The Scorpio’s lone occupant sat up as Dillon approached, and there was an aura of uneasiness about him that made the detective wonder if something might actually be wrong here. As he reached the driver’s door it was immediately apparent that the lock had been forced. A screwdriver, or something similar, had been used. The damage was recent; he could see that the scratch marks around the lock were fresh.
Dillon’s heart sank. Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is, he prayed.
Putting on a mask of indifference, he tapped on the window, smiling in at the driver and hoping that his casual manner would put the man at ease.
“Yeah?” the young black man demanded cautiously, having lowered the electric window a couple of inches. It was enough. The car reeked of cannabis and there was a half-smoked joint in the driver’s hand.
More importantly, Dillon could see that the ignition had been ripped out and the wiring spliced, confirming his suspicion that it was a stolen car.
Great!
Just what he didn’t need – not today.
If he believed in that sort of thing, he might be tempted to think that this was fate’s way of preventing him from making a nuisance of himself with the drug squad wallahs.
“Sorry to bother you, mate. I was just wondering how long you’re going to be here, only there’s nowhere else to park and I don’t want to block you in.”
“Oh,” the man said, visibly relaxing. He looked around in a dilemma, trying to decide what to do for the best. “I’m waiting for some people, bruv,” he eventually said. “I’m not sure how much longer they’ll be.”
Dillon smiled at him disarmingly while wishing that he could punch the little twerp’s lights out for spoiling his plans. “Tell you what, I’ll have a quick gander to see if there are any other spaces while you wait here. Back in a minute.” With that, he straightened up and began walking towards the Omega. As soon as he turned away from the Ford his smile vanished, to be replaced by a look of consternation.
Steve Bull had been watching Dillon’s interaction with the Ford’s driver with mounting interest, and now he turned to Copeland.
“Shit!” he said, stretching the word out miserably.
“What’s up?” George asked, frowning at the sudden trepidation in his friend’s voice.
“I dunno,” Bull said, glumly, “but we’re about to find out.” He powered down the electric window as Dillon reached them.
“We have a slight problem,” the big man said, leaning in to address his colleagues.
Bull let out a disheartened sigh. “I figured as much. Go on then, what’s wrong?”
“That Scorpio’s a nicked motor.”
Copeland naively craned his neck forward to get a better look.
“Don’t be so bleedin’ obvious, George,” Dillon growled, placing a shovel sized palm on Copeland’s forehead and pushing him back down into his seat.
“Ouch,” Copeland complained, rubbing his head.
“How can you tell it’s nicked?” Bull asked.
“The door lock’s been jemmied and it’s been hotwired. The driver’s just sitting there, smoking cannabis – says he’s waiting for some mates to come out.”
Bull swore under his breath. “What do you want to do about it?” he asked. At this rate, he’d never get any of the tasks Tyler had assigned him started today – let alone finished.
“We don’t wanna lumber ourselves with a crappy TDA, boss,” Copeland piped up from the back. “Why not call it in and have the locals come and nick chummy? We can always wait here till they arrive so that he can’t drive off.”
Dillon shook his head. “We can’t do that, George,” he said, really wishing that they could. “It would look like we think it’s beneath us. We’ll just have to bite the bullet and nick him.”
“Shouldn’t we call for back up anyway?” Copeland persisted. “What if the people he’s waiting for come out? It’ll be a bit embarrassing if they see us and have it on their toes.”
It was a good point.
Dillon expelled his breath in a long sigh of frustration. “Steve, get on the radio to the local nick. Tell ‘em what we’ve got and request a couple of uniform units to back us up in case the driver’s mates appear. Request a silent approach. George, if you cover the passenger’s door, I’ll take the driver’s side. Steve, as soon as we’re in position, drive across his path and block the little shit in.”
Bull gave him a thumbs up. He couldn’t answer because he was already on the radio, requesting back up.
Still rubbing his head, George joined Dillon outside, where his rumbling stomach earned him a look of disdain. “Sorry, but I’m hungry,” he explained sheepishly.
Dillon walked back to the driver, bending down to get a better look inside. Hopefully, the car’s central locking wasn’t on.
“Sorry mate, no other spaces available. How long did you say you’d be?”
Before the man could reply, the Omega lurched forward, completely trapping the Ford in place. Realising that something was very wrong, the driver instinctively reached for the automatic transmission but, by then, Dillon had wrenched the door wide open and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. “POLICE!” he yelled, pushing the startled man back into his seat so hard that he almost ended up with whiplash.
◆◆◆
Mel had just come up the stairs after paying a brief visit to the Foyer Café on the ground floor. She was holding a polystyrene takeaway cup containing a large Cappuccino in one hand and a 100g bar of Dairy Milk in the other. She planned to consume them both at the nursing station while she added her shifts for the rest of the month to her diary and then updated the latest batch of patient records.
As she’d recently told Dumpling Dave during a campaign to persuade him to start going jogging with her and lose a
