Читать книгу Specials: Based on the BBC TV Drama Series: The complete novels in one volume - Brian Degas - Страница 25

Toby waited in the panda in front of the Division ‘X’ building, as Loach climbed the steep steps leading up to the entry doors.

Pushing through the swing doors, Loach crossed to the reception area and found a civilian on duty.

‘Hi.’

No answer. The civilian was preparing a cup of coffee for himself. With seemingly exaggerated slowness, he managed to switch on the electric kettle, apparently a major accomplishment. His attitude suggesting a Jack-the-lad, he looked at Loach coolly, throwing him off-guard.

‘Detective Inspector Dutrow …?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Is he in?’ Loach clarified for him.

‘Search me.’

Loach practised his patience, counting to ten … actually to eight. ‘But you could find out?’

‘I guess.’ Lazily he checked a large notebook, slowly fingering his way down the columns.

Outside a horn beeped: undoubtedly Toby. Loach went over to the swing doors and bent down to peer through them, motioning him an I’ll-be-right-there signal. Off to his right, his attention was drawn to an activity going on in the yard. He moved to the window to take a closer look.

In the yard, a police constable was showing a group of Specials various transgressions to watch out for in a vehicle. Among the Specials was a face fresh in his memory: the solicitor, Loach reminded himself, although it didn’t appear that the solicitor was being favoured in any way at the moment.

The lackadaisical voice of Jack-the-lad brought his thoughts back to present company. ‘Got ’im. Two … two … three … seven …’

After dialling the number on the internal line, the civilian waited, offering Loach a sugary, confident smile.

‘Dobson, front desk here. Got someone for Detective Inspector Dutrow … Hang on, I’ll ask him.’ Jack-the-lad cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and addressed Loach directly. ‘Forget to get your name, didn’t I?’

‘Section Officer Loach.’

He reached out a hand for the phone, but Jack drew back out of range. ‘It’s … you heard it, did you?’ He smiled at Loach, listening to the voice on the other end. ‘Yeah … uh-huh … uh-huh … I’ll ask him.’ This time he didn’t bother to cover the mouthpiece when he addressed Loach. ‘Dutrow’s out and about. D’you wanna leave a message with somebody else?’

Silently Loach debated with himself before making a decision. ‘No. I’ll call again.’

‘He’s gonna call again. That’s what he said. Okay. Bye.’ He replaced the telephone and returned to Loach with a satisfied smile.

‘D’you have some paper and an envelope?’

The smile disappeared, and Jack breathed out with a vehemence to suggest the enormity of the task assigned to him. ‘Phew!’ Then he proceeded: ‘Let me see …’

At that moment Loach could’ve strangled Jack-the-lad with his bare hands and taken his scalp to make sure Jack’s spirit would never be set free.

On one side of the sitting room was the groom’s family: his father and mother, two shy sisters under twelve, three elderly aunts and a matriarchal grandmother. Facing them were the representatives of Anjali’s family: a bored Sanjay, who kept checking his watch, and an odd assortment of minor aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews hurriedly drummed up for the occasion.

Despite all their social pretending, the true centre of attention was divided between only two of them: Anjali, in her dress sari, and her intended groom. He was a thin young man with an unusually large nose; to make it worse, he appeared to have a perpetual sniff, and a noisy one at that. Anjali desperately wished that Uncle Ram and her mother would get in here and get this agony over and done with so that all these people and the nausea in her stomach would go away.

In the kitchen, Mrs Shah was preparing a tray of drinks and sweet nothings, while Ram poured himself a glass of whisky. She was nervous, and felt she had to confide in her brother, although he too seemed to be walking a tightrope.

‘I tell you she’s too quiet. She has always been a stubborn girl. She does not like having her mind made up. You know that.’ As if he needed reminding.

He swallowed his whisky. ‘All I know is, she’s got opinions about everything. It is not womanly, sister.’ He tried not to reproach her, yet rather her daughter. ‘It is bad enough that she is a part-time policewoman. What kind of business is that for a well-brought-up Hindu girl?’

His sister tried to hide her eyes from him. He reassured her as best he could. ‘I know she hoodwinked you. She told you she would be doing clerical work, and making pots of Darjeeling.’ He scoffed. ‘Now what do we find? She prowls the streets at night … in a car … with a man!’ He shook his head, as his sister wiped a tear from each eye. ‘Only one thing could be worse, and that is walking the streets and picking up a man.’

She uttered a sharp cry and buried her face behind her hand. He hadn’t meant to accuse her but her daughter. ‘Now look here. I blame myself. If I had not been in Bombay, this nonsense would have stopped before it ever started.’

Ram moved to comfort his sister for the stinging words, but before he could reach out to her Sanjay barged into the kitchen, an irritable look on his face.

‘Are we to wait all night? I have plans, you know.’

Impatiently Ram waved him away, then had a second thought. ‘We are coming. But now you’re here you might carry the tray for your mother.’

Sanjay was evidently not pleased to be asked to perform a favour, let alone his simple duty to the family. He picked up the tray awkwardly, with neither grace nor any concentration. His mind was elsewhere.

Jack-the-lad spooned some Maxwell House into a mug, then tipped in a precise dash of milk, executing each task methodically and monotonously, Loach sealed the envelope and waved it for Jack to notice.

‘Will you see that Detective Inspector Dutrow gets this immediately he comes in?’

‘Important, is it?’ the lad deduced.

‘I think it is.’

‘Then say no more,’ said Jack-the-lad. ‘I’ll see to it personally-like.’ He even went so far as to leave behind his coffee preparation momentarily to fetch the envelope from Loach.

Just then the group of Specials who had been out in the yard trooped through the reception area, the police constable in the lead, and Loach moved aside to let them pass. The PC activated a multi-button lock near an inner door.

‘Drinking time, is it, George?’ Jack-the-lad called out to him. The constable reacted with disdain.

Loach’s eyes connected with those of the solicitor who had joined the Specials, yet whose name suddenly slipped his mind.

‘It’s Redwood. John Redwood.’

Recalling the entire pathetic tale, Loach snapped his fingers. ‘Big Jess! You’re her solicitor? I’d forgotten you were doing this,’ he fibbed. ‘How goes it?’

A slight smile crossed the other man’s lips. ‘There’s more to it than people think.’

Loach nodded in mock sympathy. ‘Yeah … well, this is the easy part.’

‘So they tell me.’ Redwood certainly played his cards close to the vest.

‘So we might be seeing you at “S” Division, then?’

‘Perhaps.’ Behind the façade, Redwood seemed to be labouring to figure out where Loach was headed.

‘Give me a chance to get back at you.’ He parodied the solicitor’s stern courtroom manner: ‘Just answer yes, Mr Loach.’

Apparently he didn’t have much of a funnybone either. ‘A good solicitor doesn’t play favourites.’

‘No … suppose not. Anyway, you didn’t win, did you?’ he goaded.

‘I think my client was satisfied. The court was quite lenient.’

Loach let out a laugh. ‘Thank God! I’d have a white stick and a guide dog by now if they hadn’t.’

Redwood’s quizzical expression indicated that he didn’t understand Loach’s reference. ‘Your client – Big Jess? Not to be messed with.’ Redwood was still puzzled. Loach decided it wasn’t worth getting into the part about Big Jess plucking his bleedin’ eyes out of his head. ‘Don’t worry. It’d take too long to explain, Mr Redwood.’

There was an echo from the side. ‘Mr Redwood?’ The constable had a pleading look on his face. Redwood held up a placatory hand to stay the order momentarily, then shrugged at Loach.

‘As I said. See you around.’ Redwood nodded, and joined the constable.

As Loach turned to leave, he almost fell over Toby Armstrong coming in the front door.

‘Dammit, Loach,’ he cursed in an angry whisper. ‘We’ve got a call. Move it!’

Before leaving with Toby, Loach turned back to the civilian and waved meekly, reminding him of the errand.

Jack-the-lad waved back, his hand holding the letter.