"Interview with Carl Trent. Officers present are PC Tony Stamp and…"
"…PC Rob Weston alias the new boy."
"Mr Trent," Tony started " has been arrested for burglary and has refused his right to a solicitor."
"Don't need no one stickin' up for me, I can fight you lot on own y' get me," Carl replied.
"Not when you talk silly like that, no," Rob sneered.
"Mr Trent," interrupted Tony, "Where were you at around 11am this morning?"
"About," he answered calmly.
"About where? The park? The Brookvale centre? Outer Mongolia?" added Rob.
"The mean streets of Sun Hill, man, my home turf," he replied.
"The mean streets? Do me a favour you were born in Chalk Farm remember not Chicago. Where were you, Carl?" Tony interjected.
"My dad 'ere yet?" Carl asked.
"Not yet but he has been notified of your arrest," replied Tony.
"He'll sort this all out, you'll see," Carl said confidently, crossing his arms.
"Big time gangster needs his dear old dad," continued Rob.
" 'Dear old dad' would shoot you down bang bang with one word from me," Carl sneered back.
"This is detracting from the point, Carl, where were you?" Tony tried to bring the interview back on track.
"Down on D-street, Dorrell Road."
"Finally an answer. Ok, Ali G, was Joey Peters there with you?" Rob continued.
"Nowhere near, I was seein' a piece of ass I know, met Jo-Jo and Trace later."
"This lady friend live anywhere near the Slomans at number 52? Assuming it is a lady that is…"
"I ain't no batty boy! I 'ate them freaks," Carl started getting annoyed.
"Interesting. Any gay bashings in the area recently, PC Stamp?" Rob smiled.
"Reign it in, PC Weston ," Tony warned him. Rob seemed to have taken notice although it seemed to him like he was in the middle of a shootout and he had to fire off a few rounds to be respected.
"This lady have a name so we can check?" he continued.
"Got so many it's hard to keep track," Carl smiled.
"Ok Prince Charming, what number does this Cinderella live at then?" Rob asked.
"Can't remember."
"I'm going to come straight to the point, did you break in to 52 Dorrell Road?" Tony asked.
"Yeah ok, what the hell I did it," Carl admitted, seeming bored with all the questions despite the glee he took in winding the two officers up.
"Why did you do it? For the money?"
"Dunno, it was something to do."
"That's it? For fun!" added Rob, his voice raising slightly.
"Dunno," he replied simply.
"What did you take from the house," Tony asked.
"Some bits of cheap bling, nothing top."
"Which you intended to do with…?"
"Give to my bitch. Was 'er birthday last week and I forgot. I like to keep 'em 'appy."
"She is a woman, not a bitch, speak proper English please," Rob retorted.
"So what, sounds like Trace, she is a bit of a mutt," he laughed " My dad 'ere yet?"
"You care about her enough to remember her birthday then."
"My other slapper had this appointment for the Docs ringed on 'er calendar, made me remember, so what."
"So re-establishing the facts for the tape. You broke into the house of Mr and Mrs Kevin Sloman of 52 Dorrell Road. You crashed through the back door, went through all their things, maybe tried on a few of the misses clothe s while you where at it…" Rob began.
"Hey!" Carl cried out.
"PC Weston!" Tony warmed.
"…drank milk from the fridge and left the top off the toothpaste, stuff like that. You do all this and cause this much distress to the homeowners just for a few cheap bits of jewellery that you gave to someone who means so little to you that you refer to her as a canine, you could have gone into any shop on the high street and yet you choose to crack open someone's door and take it that way. And all for what!" he continued, his voice growing louder.
"Because I can. What's it matter anyway if the bitch is stupid enough to wear it she's the one what gets lifted!" Carl smiled.
"Right little charmer aren't you!"
"Interview terminated at 13:12," Tony said quickly.
"I don't know how they interview people in Surrey but in the Met that's certainly not how it's done!" Tony scolded.
"It's how they do it on the telly," Rob replied.
"Did this happen in Woking?"
"Sort of. I was given an unofficial warning and kicked off all interviews for a month last year. I thought that down here it would be different, more acceptable, London, the big city, Reagan and Carter and all that. You saw how he was, right little snot bag!" Rob protested.
"Just tone it down next time or we'll both be in the brown stuff and I warn you Inspector Gold is no pussycat," Tony added.
"Point take, it's a leaning curve," Rob replied.
The two sat in BIU discussing the interview. Carl had been taken back to his cell immediately awaiting both formal charges and his father to arrive to try and sort the whole thing out. Tony was sitting behind a desk with a computer in front of him starring at Carl's criminal record up to that point glaring out from the monitor.
"So what are the chances of him going down? What's his form like?" Rob asked.
"I could reel it off from the top of my head but you can have a butcher's for yourself if you want, record longer that a 'Pink Floyd' concept album. Petty thieving and demanding money with menaces mostly," Tony grumbled.
"What about dear old dad, his 'Mr Fixit'?"
A smile crept across Tony's face as he tipped his head and leaned back in the chair.
"Ever heard of Jerry Trent?" he replied.
"Only Jerry Trent I can think of is the armed robber. The big Lonsdale Bank job in Hammersmith back in the Seventies. Jerry ' The Doorman' Trent, him," Rob said with a laugh, not expecting a nod of recognition. "Seriously? Wow, first day in London and I get to meet a real East End legend."
"Wait until tomorrow when we go hunting for Ronnie and Reggie," Tony smiled.
"As long as I get to meet Lord Lucan within the week then I'm happy," Rob laughed back. "I suppose he's going to show up, bail sonny-boy and we'll never see him again."
Sergeant Sheelagh Murphy entered the room with a clipboard in her hand and a stern, stressed look on her face.
"You two still here?" she asked.
"Waiting for the infamous Jerry Trent, Sarge," Tony replied with glee.
"Did you not hear? Mr Trent is away on business and isn't going to make it until tomorrow morning, Carl will have to stew in his cell for a night," she told them.
"Give us a chance to finish off some paperwork then," Rob said eagerly.
"Shouldn't we get back out on the streets? We can do that lot later on," complained Tony.
"Best get it all done and out of the way now, time is time, Tony. We'll spend the same amount of time doing it anyway whether it's right now or at the end of the shift."
A voice from outside called Sheelagh back to the custody suite.
"I'm being paged, carry on with your paperwork but I want you two back out by three o'clock, ok," she ordered, grabbed some sheets of paper from one of the desks and left the room.
"Never met a copper who wanted to do paperwork, not in all my years. You sure you were never in CID?" Tony asked, taking out his notebook and starting to sift thorough the forms.
"Tried out for it once."
"No luck?"
"Still in the blue tuxedo aren't I?" Rob replied soberly. He looked away and started to fill in one of the forms in front of him, barely looking up. Tony made another attempt to talk.
"Perhaps you could try out again some day, never too late, that's what they say, " he said apologetically.
"They won't have me now, mate, I'm 34 so that's seen as virtually pushing 40 and they only want the young guns. I'll be stuck in uniform for the rest of my service, you'll see," he added, sounding a little defensive and still not looking up from his work. "I wonder about what could've been sometimes though but now its just another dream that's faded away."
Tony woke up with a start; the bright lights of the monitor had a hypnotic effect after a while, a product of both the modern and his own middle age. He had only dozed off for a minute or two but not much had changed people still passed the window on their various businesses and Rob was still morosely hunched over his desk scribbling away. The clock on the wall told the time as 3.05pm but it had been half an hour slow ever since New Year and no-one had bothered to put it right although everyone knew about the time difference, everyone except Rob that is. Tony sensed an opportunity to get away from the dreaded forms.
"Woah, look at the time, better get our skates on," Tony smiled tapping Rob on the arm and getting up from his seat. His partner looked at the clock, leapt to his feet and hurriedly tidied his papers away ready for future completion.
As they walked towards the Custody Suite they viewed the rather odd sight of a teenager dressed in a white apron holding a clear plastic tub containing food.
"This is quite the modern nick. Prisoners allowed to order takeaway now are they?" asked Rob cheerily.
"That smells delicious, what is it?" Tony asked.
"Lasagne, finest meat and tomatoes smothered in a creamy cheese sauce. At least that what the recipe says, made by me own fair hand too," he replied with a smile. Inside the tub a generous helping of lasagne stood firm on a small china plate accompanied by a knife, fork and set of condiments.
"Against the rules I'm afraid," said Sergeant Murphy from behind the desk. "Prisoners aren't allowed food brought in."
"This isn't for Trent is it?" Rob inquired.
"Special delivery," the teen answered.
"What a waste," Tony grumbled. "Like chucking good grub down the toilet!"
"You might as well do because it's not coming anywhere near my cells!" Sheelagh said defiantly.
"I think its nice, Sarge, sort of like a last meal innit before he gets sent away, " said PC Hadleigh, Sheelagh's jailer.
"Last meal? Natasha, he's a thug facing a year of peace for burglary. We don't seek the death penalty for breaking and entering in this country just yet," Sheelagh replied.
"I have to be back at the café soon now, do you people want this or not?" demanded the teen. "Mr Trent said in case of his arrest he would like one last meal from the Café before his sentence begins. Has he even been charged yet because if you're letting him go I can return and give this to some paying customers? Don't ask me the details, my boss made them all ages ago."
"Go on, Sarge, better than the food in the canteen and the slop they serve in prison," Natasha chipped in.
"Alright but I want it searched and tasted first," Sheelagh relented with a half smile.
"Volunteer!" Tony said immediately, licking his lips. "It's a dirty job but someone's got to do it."
"No, No, No now back out, please. You two have been in cluttering up the floor for long enough. Away with yous!" Sheelagh ordered.
"C'mon Keith Floyd, I'll buy you a cheese sandwich on the way," added Rob.
"Barely a replacement," Tony grumbled as they walked out the door and into the yard.
"Time for the changing of the guard!" laughed Sergeant Gordon, striding up to the custody desk with military precision.
"The dungeon's all yours," Sheelagh replied, wiping the sleep from her eyes. PC Hadleigh was at her side lazily filling in the crossword puzzle from a glossy magazine.
"Up for some fish and chips, Sarge?" she asked.
"Try and stop me, I have a hungry husband at home. Did you finish that all in the end?" she replied looking at the magazine.
"One left, six down, four letters. Something 'Grant' starred in 'North by Northwest'? Could be 'Hugh'?"
"It isn't, it's 'Cary', 'Cary Grant'," answered Sheelagh. "Have you never heard of him? I just don't know what the world's coming to!"
"Yeah, its fits! Brill," she said excitedly filling in the answer.
"Take a look around, Mark, survey our domain," Gordon ordered, in his thick Scottish brogue, to his young PC who sped off in the direction of the cells. He picked up a clipboard and looked it over. "Well, well, well, Carl Trent, there's a bad penny if I ever saw one. I knew the father too and have the grey hairs to prove it," he laughed, brushing back the hair behind his ears.
"You'll get the chance for a reunion then, he's coming to bail out the lad in the morning," Sheelagh replied.
"Really? Be nice to see the old bugger again after so long. Our paths used to cross quite a lot when I worked with the Robbery Squad, tch, look at us now, eh. How's the lad shaping up?"
"A cool start moving to stroppy but finally settling down once he was fed," added Sheelagh trying her best to imitate a weather girl.
Gordon laughed again with a jolly roar.
"Sarge, Come quick! We need an ambulance!" Mark shouted.
"Can ye not deal with him yerself, I'm busy," Gordon shouted back. "What's he done, pissed his pants?"
Sheelagh dropped her bag back onto the desk and rushed through into the cellblock to add medical support, grabbing the green box on the way.
Gordon decided to follow her while Hadleigh phoned for the ambulance.
Carl Trent was lying on the floor of his cell, two legs up on the seat and the rest of his body sprawled on the ground. His eyes barely moved but he had a large grin on his face.
"He's overdosed," Sheelagh said immediately starting CPR.
"No-one was there when I looked through the 'ole," Mark said in broad cockney, "I opened the door and 'e just lolloped out in front of me. I ain't gonna get into trouble am I?"
"Go back to the front desk Marky-boy, you're all right, son," Gordon sent the Constable back but then turned his attentions to Sheelagh. "How the fucking hell did he overdose in the cell? I hope you checked him out!" he roared.
"How wet behind the ears do you think I am? Everything was done according to procedure" Sheelagh replied defiantly.
"Well there's been a fuck-up somewhere along the line, Sheelagh, and I'm damned if its going down in the records as being on my watch!" he raged.
As Sergeant Murphy continued her resuscitation Sergeant Gordon stormed through to the Custody Suite with a face like thunder ready to greet the incoming paramedics.