Black & Blue: Where it all began…… (D.S Hunter Kerr) (3 page)

Hunter was adding the final few paragraphs to the evidence in his pocket book when Roger Mills burst into the parade room.

“Come on Hunter, get your stuff, we’ve got a domestic to go to,” He said and scurried back out again.

In double-quick time Hunter slung his pocket book into the back of his tray, snatched up his belt containing his hasp and handcuffs and bolted towards the back door.
He found his tutor revving the engine of the marked Response Car. Leaping into the front passenger seat, Hunter hadn’t even belted up before the Ford Sierra was tearing out of the rear yard towards the Tree Estate from where several calls had come in.

In
side ten minutes they were speeding into Woodland Road and seconds later Roger braked sharply before the scene which confronted them: A throng of shouting and excited people were enveloping one of the gardens half-way along the street.

Roger pulled the car sharply into the side of the road, switched off the whirling blue lights and pushed open his door.

Hunter followed, fastening his hasp and cuff belt around his waist as he quick-stepped to back up his partner.

Above the shouts of the bystanders were the screams and cries of a woman, so loud, as they approached at jogging pace, that Hunter was convinced someone was being murdered. Suddenly he could feel the adrenaline starting its rush inside his brain and his stomach turn-turtle.

As they pushed their way through the midst of spectators they were greeted by shouts of disgust, but no resistance was offered, and as they squeezed past the front row they were confronted by a shaven-headed, middle aged man who was straddling a spread-eagled woman of similar age. The man held a handful of hair, the colour of which was debateable – the blonde parts definitely from a bottle – while the woman thrashed around, beating and scratching at the man’s bare arms. Both were heavily tattooed around the forearms. It was difficult to determine who displayed the most designs.

“Alice, Jack, pack it in,” shouted Roger moving into the fray, trying his best to grab one set of flying hands.

A final punch was flung, connecting with the woman’s right eye and she flew back into the overgrown garden. The blow laid her motionless for several seconds giving Roger the space to restrain the man.

“I’ll kill the
unfaithful fucking bitch!” the man shouted as Roger secured a grip of the man’s wrists.

Hunter bent down to assist the woman who was beginning to come round.
In less than a minute he had his hands under her sweaty armpits and was helping her up.

Roger was man-handling the man through the front door of the house, shouting back over his shoulder, “Everyone back to your homes, performance over.”

Hunter followed in his partner’s wake, supporting the woman into the hallway. As he
kicked shut the door the woman flung herself free and darted claw-like fingers in the direction of the man’s face.

She screamed, “You bastard!”

Recovering quickly, Hunter locked his arms around the woman’s waist and wrestled her through a doorway into the lounge. There he could restrain her no longer and found himself tumbling onto the sofa, she falling on top. For a few seconds he wriggled beneath her until finally he squirmed himself free.

She
pushed herself up.

Hunter latched onto the hateful stare she threw him.

Adjusting her upper clothing she lashed out, “Don’t you get fresh with me young man, I’m old enough to be your mother.”

With a look of aghast he exchanged glances with Roger, who was ushering in the shaven-headed man, one hand still firmly clasping the shoulder of his T-shirt.

A smirk was plastered all over his mentor’s face.

The woman started finger-wagging
– aiming her digit spear-like in the direction of the dishevelled man. “I want him arrested. Look at this eye. You saw what he did. I’ve a hundred witnesses out there. I want him locked up this time.”

Roger stepped in front, twisting the man around. “Alice, will you calm down just a minute.”

The woman withdrew, defensively folding her arms. “There’s no need to shout, I’m not bloody deaf.”

“We have this every time Alice.
How many times have I been here and locked your Jack up?” he paused and searched her face. “Must have been at least a dozen times. And what happens every time – you withdraw your complaint. We can’t carry on like this.”

“Well I’ve really had enough this time. He’s never blacked my eye before.
Next time you’ll find me dead. I want him arrested.”

Throughout Alice’s berating Hunter had been carefully observing her husband.
His face had a forlorn look.

“If I arrest him Alice,” Roger continued, “It’ll mean taking statements and airing all your dirty washing in court.”

“I don’t care this time. He should be locked up.”

Roger turned and faced Jack.

Jack said, “She’s been shagging a mate of mine. Well I thought he was a mate.”

Roger shrugged his shoulders. He glanced back at Alice.
She displayed a brazen look. Returning to his prisoner he said, “Sorry Jack, I can’t appease her. It’s the nick I’m afraid.”

Jack straightened himself. “You’ll have to handcuff me Mr Mills.
I’m not going out in the chuffing streets without them. I’ve got a reputation to keep up.”

For a few seconds Roger stared at Jack, then he said, “Okay if that’s the way you want it.”
He produced his handcuffs and clicked them around the man’s outstretched tattooed wrists. He made a check they weren’t nipping and then took hold of his arm.

Hunter was about to take hold of Jack’s other arm when he caught a sharp movement at the periphery of his vision.
Without warning a wooden bowl flashed past his nose and struck Jack to the side of his head. A faint cry issued from his mouth as his legs buckled and he dropped to the floor with a thud.

Hunter spun around to meet a delighted looking Alice, rubbing her hands.

“I don’t want to complain now.” She picked up the TV remote, switched it on and then dropped into an armchair. “And neither will he, because if folk find out how he got injured he’ll be a right bloody laughing stock.” She crossed her legs. “There’s no need to wait while he comes round. He’ll be okay. You can take your cuffs off him now and piss off.”

Hunter looked at his partner dumbfounded.
This was unlike any scenario he had faced during training school.

Roger again shrugged his shoulders, then reached down and unlocked the handcuffs.

Jack was beginning to come round. There was swelling to the side of his face.

Flicking his head at Hunter, Roger walked back into the hallway.
Retreating through the front door he turned back.

“Before you open your mouth – don’t.” He started down the path. “That was Jack and Alice Paynton.
You remember what I said about ‘Jud’ Hudson the other day, well those are two you can bet a pound to pinch of shit you’ll come across again. And they’ve got two young tearaway sons as well. The whole family are a pain in the arse.” He chinned towards the police car. “Come on we’ve got some real work to do.”

Hunter
clanged the metal gate behind them and looked back at the Paynton house, storing it to memory.

- ooOoo -

Hunter plink-plonked the keyboard of the word processor using a two finger system that he felt was increasing in speed with each report he tackled. He had spent the last hour and a half working through the Coroner’s report of the sudden death he had recently dealt with.

“Shall I get a bucket of water, that keyboard’ll catch fire if you go any quicker.”

Hunter turned his head to see PC Andy Sharp leaning against a filing cabinet. He smiled back. “You know what they say about sarcasm.”

He pushed himself upright.
“How long you gonna be?”

Hunter returned a curious look. “A couple of minutes.
I’ve nearly finished. Why?”

“You’re teamed up with me t
his afternoon. I thought we’d go out and do some real police work - catch a few villains.”

“You bet.”
Hunter scanned a quick eye over his report, hit the enter key and saved it. Then closing down the system, he scooped up his notes and scraped back his chair. “Give me five minutes to tidy this lot away and then I’ll get my gear.”

“Okay I’ll be outside in the car.”

In the rear yard Hunter caught Andy
Sharp checking his image in the interior mirror. He smiled to himself as he approached the beat car. With five years’ service Andy was completely different to his tutor – an excitable character with a witty sense of humour. Yet at the same time he was one of the keenest in the group and his pursuance of offenders was infallibly consistent. He had already confided in Hunter that he wanted CID.

Hunter pulled open the back door and threw his helmet, overcoat and folder onto the rear seat.

Andy re-set the interior mirror and raked a comb of fingers through his thick mane of fair hair. “All set then?” he enquired and started the car.

Hunter nodded and jumped into the front.

With a screech of tyres they sped out of the station yard.

Andy had pulled into a lay-by on a section of long, winding back road, which led to an intersection of the A1M, so that he and Hunter could compile notes in their pocket books following two hours of stopping and checking cars.

The mild June evening was giving way to a veil of fine drizzle.
It peppered across the windscreen diminishing the view.

Andy had just flipped on the wipers when a screaming car shot past them, rocking them in the process.

Hunter flicked forwards his gaze just in time to see the brake lights flash on of a gold Ford Escort Ghia as it disappeared round a sharp bend. He turned sideways and caught the surprised look on Andy’s face.

“He’s tramming.”
Andy snapped shut his pocket book and slung it over his shoulder into the back. “I’m going to give him a pull and see where the fire is.”

Quickly engaging first gear,
Andy stamped on the accelerator and the wheels spun, churning up the rough track, then he whipped the car onto the glistening road, in the direction of the bolting Escort.

Hunter gripped the sides of his seat
, watching on as Andy effortlessly slipped through the gears making ground on the gold car.

They were soon hitting 75 mph.

Andy flicked on the blue strobe lights and hit full beam.

Hunter saw the brake lights on the car ahead become illuminated and realised Andy’s driving had made an effect.
The distance between was ever narrowing and the Escort Ghia began indicating left.

Andy pulled up behind it, switched on his hazards and jumped out, shouting back, “Check it on PNC.”

Hunter snatched up the radio handset and called in the registration number of the car. Less than a minute later the operator was giving back details of an owner from the nearby village of Old Denaby. It wasn’t recorded as stolen.

Hunter joined Andy
, who was just issuing a rollicking to the driver - a man in his thirties, who was being most apologetic, and passed on the information the operator had given him.

“Andy said to the driver, “Take this as a warning.
This is a sixty mile an hour road, keep it down in future.”

The dark haired man replied, “Thank you officer, I will.
As I say I’ve only just bought the car and the road was just so clear that I opened her up. I hadn’t realised I was going that fast.” He sighed gratefully and turned the ignition. There was no response. He turned the key again – nothing. He exchanged glances with Andy and then Hunter.

Hunter noted sweat forming on his brow.

He said, “I think it must be the starter motor jammed.”

Andy looked at Hunter and threw him a nod. “Come on we’ll give him a push.”

The pair heaved themselves against the back of the Escort and began to push. They had only travelled a few yards when it roared into life and after a few revs the driver shouted “thank you” and set off towards the motorway.

Rubbing his hands, Andy turned to Hunter, “That’s our good deed for the day.”

As they were getting back into the patrol car they picked up on the sound of another speeding car heading towards them.

“Bloody hell, it’s like Le Man’s this afternoon.”
Andy slammed the driver’s door to and took a step into the middle of the road.

At the appearance of the
rocketing car coming out of a bend Andy started waving his hands in the air and then gave the official stop sign.

The
bonnet of the Rover dipped followed by a long screech as tyres skidded across wet tarmac. It juddered and bucked before grinding a halt. The passenger door shot open and a young, skinny man, hurriedly jumped out. He thrust out an arm, aiming it in the direction of the gold Escort, which, by now was just a dot in the distance.

He shouted, “That car, the Escort, it’s mine.
It’s just been nicked.”

Hunter saw Andy’s jaw drop.
He could feel blood rushing into his face. He shook his head and threw himself into the front seat. Andy’s reactions were as quick, and shouting back over his shoulder, to the young man, “Don’t worry we’ll get him,” he gunned the engine.

Within seconds he was whipping through the gears again, thrashing the engine, soon edging the needle towards eighty.

It wasn’t long before the dot on the horizon was becoming recognisable as the gold car once again.

Andy squeezed more from the patrol car.

Hunter was calling in the chase over the radio. He couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice - a buzz was coursing through every vein in his body. He was hyper-alert.

Soon the cars were bumper to bumper, then, they were alongside, edging their car towards the driver’s side of the stolen Escort.

Hunter caught the look of panic in the thief’s face as he fought with the steering.

A split-second later the Escort snaked and Andy pulled away as it began to lose control.
Blue smoke burned from the rear wheels and the Escort began to lurch sideways in a crab-like movement. Finally it went into a half-spin before bouncing against the grass verge. Hunter was out of the car even before the Escort came to a standstill. He saw the driver’s door starting to open and he kicked out. There was a sickening crunch followed by an ear-splitting scream. Hunter realised he had caught the thief’s leg between the door and the sill and he couldn’t help let out a smirk.

Andy was beside Hunter in seconds, yanking at the door and the driver fell into the roadway
in a painful heap.

Clasping his hands around his shins he cried, “Fucking hell, there was no need for that.”

“That serves you right for being a cheeky little bastard,” shouted Andy. “And you’re under arrest for nicking this car.”

Screwing up his face the dark haired thief moaned, “Well you two wankers helped me!”

* * * * *

Hunter stood uncomfortably to attention beside Andy Sharp, studying the duty Inspector across the desk. There was a mug of coffee resting on a coaster and he could smell the aroma. He was nervous despite the beaming smile the Inspector threw at them.

He said,
“Well done you two. Run the job past me again.”

Hunter let Andy do the talking and listened intently to the blow-by-blow account he gave.
When it came to the moment where they had given the thief a push Andy omitted it. Hiding a gulp in his throat he again checked the Inspector’s face as Andy added more.

Following the booking in of their car thief, at the Custody Suite, they had done a check on the name the man had given them.
It transpired that their prisoner, Dale Swallow, was a well-known villain from Newcastle who specialised in stealing high-performance vehicles. He was part of a car-ringing team from the North east and was circulated as wanted throughout Yorkshire where expensive cars had been stolen during burglaries.

As Andy finished his tale the Inspector congratulated them with the words,
“This’ll mean a District Commendation for the pair of you. Well done once again.”

As Andy closed the Inspectors door
, in the corridor Hunter let out a nervous sigh.

Andy tapped him on the shoulder. “You heard what the Inspector said – commendation.
Now don’t spoil it. There’s only you and I know what went on out there – keep it that way. He threw Hunter a wink. “Come on, we’ve got our statements to do.”

- ooOoo -