West of the River. David Dalby
“We should consider ourselves lucky the Elm Street CID sent us that much. They didn’t want to co-operate.”
“I don’t blame them if this is an example of their work.” Hazel said. “I have three short….very short…witness statements here and a couple from the police. Arresting officer’s report, if you can call it that, and the responding officer. Stanger. I know that name.”
“Constable Stanger.” Ruth said. She was eight years older than Hazel and a head and shoulders shorter. Today she was bundled up in a chunky knitted white sweater with a big roll neck. Unlike Hazel, who favoured jeans, Ruth wore a purple calf length skirt and black zip sided boots. She was new to the crime squad, but then who wasn’t these days.
Ruth had been transferred in from the fraud squad. Hazel, herself, having been rescued from a life of dull monotony serving Southfields in uniform. Whatever Ruth Bergan’s story was Hazel was willing to bet she hadn’t had to be rehabilitated to please the senior management.
Two months Hazel had to spend re-learning how to be a detective. Even then the management hadn’t wanted her back. If it hadn’t been for Superintendent William Thomas Church she’d still be in a police sergeant’s uniform doing paperwork in the Southfield sub-station.
Ah, yes, but if it hadn’t been for Bill Church she wouldn’t have been sent there in the first place.
“Wasn’t he one of ours?” Hazel said. “Stanger, I mean?”
“He was transferred to Elm Street.” Ruth said. “I think there was something or other, I don’t know. You know how secretive the bosses can get.”
Hazel wished they could have been secretive about her own fall from grace. Not that they had any chance. The pictures had been splashed all over the internet thanks to the gutter press.
The Caneston Star, the local tabloid. Thank you, photographer Jason Knight and editor Jimmy Marsh. They made a huge thing of it all in both the newspaper and on their website.
Top Cop and the Dyke Detectives.
Three in a Bed Cop Romp.
There were a few other headlines, mostly tasteless remarks about truncheons. Knight and his long lens had proven to be very good at taking clear and sharp images. The real culprit was one of Bill Church’s former girlfriends who had wanted to get back at him.
Ironically Church, a detective chief inspector at the time, had suffered no ill effect of the fall out. Indeed, the press proclaimed him to be “A top bloke” and he’d been promoted for reasons Hazel had never been very clear about.
She had found herself guilty of professional misconduct and spent the last four years in uniform. First as a constable, then, six months ago, a sergeant.
At least Ingrid Thompson had the sense to get out of the police altogether. She went to work for the private security sector.
Triple S as it turned out. Shepherd Security Services. It wasn’t as big a coincidence as it seemed. Triple S was the largest private security firm in the city. They snapped Ingrid up in a moment. Hazel had been sent a very lucrative offer also, but, like an idiot, she’d ignored it.
Hazel read the report. “Stanger might have been with us at one time but he’s learned some bad habits over at Elm Street.” Brevity might be encouraged with some things but not police reports. Those need to be highly detailed. Stranger’s just wasn’t. “Have you read this?”
“Yeah.” Ruth said, “He’s not got a lot to say.”
“He hasn’t anything to say. He was called to Keys Court. Doesn’t say who by.
Met the security guard. Entered the house….Called for assistance. At least he put the times in.” Hazel shook her head, “The arresting officer’s report isn’t much better. Detective Sergeant White.” She looked at Ruth who just shrugged. Hazel didn’t know him either. She’d made a conscious decision not to know who was at Elm Street and what happened there. By the look of things nothing happened because they never bothered writing out decent reports.
“We should have got this case.” Hazel said. She noticed Ruth said nothing. Of course when this all happened the crime squad wasn’t taking any cases because that was the time it has been disbanded.
Black Thursday the press called it with all their expected subtlety and inaccuracy. A criminal gang came to the city (from Liverpool the crime squad found out, and identified the members, not that the press bothered to print that.)
And took the city for four bank raids, several stolen cars and three jewellery shop robberies. The biggest crime spree the city had ever known.
The press were furious, or at least produced headlines that suggested they were.
The public were outraged, at least according to the press. Something had to be done, so said the press. Our police were hopeless….the crime squad may be corrupt, the press suggested.
Detective Superintendent Chris Fisher, who headed the crime squad at the time, decided to hold a press conference. That was a disaster. An embarrassing one. Fisher, whom Hazel never met, but supposed was very good at his job, had a rather military style of leadership. Which he took to the press conference. The press immediately took a dislike to him.
The pressure was on and, somewhere at the top someone buckled. The crime squad was first suspended, ten disbanded.
Finally it was reconstructed with wunderkind Bill Church, at thirty two the youngest superintendent of detectives on the force, as the new commander. Church was so liked by the press, ah, top bloke, great with the ladies, that he pretty much could pick his own team.
Hence Ruth Bergan. Several others. And Hazel.
“You’re going to have to speak to them.” Ruth said.
“Hmmm?”
“Elm Street. You’re going to have to speak to them.” Ruth said, “And don’t look at me, I’m backed up with reports.”
“Everyone is.” Hazel said, about six months of reports that had been re-directed. Now they had to be checked over. The whole things was insane. Not as insane as having to go see anyone at Elm Street, however. “Yes, I’ll see to that, sometime.” Hazel said, ensuring that particular little job went on the back burner.
So she turned her attention to the reports. As inadequate as they were they did offer some kind help. She could construct a rough timeline.
Gloria Kelsey, a divorced woman of forty four years of age, lived at number 8 Keys Court. Hazel knew The Keys as it was known locally. It was an affluent area. Rather nice, expensive houses. It was a cul-de-sac with an enclosed play area at the far end and a funnel shaped entrance that was wide enough to turn round a forty tonne Euronaut lorry. It lay just over the bridge, West of the river.
Gloria had been a photographer. She had a studio on Lenzi Street. GK Studios. Hazel tried to think if she’d ever noticed it. She couldn’t say for certain. As far as she could tell the local police had searched neither the house nor the studio.
Sloppy work, no wonder they couldn’t get a conviction.
Sandra West provided the more reliable information in a very detailed medical report. Hazel had to wade through endless photographs and medical terminology to discover Gloria Kelsey had been fit and healthy right up to the time someone stuck a knife into her neck. Doctor West then went on, in great detail, to explain why the blow was almost immediately fatal. Surgical precision was the phrase she used.
Hazel tapped on her keyboard and pulled up the file on suspect number one, Hannah McShane. Seventeen year old school drop out with a string of cautions for soliciting.
Surgical precision?
Not very likely.
Of course the police didn’t see the blow as surgically precise. To Detective Sergeant White it was a “lucky blow.”
Not lucky for Gloria Kelsey.
Hazel