Law & Order Read online

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  Relief at not being shot at or blown to pieces by people who drove around London with guns and explosives sometimes found Fred Pyle thanking God, or saying how pleased or lucky he was to still be in one piece. Today it bubbled out in his words and his actions, even though he tried to suppress his feelings in case they revealed human weakness which, like most detectives, he tried to deny.

  Having helped the Anti-Terrorist Squad capture the four Irishmen, their assistance wasn’t required further, so Pyle and his men returned to the Yard like a noisy rugby team returning home in triumph.

  First the guns and ammunition had to be taken back. Then dci Simmons also became infected by the feelings of Pyle and his detectives as he checked in the shooters.

  Pyle kept a bottle of scotch in his desk drawer and a pack of Styrofoam cups. He preferred scotch, although in similar circumstances he would drink whatever was available, even sherry.

  ‘Did you see the look on that fucking driver’s face when we pulled him from the car?’ ds Middlewick said.

  ‘I saw it – fucking wicked. Good job that one didn’t have a shooter handy, Ian. That ought to be a nice result for the Antis.’ Pyle splashed scotch into cups.

  ‘Got them right out of trouble again, the wankers.’ Redvers raised his cup. ‘Here’s to it.’

  ‘No thanks for it, of course.’

  ‘One of those’d do me every day of the week,’ dci Simmons said, coming into the office. He brought his own glass. ‘I don’t give a fuck about getting the credit. Just so long as we get them all nicked and some arsehole don’t say we stitched them up and give them a result on appeal.’

  The subject was an emotive one for each of the policemen present.

  ‘Paddy was trying something,’ Lethridge said. ‘With them accents, saying they’d just rented the car for a holiday.’

  ‘Firms are always hiring out cars full of explosives!’ Pyle observed.

  ‘A bit simple,’ Simmons agreed. ‘Simple or not, they can shoot you just as dead.’

  It was a sobering thought.

  Silence fell over the office as the detectives consid­ered this. di Frank Brickman came in. His squad had the night duty.

  ‘What’s this, a wake?’

  ‘Yeah, something like that, Frank. Have a drink.’ Pyle poured him a drink.

  ‘Your old woman phoned, John,’ Brickman informed Redvers. ‘Said I didn’t know what time you’d be back.’

  ‘Better give her a bell, I suppose.’

  Pyle thought about ringing his wife, but didn’t.

  ‘How’s that other fella shaping, Fred?’ Simmons asked. ‘Do any good yet?’

  ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I’ll give him a day or two more then look him up.’ A week was long enough for Harding to have got started with Lynn, he decided, if there was any intention on his part of doing so. He finished the scotch in his cup and poured himself another. The party would go on until the bottle was finished. Instead of standing around drinking he knew he ought to be shifting some more of the paperwork. Then what he ought to do, instead of what just occurred to him, was go home and eat dinner with his wife and watch television.

  ‘You fancy going on somewhere, Fred? Having a few? Maybe pull one?’ Lethridge suggested as he travelled down in the lift with him after the party broke up.

  ‘Not tonight, Eric. Got one to meet.’

  The fat detective seemed disappointed. ‘Oh, give her one for me.’

  Pyle smiled. He didn’t know if he was going to give her one himself yet. That was his plan.

  19

  LIGHT SHOWING AT THE FROSTED glass of the bathroom, which abutted the open walkway, meant Libby Howard was home. A good start, Pyle decided, as he pushed the doorbell and waited. The dog barked, but there was no other sound from within. He shifted the wrapped bottle of scotch, which he had stopped off to buy, to his other hand and pushed the bell again. The thought that Brian Finch might be there crossed his mind, but he didn’t give the possibility serious consideration.

  When at last Libby Howard opened the door she was wearing a white bathrobe with a towel wound around her hair. She seemed surprised to see him, but the Alsatian dog, which was at her side, recognised him and stopped barking.

  ‘A bad moment,’ Pyle said. ‘I should have telephoned. Don’t think I took your number.’ He had it, in fact, but preferred this approach.

  ‘He’s not here,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘Brian Finch.’

  Pyle looked at her, considering her statement. ‘Isn’t he?’ He stepped across the threshold as she invited him to enter with a sweeping arm, almost losing her head towel.

  ‘Least the dog’s friendly – knows a friend. Hello, Judge. Good old fella.’ He scratched the dog behind the ears.

  ‘Were you expecting him to be?’

  ‘Bet you’ve not even seen him,’ he said, ‘have you?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I haven’t.’

  ‘Well, as a matter of fact, love, I came to see you.’ He watched for her reaction.

  She noticed the bottle. ‘What’s this? A new approach?’

  ‘What’s your problem, Libby? Some uniform nick you sometime for insulting behaviour?’

  She laughed like she was uncertain how to react.

  ‘You could probably get me dropped out.’

  Pyle shook his head. ‘You’ve been listening to too many villains,’ he said, ‘that’s your trouble. Policemen don’t do those sorts of things.’

  Libby didn’t protest.

  ‘We going to stand in the hallway all night? You must be getting chilled like that.’ He moved along the passage into the flat, patting the dog again.

  There was an air of resignation about her when she followed him into the living room and he wondered what he would do if she protested, told him to go. He wondered also what would happen if she didn’t. That was more enjoyable.

  ‘D’you want me to take the dog for a walk while you fin­ish your bath?’ Pyle said. ‘Or shall I help you with that?’

  She became more uncertain and looked uneasy.

  ‘Looks like I’m being blanked, Judge,’ he said to the dog, as if eliciting his opinion.

  Libby said, ‘Are you married?’

  ‘The world’s full of married men, haven’t you heard?’

  She didn’t seem impressed. It was evasion, and he remembered she didn’t like evasions. ‘Of course I am. I’ve two lovely kids an’ all.’

  Libby nodded. ‘You would be, wouldn’t you? Why don’t you go home to them?’

  That irritated him, and he felt like slapping her. The very notion excited him. ‘You don’t want me to go,’ he said. ‘You want me to take your pants off and fuck you as hard as I can.’

  ‘What? What…?’ she stammered.

  He thought she was going to become hysterical, but decided he hadn’t misjudged her. Maybe the booze was affecting his judgement.

  ‘You are the most arrogant man. Oh, I forgot, being a policeman makes you like that.’

  Pyle didn’t say anything. He wanted to fuck her, so changed tack. He set the bottle down on the coffee table. ‘You’d best visit the local station, love, for that statement.’

  This change seemed to confuse her. ‘You fucking bastard. You really are.’

  ‘A fact of life, love – all policemen are. I thought everyone knew that.’ His change again from hostility to frivolity confused her more.

  ‘Does this visit have anything to do with Brian?’ she asked, like she was trying to test the way forward.

  ‘Him? Who’s interested? We’ll pick him up sooner or later. I told you what I want. You would like me to fuck you, wouldn’t you?’ He held his breath for what seemed like a long while. This would mean a disciplinary charge if she complained.

  Then she nodded. ‘Yes, I would, very much. I’ve never been out with a p
oliceman before.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’ve missed, Libby.’ He was relaxing now. ‘Take off the uniform, I’m just the same as anyone else.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Take my word for it, love.’ He took off his coat, then his jacket and unfastened his tie. She watched him. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m going to fuck you as hard as I can. Got another bathrobe, have you?’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ she said.

  ‘What’s the matter? Changed your mind?’

  He waited, and when she didn’t respond, he closed the space between them fast. At the last moment she stepped in close to him and raised her hands to secure his embrace. She placed her mouth against his, her hands moving over his body as though they belonged there. His hands slid into her robe and felt her warm body. He could smell the perfume from her bath. His hands then went where so far only his thoughts had been. He was cautious at first, gentle, then more desperate as he palmed her breasts. When she stepped back, she surprised him, leaving him feeling at once bereft and wondering until her hands started tearing at his shirt, pulling it up out of his trousers, fumbling with the buttons. Two came off in her haste and one of the buttonholes tore – Edith would repair it, he’d tell her it was torn in a scuffle. He didn’t want that thought there. Libby’s hands were shaking, he noticed, as she parted his shirt and began kissing him on the chest, her teeth sharp and painful on his nipples. He resisted the inclination to push her away and she moved on down to unfasten the belt of his trousers. They came down with his shorts and she was dragging them over his feet with his shoes and socks. She pulled him onto the floor between her legs. She raised her hips, pushing herself against him, and he knew he could slip into her, only he didn’t want to like this. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue into her mouth as she closed her arms around him and held him – did she want to be reassured by his physical touch? She squeezed him closer to herself. Still he held back even as she bit his ear and his neck and his lips.

  Then she stopped and said, ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He sat back on his hams and studied her, ignoring the look of panic that slid into her expression. Her firm, round tits and bushy cunt excited him and he was becoming breathless. ‘Go and put on your pants,’ he told her.

  At first he thought she would resist, hesitating as if she hadn’t heard. He instructed her again.

  ‘Just my pants?’ she asked.

  ‘Your bra as well, if you wear one.’

  When at last she started up his eyes followed her across to the dresser where she slid open the drawer and selected some large candy-striped pants. His cock was so hard now it was aching as he watched Libby step into the pants and tuck her pubic hair in beneath the elastic. She did it with what he thought was a certain coyness which, after the way she had showed out just then, amused him. It was the same when she pulled a matching bra on. She looked away as she reached behind under her bathrobe and fastened the strap in one easy movement. He remained motionless, not taking his eyes off her. Bra and pants for some reason made breasts and vagina more exciting. He found women more sexy in clothes than when revealing everything. This he knew was to do with childhood conditioning and the taboo areas of the body associated with sin in his parents’ Plymouth Brethren household. There was never any inclination to explore that for greater understanding.

  As if waiting for his next move, Libby closed the bathrobe about herself. Pyle reached out and pulled her down to him and embraced her and kissed her mouth, her face and neck. How good a lover he was he didn’t know or care. Opening her bathrobe, he said, ‘That’s nice. I like that, Libby. You’re terrific, you know that?’ He accepted that she did, even though she said nothing. He ran his hands over the outside of her bra, palming her breasts through the soft material. If she was curious about why he preferred this to the feel of flesh, she didn’t ask. His hands moved on down over her waist and round to her buttocks as she knelt before him. He slid his fingers into the top of her pants. His hands went deeper, fondling her buttocks. He closed his eyes, getting intense enjoyment from touching the smooth satiny garment brushing the hairs on the backs of his hands. His strong fingers pushed down further between the cheeks of her arse to stroke her vagina. There were small noises of pleasure as one finger found an opening. She was wet, which added to his urgency. Her clitoris was too high for him to reach with ease from this position. Struggling, he found it.

  His tongue slid into her mouth, caressing first beneath her tongue, then deep into her with darting movements. With his hands behind her he drew her forward on her knees until her pelvis was hard against his erection. Rather than pulling down her pants and entering her then, he wanted this to go on. Ignoring his own anxiety about losing it, he slid her pants onto her thighs and pushed her back onto her calves and bent forward to her, then turning aside the pubic hair with his thumbs, he pushed his tongue against her. As he increased the pressure she began to moan more.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said, as if apologising. That was all. It was enough.

  He enjoyed this delay, despite increasing anxiety. At that point he started on to the bed, as he did she scrabbled away before him and tried to remove her pants. He stopped her with them halfway down. He wanted them left there on her thighs. He thought not at all about wearing a condom against HIV, knowing there was no point – having read a secret report about the natural occurring holes in the rubber of a condom being nine microns, while the molecules of the Aids virus were four. If she wanted him to wear one he wouldn’t object. She didn’t. She was too far gone to care. He wasn’t large, but as he slid into her he was hard, and the pants around her thighs restricted her, preventing her spreading her legs. He assumed she enjoyed this constriction as much as he did. Maybe she would enjoy being tied. The thought excited him more and he was ready to explore it.

  20

  GRASSES WERE MORE TROUBLE THAN they were worth!

  It was a familiar thought when things didn’t go to plan with his informers. The stick he got from his old woman on returning home in the small hours of the morning wasn’t his grass’s fault, but Micky Fielder phoning him at home told his wife he wasn’t at work. All Edith needed was suspicion to accuse him of being with another woman, and his emphatic denials were to no avail. If he was to go on seeing Libby, he would make sure to cover himself in future and get home at a reasonable hour. He didn’t say anything discouraging to the grass, who contacted him at the office that morning to arrange a meet.

  ‘Sorry if I put you in it last night,’ Fielder said as he joined him at the end of the train carriage.

  Any remorse the grass might have felt didn’t help Pyle one bit now. Fielder was at the front end of the Circle Line train as usual. The carriage was busier than when they used it for a meet in the evening – didn’t any of these people work? Pyle wondered. Most of the other passengers were foreigners – Arab, or from points farther east. A group of Japanese girls sat opposite them. He looked them over, then turned away.

  ‘Couldn’t be helped, Micky,’ he said, letting him off the hook. Then he added, ‘You fuckwit!’

  The grass grinned, as if uncertain whether he was serious. ‘Got one on the firm, have you?’

  ‘I wish,’ Pyle said, glancing at the Japanese girls again. ‘What about Jack Lynn? What’s the word, Micky?’ He was in no mood to ride all around the Circle Line with him.

  ‘Going off soon is what I heard – the Tote at Catford.’ He paused. ‘I heard something else. That Halifax cash dispenser in Bromley that was ripped out of the wall, that was supposed to be down to him, pulled it right out the wall with a JCB.’

  ‘What d’he do, forget his PIN number?’

  ‘There was some bearer-bonds from a car parked outside that car warehouse in Hanger Lane.’

  Pyle nodded like he knew all this.

  ‘I was told the fella what placed them was Gerry Davis. Well, h
e’s not your average placer: He’s got some smart offices in South Street in Mayfair. He’s got a video com­pany. He used to do a bit with long firms, over Camden Town. S’posed to be well involved in snuff videos – I don’t think he makes them, just imports them.’

  ‘That sounds interesting. How reliable is that, Micky, would you say?’

  ‘What? Oh, pretty good. I’d say it was about right.’

  ‘What else has this Davis done, anything?’ Micky Fielder seemed sorry at having to disappoint him. Grasses often invented worthwhile villainy just to please the cid.

  ‘Dunno,’ Fielder said, ‘apart from the long firms. He learnt his trade from Charlie Richardson. He’s share-dealing now. I mean, you got to be well bent to get a living there.’

  ‘He might be worth chasing up.’

  The grass smacked his hands together. The train pulled into Victoria Station and both men fell silent. They watched the doors open and a rasta get in. His dreads were long and well kept.

  ‘What does that look like?’ Fielder said, with a note of disgust. ‘You’re hard put to see an Englishman on a tube nowadays.’

  ‘We should meet in a taxi, Micky,’ was all Pyle said. The spade with the dreads might have been worth a pull in other circumstances. After the doors closed and the train restarted, he went on, ‘How d’you go with those Amex? Any good?’

  ‘Ah, a right rubout, guv,’ Fielder said, and adjusted his coat on his shoulders. ‘I found a man to take them all right. But you know…’ He made a crude gesture with his hand, in complete disregard of the girls opposite. ‘Bits and pieces how he wants to weigh on. What can you do…?’