The Torments of Memory

Disclaimer: The DCI, Terry and the rest of the lads at Fenchurch East belong to the BBC, Kudos and Monastic. Sgt. Griffin, Brian Mercer, and Percy and his friends are mine.

Chapter 2

The following day DI Mercer turned up for work bright and early, hoping to make some sense of his surroundings.

Quickly noting that no-one said or did anything before at least one coffee and two cigarettes, Mercer was even more convinced that he had walked into the set of a gigantic practical joke. What primitives this lot are, he thought dismissively. Haven't they heard of passive smoking? On top of that, am I really supposed to accept that a police station could be run without IT? Unbelievable!

Brian was just deciding how best to keep a low profile and avoid DCI Hunt, when the swing-doors were pushed open and the desk sergeant ushered in a small group led by a tall man wearing a scruffy suit, glasses and a determined expression. Sergeant Griffin knocked on Gene's office door.

"Couldn't stop them, Guv – they insisted on seeing you and wouldn't make an appointment."

"DCI Hunt", said the tall man, "we need your help."

"Oh great – it's Percy the Postcard with his deputies. To what do I owe the pleasure? You're not usually up this early."

"Mr Hunt", he whined, "someone's nicking our stock."

"What? Lots of bits of paper? Can't you bring me a real crime?"

"I don't know what you earn, Officer, but last year's losses were more than £5,000. Old postcards, photos and other ephemera are becoming more valuable all the time."

"Oh, don't come the classical scholar with me – why don't we just say odds and ends or even junk?"

"Don't joke, Mr Hunt. Our livelihoods are at stake and we expect help. Our major three day sale is next week. The Town Hall is too big for us to police ourselves. Can we count on this station for support?"

This required a little thought. DCI Hunt's overwhelming concern was how to get to the showroom and collect his new transport. Right then, I'll try a spot of delegation.

Fixing his gaze on his new DI, Gene asked with a touch of sarcasm, "If I could have your attention, DI Mercer? You can finish your coffee later."

"Let me introduce you to Percival Standish, once something big in the theatre world and now purveyor of any cheap tat he can lay his hands on. Should've stuck to dirty postcards, Percy, pornography pays I'm told."

Edith Ransome, the only female in the group, tried to add a dignified tone to the proceedings. "We help preserve the past, DCI Hunt. These photos and cards enable people to revisit their memories."

This rather prim comment brought a frozen look to Gene Hunt's face, as if something unpleasant had been brought to mind. Shrugging it off he said in a low voice, "Never been a fan of photography meself – somehow you don't get the whole story."

With a nervous glance at Terry, Sergeant Griffin intervened. It was what he liked to term 'customer service'. "I'll take our guests down to Interview Room One, and organise tea and coffee while they look at the mug shots. They might recognise one or two of our regulars."

As the visiting group left CID, the DCI snapped back into action. "Terry, you can handle this one. I've got to see a man about a motor."

"DI Mercer, you take charge at the sale. Percy came prepared, so look at the Town Hall layout, staff details and lists of dealers. Rope in as many 'Plod' as you think you'll need to cover all three days. Don't forget, Mercer, you only have the week. Either you'll solve it or Percy will bore you to death!"

Terry, Mercer and the rest of the team were hardly seen in the office during the next few days. While the DCI had complete trust in Terry, Mercer was an unknown quantity. Would he turn out to be a team-player, or another lone wolf? A darkening mood of resentment, mixed with frustration, settled over CID. This delegatin' lark might be modern policing an' all that, but I need some action. Why should they have all the fun?

At lunch time on the third day of the sale, the unnatural quiet was broken as Mercer, Terry and Bammo burst into the office. Mercer seemed transformed by all the attention he was receiving and the other members of the team were talking animatedly about 'a result'.

Gene looked closely at his detectives. They were certainly flushed with success, but had they already been to the pub without him?

"Terry – in here –I'll take your report, if you can spare the time."

As he took his seat in the inner office, Terry began a little nervously, "Guv, you owe me a drink for babysitting the new boy." Glancing quickly at his boss, he was surprised to see that he had won his point.

"Ok, Ok - get on with it, an' keep it short or we'll be wasting drinkin' time."

"The whole thing seemed to be a mixture of panic and boredom to start with. Well, by the end of the first day Percy was panicking and we were bored. Then Brian started to put things together. He told Percy, to his face, that he had only himself to blame as the whole event was 'a chaotic environment, ripe for exploitation'."

"Really?" Gene sounded interested. "Wish I'd tried a line like that."

"Percy was told not to announce any new thefts and just report them direct to us. Brian noticed a pattern in the thefts reported this year, with only a few cards lost by each dealer and no dealer being robbed at consecutive sales. We only had time for one pint after work before Mercer announced that the robberies were 'too subtle to be random'. Conclusion: it had to be an inside job!"

"The second day was keeping an eye on all the official staff. Small-scale thieving continued with the loss of good stock, but not from what Percy called his 'First Division' clients."

"On the morning of the third day, we caught them red-handed. Two or three staff had been going round to collect table rents from all the dealers and covering for them while they had a quick tea break. This gave them just enough time to select a few cards, and pass them on to their accomplices who were selling them on to out-of-town dealers. The goods never left the hall: instant profit – simple!"

"Yeah, Guv. Once Mercer got down to business he turned out to be a smart lad."

"Well, well – hardly the crime of the century, but at least the little runt performed, eh? We were overdue something to celebrate."

Terry and Gene returned to the outer office where the team seemed surprised to see their leader smiling broadly.

"Congratulations, DI Mercer, good work!" The hearty slap on the back nearly knocked Brian off his seat.

"Now, everyone pack up at five and it's down to the pub. 'Joe' here will be buying the first round."

Joe Mercer, legendary Manchester City manager – the Guv's seal of approval.

A/N: Business appears to be back to normal, so what happens next?

Thanks to anyone who has read the first two chapters, and particular thanks to anyone who posts a comment – much appreciated.

TBC