are coming to light here, in Ireland and even as far away as Australia. Children who were abused are growing up and speaking out. Their words will dig the graves of
many crooks, and you are two of their number. Have you any idea of what you’re doing? Do you know Liverpool? This is a Catholic area, but they want to see him jailed.’
Moorcroft waded in. ‘I’m sure you and your fellows will manage the populace.’
Dr Warmisham entered. He looked dishevelled and heated to somewhere in the region of gas mark nine. ‘Sorry, Mike. I’ve been delivering a baby.’ He stopped in his tracks.
‘Ah, excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just lead me to the patient.’
‘He’s in the first cell lying in his own piss,’ Mike told him. ‘Leave him. These . . . gentlemen have come to take him away. I’m sure they’re handy with a
mop.’
Thornton muttered under his breath. Mops were not his province.
Mark Warmisham sank onto a bench. ‘Blood and sand, he’s getting away, isn’t he? This is what we dreaded. I think I’ll emigrate.’
‘And I’ll retire,’ Mike said. ‘We’ve got the bungalow, just a lick of paint needed. Jones?’ he called. ‘Why can I never find him when I need
him?’
Jones came in through the front door.
‘Where’ve you—?’ Mike didn’t get any further; for a few terrible seconds, Sergeant Mike Stoneway felt like kissing his second-in-command. Jonesy, a nice, quiet,
Welsh copper, wasn’t alone. Behind him stumbled residents from the mile, women in curlers, hairnets, nightdresses with coats dragged over the top to save a little dignity, eyes screwed up
against the light. The men were tousle-headed, half-dressed and still drunk with sleep or from an evening spent on the ale. Several were barefoot, while a few had left teeth soaking at home in jam
jars.
‘The people have spoken, and they don’t need words,’ Mike advised the psychiatrists. He picked up the court order. ‘Show that to the magistrates in the morning, then try
getting Brennan past this lot. This is Scotland Road. Take that name to the grave with you as soon as you like. Jonesy, man the desk. I’m going to phone Prestwich, see if they’ve heard
of these two so-called doctors.’
‘Our attachment to Prestwich is temporary,’ gabbled Moorcroft.
Billy’s Uncle Johnny stepped forward. ‘Your attachment to your breath will be the same if you don’t bugger off smartish.’
The two unwanted visitors fled.
Mike Stoneway shook his head. ‘Right. Get home, you lot, because you look as if you need beauty sleep. Thanks for coming, I think. I say I think, because I might just have lost my job, and
I’m trying hard to care. Jonesy, we’re going to lock down. I know we’re not supposed to, but we must. He’ll be remanded tomorrow or I’ll eat every helmet in the
force.’
A round of applause followed his statement.
‘Get out,’ he laughed. ‘Go on, bugger off home. You look like you fell off a moonlight flitting.’
When all had left, the two men locked all exterior doors. Mike, knowing he had probably broken the law by refusing to accept a court order, concentrated on his Fleetwood bungalow. The wife
wanted a buttercup yellow front door. He hated yellow.
Four
The night seemed to last about a year, though it ended eventually. Mike Stoneway signed out for himself and Constable Jones, who had risen considerably in Mike’s
estimation. ‘Thanks for mopping up the pee, lad. Shame about his clothes. The poor gentleman will have to appear in court stinking of dried urine. Still, your brainwave worked well. Thank
goodness you had the sense to wake the troops. Tell you what, I’ll treat you to breakfast in Polly’s, eh? And make sure you get the sergeants’ exam done. You’re a
natural.’
‘Thanks, Sarge. A bit of toast and some strong coffee would be appreciated before court.’
Scotland Road looked different this morning. Notices in shop windows announced their owners’ intention to
many crooks, and you are two of their number. Have you any idea of what you’re doing? Do you know Liverpool? This is a Catholic area, but they want to see him jailed.’
Moorcroft waded in. ‘I’m sure you and your fellows will manage the populace.’
Dr Warmisham entered. He looked dishevelled and heated to somewhere in the region of gas mark nine. ‘Sorry, Mike. I’ve been delivering a baby.’ He stopped in his tracks.
‘Ah, excuse me, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Just lead me to the patient.’
‘He’s in the first cell lying in his own piss,’ Mike told him. ‘Leave him. These . . . gentlemen have come to take him away. I’m sure they’re handy with a
mop.’
Thornton muttered under his breath. Mops were not his province.
Mark Warmisham sank onto a bench. ‘Blood and sand, he’s getting away, isn’t he? This is what we dreaded. I think I’ll emigrate.’
‘And I’ll retire,’ Mike said. ‘We’ve got the bungalow, just a lick of paint needed. Jones?’ he called. ‘Why can I never find him when I need
him?’
Jones came in through the front door.
‘Where’ve you—?’ Mike didn’t get any further; for a few terrible seconds, Sergeant Mike Stoneway felt like kissing his second-in-command. Jonesy, a nice, quiet,
Welsh copper, wasn’t alone. Behind him stumbled residents from the mile, women in curlers, hairnets, nightdresses with coats dragged over the top to save a little dignity, eyes screwed up
against the light. The men were tousle-headed, half-dressed and still drunk with sleep or from an evening spent on the ale. Several were barefoot, while a few had left teeth soaking at home in jam
jars.
‘The people have spoken, and they don’t need words,’ Mike advised the psychiatrists. He picked up the court order. ‘Show that to the magistrates in the morning, then try
getting Brennan past this lot. This is Scotland Road. Take that name to the grave with you as soon as you like. Jonesy, man the desk. I’m going to phone Prestwich, see if they’ve heard
of these two so-called doctors.’
‘Our attachment to Prestwich is temporary,’ gabbled Moorcroft.
Billy’s Uncle Johnny stepped forward. ‘Your attachment to your breath will be the same if you don’t bugger off smartish.’
The two unwanted visitors fled.
Mike Stoneway shook his head. ‘Right. Get home, you lot, because you look as if you need beauty sleep. Thanks for coming, I think. I say I think, because I might just have lost my job, and
I’m trying hard to care. Jonesy, we’re going to lock down. I know we’re not supposed to, but we must. He’ll be remanded tomorrow or I’ll eat every helmet in the
force.’
A round of applause followed his statement.
‘Get out,’ he laughed. ‘Go on, bugger off home. You look like you fell off a moonlight flitting.’
When all had left, the two men locked all exterior doors. Mike, knowing he had probably broken the law by refusing to accept a court order, concentrated on his Fleetwood bungalow. The wife
wanted a buttercup yellow front door. He hated yellow.
Four
The night seemed to last about a year, though it ended eventually. Mike Stoneway signed out for himself and Constable Jones, who had risen considerably in Mike’s
estimation. ‘Thanks for mopping up the pee, lad. Shame about his clothes. The poor gentleman will have to appear in court stinking of dried urine. Still, your brainwave worked well. Thank
goodness you had the sense to wake the troops. Tell you what, I’ll treat you to breakfast in Polly’s, eh? And make sure you get the sergeants’ exam done. You’re a
natural.’
‘Thanks, Sarge. A bit of toast and some strong coffee would be appreciated before court.’
Scotland Road looked different this morning. Notices in shop windows announced their owners’ intention to
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