‘Falls, sir.’
‘Eh?’
‘Her name, sir, it’s Falls.’
‘Don’t get impertinent laddie. Do we have any hope of apprehending them or have they joined the migration to America?’
Roberts thought that was quite witty and probably true but he said, ‘We’re following a definite line of inquiry.’
The Super was out of his chair, shouting, ‘In other words, we haven’t the foggiest.’
But Roberts did have a definite lead. Following the oldest police hunch of all, he got back to the beginning. Roberts had checked with Croydon CID. Sure enough the suspect had bolted for home. That anyone would flee
The driver, a blond haired man in his twenties smiled, asked, ‘Croydon?’
Roberts got in. ‘What’s yer name sonny?’
‘McDonald, Guv.’
‘Oh wonderful, a bloody Scot. Spare me the Billy Connolly shite, OK?’
McDonald put the car in gear, asked blankly, ‘Billy who?’
‘Good lad, you’ll go far.’
Elgin Lane is that rarity in this part of London. It’s got trees and grass verges and a large Greek presence. No connection to them marbles.
McDonald parked and Roberts said, ‘Number nine.’
They got out and walked casually to the house. A line of bells, reading: Zacharopolous/ Ohrtanopolous Yoganopolous.
Like that.
Except for one blank bell, indicating the ground floor. Roberts said, ‘Use all yer police training and guess which one is our man.’
The door was ajar and in they went, scrutinised the ground floor flat. Roberts said, ‘Tut tut, no dead bolt, just yer basic Yale … what do you weigh, son?’
‘Weigh?’
‘It’s not a difficult question.’
‘Fourteen stone.’
‘Well son, the door won’t come to us.’
‘Oh.’
‘Right.’
McDonald braced himself against the far wall and before he launched, a young woman came down the stairs, gave Roberts a dazzling smile and said, ‘Kalimera.’
Roberts answered, ‘Whatever,’ and after she left, added, ‘The Greeks have a word for it all right … OK son, are you going to hang about all day?’
He wasn’t and took the whole jam of the door in his onslaught.
Roberts gave a low whistle. ‘What are they feeding them?’ And followed in.
The police piled down a small corridor, which translates as Sweeney tactics. Roar like bulls, pound them boots, and put the shite crossways in all and sundry.
The suspect was crashed out on a double bed, entangled in a sheet. He was arse naked. A dense cloud of ‘hash-over’ near made him invisible. Despite the noise, he didn’t stir.
Roberts asked, ‘What is that smell?’
‘Dope, sir.’
‘And there’s the biggest dope of all. Go get a jug of cold water —
‘Yes, sir.’
McDonald returned with a large basin, it made a clinking sound. ‘On the rocks.’
‘Perfect, the Chief Constable will be looking over his shoulder.’
McDonald already knew that. ‘Shall I?’
‘Give it yer best, lad.’
McDonald swung the basin in a wide arc and on the upward tilt, he let the contents fly.
Whoosh!
A ferocious roar came from the bed and the suspect leapt up, crying, ‘What’s happening, man?’
Roberts said, ‘Wakey, wakey,’ and nodded to McDonald. He moved quickly and catching the sus by the hair, flipped him over and handcuffed him, hands behind the back. He considered, then open handed he gave the sus an almighty slap on the arse.
Roberts gave a low laugh and the sus tilted his head round. If he was cowed, he wasn’t showing it. ‘Hey, where’s the black cunt — ain’t she doing house calls no more?’
McDonald raised his hand but Roberts signalled no. Emboldened, the sus taunted, ‘What is this anyway? I haven’t got a TV licence … that it?’
Roberts glanced at the TV, then casually tipped it over. ‘No TV either. OK … let’s go.’
McDonald dragged the sus to his feet, wrapped a blanket round him and pushed him forward.
The sus shouted, ‘Ey! lemme get the Tamogotchi!’
Roberts was puzzled. ‘You want a takeaway now?’
McDonald stifled a laugh. ‘It’s a toy, sir, a cyber pet.’
The sus looked at McDonald almost warmly as if he’d found an ally, said, ‘Yeah mate, I’m going for the record. I’ve kept it alive for twenty days already.’
Roberts asked, ‘Where is it?’
The sus was animated now. ‘Under the pillow, man, you got to keep it near — it gets lonely.’
Roberts looked at McDonald, said, ‘Well, Constable, you know what to do.’
McDonald got the pet and glanced briefly at it. The sus said, ‘Give it here, dude.’
McDonald dropped it, then lifted his foot and crushed it with his heel.
A howl of anguish went up.
Roberts felt he might have found a replacement for Brant.
‘One of the most disturbing facts that came out in the Eichman trial was that a psychiatrist examined him and pronounced him perfectly sane. We equate sanity with a sense of justice, with humanness, with the capacity to love and understand people. We rely on the sane people of the world. And now it begins to dawn on us that it is precisely the sane one’s who are the most dangerous.’
— Thomas Merton
Fenton liked Mexico. Well, he liked Acapulco in so far as it was hot and sleazy. And boy was it hot, was it ever?
From early morning that heat just rolled up and smacked you in the face.
A sucker punch.
He was staying at El Acapulco and, wow, how did they come up with that? El?
Lounging by the pool, he signalled a waiter.
‘Si, Senor?’
This was great, like being in a John Wayne movie. Fenton had, like tops, ten Spanish words and decided to spend a few now. Tried: ‘Donde esta la Rio Grande?’
‘Senor?’
