gang. The guy we’d got looked like the weakest link, someone they’d roped in under duress. The main gang seemed to have got away, and would doubtless be at it again before long.

  Fifteen minutes later I was walking into York police station and making my way to the custody area when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

  ‘Mike, what on earth’s going on?’

  Ann was standing there in the corridor, gaping at me. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘No, it’s all right. I was on my way back from my mum’s and I came across a trailer theft.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘Well, I was on my way home and I came across a team nicking a trailer, out Flaxton way, so I – well, I got after them. Your fellow officers from York collared them, and I’ve just come in to do my statement.’ I looked at her and put on my most winning smile. ‘Hey, any chance I can sit in your back office while I write it up?’

  She shook her head and sighed. ‘Can’t let you out of my sight for two minutes, can I? You were supposed to be having a quiet night round at your mother’s. Yeah, course you can use the office. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah. Bit hairy at times, but – I’ll tell you all about it later.’

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on. You’ll find the statement forms in the drawers on the left. Hello – here they come.’

  At that the door opened and the ARV crew appeared with the suspect. While Ann set about booking him in and sorting out a doctor to check his injuries I went and started on my statement. I hadn’t been writing long when I spotted Ann’s familiar pack-up box on a side table. The thought of those cheese and tomato sandwiches I’d lovingly prepared for her several hours previously was too much for me. I had a little peek, and sure e
nough there was one left. It would be a pity to see it go to waste.

  ‘Don’t even think about it!’ Looking up, I saw Ann at the door. ‘I was saving that for later. Here’ – she threw me a half empty packet of custard creams – ‘have these.’

  The moon was setting when I made my way down the wooded drive that led to Keeper’s Cottage, and I was flagging. You burn a lot of mental and nervous energy on a job such as that. Yes, you have that glow of satisfaction when it comes right, but in the end your body reminds you of the resources you’ve used up. All I could think about now was bed. Henry, though, had other ideas. He’d been on his own since early evening and assumed I was going to take him out.

  ‘Come on, then,’ I sighed, threading Walter’s rope through his collar. ‘Just down the lane and back.’

  It was half-past three when I got into bed. I never heard Ann come in.

  It was a few weeks after all this that a letter arrived from the chief superintendent, addressed to me. I remember looking at it for some time before opening it. I was thinking, Christ, now what? Letters from on high don’t often land in your in-tray – and when they do they can spell trouble.

  I needn’t have worried. Our leader was writing to congratulate me on my display of initiative in chasing after the gang and whistling up support. A few days after that I got a second pat on the back, a congratulatory email from the chief constable. When I got home that night I couldn’t wait to tell Ann about it. She listened patiently, then said, ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘I thought you were listening.’

  ‘I was. I have also been thinking. I am a girl, I can multitask, remember?’

  ‘This sounds serious. Ominous, in fact.’

  ‘Serious, yes. Ominous, no. Listen,’ she said, putting her hand on mine, ‘I think you’re a fantastic copper.’ She laughed. ‘Unpredictable, slightly mad, but great at your job.’

  ‘I like this. Is there more?’