He dug his claws into the pavement, searching for purchase mere feet from his prize.
‘Come along, Rex,’ Albert insisted. ‘You are not eating a mouldy old kebab that’s been out in the rain!’ Beside him, Victor was having the same drama with Hans but on a far more manageable scale. The wiener was likewise digging his claws in and trying to get his body to the scattered remains of someone’s supper, but Victor looped a hand under his belly, hoisting him into the air to defeat his attempts to snag another piece of meat.
Crossing the road, it was a good thing Albert couldn’t translate what Rex said because none of it was printable.
At the station, they were met by a sergeant on the front desk. It was a small police station, barely big enough to hold a detainee though Albert was sure they would have several small cells tucked away behind the scenes. The sergeant was clean shaven and well into his forties, grey specks winning the battle against his dark brown hair, and he had a small scar by his left ear which might have a story behind it. It had puckered marks on either side where the skin had been sewn back together, and though clearly many years old, the white scar tissue stood in contrast to the rest of his lightly tanned skin.
‘Good morning, gentlemen?’ he gave them his professional face, waiting to hear what malady they might have to report.
On their way in, Albert had requested that Victor let him speak, his experience in handling the police likely to prove to their advantage.
‘Good morning,’ Albert replied. Taking a second to instruct Rex to sit, he came right up to the counter. ‘You have a suspect in custody, her name is Kate Harris. I am hoping to be able to speak with her, either directly, or via a telephone.’
Opting to answer a question that hadn’t been asked, the sergeant said, ‘She is due to be transferred to HMP Bedford shortly.’
Albert warned Victor this was likely to be the case but felt the man tense up at the news anyway. ‘This is her brother,’ Albert explained. ‘And her dog,’ he indicated Hans. He knew there was no sense in stating that the police had the wrong person. He had no proof to back up such a claim, he wasn’t entirely certain they did have the wrong person, and doing so always upset the officers in question. Always. ‘Her arrest was a surprise to her family and coworkers; she holds a position of responsibility at the Clanger café and her unexpected absence may impact the firm negatively. For the sake of other people, innocent of any crime, having her answer a few questions would prevent loss of business. I’m sure you, as a Bedfordshire man, would hate to see the Clanger Café close.’ Albert’s carefully worded request hadn’t contained a single question, just the suggestion of negative impact on the community the sergeant undoubtedly held dear. Watching the man’s face, he knew he’d hit home and delivered the winning line. ‘Just a few words over the phone, Sergeant, that’s all. May we, please?’
Now he was stuck. The sergeant’s easiest course of action was to do nothing and have no one speak to the suspect. She would be out of his hair shortly and someone else’s problem. He had no legal reason to let the old man see or speak to Kate Harris, but what if the Clanger Café closed? He did like a clanger when the mood took him. What harm could a few words over the phone do?
‘Okay. But I must limit you to five minutes. There is no easy way to arrange a phone call so I will have a constable escort one of you back to the cells. You can talk through the door. Good enough?’
Albert inclined his head. ‘Thank you, Sergeant. We will wait here until you are ready for us.’
What Albert didn’t know was that the station in Biggleswade was due to be closed in less than a month. It was too expensive to keep on: budget cuts, manning shortages, and lack of crime in the community, all demanded the resources be reallocated elsewhere. Biggleswade would be covered from the larger hub in Bedford. That was why there was no phone; much of the building’s infrastructure had already been reclaimed.
‘You should go,’ suggested Victor. ‘I want to see her, but you are the one with the questions.’
Albert opened his mouth to argue but closed it again because Victor was right. Victor could ask the questions, but if anything needed to be clarified or another question occurred, he wouldn’t be in a position to recognise what needed to be done.
They were made to wait only ten minutes before a young constable appeared. A female officer, she was in her thirties and tall for a woman at close to six feet. Albert wondered about her heritage, questioning in his head whether her parents might be Hungarian or from one of the Slavic states. He kept quiet as she led him through to the rear of the small station, Rex getting left behind with Victor and Hans.
Behind the brightly painted and welcoming reception area, all the walls were painted with a light grey paint as if it were the inside of a battleship. Albert had never thought about it much when he was a serving officer, but looking at it now, the surroundings were a little depressing. Along a narrow corridor and around a bend, they reached a solid door with a metal grill at eye height. Through it, Albert could see another narrow corridor, this one had a blank wall on the left and four cell doors on the right. The
