Sample: Chapter Seven
Black first met Ian Daly about three and half years previously and there wasn’t a week that hadn’t gone by since their first meeting that he hadn’t given thanks to whosever god was listening for that first encounter. Black had had a plan in his head about how things should be in the world of crime fighting. The scales of justice were tipped well to one side for the scum and he reckoned that if they weren’t being sorted by the courts then there had to be another way to tip them the other way.
It was one evening in the summer; Black had just started his nightshift and was out patrolling the streets alone. He had a ton of paperwork back in the CID office but he didn’t have the heart for it. It was the back of eleven when he heard the call come over the radio, uniform officers were shouting for assistance with a male who was completely out of control in a top flat dwelling house in the South Bridge, Edinburgh. When an assistance call came over the radio, cops dropped everything and went to the aid of the colleague requiring help.
By the time Black arrived, there were maybe ten police vehicle’s in attendance, abandoned all over the road with their blue lights flashing away.
Good response thought Black and then stood and looked up to the top flat where the action was. He had to actually crane his neck, way back, just to see the top of the building.
“Fuck, it’s always the top fucking flat, every fucking time. Every fucking time there’s a murder, rape, fucking stabbing or a fucking domestic it’s always the top fucking flat,” he muttered to no one in particular, although he did get a couple of strange looks from members of the public standing watching the proceedings.
“Do you think someone will jump?” he heard a spotty student say to his mate.
Black stopped in front of the youth whom he regarded as a complete and utter half wit and almost shouted at him. “Oi You! You need to fuck off right now or the only jumping you’ll see is me jumping up and down on your fucking head. Now fuck off ya fucking fuckwit.”
The acned student and his mate left.
Black looked up again, shook his head at the height of the building and entered the common stair. It was a very old tenement, typical of those in that area and it was eight stories high. Fucking eight flights up he said to himself and started his ascent. He didn’t rush, as he had heard that the male concerned had stopped fighting with the police and taken himself up onto the roof. However, by the time Black had reached the seventh landing he was blowing out of his arse. He was not alone in this state, there were several uniform officers on the same landing, some in the same condition as Black, others worse, as they had earlier ran up the stairs two at a time and were now hanging onto the stair handrails or leaning against the walls gasping for air.
Black made his way past the officers, only nodding in acknowledgement to them as he was trying to preserve what oxygen he had left in his lungs for the final flight of stairs. When he reached the top landing it was rammed packed full of uniformed officers all facing the last door on the landing. See Black thought to himself because he didn’t have the breath to speak it, It’s always the top flat and it’s always the last fucking door.
As he put his first step on the landing, the crowd of police officers suddenly parted making an empty corridor for him to walk through.
He said to none of them in particular “I feel like Moses and the parting of the Red Sea, I take it there’s no rankers here then.”
“No” came the reply in unison. This was why they had all stood back. If there was no officer with rank in attendance at an incident and the CID turned up, then the CID took charge. It wasn’t written down anywhere as an instruction in any rule book it had just been handed down from time immemorial through the uniformed ranks. It was called pass the buck.
Black walked into the living room of the flat and saw that there wasn’t a single bit of furniture in one piece. A peroxide blonde female aged about thirty was sitting on the floor, sporting, what were very soon to be, two black eyes. She was being tended to by a female uniform officer. The female with the badly dyed hair was saying through tears to the female officer, “The bastard, there was no need for that, I’ve got to make money somehow.”
There were three male uniformed officers standing looking upwards at the ceiling where there was an open hatch which led out onto the roof via a loft area. “Fuck,” said Black this time out loud, “More fucking climbing.”
He approached the three officers and saw that they were all supporting facial injuries. “Tell me he’s looking a lot worse than you guy’s?” he said.
“Nope” said the cop nearest, “He’s fast, good and fucking away with the goalie, he had us all on our arses before we knew what had hit us.”
“Well dafty at least you know what fucking hit you, don’t you.” said Black sarcastically.
Black looked up at the hatch and said as a question “He’s up there isn’t he?”
“Well detected Sherlock, I knew there was a reason for you being in the CID.” said the second cop.
Black replied, “And there’s a reason why you’re in uniform, cause you’re a thick cunt. Who’s up there with him?” Black enquired.
“No one,” said the third cop, “and I hope the bastard goes arse over tit off the roof, it’ll save a lot of bother.”
Black looked at the third cop and nodded towards the second one who he had just insulted. “Are you his twin brother? Cause you’re just as fucking dumb as him.”
Black stood looking up towards the hatch, there was nothing to see, just a dark empty hole. He knew what he was going to do, he just didn’t want to do it. As he stood there looking up, he realised that he was sweating like a hooded rapist with the exertion of coming up all those stairs.
He could feel the sweat running down his body, in fact most of it seemed to him to be gathering in the small of his back, where it flooded down the crease in the cheeks of his arse, down his legs and into his socks and shoes.
“Fuck,” he said to the three stooges “gimmie a leg up and the first one to touch ma balls gets a kicking.”
The three cops propelled Black with some speed up and through the hatchway and he landed face down in the dust and pigeon shit.
He looked down through the hatch opening and said, “Bastards, there’s been less force used to launch rockets at Cape Canaveral than you used there. You three stay in the flat.” He told the three stooges. “Get an ambulance for the blonde bird and take a statement from her as well. Tell the rest of those lazy bastard’s out in the stair to get back to fucking work, there’s all sorts of crime happening out there while they’re standing about with their fingers up their arses swapping war stories.”
“What about reinforcements?” said one of the three stooges.
“You won’t need them silly fucker” said Black and disappeared from sight.
He never heard one of them then say “Aye we will, the boy is ex-Special Forces.”
Black stood up in the loft space brushing himself down and letting his eyes become accustomed to the lack of electric lighting.
“Lazy bastards” he said to the darkness “You’ve always got to tell them what to do.”
He saw another hatch opening at the far end of the loft that led outside. He climbed out onto the roof and the first thing he did was look down
“Fucking hell, it’s a fucking mile down to the street” he said out loud. He hated heights with a passion and wondered why he had put himself in this position.
“Dinnae worry pal,” a Glasgow voice said to him, “it’s no the fall that kills you, it’s the ground when you hit it.” The voice was slightly slurred and Black remembered seeing broken whisky bottles in the flat below.
“Very droll” said Black “I’ve not heard that one for a while.” At the same time Black was assessing the male to see, age, size and weight. The male was sitting with his back to a chimney stack, legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Which was good, at least if there was any sudden movement from the man, Black would have a bit of warning.
“You the priest or the polis?”
“Polis.”
“Trained negotiator are you?”
“No, but I can talk the hind legs off a donkey when I have to.” Black looked over the edge again, shivered and shook his head involuntary.
“No like heights then pal?”
“Nope, I’m just about pissing ma pants being out here.”
“Well good on you for trying anyway pal.”
“Do you mind if I sit down, if I don’t you’ll be hearing ma knees knocking together?”
The chimney stack that the male leaned against served all the chimney’s for the tenement and was thick and long. It sat on a broader piece of flat roof which ran the length of the building. The flat roof then gave way to short section of sloping roof which was slated. The next stop after that was the street below. Black tried to blank that bit from his mind.
He sat facing the man and said, “Thanks man, I fucking hate heights, done so for as long as I can remember, even when I was in the army I hated the high bits on the assault course, used to shut my eyes on those climbing nets.”
“Ex-forces then?”
“Yeh.”
“Me too, what were you in?”
“Military Polis.”
“Figgers, one uniform for another.”
“Something like that, what were you in?”
“Marines, 42 Commando.”
Fuck , thought Black to himself A hard bastard that’s all I need and tried not to let any fear show on his face.
“How long were you in for?” asked Black keeping the conversation going.
“Boy soldier at sixteen, joined the big boys as soon as they would let me, stayed ‘til I was thirty.”
“Long time, I was only in for six.”
“Couldn’t hack it then?”
“No, I wanted to do the full stretch, I loved it man, it was fucking great.” Black smiled at the thought. “ Had some good mates too, man you just can’t get mates like that in civvy street.”
“Yeh tell me about it, what happened that you had to leave?”
“To get over my fear of heights I went on a Para course. I took ill. I was in a bad way for a while and then the army ditched me. Can’t have a sick man holding back a modern army can we now? Some piss arse MO told me. Then it was, make sure the door doesn’t hit your arse on the way out.”
“Bastards.” replied the male.”
“No argument here man, so what’s the shit here, you really gonna throw yourself off the roof?”
“Am ah fuck, I came up here to get away from them fucking cops that turned up. Got their batons out as soon as they came through the door, didn’t want to listen to me, so I decked them and came up here to cool off. I aint topping myself over that slag, said she’d wait for me ‘til I got back from Afghanistan. Fucking right she waited, on her back with her legs up in the fucking air.” He paused then asked, “ How deep is the shite I’m in?”
“Don’t know to be honest, I’ll need to see the damage to her and the cops. Want me to deal with your lock up? It’s up to you?”
“Yeh, you seem alright, cheers mate.”
“The names Andy,” Black said, putting his hand out to be shaken.
“Ian, Ian Daly,” he said taking Black’s hand and shaking it. They both smiled at each other.
“Come on” said Black, let’s get down from here before my bottle goes completely and I shit myself.”
Black let him sit in the front of the car and they chatted about the army on the way to the cells. At the cells he handed him over for court in the morning and he asked the Turnkeys to look after him. He shook hands with Daly, turned and walked away.
He didn’t know what made him do it but Black phoned the army criminal records office and luckily got through to a guy he had once served with. After the niceties were over Black asked for a check to be carried out on Daly. He got the phone call back in an hour.
“Yes,” said Black’s ex-colleague, “Ian Daly has definitely been in the Marines and had definitely been in the Special Boat Services too. His last tour was a Black Ops job in Afghanistan. Full denial from the government if caught. He got caught through no fault of his own and did just over a year in some shit-hole prison in the back of beyond. He managed to escape and was found more dead than alive in the middle of a desert. He had taken a hell of a beating whilst in captivity. The wounds healed but the mind didn’t, ended up in a cell with bouncy walls. The army later rubber stamped him unfit for duty and papped him out the door in their usual fashion.”
“Any criminal record?”
“No not a thing. Hey listen, be careful going after this guy he aint no Christmas tree fairy.”
“I’ve got him locked up in the cells for a domestic.”
“Hey, a big tin star for you my boy. See you behind the cannons.”
“Cheers, I won’t be in front of them that’s for sure.”
He replaced the handset, looked up to the ceiling and said to himself. “Thank you God, you’ve sent me a disciple.”
Black wrote his report as low key as he could and put it in the system for the Sheriff Court in the morning. Daly had told him he would be pleading guilty in the morning so Black went to court with a view to talking to him after the case had been heard.
He sat at the back of the court and didn’t believe what he was hearing. The only thing the Procurator Fiscal didn’t do was crucify Daly.
What had been relayed to the court was nothing like the report Black had submitted. As for Daly’s defence solicitor, the only thing he didn’t do was build the gallows.
Black was sitting at the back of the court in a state of shock and just managed to hear the Sheriff say that his only option was a custodial sentence. He was on his feet in a shot, “Sir, I am the reporting officer in the case and before you pass sentence, can I speak with you please?”
“Approach,” said the Sheriff.
Black approached the Sheriff and said, “Sir, this needs to be in private.”
“This is an unusual request officer, it had better be good.”
So, in the Sheriffs chamber, Andy Black pled the case for Ian Daly not to be jailed. “We shouldn’t be jailing this man sir, we should be helping him. Sign him over to me, suspend the sentence and if he stays out of trouble for a year, how about making it a ‘not guilty’. For what he’s been through in his life he shouldn’t end up with a criminal record.
Ten minutes later, the Sheriff was back in his court and told Daly of the special conditions He also told him he had an unusual friend in Detective Black.
The Sheriff then called a halt to the day’s proceeding as he had a golf competition to take part in. Black told Daly to wait at the back of the court and approached the Procurator Fiscal and the defence solicitor who were standing talking about future cases to come.
“What’s this boys, fixing up a deal to stitch up the next poor bastard you’re both going to be dealing with.” Black said. “Cut the time here in court so you can both finger fuck each other in your free time, you conniving shites?”
He moved in very close to the Procurator Fiscal so that their noses were almost touching and said through gritted teeth, “You ever fuck with one of my cases again and I’ll rip your fucking arm off and beat you to death with the soggy end.”
He then turn to the defence solicitor and said, “As for you Perry Mason, you need a good kicking, what you did here today to your client was fucking shocking.”
Black started to walk away, then stopped turned and said to both of them, “I’m just waiting for the day to come when they make hunting fiscals and solicitors legal.” He raised his right hand and formed the shaped of a gun with his two fingers and thumb and pointed at the two member of the law society. He pulled the trigger. “Bang bang. Trophies on my bedroom wall.” he turned and walked out of the court taking Daly with him.
When they got outside the court Black noticed that Daly was shaking violently.
He said, “What’s up man, I didn’t think going to jail here would scare you after the jail you’ve been in?”
“It doesn’t, I’ve got the DT’s I need a fucking drink now.”
“Fuck,” said Black, “Come with me.” He took him over to a bar across from the court where he watched Daly consume four double whiskies.
“Right, come with me,” said Black, taking Daly by the elbow. Outside the pub Black hailed a passing taxi and shoved Daly into it.
They emerged from the cab outside the Caledonian Hotel at the east end of Princes Street, where Black marched Daly into the hotel still by the elbow.
“What the fuck’s this about?” asked Daly
“Shush wait and see…”
***