you.”
“No, sir. No, I’m not a —”
Roddam held up a hand. “Calm down, Ashley, what you said was an off-the-cuff remark. Certainly not racist, not in my book anyway.”
Ashley’s head was still in turmoil, he hadn’t said anything racist. What on earth was Roddam talking about? He must have mentioned Rafi Patel, they’d picked him up wrong, misheard a word or a phrase perhaps.
“You must have still mistaken me, sir. I—”
“It’s here in black and white, Ashley, and I know what I heard. You called the prisoner a Paki.”
Ashley thought back to the exact incident. Roddam spoke.
“Remember now?”
Ashley nodded. “I remember saying I was going to interview the Paki kid.”
“So you aren’t denying it?”
“That’s the offence, sir? Me saying I was going to interview the Paki kid.”
Roddam nodded. Ashley’s mouth opened wide, he shook his head in disbelief.
“This isn’t happening, sir. Tell me this isn’t happening. It can’t be. It wasn’t racist. If it had been a Glaswegian kid down there I would have called him a Scots kid or if he’d been from Czechoslovakia he would have been the Czech kid.”
Roddam stood up, walked over to where Ashley stood. He leant back and sat on the desk.
“Calling someone a Paki just isn’t done these days, surely you know that?”
“I was shortening the country of his birth, sir. You’re the one being racist if you’re treating him different to someone else.”
As soon as he heard the sentence escape from his mouth, Ashley knew he was in trouble. As soon as he saw the anger in Rod dam’s eyes he just knew. What he didn’t know or expect was what Roddam said next.
“I’m sorry, DC Clarke, you’re suspended.” No, thought Ashley… no.
“Leave the station just as soon as you have got your things together.”
Ashley grinned. He didn’t know why. He almost laughed out loud. This was surely some sort of practical joke. The Chief was in on the ploy, the lads were hiding behind the cupboard ready to jump out at any minute.
“You have to be joking me, sir?” Ashley asked, dumbfounded. This just didn’t happen in real life, right?
“I never joke, Ashley.”
First-name terms again, bad vibes back. “I have no choice, Harrison’s filed a complaint, and you’ve just admitted to his accusation.”
Ashley’s temper simmered. He felt a growing rage. Nearly twenty years dedicating his life to the job, twenty years battling against the type of scum normal people only read about in the papers. He’d taken two knifes, more beatings than he cared to remember.
He blamed the job for the break-up in his relationship with Alexis. Three years he’d been engaged to her and most of that time she’d been trying to fix a date for the wedding. He’d been putting it off ever since he’d gone undercover for the Met. Didn’t really know why and couldn’t really explain it to her. He guessed it was the danger, didn’t want her to find out just what the job entailed.
He was mixing with and infiltrating the most dangerous drug dealing gangs in London and if he made one slip-up and they found out that the addict they were selling drugs to was really a cop, Alexis would have been a young widow. That was why he had been putting it off. That was the reason. He’d crack this job then return back home to Newcastle, his beautiful fiancée on his arm and they’d set a date.
He lived his role as a drug addict to the full. For four weeks, he’d effectively disappeared off the face of Alexis’s earth. He’d been living in a dirty squat with rats and cockroaches and other junkies and addicts. He’d been running with the gangs and begging on the street for the price of his next hit.
And he couldn’t take the chance of calling anyone, let alone Alexis, as he got nearer and nearer to the gang lords at the top. He’d dumped his mobile phone in the Thames at Fulham. Oh, how he’d wanted to call during that month long period. The station had called her each
“No, sir. No, I’m not a —”
Roddam held up a hand. “Calm down, Ashley, what you said was an off-the-cuff remark. Certainly not racist, not in my book anyway.”
Ashley’s head was still in turmoil, he hadn’t said anything racist. What on earth was Roddam talking about? He must have mentioned Rafi Patel, they’d picked him up wrong, misheard a word or a phrase perhaps.
“You must have still mistaken me, sir. I—”
“It’s here in black and white, Ashley, and I know what I heard. You called the prisoner a Paki.”
Ashley thought back to the exact incident. Roddam spoke.
“Remember now?”
Ashley nodded. “I remember saying I was going to interview the Paki kid.”
“So you aren’t denying it?”
“That’s the offence, sir? Me saying I was going to interview the Paki kid.”
Roddam nodded. Ashley’s mouth opened wide, he shook his head in disbelief.
“This isn’t happening, sir. Tell me this isn’t happening. It can’t be. It wasn’t racist. If it had been a Glaswegian kid down there I would have called him a Scots kid or if he’d been from Czechoslovakia he would have been the Czech kid.”
Roddam stood up, walked over to where Ashley stood. He leant back and sat on the desk.
“Calling someone a Paki just isn’t done these days, surely you know that?”
“I was shortening the country of his birth, sir. You’re the one being racist if you’re treating him different to someone else.”
As soon as he heard the sentence escape from his mouth, Ashley knew he was in trouble. As soon as he saw the anger in Rod dam’s eyes he just knew. What he didn’t know or expect was what Roddam said next.
“I’m sorry, DC Clarke, you’re suspended.” No, thought Ashley… no.
“Leave the station just as soon as you have got your things together.”
Ashley grinned. He didn’t know why. He almost laughed out loud. This was surely some sort of practical joke. The Chief was in on the ploy, the lads were hiding behind the cupboard ready to jump out at any minute.
“You have to be joking me, sir?” Ashley asked, dumbfounded. This just didn’t happen in real life, right?
“I never joke, Ashley.”
First-name terms again, bad vibes back. “I have no choice, Harrison’s filed a complaint, and you’ve just admitted to his accusation.”
Ashley’s temper simmered. He felt a growing rage. Nearly twenty years dedicating his life to the job, twenty years battling against the type of scum normal people only read about in the papers. He’d taken two knifes, more beatings than he cared to remember.
He blamed the job for the break-up in his relationship with Alexis. Three years he’d been engaged to her and most of that time she’d been trying to fix a date for the wedding. He’d been putting it off ever since he’d gone undercover for the Met. Didn’t really know why and couldn’t really explain it to her. He guessed it was the danger, didn’t want her to find out just what the job entailed.
He was mixing with and infiltrating the most dangerous drug dealing gangs in London and if he made one slip-up and they found out that the addict they were selling drugs to was really a cop, Alexis would have been a young widow. That was why he had been putting it off. That was the reason. He’d crack this job then return back home to Newcastle, his beautiful fiancée on his arm and they’d set a date.
He lived his role as a drug addict to the full. For four weeks, he’d effectively disappeared off the face of Alexis’s earth. He’d been living in a dirty squat with rats and cockroaches and other junkies and addicts. He’d been running with the gangs and begging on the street for the price of his next hit.
And he couldn’t take the chance of calling anyone, let alone Alexis, as he got nearer and nearer to the gang lords at the top. He’d dumped his mobile phone in the Thames at Fulham. Oh, how he’d wanted to call during that month long period. The station had called her each
Similar Books
