Acting Up

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Acting Up - book excerpt

Chapter 1

West Berkshire, 1970s

Police Constable Don Barton had just finished eating a rather large and very tasty bacon sandwich when he received the radio message that was destined to change his life.

His wife, Rosemary, had put on a couple of pounds since the birth of baby David, and she was determined to shed this extra weight before it became permanent. As a dutiful husband and father, Don was expected to do his share of suffering in support of his wife, and had been advised, in no uncertain terms, that he was obliged to stick with her through the agony of dieting.

This meant eating only “healthy” food. Breakfast, which he’d taken at home that morning during his official meal break, had consisted of some sort of oaty concoction mixed with raisins.

Desperate for something more substantial, Don had decided to abandon the pile of paperwork sitting on the desk of his one-man rural police office and, having “booked on” the radio with Headquarters Control Room, he had driven his Ford Escort police van to a transport café on the A34, just off his patch. It was here that he purchased his guilty snack.

Being a conscientious officer, he had declined the complimentary cup of tea that had been offered by the lady serving behind the counter, much to her surprise. Coppers always wanted tea didn’t they? Especially if it was free. However, as much as Don may have fancied a cup, drinking tea would have meant being away from his radio — so he had chosen instead to consume his sandwich in his van.

He had parked in the large open lorry park that surrounded the café and was casually observing the huge lorries, known colloquially as “trunkers”, as they rolled in and out of the café from the main road. Suddenly, silence was broken as the van’s VHF radio came to life and demanded his attention.

“HT for Foxtrot Golf Five Zero, receiving? Over.”

“Five Zero receiving, A34, uncommitted, over.” Don replied, letting the Control Room know that he was available to be deployed.

“Five Zero, from Foxtrot Yankee, ten-three Chief Superintendent Boxwell at your earliest convenience, over.”

Don was confused. Ten-three in the “ten-code” used by the force meant that he was required to attend the superintendent’s office at Newbury in person. Ten-two would have only required a telephone call.

“Confirm ten-three, Control, Five Zero over.” Don requested.

“Affirmative, Five Zero, please make your way to Foxtrot Yankee, important but not urgent, over.”

“All copied, ETA two five minutes, over.”

“Thank you, Five Zero. HT to stand by.”

Don got out of his van and managed to brush most of the breadcrumbs off his tunic with his hands. He regretted now that he’d not taken the time to press his trousers the evening before.

Unfortunately, little David was cutting his first tooth and had been letting the world know all about it. Don, whose turn it was to comfort the child, had eventually managed to get the little chap to sleep in the early hours of the morning. Exhausted, he had finally fallen into bed beside the peacefully sleeping Rosemary at three o’clock. Trouser pressing was the last thing on his mind as he struggled to get back to sleep.

Now, driving towards Newbury, he wisely decided not to light a cigarette, much as he needed one. Crumbs were one thing, fag-ash quite another. As he negotiated the surprisingly light traffic conditions on the main road he contemplated the reason for his summons to the “guvnors’” office.

The tone of the message “earliest convenience” didn’t make it sound like a bollocking — but one could never really be sure. Perhaps the transfer he’d been requesting for the past year had finally come through. But, if that was it, why did he have to see the big boss? Any supervisor could have told him about that — if that was all it were.

Twenty minutes later he pulled into the car park at the rear of the Divisional Headquarters. For once there was plenty of room to park, and Don let himself into the building via the back door.

Normally he would have had to use an entry code to go in through this door, however, a delivery of beer to the station’s social club was in progress and the door had been propped open. Barrels were being expertly rolled in by the draymen; ready to be loaded onto the “dumb waiter” that serviced the licensed bar in the clubroom on the top floor.

The ground floor corridor was almost deserted, and the few people who were around were busy with their own affairs. They ignored Don as he made his way along to the main reception hall then up the wide staircase that led to the commander’s suite of offices on the first floor.

The chief superintendent’s secretary, Phyllis, looked up from her desk and smiled as Don came into the anteroom outside the main office. She pressed a button on the intercom in front of her.

“PC Barton has arrived, sir,” she said. “Shall I send him in?”

“Yes, please, Phil,” came the reply, “And perhaps you could round up a couple of cups of tea? I think you’ll find Barton takes one sugar.”

Bloody Hell! thought Don, what on Earth is going on?

“Come in, PC Barton, take a seat,” shouted Chief Superintendent Mike Boxwell in response to Don’s knock on the door. “I won’t be a minute. These damn letters have to be done today, and I’d like to get them out of the way before we have our chat.”

“Yes, of course, sir,” said Don as he sat down in the chair in front of the boss’s desk while Boxwell carried on reading and signing forms.

A minute or so later Phyllis came in with a tray of tea that she put down on a small table conveniently located close to Don’s chair. She took a cup of tea over to Boxwell who, in turn, handed her a sheaf of papers.

“Post these off today if you could, please, Phil,” he said. “They’re quite urgent.”

Phyllis left the room and Boxwell turned to Don, “Drink your tea, Don,” he said. “It’ll help wash down the bacon buttie.”

Don took a large swig from his cup and looked at Boxwell in admiration.

“Everyone knows you’ve been an ace detective in your time, guv’nor, but I admit I’m impressed — you even know how much sugar I take in my tea!”

Boxwell smiled at the compliment.