Read Online Europe at Midnight by Dave Hutchinson - Free Book Online

gates at the back of the new Camden Town police station, a forbidding fortified compound which would not have looked out of place in Belfast in the 1980s. The brief campaign of car- and truck-bombings had forced a hurried rethink of police security across the country. Most existing police stations – the ones which hadn’t been closed down by the cuts in the 2010s, at any rate – had made do with barriers and exclusion zones. Newly-built stations such as Camden had been purpose-designed to take into account the Global War On Terror. Which was all very well, but...
    “Excuse me, what are we doing here?” Jim asked.
    “Ordered to bring you here first, then drive you on to Potters Bar, sir,” replied the driver.
    “What am I supposed to do here?”
    “I only drive the car, sir.”
    While the driver parked among the armoured vans and fast interceptor cars in the compound, Jim essayed a text. The reply came almost immediately. Full, repeat full, report on incident .
    “Do not pass go,” Jim murmured. “Do not collect two hundred pounds.”
    “Pardon me, sir?” asked the driver.
    “Nothing.” Jim opened the door. “Go and see if the canteen will give you a mug of tea and a bacon sandwich or something. I might be here a while.”
    “Sir.”
    A tall man in a suit was walking across the yard towards the car. Jim met him halfway and they shook hands. “Superintendent Spicer,” said the man. “Could I see your identification, please, sir?”
    Jim showed him a card which bore neither his real name nor the name of the organisation for which he worked, but which nonetheless required members of the police, fire, ambulance and coast guard services – and perhaps the RSPCA and the AA as well, he’d never had occasion to explore all the possibilities – to do his bidding without question.
    Spicer glanced at the card. He said, “I don’t expect you to answer this, sir, but for form’s sake I’m going to ask what your interest in this matter is.”
    “Oh, I don’t mind telling you, Superintendent,” Jim said brightly. “There may be a terrorist aspect to tonight’s events. Something we’re working on.”
    Spicer blinked, caught by encountering such a vein of candour so early. “We’ve already interviewed most of the passengers,” he said, starting to lead Jim back across the yard to the main building. “I’ll make sure you have copies.”
    “Thank you, Superintendent.”
    Spicer jabbed his forefinger at a keypad mounted on the wall and leaned his weight against the door beside it. The door opened and he held it while Jim stepped inside, then followed him.
    “Your request came too late for us to detain the majority of the passengers,” he said as he led Jim down corridors and up flights of stairs.
    “It’s not necessary to detain them, Superintendent,” Jim said. “A sight of their interviews will be more than sufficient. You can send the remaining passengers home when you’ve spoken with them to your satisfaction.”
    “I was told –”
    Jim shook his head. “Just someone at the office trying to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. Better to be safe than sorry and all that. It’s really not necessary.”
    Spicer’s voice took on a grumpy timbre as he stopped at a door and poked at another keypad. “Shall I recall the officers we sent out to bring the passengers back to the station then?”
    Jim looked at the Superintendent. His job didn’t often bring him into contact with the police service, but other members of the organisation he worked for relied, at least in part, on a good relationship with them. And vice versa. The two bodies were constantly apologising to each other in a slow dance of almost Byzantine politeness, bumping along from diplomatic incident to diplomatic incident.
    He said, “I do appreciate your efforts, Superintendent, and I apologise for the miscommunication which has taken place. I’ll make sure the person involved is reprimanded.”
    Spicer wouldn’t let it go. “I