Blue lights bounced off the wet pavement. Police tape sagged under the weight of the rain. Jeez, this bloody weather!

SOCO had been here for what seemed like bloody hours now; the roadblock on Duke Street was causing mayhem as the City woke and rush hour began.

John was actually glad he'd been given crime scene log duties. At least he was warm and dry in the Panda. Cracking the window only to verify and note the officials coming and going, items removed from the scene.

The incident log was pretty sparse still.

The car had been found at 02.33hrs by a council worker, the gully sucker working overtime to clear the drains, gutters failing to cope with the stupidly heavy rain.

Police patrol, AR12, at scene 02.40 hrs.

The circus began seven minutes later, the night jack declaring a major scene.

02.50 and John was (thankfully) diverted from his foot beat – grab keys, grab Incident Log, grab a butty, (hurry up and wait), and prepare for a bloody boring night shift.

He wound the window down, cursing as the rain immediately soaked his sleeve.

Coffee.

'Get in before you get soaked!'

John laughed at his own humour; the poor sprog was already drenched.

'Sorry, the queue in Costa was bloody huge! Had to wait outside, must be the roadblock. '

'If you learn nowt else, learn one thing: a good Bobby never gets wet!'

The young probationary constable shook off as much rain as possible in the downpour – trying to look professional, to seem interested in the processes of a crime scene. To show they knew procedures, trying desperately to impress the old-guard trainer.

'Who's the OIC, JD?'

'Night jack is. . . '

John purposefully used the old police slang, '. . . sorry, haven't seen him since I got here!'

He consulted his log. 'Right, the Officer In Charge, is D/C Meredith. Good jack is Mike,. Think he's around the corner with SOCO still.'

He noticed the look. Jeez, they always had that look!

'We'll finish this brew. Hopefully the rain goes off, and I'll see if Mike will show you how a Big City Jack works?'

'Thanks! You think that'd be alright, I mean it being a major. . . '

'It's just a bloody stolen motor being searched. OK, it's been used in a robbery, but still just a bloody car! So calm down, it's not a bloody serial killer!'

He noticed the look slip, felt a bit bad, spoiling the excited mood. Remembered when he was a sprog and absolutely bloody everything was brand spanking new.

'Either way, it's still better than plodding around 3:3 beat. You're not gonna get any of the girls out working in this weather, and with me sitting here all night!'

As they trudged over the mud, Police Constable Joanne Greene carefully avoided the small pool forming over the blocked drains. A shiver ran through her as if someone had walked over her grave.

Spooked by her own rippled reflection, she shook the feeling off, not wishing to look daft in front of her colleague.

She looked around the deserted rainy street, glad that there were no girls working tonight.

For some reason she'd always felt a great deal of empathy and respect for those poor souls who walked the streets.

FWR

29.07.24 Front Page

Back Issue Page