be much going on. Everyone’s out crawling over the Dulcie estate, except Steph, and she’s waiting at BG for someone either tocome round or to die.’
‘Thanks, Ben. Honestly, these blasted drug ops drain our resources and for what? How much difference do we make? How many kids do we stop from getting hold of them? OK, subject for another day. If you can trace this guy, find out if he’s still on our patch, at the same address and so on … If he is, you can come with me to talk to him. Could take you five minutes, couldtake all day.’
Simon opened up his computer and checked out a few things, then headed down the stairs, wanting coffee but not from the canteen; as he reached the main doors, though, he heard Ben Vanek call him. Simon shouted for him to follow over the road and round the corner to the Cypriot café.
‘Word the other day was that canteen takings are right down,’ Ben said, catching him up.
‘Theday they make the Cypriot out of bounds is the day I hand in my warrant card. Canteen would buck up its profits if it didn’t serve muck out of that urn.’
There were usually two or three CID in the small, busy café but today it only held two mothers with pushchairs.
‘Double espresso, one cappuccino, coming up.’
They went to the table in the window. Ben Vanek had been with the force a coupleof years now and he had shaped up well. Serrailler had thought him naive at first and had been irritated when the sergeant had followed him about like a puppy. But his romance with DC Steph Mead had blossomed and they had moved into a flat together. Some of her feistiness and ambition had rubbed off on him, though not, Simon was pleased to note, any of her attitude. And Vanek had stopped wearing weirdties and had abandoned his terrible black leather jacket.
‘You got something?’ Serrailler sipped his coffee and scalded his lip. The Cypriot brothers did not serve anything weak or lukewarm. ‘Or just fancied a halloumi cheese butty?’
‘You said maybe five minutes and it wasn’t much more. Neil Marshall, white van driver. Aged fifty-three now. 20 Cherry Road, Langlands.’
‘That’s handy. Still workfor the wholesale greengrocer?’
‘Doesn’t say, but I doubt it, guv. He’s on the Sex Offenders’ Register.’
Serrailler whistled. ‘Is he now?’
‘Went down for kiddie-fiddling seven years ago. Cautioned once before that but not charged. On the register since 2004.’
‘Surprised he still lives at the same address then. They usually get as far away as possible – neighbours hate them, they never feelsafe.’
He filled Ben in on the Lowther case as they had their second coffees. A couple of the civilian staff came in but no other officers.
‘Can I work on this with you, guv? I’m cheesed off with sitting at my desk all day filling in forms for other people.’
‘But not cheesed off with the drugs op?’
Ben made a face.
‘Good. I’ve got the nod from the Chief for a team – trouble is, I can’t getone together, there aren’t enough spare bods. You’re a start though. Get the file and read up the interviews with Marshall from ’95. Then we’ll nip over and see if he’s at home.’
‘There’s a nasty rumour going round, guv,’ Ben Vanek said as they drove out.
‘Let me guess … we’re losing half of uniform and two-thirds of CID.’
‘We might close altogether, merge with Bevham.’
Serrailler was silent.
‘Guv?’
‘Listen, I don’t know any more than you.’
‘But what do you reckon?’
‘It’d be a last resort. How could a place the size of Lafferton not have its own station, and be served from a city fifteen miles away?’
‘Public wouldn’t buy it?’
‘There’d be riots in the streets.’
Ben relaxed in his seat.
‘Set the rumours flying and they’ll find an open window.’
Simon, though, was less sure thanhe sounded. A merger with Bevham was unlikely, but after what he had heard about the savings that had to be found, he wasn’t fool
‘Thanks, Ben. Honestly, these blasted drug ops drain our resources and for what? How much difference do we make? How many kids do we stop from getting hold of them? OK, subject for another day. If you can trace this guy, find out if he’s still on our patch, at the same address and so on … If he is, you can come with me to talk to him. Could take you five minutes, couldtake all day.’
Simon opened up his computer and checked out a few things, then headed down the stairs, wanting coffee but not from the canteen; as he reached the main doors, though, he heard Ben Vanek call him. Simon shouted for him to follow over the road and round the corner to the Cypriot café.
‘Word the other day was that canteen takings are right down,’ Ben said, catching him up.
‘Theday they make the Cypriot out of bounds is the day I hand in my warrant card. Canteen would buck up its profits if it didn’t serve muck out of that urn.’
There were usually two or three CID in the small, busy café but today it only held two mothers with pushchairs.
‘Double espresso, one cappuccino, coming up.’
They went to the table in the window. Ben Vanek had been with the force a coupleof years now and he had shaped up well. Serrailler had thought him naive at first and had been irritated when the sergeant had followed him about like a puppy. But his romance with DC Steph Mead had blossomed and they had moved into a flat together. Some of her feistiness and ambition had rubbed off on him, though not, Simon was pleased to note, any of her attitude. And Vanek had stopped wearing weirdties and had abandoned his terrible black leather jacket.
‘You got something?’ Serrailler sipped his coffee and scalded his lip. The Cypriot brothers did not serve anything weak or lukewarm. ‘Or just fancied a halloumi cheese butty?’
‘You said maybe five minutes and it wasn’t much more. Neil Marshall, white van driver. Aged fifty-three now. 20 Cherry Road, Langlands.’
‘That’s handy. Still workfor the wholesale greengrocer?’
‘Doesn’t say, but I doubt it, guv. He’s on the Sex Offenders’ Register.’
Serrailler whistled. ‘Is he now?’
‘Went down for kiddie-fiddling seven years ago. Cautioned once before that but not charged. On the register since 2004.’
‘Surprised he still lives at the same address then. They usually get as far away as possible – neighbours hate them, they never feelsafe.’
He filled Ben in on the Lowther case as they had their second coffees. A couple of the civilian staff came in but no other officers.
‘Can I work on this with you, guv? I’m cheesed off with sitting at my desk all day filling in forms for other people.’
‘But not cheesed off with the drugs op?’
Ben made a face.
‘Good. I’ve got the nod from the Chief for a team – trouble is, I can’t getone together, there aren’t enough spare bods. You’re a start though. Get the file and read up the interviews with Marshall from ’95. Then we’ll nip over and see if he’s at home.’
‘There’s a nasty rumour going round, guv,’ Ben Vanek said as they drove out.
‘Let me guess … we’re losing half of uniform and two-thirds of CID.’
‘We might close altogether, merge with Bevham.’
Serrailler was silent.
‘Guv?’
‘Listen, I don’t know any more than you.’
‘But what do you reckon?’
‘It’d be a last resort. How could a place the size of Lafferton not have its own station, and be served from a city fifteen miles away?’
‘Public wouldn’t buy it?’
‘There’d be riots in the streets.’
Ben relaxed in his seat.
‘Set the rumours flying and they’ll find an open window.’
Simon, though, was less sure thanhe sounded. A merger with Bevham was unlikely, but after what he had heard about the savings that had to be found, he wasn’t fool
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