All Through the Night by John Wainwright

Author:John Wainwright [Wainwright, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Crime
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“I don’t give a damn what he said. It’s what you did that was bloody stupid.” Bell’s tone melted slightly. “Kelly, old son, they aren’t worth it. None of’em. You just damn near lost your job and your pension. You damn near lost me my job and my pension. I don’t care if she’s the Queen of bloody Sheba, she’s not worth that. That horrible little turd could have pushed us both right up the pole. We were lucky. He hadn’t the guts, and now he’s left it too late.”

“I’m—y’know—I’m sorry.”

“We’re all tempted at times, old son.” Bell grinned as his anger passed. “This time we’ve got away with it. Put it down to experience, eh?”

The messages were coming over the squad car radio thick and fast. The stolen Jag was being sought, and every police vehicle in the area was being brought in on a saturation search.

Hindley unclipped the microphone from the dashboard.

“Lima Ten to Foxtrot. Lima Ten to Foxtrot.”

“Come in, Lima Ten.”

“That Jag might be making for the motorway. Shall we get there and wait, ready to cut it off?”

“Understood and agreed, Lima Ten. Lima Fifteen might be on to something. I’ll link you up, and you can work in tandem.”

“Thank you, Foxtrot. Over and out.”

Hindley braked the squad car to a halt alongside the kerb.

He said, “Into the back seat. Sit behind me.”

“Why?” The question was wrapped up in tobacco smoke.

“I’m not going to chase him. I’m going to stop him, if I get the chance. If necessary, I’ll shunt him. That means hitting him with the nearside. So, get behind me, it gives us half a car’s width to play with.” Then, as Chatterton began to open the door, “And lose that pipe, otherwise it might come out of the back of your neck.”

“Satisfied?” asked Riddle.

“Yes, sir.” Having read what Adams had written, Bulmer dropped the sheets on to the top of the desk.

“Nothing you want altering?”

“No, sir.”

“Right. Sign it, please. Date it, and include the time you signed it. Then I’ll witness your signature. Adams can certify it, then he can witness my signature.”

“Great balls of fire!” growled Barstow. “He’s not giving a receipt for the Crown Jewels. It’s a statement, not a Death Warrant.”

“Sir.” Riddle’s voice was gentle, but uncompromising. “Not too long ago, those words could have boiled down to just that.”

3.30 a.m. Ask any honest policeman. Ask any copper with enough service behind him to know not to lick an indelible pencil.

If you press the point,you will be told that superintendents come in two distinct varieties. There are those who can. There are also those who cannot, but who have the cunning to hide their shortcomings behind a surround of underlings who are reasonably efficient.

The former live their lives on a perpetual limb, but are happy to do so and sleep deeply in the sound knowledge that no size-tens are likely to be aimed at the back of their necks. They know that when men and women salute them and say “sir”, those men and women mean it.

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