Chapter 17

The Great Escape

Having returned from her Financial Investigators Advanced Course, and after a romantic weekend away in Wales followed by several cosy, intimate nights in, normal life for Lizzie and Thurstan was restored. She went back to work, tracing the assets of hardened Merseyside criminals, and he trundled off to the owl screech in his head that was Sutton Box. Two weeks later, she came home with some news which she declared was exciting.

He stood there, his brain rapidly calculating an appropriate facial expression and, in an instant, what it settled on was one which should have conveyed enthusiasm but somehow translated as something very different.

She looked at him with concern. “Are you having another bad wind attack?”

“You’re...” he began to say.

She gave him a puzzled look then laughed. “Oh, I see. You think I’m...’

“And you’re not?”

“No, stupid! How could you think that? No, I’m being headhunted by the National Crime Agency. They called today and want me to go down to London, a sort of informal interview, get to know each other, show me the set-up kind of thing. What do you think?”

“Great news, sweets.” A strange feeling of relief mixed with slight disappointment flooded through him, quickly replaced by concern. He had no idea how his features had translated all this but the image of the hunchback of Notre Dame flashed briefly in his head, like a subliminal advert. “But London? It’s a long way away. Have you thought of the implications?”

She smiled back at him and began emptying groceries from her carrier bag. “I’m not an idiot, Thurstan. Of course, I have. Anyway, the position they have for me, if I want it, is in Manchester. It sounds almost perfect and it’s a great career opportunity.” She turned and put her arms around him. “Now, are you sure you don’t want me to make you some ginger tea?”

****

The following morning, Thurstan was sitting at his desk, savouring his mug of coffee, Gandalph was scouring the big map at the front desk for some location or other and Davvo, the uniformed officer who’d welcomed the DCI when he’d first arrived, was sat on the edge of the DCI’s desk, in his usual over-casual manner, regaling him with a deed of derring-do from his last tour of night duty.

Suddenly, Gandalph came careering into the office. “The ego has landed, Boss! The Chief’s just arrived at the front in the Presidential limo!”

Thurstan leapt up and, grabbing his jacket from the stand, exclaimed, “For chrissakes! He’s the last person I want to see. Stephen! With me, now!” As he scuttled past Davvo and into the corridor, he called, “You deal with it. I’m on an enquiry.”

At the end of the passageway, he made to enter the women’s toilets. Gandalph pulled him back with a curt, “Fire exit!”

Outside, at the back, they pressed themselves against the building line scanning for better cover. Gandalph pointed. “Bushes!’

It wasn’t far but for Thurstan, it seemed much further. He had an image in his head of the Chief Con in hot pursuit and the fire exit door being flung open any second. At the bushes, fearful of damaging his suit, he started to carefully peel back a branch but a sturdy push from Gandalph propelled him through. It wasn’t graceful. Squatting down, they peered through the undergrowth and waited.

“Ave yuh lost summat?” It was the old man with the dog, both peering through the railings. The contradictory one-syllable answers told him all he needed to know.

“Yuh ‘idin from ‘im at frunt, aren’t yuh? Don’t worry.” He tapped the side of his nose with a forefinger. “I’ll say nowt.” With cheeky grins, man and dog sauntered away.

Meanwhile, inside, as the Chief negotiated the front desk counter flap and door, Davvo saw Gandalph had left his computer on. Pulling the plug, he swiftly replaced it and sat down at the desk. The Chief made his entrance. Davvo stood to attention. “All correct, Sir.”

The first question was, “Where’s DCI Baddeley?”

“He’s gone on an enquiry, Sir,” came the reply.

“Where?” The Chief demanded.

“I don’t know, Sir. He didn’t say.”

The Chief countered with, “His car is still in the carpark outside.”

The officer replied, “He said he was taking the bus, Sir.”

“Where from?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t say.”

The Chief picked up the mug on Thurstan’s desk and declared, “This is still warm.”

Davvo countered with, “That’s mine, Sir. I just left there whilst I was doing something else.”

The Chief, unconvinced and looking down the corridor said, “And where does this lead to?”

Davvo stalled by telling him every room leading off the passage, including the stationary cupboard.

The Chief came back with, “And the jacket on the stand behind you? I suppose you’re going to say it’s yours?”

The abrupt change in direction caused Davvo milliseconds of confusion but, a veteran of Crown Court cross-examination, his brain swiftly computed acceptable answers and seamlessly came out with, “No, I think it’s used by a few of the lads when they do plain clothes stuff, Sir.”

He felt pleased but hoped Gandalph’s name didn’t appear on the inside label.

The Chief eyed him with suspicion, “Does DCI Baddeley normally let you use that desk and computer?”

Davvo glanced down and thinking it would add something to his answer, he pointed at the PC. “Well, it used to be the Sergeants’, but they work from the town centre now and sometimes Mr Baddeley asks us to do stuff for him.”

The Chief Constable spun on his heels and strode off down the corridor, checking every room, including the women’s toilets. 

Outside, Thurstan and Gandalph watched the fire exit open and the Chief emerge; a brief look around and he disappeared back inside.

Pushing past the uniformed officer who’d scurried after him, he curtly asked, “And what’s your name?”

“Davvo, Sir.” He’d said it and couldn’t drag it back. The Chief’s scowl was dark and ominous and, seeing a comment being formed, the officer swiftly managed to get out, “I mean, Constable Wright, Sir.”

The Chief stared at him, his face reddening. It was obvious stuff was going on in his head. Davvo hoped to look as if he was trying to be helpful, but the silence was becoming uncomfortable, so he said, “Do you want to leave a message for him, Sir?”

It seemed to break some kind of spell, the Chief blinked and replied, “No, I’ll call on him some other time.” With that, he strode off.

Outside, they heard the Chief’s convoy leave. Thurstan whispered, “Go and check he’s really gone.” When Gandalph returned, he confirmed the departure.

Thurstan, in complaint mode, emerged from the bushes like a moth from its cocoon. “Stephen, did you have to be so rough?”

Gandalph looked genuinely apologetic. “Boss, you just weren’t moving quick enough.”

Thurstan brushed himself down. “This is one of my favourite suits. Oh! Look at that, I think I’ve stood in something!” He started scraping his shoe on a kerbstone.

Gandalph idly commented, “Dog shit?”

“It’s hardly likely to be bear shit,” Thurstan sarcastically replied. “With a bit of luck, it could just be mud but I’m not going to smell it if that was going to be your next suggestion.”

Gandalph smirked. ‘Please yourself, boss.”

Davvo recounted what had taken place and added, “Say what you want, Boss, but he’s very thorough. He even checked the women’s bogs.”

Gandalph caught the DCI looking at him and said, “I did say, didn’t I?”

Later, left alone in the building, Thurstan told his DC, “Your mate did a good job before.”

Gandalph, engaged with an internet search, absently replied, “Yeah. He’s a good bloke. Great thief-taker.”

“What’s his proper name? I assume David?”

“No, good guess but it’s Jerry. Jerry Wright.”

“Why do they call him Davvo then?”

“It’s the bucks, Boss. They call him Davros. We just shortened it.”

“Davros?”

Gandalph chuckled. “It’s after a character in Doctor Who. Davros, leader of the Daleks.”

“Why do they call him that?”

Now, Gandalph laughed. “They think he’s an evil bastard, Boss. He doesn’t take any shit from them and if he can find a legitimate reason to lock them up, they’re history. The clever ones know when Davvo turns up it’s time to behave themselves or leave. There’s not many out there that clever though.”

Thurstan nodded understanding and went back to his file. Gandalph examined the result of his search. There was silence for several minutes then, casually: “What do you think the Chief wanted, Boss?”

The DCI raised his head and allowed a soft sigh to escape, his face momentarily thoughtful. “Just came to gloat, probably.”

The automatic flush in the men’s urinal kicked in and the high-pitched squeal was now joined by deep gurgles ending in a long, slow whine.

Thurstan suddenly felt the need to fill the resulting silence.

“We watched a film last night. John Wick. I completely understand what annoyed him so much. I could happily shoot people who are cruel to animals, especially dogs and cats.”

“Have you got a dog or a cat?” Gandalph replied, looking up from his computer screen.

“No.’

“Why not?’

Thurstan thought about the question then responded, “If we had one or the other, it’d be a dog and our work life isn’t compatible for such a thing. I wouldn’t want to leave it on its own for the long periods we’d have to.” He saw a possible return. “And before you say anything about bringing it to work, I need to remind you, we’re not in the RAF. We can’t just walk around followed by a Labrador or pet duck. Have you got anything, Stephen?”

Gandalph, searching his screen. “I had a goldfish once.”