Out of Time

By Steven Allinson

Some cases are over before they have begun...

Boxing Day in London is shaping up to be one of the worst on record for Detective Neil Townsend.

When a young family discover what appear to be their own bodies in a sealed cellar, Neil finds himself asked to work with an eccentric assistant of Scotland Yard.

Torn between his duty and his partner’s need to get to the pub before closing time, Neil is embroiled in his most testing case to date.

With possibilities running out and bars on every street, can Neil remain sober enough to solve the case before we all run Out of Time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Allinson
• Release date: Jun 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311916587

Steven Allinson

Steven was born and raised in England, where he still lives with his wife and daughter.From an early age, he was always intrigued by the possibilities overlooked so eagerly by the mainstream.Pulling from a vast array of knowledge gained through his veracious thirst to learn, Steven's books are a roller-coaster ride through what you thought was fact.Already having published two books, and with three more to come in the next year, it looks as though Steven's action-packed writing style and thought-provoking plot choices are here to stay.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ode to Him

St. James’ Park underground station heaved with the flowing masses of commuters another day in London brought, as Neil Townsend made his way into the early spring haze.

Neil’s mind was elsewhere as he crossed Broadway, shuffling inside the Starbucks on the corner. He checked his watch as he waited for his latte, the interview still forty-five minutes away.

Locating the only free chair in the building, he took up a seat against the window, folding the tabloid lingering there neatly in half and rubbing his hand softly over the delicately placed pages to straighten the top.

Neil loathed disorderliness, and sitting in a crowded coffee shop did nothing for his OCD. As he sipped at his beverage, turning the cardboard heat cover so the glued edge was perpendicular to the spout, he absently checked the edge of his nails.

Removing his file from his pocket, he proceeded to remove an irritating imperfection in the graceful arc of one, careful not to reduce the nail’s length too much to achieve the desired curve.

Satisfied with his work, he placed the file back in its holder. The last thing he needed was an annoyance like that bothering him.

Today, more than any day of his life, what he really needed to do was remain calm. Moreover, he needed to distance himself from the events that had conspired to deposit him in his current situation, and forget who had put him here.

Born in the late seventies, and being half-Caucasian and half Afro-Caribbean, Neil’s childhood was not easy; especially against the backdrop of the riots that plagued where he lived during his early life. Racism was rife, and the abuse that rained down from both sides due to his mixed ethnicity was a constant source of worry for both his father and his mother.

Neil’s mother came to the UK in the sixties. Born and raised outside Bridgetown in Barbados, her family moved lock-stock-and-barrel to Brixton, back when the area still held the promise of opportunity. His father ran a stall in the local market and his mother met him on her many trips there for the family shopping.

Schooling in Brixton was not what anyone could call extensive and soon his studies began to suffer. However, through it all, his parents stood by him; spurring him on to achieve his dreams and achieve them, he had. It was their steadfast devotion to his wants, no matter the turmoil around him, which made him the man he was today. If they were still alive, he could only imagine their disappointment. Everything was about to come crashing down, and all because of the actions of another.

Neil drove the thoughts from his mind as he took another gulp of coffee. The past was the past and there was nothing anyone could do to change it. He smiled as he replaced his drink back on the counter. That statement, as he now knew all too well, was almost correct.

As if challenging his need for peace, a young woman to his left began to argue with a man at least ten years her senior. Try as he might, Neil’s instincts would not let him ignore the voices, and he impulsively began to filter out the background chatter.

It appeared the man had been out of town on business for some time and had once again failed to ring the woman whilst he was away. The young girl, probably only just out of university, said it was the last time she would be putting up with his ignorance. The man, in deference to his situation shrugged as the woman lambasted his apathy.

Interest piqued, Neil turned and looked the man over. He was relatively handsome, with a wide jaw and light stubble counterpointing his blue eyes. His choice of wardrobe was casual, but it was clear it was specifically chosen to look that way. He wore blue jeans with a tight-fitting cotton T-shirt to throw his muscular frame into sharp relief, and on his feet were a pair of relatively new trainers that were conspicuously youthful for a man in his early thirties. His hands, although stained around the left index finger with what looked like creosote, were relatively free from scars, so a professional job, rather than a mechanical or decorative one would be probable. That also explained the man’s physique.

In Neil’s experience, a person who laboured in their working life tended to carry upper body strength, but eat poorly meaning a six-pack was unlikely. This man’s physique was therefore derived from sessions in the gym. He looked at his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of dull reflection; there was none. Thus, no contact lenses.

Neil tried to turn away, to leave behind the incessant teachings he had poured forth, but found he could not. Whatever malady he managed to produce could no longer be controlled.

Neil returned to gazing out of the window. He put no effort into the act, but used the switch in focus to zone out; to grant his mind the chance to review the information collected. Free money for relatively expensive clothes, job that requires lots of travel, gym membership presumably used whilst away, and a want to look younger than you are. This was a tricky one.

Neil tried to pick out labels on the clothes: Armani shirt, Hilfiger jeans, and Von-Dutch trainers. These were not just moderately expensive items they were premium ticket. No visual impairment took the chances away from IT consultant, and probably left the man in banking, maybe even one of the big three. On top of this, the man’s actions were relaxed, especially for such an ear bashing; many of the patrons around the pair beginning to throw disdainful looks in their direction as the accusations continued. Therefore, he was used to pressure and being able to coerce people to his desires. That left stock trader, or financial consultant.

Happy with his deductions, Neil continued to listen as the woman’s ire continued to rise in intensity.

The young woman delivering the accusations was probably twenty-two, with clean skin, fresh make-up, short skirt trailing to firm legs, flowing blonde hair, and a pink shirt tied across the waist to show off both her slim waistline and ample bosom. Neil glanced at her hands, each nail a perfection of colour and design. She was a beautician, no doubt about it.

What was a thirty-something stock market analyst doing with a beautician? Sure, those sorts of men slept with these girls, who would turn the opportunity down, but to date one? What sort of conversations would they have? The woman was good looking, but she was not outstanding. So, why would he waste his money? His actions were not those of a man in love, they were of a man who was using someone. For what? Sex? A single man of his age and wealth could have any number of one-night stands and…

Neil grinned knowingly, sipping the last of his coffee and checking his watch; it was time to leave. He stood, glancing at the man once more to confirm his suspicions, before purposefully nudging into him.

Oh, please accept my apologies. I hope you didn’t spill your drink. said Neil, smiling as inanely as he could.

Just watch where you’re going jackass. said the man, almost growling.

Calm down Tom. said the woman, placing a comforting hand on his thigh. No harm done. she continued, smiling back at Neil.

It’s fine. I imagine it must be difficult for you at the moment, what with the divorce. said Neil.

We’re not divorced. said the woman, laughing nervously and blushing.

Oh, said Neil, not taking his eyes from the man, "I know you’re not, but he is."

The man’s scowl deepened at the comment, his fists clenching.

He’s not divorced either. said the woman, casting a worried glance in the man’s direction. Are you Tom?

No. said the man, not moving his glare from Neil.

That answers that then. said Neil, nodding. Your left hand’s ring finger looks like it has a creosote stain on it, but now I know it’s actually been deliberately placed there to cover where a wedding band usually sits, to hide any visible change in skin tone. If you’re not divorced I’d therefore assume that those shoes, which no sane heterosexual man would ever buy himself, were a present from somebody within the last month or so. Neil turned to the woman. When is Tom’s birthday by the way?

It was last week. the woman stumbled, shock beginning to creep across her face.

Nobody buys someone a pair of trainers for their birthday, especially that particular brand, unless they are a close family member and have a want to see someone dress younger. It makes sense therefore, that we are talking about someone with a keen eye that knows Tom well and has a desire to see him looking good. If you didn’t buy them, and what self-respecting girlfriend buys her lover Nazi trainers, then we are talking about a spouse. Neil allowed his smile to spread as wide as it could, as he watched the colour drain from the woman’s face. He’s not away at work four nights a week, I’m afraid. He’s at home with the wife and kids. He can’t risk having a string of affairs because eventually he might piss the wrong woman off and she might track his family down. Therefore, he chose a single target carefully, someone whom he thought would be happy to be treated like shit. This isn’t your first crap boyfriend is it? When no response was forthcoming, Neil nodded to the pair, the man’s rage visible in his red cheeks and narrowed eyes. I’ll leave you to finish your chat in peace then.

Without another word and with most of the surrounding tables now in stunned silence, Neil exited the building and dodged his way across the street.

Reaching the far side, his brisk walk began to slow as the dawning realisation of what he had just done hit home. He stopped, catching himself with a grimace. What had he done to him? There was a time he would only notice things when he wanted to. Now, his mind flitted constantly, taking in every drop of every situation, and impulses, things he would never have allowed to control him, now plagued his every act. He would never have humiliated anyone in that manner if it were not for him. That was exactly the sort of thing that had brought him to today and he was responsible for all of it.

As he approached the large, security-patrolled gate that led to his office, he could hear a raised voice approaching from his rear.

Oi! the voice bellowed. It was the man from the shop. Oi, dick-head! I want a word with you.

Neil stopped before the security barrier, as the man stomped up to confront him.

You smug git! the man shouted, stepping to face Neil toe-to-toe. I’m going to wipe the stupid bloody smile of your smarmy bloody face!

The man reached forward and grabbed a handful of Neil’s suit jacket, extending his other arm out and preparing to strike.

Before the fist could be launched, the sound of safeties being released and the scream of angry voices to ‘cease and desist immediately’ bellowed out to their side.

The man spun, as three guards in flak jackets and helmets, dressed head to foot in black and carrying assault rifles, marched toward him.

Let go of that man and step away! said the lead guard, as he stepped forward with rifle pointed.

The man instantly released Neil, raising his hands above his head.

Down on the ground now! the guard yelled, continuing his advance. Hands behind your head!

In a flash, another of the guards stepped forward and handcuffed him, pulling him by the wrists to his feet, and eliciting a growl of pain and frustration.

Are you alright, Detective Townsend? asked the lead guard, as he lowered his weapon.

Nothing I couldn’t handle, but thanks for the support. said Neil, feeling partially responsible for what was going on.

The man snarled; attempting to spit at Neil, as the guards dragged him away. Fucking pig!

As the man, still kicking and screaming, was led into the immense building beyond the barrier, Neil looked up and smiled. Forcing a philandering idiot into assaulting an officer of the law outside Scotland Yard? Maybe his influence was not as bad as he thought.

Chapter 2

Internal Affairs

Conference room 2C sat on the far edge of the second floor of Scotland Yard. Hidden away on the end of a long line of opposing, glass-fronted meeting rooms, it had a secluded waiting area with a few cloth-covered chairs and a table loaded with tabloid magazines of every ilk.

Neil found himself fidgeting uncomfortably as he waited for the hearing to begin. He knew the tactics employed on those to be questioned were designed to make them feel as uncomfortable as possible, but that knowledge did not help. There was every reason to feel uncomfortable. He was about to be interviewed by Internal Affairs about his role in…

Neil sighed. He had to focus on something else. There was no point lingering on what occurred. There would be plenty of time to do that once the interview began.

Neil reached across, picked up a glossy mag from the table, and flipped it open to a random page. Jodie Marsh. How did this woman keep getting column inches? He ran his thumb across the pages and arbitrarily stopped again. Miley Cyrus. Disgusted with what passed as newsworthy, he flung the magazine back on to the table, and allowed his head to slump into his hands. He ran his fingers across his bald scalp in a comforting manner, letting out a deliberately calming expel of air. Soon, all of this would be over and he would have his answer. Absolved of any wrongdoing or fired, there really was no in-between.

After another twenty minutes, at least fifteen minutes beyond the designated start time of the interview, the door to the conference room opened and Neil’s superior, DCI Henry Blackwater, strode out.

Sorry for the wait, Detective. said Henry, extending a hand. We were just going through the particulars and preparations over-ran. Apologies.

Henry’s palm was sweaty, and Neil noticed an involuntary curling of one side of his lip as he spoke. Something was bothering him. No problem, sir. We all know the benefit of good preparation.

Henry’s eyes flicked around, attempting to avoid Neil’s gaze. Let’s get started then. He extended a hand toward the door, ushering Neil inside.

Neil exhaled deeply, buttoning his jacket as he walked toward his fate.

The massive room was sparse. A large oval table, probably the only one made of actual wood in the whole building, lay surrounded by chairs just inside the door. To its rear, a series of banked windows opened out to an impressive view of London.

Henry motioned Neil toward a lone chair, on the opposite side of the room, and moved to take up his position next to two other people.

Neil strode round the table, catching his nerves and pulling the chair out slowly. Waiting for his heart rate to settle, he closed his eyes and raised his head. Before finally, ready to accept whatever happened, he looked at the interview panel.

Henry was sitting to the right of a woman in a tightly fitted black suit, her auburn hair pinned into a bun that looked wound by a corkscrew. Her lipstick was deep red, and her eyeliner some kind of purple come mauve. Here was a woman entering the last years of her forties, attempting to look like a woman of power in her early thirties, and failing badly. She took notes, barely noticing Neil’s arrival, shuffling papers as her scribbling continued.

As Neil stared, he was mortified to realise he was shaking his head, Henry giving him uncomfortable glances from the opposite side of the table.

Neil quickly changed focus to the last figure in the room. The old-ish man, perhaps early sixties, dressed in a navy blue jacket with a red and white sash. Around his neck, clasping the stub lapels of the official garment, a red lanyard with spikes of gold allowed an eight pointed cross to dangle onto his chest. His peaked hat, banded in red, bore another golden symbol, and his shoulders held up yet more official livery Neil could not instantly distinguish. He was a high-ranking official, but whom or what he represented was not immediately obvious.

The man was staring straight at Neil. His piercing gaze, unwavering underneath his greying, bushy eyebrows, was strong and true. He did not even seem to blink, forcing Neil to turn away.

Detective Townsend. the woman said, lifting her head from her notes. I assume DCI Blackwater has already apologised for the late running of this interview, but we had to accommodate additional requests at the last minute. She turned toward the strangely attired man, who simply continued to stare. With that disruption in mind, I feel it only fair to ask if you are ready to begin?

Neil swallowed as the reality of the situation hit home. I am. he managed, meekly.

Then I shall start the recording.

The woman reached over, grabbing a digital recorder from the table and plugging it into a bound knot of cables connected to small microphones in front of each person.

For the record, it is ten seventeen on the fourth of April. This recording is of the preliminary hearing into the alleged wrongdoing in relation to the events of Scotland Yard case number one-one-seven-four-eight dash six-five-three. In the room with me on the interview panel I have Detective Townsend’s superior officer, Detective Chief Inspector Henry Blackwater, and to my right is the honourable Sir Jeremy Saint-Phillip Collingham-Smythe, Lord Lieutenant of London.

‘What the hell is a man of that kind of importance doing here?’ thought Neil, twisting to appraise the man.

Sir Jeremy noticed his movement and just for a split-second, Neil was sure he saw a smile forming before it vanished back into the man’s harsh gaze.

My name is Special Supervisory Consultant Vanessa Broadbent of Internal Affairs, and our interviewee today is Detective Neil Desmond Townsend. Vanessa reached over and grabbed a set of papers, tapping them against the table as she pushed her glasses up her nose. For the record Detective Townsend, can I ask for confirmation that you are aware who is in the room, and also that you are fully conversant with the list of allegations made that have led us to this point, as described in the documents before you? she asked, skidding the stack of paper over to Neil.

Neil picked up the hefty bundle and flipped through it, their pages already memorised verbatim. "I am fully aware of the contents of these documents, yes. In regards to your first point, I can only confirm that I now know each of the people in the room. However, I will accept they are who you say they are, even though I can only state with truth that DCI Blackwater’s name and title are accurate, because he’s the only person I have met before." Shit. Neil’s heart skipped a beat and his breathing paused, as realisation of his comments dawned. He froze, afraid even to blink as puzzled stares emerged around him. What had he done? He tried to smile, but retracted it when he realised just how forced it must appear. Reaching forward, he clumsily grabbed the glass decanter from the centre of the table, poured himself a drink, and gulped it down with a trembling hand.

Are you ready to continue, Detective? said Henry, a mixture of worry and pity in his voice.

Sure, fire away. said Neil, scrunching his eyes shut and taking another large gulp of water as he heard himself say the words.

Vanessa glanced at Henry who shrugged, motioning toward Neil. You heard the man SSC Broadbent, let’s get on with this.

Very well then. said Vanessa, flipping to a blank sheet in her notebook. I would like to start this investigation with a question, if you would indulge me Detective Townsend. Vanessa’s tone was calm, laced with a commanding air that could only come from knowing the question following would be difficult to answer potentially undermining any evidence coming after. Having read the official report submitted into the events that occurred after the conclusion of case number one-one-seven-four-eight dash six-five-three, it is clear that actions were undertaken by yourself that were not motivated by the case. Would you agree this was a fair assessment?

Neil took another sip of water and drew a long breath. He nodded, not in agreement, but out of acceptance that the tone of the interview was set. Vanessa was going straight for the jugular. He looked up, measuring the woman behind the thin-rimmed spectacles. You want to play rough? OK. I can play rough. He steeled himself, exhaling and pursing his lips as his response formed. I completely disagree with the statement that your comment was a fair assessment on three grounds. Neil could see Vanessa go to speak, but continued, cutting off any challenge. One, the case is entirely relevant to the events that followed it. Two, I did not act alone. And possibly most importantly, three, if I had not acted after the case in the manner I did, you would probably not be here to ask that question.

Neil held his nerve, staring impassively at Vanessa, as querying looks returned from the far side of the table.

Are you saying, said Sir Jeremy, leaning forward slightly, his eyes narrowed, that your actions in some way saved SSC Broadbent’s life, directly?

I posit nothing of the sort. said Neil, impassively. I merely restate what I have already committed to record in my original deposition into this matter.

Vanessa began to laugh. Are you seriously asking us to accept this fairy story as truth? she said, waving a stapled wad of paper in the air dramatically.

I would not have written it unless it was truth. Whether you accept that as reality or not is irrelevant.

Detective Townsend! said Henry, standing. I do not think backhanded insults are going to grant you the outcome you expect from this hearing.

Neil nodded, but inside he was pleased his words were understood. I apologise for any insult. he said, pouring himself another water, his trembling a long forgotten foe. "I meant simply to point out that if you do not look at the facts of the case as I experienced them, the truth of this situation will always appear to be… what did you call it?.. a fairy story." He put as much emphasis on the last words as he could, barely able to mask his contempt.

Then why don’t you try to explain your side of the story to us? said Sir Jeremy, shooing the protests of Vanessa away dismissively. If we understand what happened, maybe your deposition will make more sense.

Neil appraised Sir Jeremy as he sat back into his seat. From the beginning? he asked, placing his glass of water on the table and crossing his fingers as his mind wandered back to how this all began.

"From the

Reviews for Out of Time

[Virgil The Wolf · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Really enjoyable couldn’t stop reading till finished. Great characters with quite a few laughs

[Sandra Smit · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Wpew!!!! This is a book Ill never forget! Please keep on writing!!!

[Janet L Kostielney · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Exhilarating journey and because, as a mother whose adult daughter died of an as yet incurable disease. I am a firm believer in" all things are possible" view of all things..you never lost my rapt atte nation. Your characters as well as your telling of their stories are not just memorable...they have become so real that your reader is eager to accompany you and them on future journeys!!!

[wisteriablue · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Great story. Kept me coming back to read through to the end, and I'm looking forward to reading more from this author.

[Mika Baqi · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What an absolute banger of a book! Fast paced, witty, intelligent, humorous (in parts), thrilling - I can go on & on, highly recommended!

[Tony Hebron · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Artemus is a great character. The book had me hooked from the first pages. Hopefully we will see more of Neil in the future.

[Anna Haigh · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A crazy and very enjoyable book. I recommend it wholeheartedly.

[Thomas Andrews · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The characters are thoroughly entertaining, the dialogue is splendid, and the twist came so tantalizingly close to the end as to remain almost exquisite.

I look forward to reading more from this fine author and hope to one day find that this has been adapted for film.

A wonderful story, through and through. Sad to see the end if it.

[Liz Leigh · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Intriguing and complex plot, interesting characters. I’m sorry to see that there doesn’t appear to be a second book actually coming as it’s now been 7 years. I hope I’m wrong.

[speckledpup · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

WOW! Why isn’t this a movie or a streaming original series! This author must have a genius IQ

[Joyness Ireneo · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Keep on writing! Many Congratulations. All the best to you

[diane cangiano · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Interesting and the characters likable and funny. Hope there is another book

[dave gulzow · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

It was a fun read and kept me busy working through relationships, time frame and the complexity of it all, I don’t want to spoil the climax!
This was well written, light hearted yet intelligent and creative. Highly recommend this to those who like to explore , what is and what might be.

[AlexaFretz-Ambler · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Oh, my. What a creative and intelligent mind is behind this plot. A page-turner, but also a thought provoking examination of the human being.
Loved it.

[Natalea Dahling · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I admit I have screenshot a few pages that have such awesome lines of thought I'd like to hold on to, and I look forward to reading more from this author, thanks for sharing your work!

[Marina · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This book was equal parts great and frustrating. The two main characters are written so well. But the dialogue sometimes seemed a bit forced, particularly the "banter". The writing smacks of homophobia (you'll see what I mean) and sexism. Honestly, every single female character is less than 2D, nothing more than a plot device, and they're all awful. Seriously - in contrast to the sympathetic and complex and heroic men, the women have absolutely no substance at all. Their motivations are all paper thin. Also could have used a really good edit: it's a bit of a slog in the middle and loads of typos.