“Let’s sit at the dining table,” Mrs Baxter said, pointing towards a huge oak table off to their left. “While you sort out your paperwork, I’ll put the kettle on.” With that, she shuffled off to one of the cupboards and removed three mugs from it. “Coffee or tea?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder at them.
“Coffee would be great,” Dillon replied, feeling a little shell shocked. It dawned on him that the bloody Clerk had been winding him up. Feeling a little silly for having fallen for it, he turned to Bull and whispered, “See, what did I tell you? Putty in my hands.”
As soon as coffee was served – she had thrown in an assortment of biscuits and told them to help themselves – they got down to business.
“Will you be taking the oath or making an affirmation?” Mrs Baxter asked.
“The oath, of course,” Dillon replied. In his experience, Magistrates always preferred it when people swore on the bible before giving evidence.
Mrs Baxter smiled approvingly. “Good,” she said, removing a King James Bible and a laminated card from one of the drawers in the cupboard nearest to them. The card had the oath written on it in big bold letters. Dillon took the bible in his right hand, held it up and recited the oath. He didn’t need to refer to the card she offered him; he knew it off by heart, a fact that was not lost on the wily old Magistrate.
After formally introducing himself by name, rank and the unit he was attached to, Dillon explained that he was there to apply for a search warrant under Section 8 of PACE. He provided her with three copies of the warrant, a written Information – an official document outlining the nature of the offences under investigation, the type of warrant being applied for, the grounds for making the application, and the evidence sought – and then gave a detailed overview of the case and Angela’s involvement. He was pleased to see Mrs Baxter listened to his every word in rapt silence, appropriately nodding enthusiastically and shaking her head sadly at every juncture.
He explained that he was asking for a single-entry warrant to cover multiple premises, by which he meant that the house that they wanted to search was a squat. As such, it was possible that the transient occupants moved around, sleeping in different rooms on different nights, depending on which one was available for occupancy at the time.
When he was finished, he took a deep breath and helped himself to a slice of shortbread.
“Very well,” Mrs Baxter said, “before I make a decision, can you tell me if there are likely to be any children or animals at the premises?”
Dillon shook his head emphatically. “No children or animals. Our intelligence suggests this is a large house in a state of disrepair that has been used as a squat by a number of local prostitutes for the last few months. Some of them, like Angela Marley, live there on pretty much a full-time basis while others doss down for a night or two here and there. The local authority is currently trying to get it closed down as some of the hookers have started bringing punters back for sex parties on an increasingly regular basis, and the squat has effectively turned into a self-ran brothel.”
“I’m sure the neighbours love that,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m told there have been one or two agitated complaints,” Dillon informed her.
“I bet there have,” she replied, shaking her curler-laden head disapprovingly. “Very well, Detective Inspector Dillon, I’m happy to authorise the warrant.” A pen magically appeared in her hand and she began to sign the copies. “Please make sure a copy is returned to the court as soon as it’s executed. I wish you luck with your investigation and I would be grateful if you could let me know how it all turns out.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, taking possession of the signed copies one at a time. “And thank you for seeing us at such short notice, and for your hospitality with the coffee and biscuits,” he said as she escorted them back along the hall to the street door.
“You’re very welcome, Inspector,” she said, smiling sweetly. “One last thing,” she said as she showed them out.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I have a hard-earned reputation for being a rather formidable lady in court, so if either of you dares to tell anyone how I was dressed tonight, or that I was nice to you, I will have no alternative but to hunt you both down and kill you.”
Dillon’s face broke into a huge grin. He liked this woman – a lot. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “Your secret is safe with us.”
◆◆◆
Garston was sitting in the bedroom with Winston when Angela finally arrived back at the flat. She poked her head around the door sheepishly. “Everything okay?” she asked timidly.
“Where have you been?” he demanded, standing up angrily. “You were supposed to come straight back here after going around to see Horace.” He looked at his watch and scowled. “That was over three hours ago! What have you been doing since then?”
Angela couldn’t meet his eye. “Sorry,” she muttered contritely, looking down at the floor. “Needed to go home and get changed.”
Garston moved towards her with menace. The slap he had given her the day before had changed the dynamic between them, knocking some of the arrogance out of her. Maybe she needed a little more of the same today? “What did I say to you?” he snapped, spraying her with spittle. “You don’t go anywhere near the squat until I give you permission. If I find out that you opened that horrible big gob of yours and blabbed to anyone about where we’re holed up…” He raised a hand as if to slap her.
“I didn’t say anything to anyone, I swear,” Angela cried, cowering in fear.
“Leave the bitch alone,”
