Luke Delaney - Redemption of the Dead

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‘He did well — your boy,’ Detective Chief Superintendent Charlie Bannan told the stocky, muscular man sitting next to him. ‘Is he as good an Old Bill as he is a boxer?’

‘He is that,’ Detective Sergeant Dave Donnelly answered. ‘One of our rising stars, you might say. He’s only been out of uniform a few months, but he’s certainly getting himself noticed. He was dragged up in East Dulwich, so he already knows the streets. He’s going to make a fine detective one day, so long as he can keep his nose clean.’

‘A trouble causer?’

‘Not really, but he has a bit of a temper — from time to time.’

‘Don’t we all,’ Bannan dismissed it, missing the deeper look of concern in Donnelly’s eyes.

‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ Donnelly told him, ‘he’s instinctive. I mean the boy’s really fucking unbelievable — like he just seems to know. I’ve seen him identify suspects for residential burglaries without a shred of evidence just by flicking through intelligence records. He has some talent — I’ll tell you that.’

‘One of those?’

‘Excuse me?’ Donnelly questioned.

‘Nothing,’ Bannan told him.

‘You know what I’m working on at the moment?’

‘Aye. The Parkside rapes.’

‘It’s a big old enquiry and it’s going to get bigger before it’s over. Do you think your boy would benefit from an attachment? I could use an extra body.’

‘Sure,’ Donnelly agreed. ‘I’ll send him over tomorrow. But remember he’s still very green. Don’t over expose him — nothing too heavy.’

‘Of course. I’ll keep him away from the front line — door-to-door and canvassing only. He’ll be bored, but he needs to learn his trade somewhere.’

‘That he does.’

Bannan smoothed his golden-blond bushy moustache and then pushed his longer than normal hair back from his eyes before pulling a packet of tobacco and rolling paper from his jacket pocket. He nimbly constructed a thin cigarette and lit up, inhaling deeply into his chest. Despite only being five-foot-eight-inches tall he always seemed much bigger — his deep London accent, intelligent eyes and standing amongst other detectives made him appear twice his size. ‘What about you,’ he asked as he blew a plume of smoke into the hall that was already heavy with man-made smog, ‘fancy an attachment to the enquiry? I could use a DS I can trust.’

‘No thanks, guv’nor. As soon as I’ve served my time on division I’ll be looking to get back on the Flying Squad.’

‘Fair enough,’ Bannan told him. ‘And how is life as a DS, by the way?’

‘Grand. Certainly beats being a DC and getting all the shit jobs.’

‘Well, you know what they say about shit? It always rolls down hill. DS — best rank in the Met. Think very carefully before taking the next rank and tying yourself to a desk.’

‘Not me, guv’nor,’ Donnelly explained. ‘A DS will do me nicely for the rest of my career. I’m not planning on chasing promotion.’

‘Very wise,’ Bannan told him, rising from his wooden seat and offering his hand to Donnelly who gratefully accepted it, hoping other detectives in the hall would notice the seal of approval a handshake from Bannan implied. ‘Send the boy over in the morning. And take my advice — grow a moustache — it’ll make you look more the part — hide that fresh face of yours.’ He released Donnelly’s hand and seemed to instantly disappear into the crowd.

‘Well, Sean my boy,’ Donnelly spoke to himself, ‘get ready to meet a legend, son. Get ready to meet a legend.’

Tuesday morning, and an apprehensive Police Constable Sean Corrigan approached the smallish open plan office usually used for training lectures, which was where the Area Major Investigation Team would be based until the Parkside Rapist was found and convicted. His normal place of work was inside the same police station in Plumstead, south-east London, on the floor below, with the Crime Squad — primarily made up of officers who had recently been selected from the uniform branch to be trained as future detectives. They may have all been in plain clothes, but they still wore a uniform — jeans, leather jacket, trainers — and Sean was no different. He was learning to fit in. Over the next two years his job would be to constantly harass and harangue the local drug dealers, handlers and low-lifes, with the occasional attachment to major enquiries including murders, hopefully proving he had what it took to become a fully fledged detective.

He’d expected and feared his arrival would cause more of a stir, anticipating the office might fall silent as he entered, all inquiring eyes on him, but he was largely ignored. Donnelly had told him to find and introduce himself to the detective sergeant who was the Office Manager. He scanned the office until he found a man sitting at a desk who seemed to be conducting most of the business around him, handing out pieces of paper with one hand as he collected those handed to him with the other, while giving clear, rapid instructions to whoever approached his cluttered desk before dispatching them with their tasks for the day. Sean waited for a break in the flow of human traffic before jumping in and introducing himself.

‘PC Sean Corrigan,’ he told the detective, who had slim arms and legs, but a swollen beer-gut, ‘from the Crime Squad here. My DS … DS Donnelly said you needed people to help on this enquiry.’

‘He did, did he?’ the detective asked. ‘So why are you here?’

‘I’m supposed to be attached to the investigation.’

‘You are, are you?’ the detective continued to tease him.

‘I was told to find the Office Manager,’ Sean told him, resisting the temptation to bite.

‘Well then you must be some detective, son, because you’ve already found him.’ The detective allowed himself a wry smile. ‘I’m DS Ray Melody. You come to me first thing in the morning and I’ll give you your actions for the day, and then you come to me last thing before you go home — if you ever get to go home — and hand me your completed actions. Simple. Understand?’

Sean swallowed his embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry — what are actions?’

‘Christ,’ Melody cursed. ‘What have they sent me? Actions, son, are exactly that. Listen — an investigation of this size creates thousands of leads, tens of thousands of pieces of information, hundreds of people who need to be found and spoken to — understand?’

‘Yes, Sarge,’ Sean answered, trying to keep up.

‘Bloody hell, you are just out of uniform aren’t you?’ Melody laughed. ‘You’re in the CID now, son — you call me Ray, alright?’ Sean nodded. ‘Together with the DI and the Detective Superintendent, it’s my job to co-ordinate the investigation and make sure everybody knows what they’re doing and that nothing gets duplicated — understand?’ Sean nodded again. ‘I do that by using these,’ he said, waving a green piece of paper in front of Sean. ‘This is an action. I write on here what the action is, meaning what the job is. I give it to you and you tootle off and do whatever job the action tells you to do. When it’s done you give it back to me and I take a look at it. Now, this is the important bit: if in completing an action you discover something else that needs to be investigated — do not run off and try to solve the thing yourself, because you might have discovered something we already know about and are looking into. You’ll only cause duplication. Understand?’

‘What do I do then?’ Sean asked. ‘If I discover something that needs checking out.’

Melody swapped the green sheet of paper for a pink one and again waved it in front of Sean’s face. ‘If that happens,’ he explained, ‘you fill out one of these. This is called an Information Report. You attach it to the original action, cross reference it and hand it to me. If I’m not here you place both in that box over in the corner.’ Melody pointed to a cut-down cardboard box labeled Completed Actions. ‘Then, when I get a chance, I’ll read your Information Report and if necessary create a new action to be completed, that I may or may not assign to you — got it?’ Sean shrugged his shoulders to let Melody know he understood. ‘In fact,’ Melody continued, ‘I have the perfect job to get you started.’ A mischievous smile spread across his face as he searched for the action he needed on his cluttered desk. ‘Here it is,’ he declared, handing Sean the piece of green paper. ‘There you go, son. I think this will be right up your street.’