Read Online Big City Jacks by Nick Oldham - Free Book Online Page B

back.’ Henry’s personal radio squawked into life. He answered it. ‘Yeah – receiving, go ahead.’
    â€˜Van in position, four on board.’ It was the voice of the uniformed police sergeant who had been at the crash scene with him earlier.
    Henry ‘rogered’ that and smiled slyly at Rik Dean. ‘Bit of insurance, just in case the family from hell kick off.’
    The two detectives got back into their cars and drove around the corner up to the Costain household, passing a big police van on the way, parked up out of sight and as discreetly as possible – bearing in mind it was big, blue and in your face.
    Several lights burned at the house. It was a twenty-four-hour dwelling. The only time there was much of a lull in the activity was around breakfast time, as the Costains tended to sleep in when most other people were getting up. A bit like shift workers.
    It is fairly true to say that most crimes committed in a town are done by a small minority of people, the repeat offenders, the skilled burglars, the car thieves. Henry thought that if the government gave the go ahead for a crim-culling process across the country, by eliminating a couple of thousand felons, the crime figures would probably be reduced by about two-thirds. He knew that if this cull was applied to selected members of the Costain family, the crime rate in the resort of Blackpool would plummet to around zero.
    Wishful thinking.
    He and Rik Dean walked up to the front door and knocked. Henry speculated as to which combination of Costains was presently residing herein. The family had a tendency to be fluid about living arrangements, but he knew this was their main house, the one presided over by old man and old woman Costain, the house through which most of the extended family passed or stayed at one time or another. Henry was fairly certain that Roy and Renata lived here at the moment.
    Music and speech could be heard through the door – a hi-fi and TV on in different parts of the house.
    Henry rapped on the door again. The music level reduced a couple of decibels. Someone was coming to the door. Henry braced himself, ID at the ready, foot prepared to jam down into the opening and wedge the door if necessary.
    A smile spread wide across Henry’s face when he saw that the person opening up was Troy Costain. The smile was only fleeting and morphed into Henry’s best funereal and serious expression.
    â€˜What?’ Troy asked cautiously. He knew Henry very well and did not trust him. He was forking Pot Noodle into his mouth from a tub in his hand. It smelled awful, looked awful and sounded awful.
    Henry sensed Troy’s tension. It made him feel good. He liked to keep these people on the back foot.
    â€˜Troy, mate, I need to come in and speak.’
    â€˜I don’t think so,’ Troy sneered. ‘Cops don’t walk into this house without warrants.’
    Henry stifled a chortle. He was always amused by the widespread misconception held by most members of the criminal fraternity, even the ones who purported to know the law, that the police only had the power to enter premises brandishing a warrant. Henry could rhyme off at least a dozen powers under which a cop could lawfully bundle into someone’s house and cause havoc.
    â€˜Troy,’ Henry began patiently. ‘Mate, let me and my fellow officer in. You are not in trouble, but you and your mum and dad need to know something, something about Roy and Renata.’
    Troy seemed to relax slightly. ‘Mum and Dad are in Spain.’
    â€˜Who’s in charge, then?’ Henry asked, aware that no one was ever really in charge of this house. Theirs was a world of anarchy.
    â€˜Me,’ Troy boasted.
    â€˜The family’s in safe hands, then,’ Henry guffawed. ‘Let me in, then, Mr Responsible Adult. This is serious stuff.’
    Troy and Henry had a little eyeball-to-eyeball competition then, just for a few moments until