Illegal Entry: Chapter 12
Mutual respect is lacking among police who have assembled to investigate the death of a young girl on a railway line.
Steph Spier’s continues her gritty real-life crime novel.
Yarrow nodded to Conroy as in the car park, at street level, the four men signed off the Incident Log at 11.45am. As they signed out three shafts of pale cream sunlight penetrated through the gloom as if an unseen hand had sliced a cloud asunder like parting the slats on a Venetian blind. As each man queuing to sign out their name and rank knew, it was going to be a long Sunday. Especially for McGann who hadn’t a hope in hell of being to the case. Larry Sampson-Berne would see to that.
Even Conroy knew, it might arguably be BTP primacy, but, as the BTP Inspector had a personal involvement with the victim . . . it was dodgy ground. Even McGann had to concede the best he could hope for was providing a Witness Statement as to his recent whereabouts and how he came to recognize the dead woman.
‘If you’re really lucky the Division Super.,’ started Coppenhall.
‘A right shoe shiner if ever there was one,’ interrupted McGann
Coppenhall ignored the interjection, ‘Won’t put your head in the frame.’
‘Larry Sampson-Berne wouldn’t know a prime suspect if one jumped up and bit his arse,’ stated the DI. ‘He’s a self-projecting moron. The great look-at-me-aren’t-I-bloody-wonderful? Ego the size of the planet.’
And, from what he knew of the double-breasted pin-stripe, Coppenhall had to quietly agree. Sampson-Berne was an attention seeker all right: Formica – nowt bad ever stuck. A terrible thought occurred to them both at the same time. Coppenhall put the thought into words, ‘You know what this means. We’re going to have to rely on Claude effing Mawkin to get a result on Ambersham and Chan.’
‘Is this likely in our lifetime?’ answered McGann tiredly; ‘I’m so fed up of stating the bleeding obvious.’ Conroy smiled at Miller. They hung back: it seemed best course of action. Their Gaffer’s clearly wanted a chin wag to clear the air.
‘Weather’s a bit rich for this time of year,’ said Conroy to Miller as both men shuffled their feet and kept a low profile some distance away from the two DI’s heated conversation.
‘Shocking!’ replied Miller, standing on one leg as he rubbed his other shoe on the back of his trousers to dry it off. ‘Depression set in from the south east I heard.’
‘Is there a toilet anywhere round here?’ asked Conroy, some urgency creeping into his tone. Miller’s lips pursed in thought. ‘Naaw mate, plenty of bushes t’other side the wall.’ Conroy smiled his thanks he’d already dismissed the brambles as an option. ‘Blackberries. Saw them. I had a disastrous experience pissing in blackberries once before. I’ll hang on.’ Relieving his weak bladder in the great outdoors was not an option. Conroy was nowadays a lot more circumspect where, and when, he gave his dangly pal an airing.
‘Still going at it hammer and tongs then?’ Yarrow approached the two detectives, rain dripping off his eyebrows and running down his nose. ‘Still disturbing the peace?’
Yarrow had a point McGann and Coppenhall were going at it head on and non-too-quietly for maintaining the peace of a Sunday morning.
‘They’re ‘discussing’ strategy,’ answered Conroy.
‘Yeah, course they are!’
‘Give them some slack - it’s understandable,’ replied Miller. ‘Look what they’re faced with. Dreadful scenario. Aiding and abetting that useless tailor’s dummy, from Digbeth High Street.’ Conroy looked away – there was nothing he could say to that. He wasn’t going on record as dissing a Super.
‘A might animated for all that. I wish you joy of the pair of them,’ grinned Yarrow, as he shuffled off towards the pair of mushroom topped vans, clipboard tucked under his arm.
‘Here we go,’ said Miller, crushing a tailor made under his shoe. ‘We can stop loitering with intent. The Gaffer’s on his mobile. I guess that means we’re off.’
Miller was right, the two men were abruptly stopped from arguing by the entrance to the goods yard when the call came through for Coppenhall to hot foot it back to Fegg Lane.
‘On our way Control.’ Coppenhall beckoned Miller. ‘Alan look smartish, get our motor sorted. Suspicious death’s just been rung in.’ McGann waited expectantly. ‘Well, are you coming?’ asked Coppenhall over his shoulder as he was already striding off site.
As he was officially off duty and Conroy, as usual, was hungry, McGann agreed to roll along for the ride. After all Fegg Lane’s canteen was the best in the West Midlands, there was nothing else he could do here, and besides, Conroy needed the toilet.
