Chris Simms - Killing the Beasts

'I've done nothing,' the man gasped, blood dribbling down his chin. 'I'll fucking sue you for this. It's assault. 'He began to struggle again.

'And this,' said Jon, putting him in a thumb lock, 'is for nicking my girlfriend's handbag.' The Ferret cried out as his knuckle was bent back.

'Shut it,' said Jon, forcing his arm upwards so he had to bend double to avoid more pain.

Marching him back to the main hall he said, 'Let's see what's in your sports bag. My guess is that, by the end of today, I'll be charging you with a fuck of a lot more than petty theft.'

As soon as the Ferret was safely locked up in a cell at Longsight, Jon raced upstairs to the incident room. He'd phoned ahead from the Arndale centre, requesting that the third and fourth victims' houses and bins be searched for any evidence of X-treme chewing gum.

Walking into the incident room, he was immediately waved over by the office manager.

'I hear you've got someone in the traps downstairs.'

'Yeah,' replied Jon, suddenly loving every second of his job. 'Could be significant; we'll know more once his house has been turned over.'

'Well, I've just received a call from the crime scene manager at Gabrielle Harnett's place. A wrapper of something called X-treme chewing gum with energy-giving guarana has been recovered from the waste-paper bin in her front room.'

Jon raised a clenched fist and shut his eyes for a second. 'Fucking win! Can I take that?' he asked, looking at the memo.

'Be my guest. The gum wrapper is being driven over now.' Jon walked into McCloughlin's office, gathering quizzical looks from everyone in the room as he went.

'Come in and close the door,' said McCloughlin as soon as Jon appeared in his doorway. 'Who've you got downstairs?'

'A nasty little shit,' replied Jon, taking a seat. 'He's a general scrote

— snatching handbags, taxing the city beggars for their pitches. He's also peddling car stereos and other bits and bobs, including a few boxes of a particular brand of chewing gum. X-treme citrus flavour with guarana.' 'Never heard of it,' said McCloughlin.

'It's one of those limited editions they do. However, wrappers and packs of it have now turned up in three of the victims' properties.'

McCloughlin blew out a thin stream of breath. 'Carry on.'

'I arrested him in the Arndale Centre, where he was trying to sell on a couple of car stereos. The serial numbers are being checked as we speak, but I'd bet a month's salary they're stolen.'

'Very interesting,' said McCloughlin. He got up and reached for his coat. 'Have you got his name and address?'

'Right here, along with his front door key,' said Jon, holding up a plastic bag with a smile. 'His name's Ashley Charlton, but he goes by the name of Sly.'

McCloughlin looked up at the Urban Living flats and said, 'A bit upmarket for our little toe-rag don't you think?'

They buzzed the manager of the complex to be let in and less than thirty seconds later eight plain-clothes officers were standing in Ashley Charlton's flat.

Surveying the room, McCloughlin's eyes settled on the tarantula's vivarium. 'Never mind bringing in national ID cards, if we could keep tabs on every misfit who keeps snakes and spiders, there'd be a lot less crime committed. Right, specifically, we're looking for packs of X-treme chewing gum, but shout if you see anything else.'

Seven of them began rummaging through the flat while the last officer started sweeping all the electrical items and ornaments with a UV light. At the same instant he announced, 'Boss', another officer in the kitchen said, 'Got something here.'

McCloughlin called towards the kitchen, 'What's in there?' 'One box of X-treme chewing gum. Limited edition citrus with energy-giving guarana. Thirty-six packs originally inside, now about a dozen left.'

'Bag it,' said McCloughlin, turning to the officer with the UV torch. 'You?'

He turned the art deco lamp to the side so McCloughlin could see its base. Shining purple in the invisible glow of the torch was a series of numbers and letters. 'Postcode. Looks like Altrincham, sir.'

'Excellent. Get the address so we can phone the house owner immediately.'

As the officer got his mobile phone out to make the call, another officer standing at the coat pegs by the door spoke up. 'Boss, take a look at this.' He was holding up a garden cane with a hook on the end.

McCloughlin rubbed his hands. 'This guy is so screwed. Anything else, people?'

Jon turned round. 'Interesting stash here.'

McCloughlin looked down into the wooden box Jon had opened up.

Inside was a couple of packets of cigarette papers, a lump of cannabis resin and a small plastic bag containing a couple of teaspoons of white powder.

'What do you reckon that is? Speed?' asked McCloughlin.

Jon turned it over with the end of a gloved finger. 'Probably, but I'm not volunteering to taste it.'

McCloughlin laughed. 'You know what, Jon? When you blurted out your theory that these killings were being carried out by some rogue member of a car-theft gang, I had serious doubts. Now I think you might be right.'

Jon smiled, but he didn't feel the same certainty as his senior officer.

An hour later they were all back at Longsight station and Sly had been hauled out of his cell and into an interview room. Having been told which investigation his client was a suspect in, a very nervous member from the local twenty-four-hour solicitor's was sitting next to Sly.

'So, you've been a very busy man,' opened McCloughlin.

'That bastard chipped my tooth,' said Sly, jabbing a finger at Jon. Across the table McCloughlin shrugged. 'You were resisting arrest. We have several witnesses who will attest to that.'

Sly lit a cigarette and stared back with narrowed eyes. Wisps of smoke carried across the table into Jon's face.

'The car stereos. Where did you get them?' McCloughlin continued.

Sly looked away. 'No comment.'

McCloughlin nodded, like he'd been expecting that response. 'Your bad-boy mates been telling you how to play it in an interview? Well, I'll tell you something. They came from two Mercedes, both reported as stolen last week. One from a house in Alderley Edge, one from a house in Altrincham. The owners believe the keys were hooked out of their house through the letterbox. Probably by an implement very similar to the one we found in your flat. Nice pad, by the way. Were you left an inheritance? It's just that I can't work out how you could afford it. You being out of work at the moment.'

Sly shot a glance to his solicitor, who gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. 'No comment,' came the answer again.

'We'll move on,' said McCloughlin with a smile. 'We also found a rather nice art deco lamp in your flat.'

The same uninterested look remained on Sly's face and he blew out a stream of smoke. Jon breathed some of it in, noting that it was weaker after being filtered by the other man's lungs.

'Where did you find that? A car boot sale?' McCloughlin asked.

'No comment.'

McCloughlin nodded. 'Of course. However, the lamp had a postcode written on it with a special pen that fluoresces under UV light. The owner of the lamp is en route to this police station as we speak. But before setting off, she informed us that the person who took it also took her BMW A5, stating that he would kill her if she didn't provide him with the keys.'

The room was silent as McCloughlin and Jon stared at Sly who, apart from jiggling one knee up and down, remained slouched in his seat.

McCloughlin whispered, 'Do you think, Ashley — or should we call you Sly? It suits you — when she hears your voice on this interview tape, she'll remember it as the one from her hallway that night?' Sly kept his eyes on the floor. 'No comment,' he mumbled again.