cigarettes. ‘By all accounts, there’s a riot in the high street.’
‘No probs, sir; I’m here till six.’ He yawned.
‘Cheers. I’ll probably bed down here myself later. Looks pretty cosy.’
No matter how many times he’d done this with Matt – and, since the boy had been two, there’d been many – he still felt crap about it and made lame jokes in recompense. The duty constable, all of twenty, probably thought him an unusual father. Lowry made his way up to the ground floor. The night-desk sergeant greeted him with a nod.
‘What’s the situation?’
‘Not good. At first, a solider punches a civilian in the Lamb. The civvy is left out cold, slumped in the bogs, while the squaddie makes off to the Wagon and Horses.’ The Lamb was in the middle of the high street, one of the busiest places in town on a Saturday night, and the Wagon and Horses, a well known squaddie haunt, at the top of North Hill. ‘Next thing, a bunch of locals storm the Wagon and Horses looking for the chap, just as two Red Caps get there — ’
Lowry could picture the rest. ‘Okay. Better get a move on,’ he said.
‘Take care, inspector.’
10.35 p.m., Colchester town centre
As Lowry rounded the corner on to the high street, chanting greeted him long before he could see anything. He passed two uniforms shoving a couple of handcuffed teenagers along the street and quickened his pace. The noise grew louder and, gradually, he could make out a bunch of figures moving frenetically at the far end of the street. A bottle broke on the pavement in front of him as a gang of youths tore by, then they veered off down a side alley. The dark forms of uniformed police officers came into view. ‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed, catching sight of a retreating PC with a bloodied face.
‘Glass caught me, guv,’ explained the constable apologetically, blood pouring from a cut above his left eye.
‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘We had it contained until the Red Caps turned up. They started laying it on a bit thick, sir.’
Another bottle smashed, closer this time, spraying Lowry’s feet. ‘Go get that cut seen to,’ he said, sidestepping the shattered glass.
Just then, two black Commer vans with sirens blaring shot past, driving in the middle of the road, one with a mounted spotlight. Reinforcements from County. This was turning ugly.
He was now in the thick of things, at the point where the high street met Head Street, near where the trouble had started. All around him, people were brawling. Others spilled out from pub doorways, yelling encouragement or insults. It was difficult to work out who was on what side in the fight but, given the spark that had set things off, this was clearly a reprisal for the Castle accident. In front of him three youths in denims had a Red Cap down on the ground and were booting him mercilessly. They were dragged off by two uniformed PCs. To his left, two men with crew cuts were shoved up against a parked car by a bunch of braying yobs. The arrival of the MPs on the scene had clearly exacerbated matters, and outside the Lamb was the biggest scene of trouble – a stand-off between Red Caps and police on one side and a gang of chanting youths on the other. It was poised to get nastier.
*
Jacqui’s heart was pumping nineteen to the dozen as she and her friends walked briskly up North Hill towards the high street, partly from exertion – going uphill in heels was an effort – and partly from embarrassment. The soldier in Tramps wine bar who had taken exception to her comments had turned the mockery on her, deriding her as ‘overdressed mutton’ and ‘out for it’ because she was wearing an above-the-knee skirt in close to freezing temperatures. The humiliation, combined with the chill air – her legs were already numb – had sobered her up with a jolt.
‘Are they following us?’ Trish asked anxiously.
‘Don’t mind if they are,’ said Kerry, a spiky edge to her voice. Jacqui shot her daggers and
‘No probs, sir; I’m here till six.’ He yawned.
‘Cheers. I’ll probably bed down here myself later. Looks pretty cosy.’
No matter how many times he’d done this with Matt – and, since the boy had been two, there’d been many – he still felt crap about it and made lame jokes in recompense. The duty constable, all of twenty, probably thought him an unusual father. Lowry made his way up to the ground floor. The night-desk sergeant greeted him with a nod.
‘What’s the situation?’
‘Not good. At first, a solider punches a civilian in the Lamb. The civvy is left out cold, slumped in the bogs, while the squaddie makes off to the Wagon and Horses.’ The Lamb was in the middle of the high street, one of the busiest places in town on a Saturday night, and the Wagon and Horses, a well known squaddie haunt, at the top of North Hill. ‘Next thing, a bunch of locals storm the Wagon and Horses looking for the chap, just as two Red Caps get there — ’
Lowry could picture the rest. ‘Okay. Better get a move on,’ he said.
‘Take care, inspector.’
10.35 p.m., Colchester town centre
As Lowry rounded the corner on to the high street, chanting greeted him long before he could see anything. He passed two uniforms shoving a couple of handcuffed teenagers along the street and quickened his pace. The noise grew louder and, gradually, he could make out a bunch of figures moving frenetically at the far end of the street. A bottle broke on the pavement in front of him as a gang of youths tore by, then they veered off down a side alley. The dark forms of uniformed police officers came into view. ‘Jesus!’ he exclaimed, catching sight of a retreating PC with a bloodied face.
‘Glass caught me, guv,’ explained the constable apologetically, blood pouring from a cut above his left eye.
‘What the fuck is going on?’
‘We had it contained until the Red Caps turned up. They started laying it on a bit thick, sir.’
Another bottle smashed, closer this time, spraying Lowry’s feet. ‘Go get that cut seen to,’ he said, sidestepping the shattered glass.
Just then, two black Commer vans with sirens blaring shot past, driving in the middle of the road, one with a mounted spotlight. Reinforcements from County. This was turning ugly.
He was now in the thick of things, at the point where the high street met Head Street, near where the trouble had started. All around him, people were brawling. Others spilled out from pub doorways, yelling encouragement or insults. It was difficult to work out who was on what side in the fight but, given the spark that had set things off, this was clearly a reprisal for the Castle accident. In front of him three youths in denims had a Red Cap down on the ground and were booting him mercilessly. They were dragged off by two uniformed PCs. To his left, two men with crew cuts were shoved up against a parked car by a bunch of braying yobs. The arrival of the MPs on the scene had clearly exacerbated matters, and outside the Lamb was the biggest scene of trouble – a stand-off between Red Caps and police on one side and a gang of chanting youths on the other. It was poised to get nastier.
*
Jacqui’s heart was pumping nineteen to the dozen as she and her friends walked briskly up North Hill towards the high street, partly from exertion – going uphill in heels was an effort – and partly from embarrassment. The soldier in Tramps wine bar who had taken exception to her comments had turned the mockery on her, deriding her as ‘overdressed mutton’ and ‘out for it’ because she was wearing an above-the-knee skirt in close to freezing temperatures. The humiliation, combined with the chill air – her legs were already numb – had sobered her up with a jolt.
‘Are they following us?’ Trish asked anxiously.
‘Don’t mind if they are,’ said Kerry, a spiky edge to her voice. Jacqui shot her daggers and
Similar Books
