Web Site Story

Chief Constable Westlake shook his head slowly and surely. It was a very long head. It rose almost to a point. It was one of those rare heads that can actually fill a policeman's helmet. Which meant that he'd never had to wear the chinstrap when he'd been a constable. Which had been handy, as he didn't have a chin.

'You've come to make a full confession,' said the chief constable.

'I haven't,' said Kelly.

'No matter. We have many techniques at our disposal.'

'I've come to report a missing person,' said Kelly. 'And I'd like a printout of all persons reported missing in the London area during the last two months.'

'Indeed?' said the chief constable, resting his elbows upon the desk and cradling the chinless area of his face between his upturned palms. 'Well, you're certainly at liberty to report a missing person. But I cannot allow you access to police databanks.'

Kelly Anna Sirjan smiled upon Chief Constable Westlake.

Chief Constable Westlake smiled back upon her.

'Oh dear,' said Kelly. 'This puts me in a bit of a dilemma.'

'It does?' said the chief constable.

'Yes it does. I don't know whether to employ my womanly charms, flutter my eyelashes and brush my breasts lightly across your desk.'

The chief constable's pointy head began to nod up and down.

'Or quote the Freedom of Information Act, which clearly states that the general public are entitled to view any, or all information held within the police databanks that does not refer directly to named criminals or suspects.'

The chief constable's pointy head ceased nodding. Most men secretly fear intelligent women. Some men openly hate them. CC Westlake was one of the latter.

'This could take some time,' he said. 'You'd better sit yourself down for a couple of hours.'

'No problem,' said Kelly. 'I generally like to meditate at this time of the day. It involves entering a state of trance, please wake me gently.'

Chief Constable Westlake turned his pointy head and shouted, 'Meek! Come here at once!'

A constable with a black eye and a fat Up appeared from a doorway to the rear of the duty desk. He had been seventh man up to the site of yesterday's bus crash. A fireman called Norman had put him out for the count.

'Constable, deal with this woman,' said Westlake. 'And don't allow her to view any classified information.'

'Any what?' asked the constable. 'We don't have any of that kind of thing knocking around here, do we, guv?'

'Just do what you're told, Constable.'

'Yes, but guv…'

'Just do it lad, or know the wrath of my displeasure.'

'Yes, sir. Gotcha.' The constable saluted.

'And Constable.'

'Yes guv?'

'Why are you wearing that sombrero?'

'A fireman nicked my helmet, guv.'

'And the spotted cravat? Did he nick your tie too?'

'Oh no, guv. The lads and I were discussing the Hegelian dialectic up in the canteen. The cravat is merely symbolic.'

Chief Constable Westlake sighed wearily. 'Just get this woman a printout of all persons reported missing in the London area during the last two months. And take a statement from her about a missing person of her own.'

'Can I use the big new computer, guv?'

Westlake raised his eyebrows. 'What big new computer would that be, then?'

Constable Meek whispered into the ear of his superior officer. Kelly caught the words 'raid on the premises of… dodgy gear… open and shut case… friend of the DI… same lodge… two hundred pounds each hush money… new computer for the station… no more questions asked.'

'Ah,' said the chief constable. 'That computer. Well lad, crank it up and give this woman the printout. And take off that bloody silly hat, you look like the Cisco Kid.'

'The Cisco Kid?' asked Constable Meek.

'Hero of the popular 1950s American TV series,' said Kelly. 'The Cisco Kid was played by Duncan Renaldo. His comedy relief sidekick, Pancho, by the now legendary Leo Carillo. Every episode ended with the lines 'Oh Cisco', 'Oh Pancho'. There were three hundred and thirty-two episodes. And the series ran up until 1961 when Leo Carillo sadly passed away at the grand old age of eighty.'

Constable Meek and Chief Constable Westlake stared at Kelly Anna Sirjan.

'How on Earth did you know that?' asked Westlake.

'I read a lot,' said Kelly. 'Should I follow you, Constable Meek?'

The big new computer stood upon a desk in an otherwise empty office on the second floor of the Brentford nick. Although it was clean and new-looking, it was actually an out of date Mute Corp 3000 Series. The office was not entirely otherwise empty. There were cardboard boxes in evidence. And wires. And complicated keyboards and user's manuals and more wires and a number of dangerous-looking black boxes with warning stickers on them.

Kelly viewed all with an interested eye. 'Who has been wiring this up?' she asked.

Constable Meek reddened slightly in the cheeks. 'Well, most of us, really,' he confessed. 'We haven't made too much progress yet, but we remain confident that our endeavours will be rewarded with a satisfactory conclusion to the operation in the fullness of time. So to speak.'

'Would you like me to put it online for you?'

'Oh would you really? Oh yes please.'

Kelly applied her talents to the job in hand. Shortly thereafter her endeavours were rewarded with a satisfactory conclusion.

'There you go,' said Kelly. 'Now I'll need the password so that I can access the police databanks.'

'Yes,' said the constable, nodding his head.

'So, what is it?'

'What is what?'

'The password.'

'Password,' said the constable.

'Yes, password. What is the password?'

'Password,' said the constable once more.

'You're telling me that the password, is password?'

'Yes,' said the constable. 'Password is the official password for all government computers. Even MIS and Department S. Not to mention GHQ.' The constable paused.

Kelly typed in password.

'You're supposed to say 'GHQ?'' said the constable. 'And then I say, 'I told you not to mention that.' It's a running gag.'

'How amusing,' said Kelly. 'Now I just type in a request for a list of missing persons and request a hard copy, do I?'

The constable shrugged in a petulant manner. 'A running gag isn't a running gag if people refuse to run it,' he said.

Kelly typed in her request. Pressed PRINT and waited.

'Actually I really love technology,' said the constable. 'And I love the way that computers have got all big again. This is a Mute Corp 3000, one of the biggest you can get. All those miniaturized jobbies that came in around 2010. The ones that you wore inside your contact lenses. I could never be having with them.'