Rob Weston entered the BIU room with a smug grin on his face.
"What's up with you, discovered the Inspector's secret drinks cabinet," asked Tony observing his partner's happy demeanour.
"Sergeant Gordon has been filling me in on a few choice details about Jerry 'The Doorman'. I wouldn't mind a bit more confirmation though but his record isn't likely to be anywhere around here is it?" he explained.
"Unless he's committed a crime since the Eighties it won't be, they only go back so far," Tony added soberly. "You really think there's something in it. Is it really worth going to all this trouble for?"
"I just want to suck the wind out of Carl's sails a bit, he's already got a lot of previous and now it seems he's moving up a notch. If we can boot him back down, give him something to think about, it might cause him to re-assess himself a bit at least that's what I'm hoping. Gordon said Jerry was even arrested here once so I would've thought there would be some info here somewhere. Haven't you got an archivist or some kind of collator here?"
"All went out with the Ark, mate. Casualty of the digital age," Tony replied.
"What about some kind of anal busybody who's been at this nick since the dawn of time and has virtually no social life?"
"I think I know just the person," Tony smiled.
"Back in Woking we had a bloke, Dave Smith his name was, always kept immaculate records of all the arrests he made, over 30 years worth there was. Our CAD room is the proud bearer, still to this day, of a framed speeding ticket written out to Freddie Mercury," Rob recalled wistfully.
Tony reached into his pocket, pulled out his mobile and scrolled through all the names in its memory until he came to the one marked 'Reg' and pressed the green 'call' button.
"Reg? Tony here mate."
Rob looked over to the table and tried to remember which one Reg was out of the deluge of new faces he had met in the past two days.
"Where do we keep the old records? You know the BC ones, Before Computers, I want to look something up…yes I know but they only go so far back…right…well which ones…Jerry Tent…why? Erm," Tony stumbled.
"Trying to link Carl to the drugs," Robe interjected quickly.
"Jerry hasn't any form for drugs though," Tony hissed back.
"How do we know that? Our records don't go that far back, he could've been the Sixties answer to Ozzy Osbourne for all we know!"
"I thought Ozzy Osbourne was the six….yes, Reg," Tony turned back to the phone. "Good…well that's one line on inquiry yes…yes I will mention you in the report now just… you did…excellent. I owe you a drink, mate," he pressed the red 'end call' button. "Not like slamming down a proper phone receiver is it?" Tony mused, " the march of technology is not always such a good thing. Anyway it seems that Reg has already updated the system.
"Brilliant!" Rob smiled.
"Apparently the Super put him in charge of transferring a lot of the old records a while back in case they're ever needed," Tony explained as he tapped the name into the keyboard. Rob peered over his shoulder with anticipation.
"Oh," Tony read the screen, "well I never would've guessed."
Rob's face lit up, "Mr Trent still at St Hughes?" he smiled. "Visiting hours aren't over yet."
"Look just take a step back and think a moment, what good will it do. You're only going to stir up trouble and probably land the both of us in it in the process!" Tony added urgently.
"If it neuters that little scroat then its worth trying, it seems nothing else can," Rob left quickly, slamming the door. Tony reluctantly stood up from behind the desk to follow him hoping he could make him rethink before the situation became enflamed.
In his own little world, head full of thoughts about his next move, Rob rushed down the corridor and collided with another PC.
"Do you ever look where you are going!" he retorted at the man who had shaken him out and recognising him as the same person he had brushed with so abruptly in the canteen earlier that day.
"Sorry," mumbled Nick. Looking around he noticed the numbers on the man's shoulders glowing in the artificial light. The numbers, 518, flashed before his eyes and became imprinted in his vision. He flashed back to the last time he saw them as he carried Cass' body up from the riverside. For a moment he even saw her pretty smiling face standing before him, he started to sweat.
"You alright?" Rob asked.
"Not seen you here before, you on secondment or something?" Nick asked in a low growl.
"I'm new this is my second day," he replied casually. "Can we do the introductions later only I have to be somewhere."
"You're the new 518? Weston, right?" Nick continued barely hearing any answers over the parade of questions and emotions running through his head.
"Yes, and you're 140, don't know you're name though," Rob replied slowly taking the mick a bit.
"Might be best. Now listen those numbers are not yours, you shouldn't have them, take them off!" Nick demanded.
"Not my fault, mate, talk to the Home Office," Rob replied trying to push past.
"It's not right. Those are her numbers and they are the only things left of hers that belong to this station," Nick added as he approached Rob further. "They can bury her body, clear out her locker, take down every photograph and delete her from the rostas but they can't erase her fully. Her soul roams these halls and her memory lives on and that can't be taken away from me. Now I want them back!" Nick advanced and started to pull at one of Rob's lapels.
"Nick!" Tony appeared from around the corner. While Nick pulled at him the new recruit failed to put up any sort of a fight preferring instead to simply brush him off. Tony stepped in to separate the two.
"This won't bring her back," he said calmly.
"I'm not trying to, just preserve her memory. Why can't you understand that," Nick replied.
"They can't do it, Tone. They can't just replace her like that, delete her from the service like she was just nothing."
"This was bound to happen sooner or later," Tony tried to help.
"Not this soon," Nick replied
"We all miss Cass you know," Tony released Nick from his grasp causing the grieving officer to slump into a heap, his back to the wall, like his soul had just been taken from his body.
"Feelings about Cass still run high here," Tony tried to explain to his new partner.
Rob knelt down beside Nick. "I suppose my condolences don't help at all."
"Just go away," he muttered in return barely looking up from his knees.
"Tony told me all about her, I've even seen a picture, she was very pretty and so full of life too. I bet she made a great copper."
"The best."
"C'mon Nick on your feet. Let's find a place for a nice sit down," Tony pulled his colleague up from the floor and herded him in the direction of an interview room. Nick felt like a dead weight as he lumbered along the floor and finally slumped into a chair. Tony provided him with a box of tissues to wipe away the tears that were now streaming from his eyes.
"I'll go and find one of the Sergeants and get you sent home, ok? You're obviously not fit enough for duty," he tried to console him. "No-one here knows Rob that well yet, even I don't know how he'll react to this, so you'll be lucky not to end up on an assault charge by the end of the day. I'll do me best to talk him round of course."
"Don't care," muttered Nick, slumped over the desk. "My life is over anyway."
"That's the spirit," Tony added sarcastically. "You're just going through a bad patch that's all. We all deal with grief differently. I've got to go now but I'll be back later, ok. I'd better find you back home with a cup of tea and feet up in front of 'Countdown'."
"Can you tell 'im sorry from me Tony? I've not been myself lately."
"Sure, pal, take it easy," Tony said walking out of the room.
An empty corridor faced him with an exit. Rob had left, probably for the hospital again, and Tony felt torn between his loyalty for Nick, a grief stricken colleague of three years, or Rob, a fresh face which was about to stir up a pot of trouble. He understood that both were his responsibility, as he was the only one caught in the middle of it so both would have to be done. Spotting Sergeant Boyden coming down the hallway he beckoned him towards the, now occupied, interview room.
Rob looked through the windows of 'Attlee Ward' at St Hughes hospital. Two people sat around Carl Trent's bed; both men, one was quite old wearing a beige suit with a blue open nicked shirt while the second, younger, wore a brown leather jacket, had red hair and was taking notes. The young man got up, tucked his notebook away in his jacket and headed for the door. Rob swiftly moved to the left hoping that the door would hide him, the man was probably a journalist, and his discovery would not look good. The stranger looked both ways as he left and spotted the officer guiltily standing in the shadows but his smile was the one thing Rob did not expect.
"'Allo mate," the man said in a cockney accent, "You 'ere to go through the details with 'im. Afraid I beat you too it."
"Yes, just some additional notes for the Inspector," Rob lied.
"I'm Mickey Webb by the way, one of the DC's. You're the new plod right? Wayne innit?"
"No," Rob replied haughtily.
"You sure? I'm sure it was something like that. John Wayne that's what I've got in me 'ead," Mickey looked puzzled.
"Nothing like it. I'm Rob, Rob Weston," he replied a little narked. He hated people getting his name wrong or even elongating it to 'Robert'.
"Oh right, yeah I know what I was thinking of now. Weston and Western, y'know, cowboys and Indians and all that. Sorry mate, its seems you've had a wasted journey too. Carl's 'is usual self, a cross between Tupac and Mr Bean. I just spent ten minutes with 'im trying to suss this café business out," Mickey explained.
"Get anywhere?"
"Nah, tight-lipped as ever. Most of 'em in Sun 'ill 'ave their cake-'oles permanently welded shut unless their shouting abuse at ya. Anyway I'm off back to the nick, good luck."
Mickey walked off down the corridor and Rob looked through the door again. He felt nervous about going in. Looking around him again he spotted Tony walking up the same corridor that Mickey had just left by.
"You haven't gone in yet then?" he asked.
"No."
"Are you going to?"
"Don't know," Rob replied plainly.
"It's not in anyone's best interests," Tony added "Do you really want to have something like this hanging over your head in your first week? I can tell you're having second thoughts about it otherwise you would've gone in by now. Let's go back and I'll buy you a cup of tea, eh,"
"Look at him in there, smiling, he'll probably get off the burglary charge too if the judge is liberal enough. It's bound to be clouded anyway by all this business and what about Sergeant Murphy anyway and Natasha Hadleigh? Two careers potentially down the drain because of him. Enough good kids OD every day, they try it just the once to see what it was like and bang out go the lights. Yet he comes back from it and all because he wanted to avoid eighteen poxy months at the most in jail."
Suddenly incensed Rob pushed through the double door entrance to the ward and marched straight up to Carl's bed.
"Afternoon Carl, feeling better?" Rob asked cockily.
"Me pillow's a bit flat," Carl replied in a similar manner.
"My boy's had a tough time, Constable, we've just had old Rusty from CID in here carrying on," the old man spoke up.
"Jerry Trent, as I live and breathe," Tony joined them at the bedside.
"Do I know you two?" Jerry asked sounding a bit puzzled.
"We just want to have a word with your son, Jerry," replied Rob.
"He's PC Weston and I'm PC Stamp. We arrested Carl for burglary yesterday. In fact I think we might've met before; I was part of the arrest team for the East Street Midland Bank job back in '76?" Tony explained.
"That's right, the two years suspended, I remember now. Not you of course but I know your guvnor DI, what was it, Waterston. What happened to him? Jerry said with a twinkle in his eye as he recalled the era.
"Long retired now. After that job he was transferred to the Yard for a while but now I think he lives in Brighton."
"That's good, he should've been behind a desk you know. Such a sensitive soul, no good for all that front line cobblers. He always wanted to live by the sea too. Did some painting didn't he? Lovely landscapes I remember he used to have hung on the walls of his office," Jerry rambled.
"You bested him though didn't you Dad, you never did time," Carl piped up.
"What was it you went down for in the end, Mr Trent? I can't remember," asked Rob slyly. Tony eyed his suspiciously.
"I was the brains behind the Lonsdale Bank Job, Hammersmith back in '78. For all that I spent 20 years at Her Majesty's and I missed my boy growing up because of that. Wouldn't buy too much these days £2 million but it was certainly a lot back then," explained Jerry. Carl looked proud.
"Only thing you was any good for, Dad," Carl said suddenly, Jerry was taken aback.
"You're going to have to work out which you want, son. A notorious heritage or 20 years worth of a proper father because you can't have it both. Either I'm a saint or a pariah to you but your poor mother always understood!" Jerry shouted. Suddenly he clutched his chest, started breathing erratically and fell backwards into his seat.
"Take it easy, Jerry," Tony said softly.
"I'll be spiffy in a few minutes," Jerry's voice sounded strained, as his breathing grew heavier and he continued clutching his chest.
"Mum was always there for me," Carl continued.
Jerry tried to stand up, "I can't have those years back, Carl but I swear to the Heavens above that I would trade anything for them so I could see you mature. But then I wouldn't have the infamy that you revel in so much and perhaps if I hadn't then things would be different." He rubbed his chest, pulling the skin too and fro as if it was putty in his hands. Rob caught him as he lunged across the bed.
"Dad, wassup?" Carl asked leaning forward.
"He's having a heart attack," Rob replied.
"No I ain't, just a bit of trouble, bit of jip that's all, clear up in a…" his voice trailed off.
"Give me a hand, Tone," Rob said, taking the lions share of the weight as he tried to lift Jerry back up.
"Some one do somethin'," Carl coughed, "Dad!"
"I think it's better to separate these two," Tony said to Rob, "Come on Jerry lets get you to a Doctor."
Tony led Jerry out and through the doors immediately flagging down one of the nurses.
"Them nurses will 'elp 'im won't they?" Carl asked.
"He's in good hands, mate," Rob replied. "You must be proud of his record."
"He was one bad-ass gangster back in the day, proper 'Sweeney' stuff," Carl smiled.
"I've seen his record y'know, its pretty long."
"Yeah?" Carl asked. " What sort of stuff did 'e do then. I know about the big blags but nothin' else."
"Pickpocket. He's got a couple charges for that, one case of arson was never proved, he left a fag burning in a public toilet and it was reduced to cinders," Rob replied.
"Not the one in Gunnershaw Road?"
"I think that was it, new to the area you see, I don't know my Gunnershaw from my elbow."
"I remember that place, used to play in all that wreckage when I was a kiddie. Took the council well long to rebuild it," Carl looked up, Rob had a strange smile on his face. He leant in closer to Carl. " We used to jump in and out of the brickwork or sit in the urinals pretending they was boats and stuff."
"He also did some petty thieving here and there, couple cases of homosexuality…"
"You're taking the piss, being a queer ain't a crime," Carl spat back.
"You have me there, Carl, it's not a crime. Well at least not since 1967. Unfortunately he has charges for it dating back to the mid-fifties," Rob said smugly.
"Nah, nah, don't believe ya," Carl started to sweat.
"What do you think he was doing in that toilet in the first place so far from home," Rob continued smoothly.
"Probably caught short I expect," Carl said sarcastically.
"He lives with your Uncle James doesn't he? Not a blood relative is he? How close do you think they are, Carl, close enough to share a bed," he added smoothly with a smile.
"Bastard!" Carl swore taking a low swing at Rob. The Constable dodged out of the way just in time and the lad thumped his bedside table sending a water jug crashing to the floor.
"You sure you want to go back in, Jerry?" Tony asked helping the old man along the corridor.
"Just had a bit of trouble that's all, I've had worse reactions to a Vindaloo on a Friday night and what's with the 'Jerry' it's Mr Trent to you, don't coppers have respect these days," he moaned.
"Respect got pushed aside in an attempt to be a more caring and personal Police Service. Apparently that means calling everyone by their first names and carting retired criminals around," Tony replied.
Jerry peered through the ward door and saw Carl take a swing at Rob and, instead, strike the bedside cupboard.
"'Ere what's your mate said to my boy!" he said to Tony pushing open the door while Carl clutched his hand.
"Tony!" Rob cried out, "Fetch one of the nurses!"
"What happened?"
"Tell you later," Rob replied hurriedly. Tony turned around and bumped into a nurse who was ferrying a trolley of meals around. He brought her through into the ward where she proceeded to examine Carl's hand and clear up the mess he made. The patient lay still and silent in his bed, barely turning over from his side or acknowledging the treatment he was being given.
"What's happened, Carl? What's 'e said?" Jerry asked frantically.
"A good question. What have you said to him," Tony glared over at his partner who didn't know where to look with the expression on his face changed every second registering various degrees of pleasure, guilt and sadness in every line or tic.
"He asked about his dad's record," he replied simply.
"So you told him."
"So I told him."
"Carl, boy, what's wrong? Talk to your old dad, you've always been able to talk to me," Jerry was fussing around his son. Carl uttered a few obscenities and tried to submerge himself further in the safety of his bed. "You always do this when you're sad. Talk to me c'mon," he pleaded.
"We'll give you a ride home, Mr Trent," Tony added tugging at the man's sleeve. "It's the least we can do."
"All right, alright but I'm coming back here tomorrow," he replied grumpily. Rob's face still looked in a quandary as he left the ward.
"So how did the interview go? Must be your first time with the DPS?" Tony asked Rob a few hours after they returned from St Hughes. The two had just been grilled about their statements given after Carl Trent's overdose and were sitting in the canteen discussing it.
"Not the first and I expect it won't be he last either," he sighed.
"Coming down the pub tonight?"
"I don't think I'll be that welcome down there at the moment," Rob sat down, "I'll give it a miss for a few days in fact I'm surprised that you want to spend any more time with me."
"I may not agree exactly with how you did it but I admit I would love to see the little git knocked down a peg or two and if you really want my opinion you'll mingle with the relief as soon as possible, integrate yourself otherwise they'll resent you all the more. Anyway I think Natasha really likes you," he smiled.
"Natasha?"
"Natasha Hadleigh, you know, young, blonde, jailer from yesterday. Once news of our outing spreads, and believe me it will everything is noticed in a place like this, you'll be her knight in shining armour."
"Oh right."
"She's worth more than just an 'oh right', she's a bit of all right certainly. You sound like I've just cuffed you to Reg for the day," Tony chuckled "You have to get back on the horse sometime."
"What was she like?"
"Well you've seen her."
"Eh? Oh no sorry I meant Cass Rickman," he corrected.
"Oh yeah, you lied to Nick didn't you I never showed you a photo," he said firmly.
"Got me off the hook though didn't it," Rob smiled. "I would like to see one though."
"No-one expects you to be another Cass Rickman y'know especially not because of the number."
"I know. I'd have to shave my legs plus my scouse accent sounds like Harry Enfield anyway. Calm down, calm down," he joked.
Tony laughed, "seriously though you should come. 'The Elcott Arms' is a lovely little pub, does better grub than here too."
"I've not really been close to anyone since my wife," Rob muttered.
"You left her back in Surrey though."
"I didn't leave her I followed her. She's in London and in the Met," he replied soberly.
The next morning FDO Robbie Cryer entered her small office with a cup of freshly brewed tea and a copy of 'Hello' magazine. This was her little morning ritual just to get the day started. The 'customers', as she called them, usually started trickling in during the next couple of hours. Today though an old man was already waiting for her, looking as if had not slept all night yet his clothes, a smart black suit and tie, looked fresh on.
"Sir?" Robbie asked, "you alright there?"
The man got up, adjusted his clothes slightly, and approached the desk.
"Good morning, young miss," he gave a smile, "I wish to speak to PC Stamp or PC Weston, preferably both."
"I'm afraid everyone's out on patrol at the moment but I can call them back in if it's urgent," she replied.
"Is there anybody in authority I can speak to in the meantime, to pass on my message."
" The Superintendent and the DCI are knocking around somewhere."
"No, I don't really want to bother the bigwigs just yet, do you maybe have an Inspector I could talk to?" he asked kindly.
"Ooh yeah Inspector Gold's in. Bear with a sore head and a thorn in its paw before she's had her coffee though. I can get you an appointment if you're prepared to wait a while. Could I just take your name and what its about please, sir?" she asked.
"Ah yes, she'll do, Woman after my own heart. My name's Jerry Trent by the way, I apologise for not introducing myself earlier, and I've come regarding my son, Carl, the young lad who had a bit of an overdose in your cells two nights ago," he explained.
"Ooh right I heard about that, nasty."
"Yes, well he was recovering very nicely in hospital until recently. He is now missing, discharged himself, struck by his own hand as it were, and I'm holding your officers responsible!" he added sternly.