“Poor bastard,” Dillon said, morosely.
“Any update on Andy?” Jack asked. “Did he get home safely.”
Carol nodded. “I spoke to Alison a little while ago. It took her ages to get him back home. She had to keep pulling over so he could throw up, poor thing.”
Dillon grimaced.
“Let’s hope he makes a speedy recovery,” Jack said. “In the meantime, I need one of you to sort out getting an out of hours warrant, and the other to speak to the Chief Inspector at IR to see if he’ll release a couple of TSG carriers from the Commissioners Reserve for a raid on a squat. If he does, you’ll need to prepare a briefing document for when we execute the warrant.”
“When you say squat,” Dillon said, “should I assume you’re talking about the dive where Angela Marley lives?”
“That’s the one. Dick Jarvis and Paul Evans have been keeping an eye on it, and they’ve just phoned in to say that Angela has returned.”
“Why not just go in under Section 17 of PACE and arrest her? Then we can search under Section 18 or 32?” Carol suggested. “It would be much quicker and it would save a lot of paperwork.”
Jack shook his head. “I’ve considered doing that, but there are too many risks involved. I’m happy we have a power of entry to arrest under Section 17 because the boys have seen someone fitting her description go in. But if we gain entry and she’s not there, we can’t make an arrest, and without that, there’s no power to search. Also, if she is there, but the house is divided into bedsits, then we only have the power to search the room she’s using and any communal areas. I’d rather have a Section 8 PACE warrant in my back pocket, allowing us to search the whole premises.”
“I’ll sort out the warrant,” Dillon offered. “I’ll get on the phone to the Duty Clerk and see who’s available to deal with the application.”
“In that case,” Carol said, “I’ll phone Information Room at the Yard and work my charms on the Duty Chief Inspector, then I’ll knock out a briefing.”
The two Detective Inspectors rose as one to follow out their orders.
“To arms!” Dillon proclaimed with a smile. “I’m off to find myself a friendly Magistrate.”
“To the toilet,” Carol countered. “That coffee has gone straight through me!”
Chapter 23
Inside the squat, Angela had taken a long shower and changed her clothing. The grimy nurse’s uniform had been tossed in the corner. She would come back and burn it as soon as Winston was on his way to Sussex, but for now, it would be fine where it was.
As soon as she finished towelling off her hair, Angela retrieved her burner phone from the bed. She needed to remind Garston that Cribbins was coming around to the flat at some point after nine, and that he needed to be there to pay the embalmer for his services. After making the call, she planned to shoot up with the emergency smack that she kept hidden under her floorboards and then crash out on her nice warm bed while the Golden Brown worked its magic.
She would go back to the flat later this evening, or in the early hours of the morning, depending on how long she slept for. Garston would be furious, but it would be worth it to have a few hours of freedom.
Her face fell as she saw that the battery was dead, and she angrily threw it on the bed, where it bounced on the mattress and then toppled to the floor.
“Shit!”
Angela frantically started searching her messy room for the charger but it was nowhere to be found. “No good bunch of motherfuckers,” she cursed, realising that someone must have come in and taken it while she was out. Was nothing safe in this damn house?
Angela stormed out into the hall, shouting and swearing, demanding to know who had ‘tiefed’ her charger. When her aggressive approach didn’t get her anywhere, she changed tack and went around the rooms trying to sweet-talk the other girls into letting her borrow one of theirs.
That didn’t work either.
This was terrible news. It meant that she would have to go back to Rodent’s flat instead of staying here and getting high. In a foul mood, she marched back to her room, threw a few bits and bobs into a duffle bag, snatched the useless phone from the floor and slammed the door on her way out.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, two of the other residents turned up with four very noisy, very drunk punters in tow. They were National Front types from the look of them, with buzzcuts and flattened noses. One of the hookers, a loud-mouthed Asian girl who called herself Lola, spotted Angela and invited her to join the party. “Some easy money if you want it,” she said, slurring her words, “but it’s gonna be wild!”
The thuggish punters looked like they had come here to do some heavy partying, and Angela suspected they would pay well for the privilege of doing so, but she had to get back to the flat in case Cribbins turned up and there was no one there to admit him.
“Can’t,” Angela said. She couldn’t rely on Garston getting back in time to sort Claude out, and if he didn’t, they would both take it out on her.
As she
