Thursday night shift (2)
The minute hand on the lobby clock was quivering as gathered its strength to claw up to two o’clock. The damn phones had been ringing non-stop and Wells was finding it hard to keep his voice sounding polite I’m sorry, madam,’ he told a caller who had phoned previously to complain that her neighbours were having a noisy row and were keeping her awake. ‘We’re short-staffed and we had to divert the car to a more important incident. We’ll get someone there just as soon as we can.’ Hardly had he replaced the phone and logged the call when there was an angry commotion outside, then a scowling, red-faced bull-frog of a man in an expensive black overcoat and a white silk scarf exploded into the lobby, closely followed by an anxious-looking PC Collier.
‘Who’s in charge?’ the man bellowed, dumping a bulky brief-case on the floor. He reeked of whisky.
Wells put his pen down and sighed. He could do without this. ‘I am, sir.’
The man looked disdainfully at Wells’ sergeant’s stripes and screwed his face into a sneer. ‘I want someone in authority, not you. Not a bloody sergeant.’
‘What’s this all about?’ asked Collier.
The man barged between the two officers. ‘Don’t you damn well ignore me. I’m talking to you, Sergeant. You ask me, not him. Now get me someone in authority.’ He fumbled in his pocket for a cigar.
‘Would an inspector satisfy you, sir?’ asked Wells, struggling to hold his temper in check.
‘If that’s all you’ve got, then he’ll have to do,’ snapped the man, clicking a gold Dunhill lighter and drawing on the cigar. Wells felt like pointing to the ‘No Smoking’ sign but wasn’t in the mood for any more aggravation and the odds were that Frost would come slommocking out with a cigarette in his mouth. He used the internal phone and whilst the man glowered and puffed cigar smoke and whisky fumes all over him, asked Inspector Frost to come into the lobby.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Frost. ‘What’s up?’
Frost, in his crumpled suit, greasy knotted tie and unpolished shoes, didn’t look at all impressive and he certainly didn’t impress the complainant who pulled the cigar from his mouth and stared contemptuously. ‘Isn’t there anyone else in charge?’
‘No,’ said Frost. ‘So if you’ve anything to say, spit it out, I’m busy.’
‘Not too busy to attend to me,’ snarled the man. ‘I’m making a complaint against that police officer.’ His finger jabbed at Collier. ‘He drove his car into me while I was stationary, then accused me of drunken driving.’
Frost wrinkled his nose and turned his head away from the whisky fumes. To Collier he said, ‘Has he been breathalyzed?’
‘No, Inspector. He refused.’
‘Right, said Frost to Wells. ‘Get a police surgeon… one with warm hands. We’ll have a urine sample.’ Back to Collier. ‘So what happened, Constable?’
‘I’ve just told you what happened,’ shouted the man, his face getting redder.
Frost pushed him away. ‘Shut up. You’re giving me a bleedin’ headache.’ Back to Collier.
‘I was on patrol in the Bath Road when I saw this Bentley crawling along, swinging from one side of the road to the other. I signalled for the driver to stop. He pulled into the kerb. I drew up behind him. As I was getting out, he started up the engine. I think he was trying to get away, but he put it into reverse by mistake and rammed into me. He was obviously drunk — speech slurred, eyes glazed. He flatly refused to use the breathalyzer, and knocked it out of my hand, so I brought him in.’
‘Well done,’ nodded Frost. ‘Book him.’ As he turned to go, the man grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him round.
‘Do you know who I am?’ he demanded, pushing his sweating face close to the inspector’s.
‘I know what you are,’ replied Frost, shaking himself free. ‘You’re a drunken, boring prick. Take your sweaty paw off my suit.’
No-one heard the lobby door swing open. ‘What’s going on here?’
Frost groaned. Bloody Mullett had to choose this particular moment to do his rallying call act on the troops. A little touch of Mullett in the night. ‘I’m handling it, sir,’ he said firmly.
Mullett hesitated. He preferred not to get involved in any thing unless he knew what it was about. Then his face lit up with recognition. ‘Good lord! It’s Councillor Knowles. What are you doing here?’
‘I’m making an official complaint against this police officer,’ said Knowles, ‘and I’m being treated abominably. That man…’ and his lip curled at Frost, ‘has been incredibly rude. He has threatened me, sworn at me and made me the subject of a false charge.’
Mullett looked suitably shocked. His lips tightened. ‘You’d better come to my office, councillor. I’m sure we can sort this out.’ He glowered at Frost as he spun on his heel. ‘Two coffees to my office at once, please, Sergeant.’
Frost jerked forked fingers to the door as it closed behind his Divisional Commander. ‘Pompous git!’ he bellowed impotently to the ceiling.
‘Did you hear that? Two coffees!’ croaked Wells. ‘What does he think this is — an all-night flaming cafe?’
Young PC Collier was white-faced. ‘What will happen, Sarge? It was a proper arrest. The man was drunk and he ran into me.’
‘Go and make their coffee,’ said Wells, ‘and do one for me.’
The internal phone buzzed. Inspector Frost to report to the Divisional Commander… at once! ‘When I’m ready,’ said Frost, after he had hung up. Slowly he finished his cigarette, then ambled off to obey the summons. Mullett was waiting for him in the passage outside. He took Frost by the arm and drew him away, beaming a smile of smug satisfaction. Hello, thought Frost. What’s the slimy sod been up to?
'I’ve managed to get the councillor to drop his complaint against Collier, Inspector.’
‘What bloody complaint?’ demanded Frost, his voice rising with anger. ‘The drunken slob rammed into him then refused to take a breath test.’
Waving a hand for Frost to keep his voice down, Mullett led him away from the office door, then leaned forward to talk to Frost in his ‘man to man’ voice. ‘Young Collier is inexperienced. Mr Knowles is a councillor. He is also on the Police Committee. It will be his word against Collier’s. Who ‘do you think will be believed?’
‘Collier will be believed — especially when the urine test shows Fat-guts is as pissed as a newt.’
Mullett winced. He deplored Frost’s too-frequent crudities. He carefully composed his face into a brittle smile and looked at the far wall across Frost’s shoulder. ‘Ah… there won’t be a urine sample. We won’t be proceeding with the charge…’ His hand jerked up to silences Frost’s explosion of outrage. ‘Politics, Inspector. It pays to have a man of his influence on our side, instead of us.’
Frost jerked his arm free from Mullett’s grasp. ‘You can have him on your bloody side. I don’t want him on mine. And if I ever arrest the bastard for anything, I’ll make the charge stick, politics or no bloody politics.’
The brittle smile slipped and shattered. ‘There will be no vendettas,’ hissed Mullett. ‘And before you go, Inspector, there’s one more thing. In order to persuade the councillor to drop his complaint against Collier, I agreed that you would personally apologize to him for your rudeness.’
‘Up your shirt!’ shouted Frost, ready to march back up the corridor.
Mullett’s whole body was quivering with anger. ‘That was not a request, Inspector. That was an order.’
‘Very good, Super,’ replied Frost, with an expression of such sweet reasonableness that Mullett was instantly uneasy.
Knowles was sprawled in one of Mullett’s special visitor’s chairs, his piggy eyes agleam at the prospect of Frost’s impending humiliation. He looked up from his cup of Sergeant Wells’ instant coffee in mock surprise as Frost entered, looking very contrite. ‘Yes, Inspector?’
‘I’d like to apologize’, said Frost, ‘for calling you a big, fat, ugly bastard.’
Knowles frowned and looked puzzled. ‘I didn’t hear you say that.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ said Frost innocently, sounding genuinely apologetic. ‘It must have been what I was thinking.’
Knowles rose from his chair, eyes bulging, ready to erupt. Then he gave an evil smile. ‘I shall remember this,
