Read Online If I Should Die (Joseph Stark) by Matthew Frank - Free Book Online
Authors: Matthew Frank
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But the baseline said no more than twenty-four hours without charge. In this case the super probably had the ‘reasonable grounds’ to extend that by twelve while the investigation was ‘being conducted diligently and expeditiously’. And assault was an indictable offence, of course, meaning they could then apply through the Magistrates’ Court for another thirty-six and again after that for yet another thirty-six, ninety-six hours altogether without charge, even the minors, as they were all over ten and therefore legally responsible under UK law. A formidable power. Fran considered this magisterial oversight to be just one of those hoop-jumping inconveniences above her pay grade. You worked with what you had. The guv projected the same, though he’d confided in her that he thought things had gone just about as far in their favour as was reasonable, and perhaps a little more. In truth, it rarely came up anyway. Only for the big, complicated cases, the dangerous suspects. For the rest, the everyday humdrum crimes, you either had evidence to charge or you didn’t. If you didn’t, maybe you would tomorrow. In this case they didn’t, and Royal Hill had too few cells to have that many clogged up. There was little gain in holding on to disruptive delinquents when they could be brought back if and when new evidence emerged. So long as the little sods didn’t do a bunk.
She swallowed her frustration and went back to her desk. Therewasn’t much in the way of new evidence. Ferrier Estate residents reported hearing a disturbance at just after one in the morning, but none had looked outside. The estate lighting was regularly smashed with stones anyway, the CCTV cameras had been vandalized so often they’d been abandoned years ago, and even if they’d been able to reference clothing from other footage it would be circumstantial at best. They needed more. They needed blood.
Stark was cataloguing all the footage they did have, a menial job but someone had to do it. His limp seemed more pronounced and once she’d noticed him suppress a wince. On closer inspection he was sweating a little too. For a moment she allowed herself to imagine how hard this might be for him. Nonetheless he had a job to do, just like everyone else.
Alf’s photo appeared on the next day’s local news but no one phoned in to claim him. Fran sent Dixon and Hammed out on foot with shelter workers to speak with the local homeless.
Before midday she looked up to see Stark pulling on his jacket.
‘Where are you going?’ she demanded, but then she rolled her eyes. ‘Not another one.’
‘Sorry, Sarge.’ He did seem contrite but made no offer to stay. It was on the schedule he’d submitted and that, Cox had decreed, was that. ‘If I miss it they can bump me off the list. Failure to engage, court-martial offence.’
‘People don’t like having their time wasted,’ agreed Fran. ‘Which department today? Detox massage or hot-stones therapy?’
He ignored the question. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours.’
Fran thought for a moment. ‘Wait, I’ll give you a lift. Alf’s sedatives were withdrawn this morning but he didn’t regain consciousness. I want to speak to his doctors and see for myself.’
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she drove. He looked tired. Clearly he was struggling physically. Whether he’d cope, time would tell. Despite herself, she hoped so. Much as he grated on her, he might have the makings of a decent copper. Whether he’d cope mentally was another issue. From the schedule’s lack of disclosure she suspected that one or both of his weekly appointments might be for mind rather than body. She’d given him opportunitiesto confess but he’d overlooked or ignored them. It bothered her that she couldn’t always tell which. Sometimes you knew he was taking the piss, others you were left guessing.
The old boy looked like he had nine toes in the grave already. His darkly bruised and
But the baseline said no more than twenty-four hours without charge. In this case the super probably had the ‘reasonable grounds’ to extend that by twelve while the investigation was ‘being conducted diligently and expeditiously’. And assault was an indictable offence, of course, meaning they could then apply through the Magistrates’ Court for another thirty-six and again after that for yet another thirty-six, ninety-six hours altogether without charge, even the minors, as they were all over ten and therefore legally responsible under UK law. A formidable power. Fran considered this magisterial oversight to be just one of those hoop-jumping inconveniences above her pay grade. You worked with what you had. The guv projected the same, though he’d confided in her that he thought things had gone just about as far in their favour as was reasonable, and perhaps a little more. In truth, it rarely came up anyway. Only for the big, complicated cases, the dangerous suspects. For the rest, the everyday humdrum crimes, you either had evidence to charge or you didn’t. If you didn’t, maybe you would tomorrow. In this case they didn’t, and Royal Hill had too few cells to have that many clogged up. There was little gain in holding on to disruptive delinquents when they could be brought back if and when new evidence emerged. So long as the little sods didn’t do a bunk.
She swallowed her frustration and went back to her desk. Therewasn’t much in the way of new evidence. Ferrier Estate residents reported hearing a disturbance at just after one in the morning, but none had looked outside. The estate lighting was regularly smashed with stones anyway, the CCTV cameras had been vandalized so often they’d been abandoned years ago, and even if they’d been able to reference clothing from other footage it would be circumstantial at best. They needed more. They needed blood.
Stark was cataloguing all the footage they did have, a menial job but someone had to do it. His limp seemed more pronounced and once she’d noticed him suppress a wince. On closer inspection he was sweating a little too. For a moment she allowed herself to imagine how hard this might be for him. Nonetheless he had a job to do, just like everyone else.
Alf’s photo appeared on the next day’s local news but no one phoned in to claim him. Fran sent Dixon and Hammed out on foot with shelter workers to speak with the local homeless.
Before midday she looked up to see Stark pulling on his jacket.
‘Where are you going?’ she demanded, but then she rolled her eyes. ‘Not another one.’
‘Sorry, Sarge.’ He did seem contrite but made no offer to stay. It was on the schedule he’d submitted and that, Cox had decreed, was that. ‘If I miss it they can bump me off the list. Failure to engage, court-martial offence.’
‘People don’t like having their time wasted,’ agreed Fran. ‘Which department today? Detox massage or hot-stones therapy?’
He ignored the question. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours.’
Fran thought for a moment. ‘Wait, I’ll give you a lift. Alf’s sedatives were withdrawn this morning but he didn’t regain consciousness. I want to speak to his doctors and see for myself.’
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she drove. He looked tired. Clearly he was struggling physically. Whether he’d cope, time would tell. Despite herself, she hoped so. Much as he grated on her, he might have the makings of a decent copper. Whether he’d cope mentally was another issue. From the schedule’s lack of disclosure she suspected that one or both of his weekly appointments might be for mind rather than body. She’d given him opportunitiesto confess but he’d overlooked or ignored them. It bothered her that she couldn’t always tell which. Sometimes you knew he was taking the piss, others you were left guessing.
The old boy looked like he had nine toes in the grave already. His darkly bruised and
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