round the houses? It’s like pulling teeth.’ He was getting nowhere. ‘Aw, forget it. Who’s interested?’
‘Well, you are for a start.’ She considered whether he even deserved her honesty any more. What difference did it make whether she were true or false, or whether he believed and trusted her or not? ‘If you must know, he’s looking for a flat, and I happened to hear of one coming on the market.’
Loach started laughing so hard he couldn’t stop. ‘You found a flat for Freddy?’
She wrinkled her nose at his antics. ‘Yes, I found a flat for Freddy. What’s so all-fired funny about that?’
‘Listen,’ he confided between chuckles, ‘there are three kinds of liars: liars, bloody liars and Freddy Calder.’ It took him a while to get his funny bone back in the socket. ‘For as long as I’ve known the bloke, he’s been going on about looking for a flat.’ He pressed his advantage for once, sensing her discomfort and naiveté. ‘He wants one like you need a hole in the head.’
Though sceptical, her curiosity was aroused. ‘All right. What do you know that I obviously don’t know?’
His ironic smile scarcely warped the shape of his mouth, as he shared the inside joke with her. ‘I know his mother, Mrs Hilda Calder, for a start …’
Clearing the tea things from the table, she saw Freddy hovering in the doorway wearing his dark coat, obviously coming to inform her that she was going to be home all alone for hours again tonight while he ran out to play. Just like his father.
‘Got to be going, Ma. Duty calls.’
Parade duty perhaps. Or maybe something else entirely that had nothing to do with duty, and his cover story was just a ruse to escape from home to play some other game every night. ‘You’re hardly in the door when you’re going out again. You’d think you were in charge of every investigation in Birmingham.’ Her son, like his father before him, often exaggerated his own status and prestige.
‘If only we were that important. No,’ he protested. ‘We’re the ones who wipe noses and help old ladies across the street.’
She knew exactly what he was insinuating with that kind of talk, and he might as well be disabused of that notion right that minute. ‘You’ll never need to do that for me, Freddy Calder.’
Palpably impatient to leave, and leave her behind, he seemed happy, for some unknown reason. ‘Humph … Sometimes I wonder if it is the police station you’re off to in such a rush?’
As if to prove his adolescent manhood, as well as paramilitary pedigree, Freddy began to unbutton his coat so that, once again, he could show off his uniform underneath.
‘That’s supposed to make it gospel, is it? Huh!’ Anybody could wear a mail order uniform. He had a guilty conscience, she could see it written all over his face.
‘I’ve got to go, Ma.’
She swept him away with an imaginary broom. ‘Go, go. Who’s stopping you?’
He hesitated before leaving. Now, she thought, now he remembered what he had said to hurt his mother’s feelings, now that it was too late. She couldn’t wait for the day he would come to her for love and protection, begging to stay rather than leave, and she would remember each and every one of these petty humiliations.
In the end, he did leave, abandoning her again to this shabby prison. Slowly she crossed to the window and pulled back the curtain. She saw Freddy reach his precious car, then turn and notice her in the window. He gave her a small wave. She sniffed indifferently, dropping the curtain back in place.
With the Specials gathered in the Division ‘S’ Parade room, Bob Loach was between Freddy Calder, John Redwood and Tom Fields as they listened to SDO Rob Barker taking the parade. Probably a little rusty, Loach figured. Barker began by clearing his throat with a dry laugh.
‘Got your pencils sharpened?’
Surveying the faces in the parade room, he must have noted that his heavy attempt at humour raised but a few wan smiles. ‘Because you’ve been invited to put your names down for a “special” cause, I advise only the physically fit to apply.’ He tried another dry laugh, then gave it up. ‘But to more serious matters …’
His tone and expression indeed became more serious, as he frowned at the face he was holding in his hand. ‘The Inspector has given me an identikit picture, which I’ll pass around. It’s a man in his mid-thirties who drives a light-coloured car whose registration number includes a five, a six and a three.’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry, that’s all we’ve got to go on. He has sexually assaulted three women to date. His method is to force them into his car. He’s dangerous, so do not approach him.’
As Barker was moving on to more mundane matters, Fields tapped Loach on the shoulder. ‘Been demoted again, have we?’
‘Very funny, Tom.’ Barker’s words became indistinct.
‘Looks like Barker’s back, doesn’t it?’
Loach didn’t take his eyes away from watching Sub-Divisional Officer Barker. ‘Don’t count his chickens.’
‘Oh,’ Fields wondered aloud, ‘something I should know?’
‘When the time comes …’
Barker’s voice faded back into Loach’s consciousness. ‘Right … As far as the tours of duty are concerned … Special Constable Redwood? You’ll be out in the panda with WPC Morrow.’
Some feral hound in the pack gave her a wolf whistle.
‘Now, now,’ Barker scolded, ‘let’s show more respect for WPC Morrow.’
The wolf howled.
Another anonymous wag agreed with the wolf. ‘Can’t get more respect than that!’
‘That’s the drill for tonight. Good luck, everyone …’ As the Specials filed out, he picked out a face in the crowd. ‘Ah, Special Constable Redwood …?’
Redwood nodded, waiting for Barker to join him. In the background, Loach watched with a speculative eye.
‘Can I have a word?’ Again Redwood nodded, remaining behind the others. Rob spoke to him in a lower, confidential voice. ‘It’s rather noisy here. Perhaps we can go up to the Club. It’ll be quiet at this time of the evening, and Loach can manage the store.’ He signalled to Loach to stay and take care of business while he was gone, then turned to escort John Redwood from the parade room.
Freddy looked for Loach’s reaction. ‘The new boy’s getting a lot of attention?’
Loach shrugged. ‘You on your own, tonight?’
‘Looks like it,’ Freddy affirmed, not looking forward to pounding the beat by himself.
‘Is it Viv’s night off?’
Equivocating,
