A Policeman's Lot: A Tale of a Policeman’s Problems

By MSA Blackwell

A Policeman’s Lot

Volume Two in the Notting Hill Trilogy

A comedy adventure, beginning in London in the spring of 1975. An elderly widow who lived in Notting Hill and was involved in the finding of some stolen penny black stamps, brings home a real dinosaur bone to compare it to an imitation one. Her dog breaks the false bone and falls sick. A friend, who was visiting her, collected the residue contained within the false bone and gave it to a policeman. It was identified as heroin and investigations lead the police to Museums in England who had bought the false bones, being part of a display of Dinosaurs, to a raid in Holland, where the policeman, who took part in a raid, had a fight in a sex club.

The raid was a success, but his escapade in the club infuriated his superiors, whereupon he was placed on suspension. The chief constable, however, knew the truth and engaged him as an undercover agent to resolve other police matters and placed him with an American cop, as an assistant. After many comical situations including going undercover in a nudist camp and being part of a sting in a criminal situation, the truth, however, was finally revealed and the policeman became a hero and gained fame and fortune.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Nov 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9781479741670

MSA Blackwell

Mr. Safiee Blackwell, a London born, International business man, has spent years enduring the loneliness and heat of the desert, the wars in Africa and the jungles of Asia, protecting idle equipment and essential industries from the indignity of not working, when they are most needed. He now resides in Asia, together with his caring wife, a model and actress who insists he should live forever.

Book preview

Copyright © 2012 by MSA Blackwell.

ISBN:      Softcover         978-1-4797-4166-3

                 eBook             978-1-4797-4167-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/29/2020

Xlibris

1-800-455-039

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Contents

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

The Quest for the Penny Black

The Lady’s not for Taking

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Chapter 1

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It was now the spring of 1975. The country was still under the leadership of the Labour Party, following a second election late the year before. The industrial disturbance seemed to be growing, with Inflation hitting over 20% and the unions insisting that the wages and conditions should be suitably adjusted. It would be a momentous start to the year as far as the USA was concerned, with 3 aides to President Nixon, being convicted in the Watergate scandal. Civil war had broken out in Lebanon.

At home, Margaret Thatcher became the leader of the Conservative Party and Glen Campbell’s ‘Rhinestone Cowboy’ kept everyone happy in the song charts.

*     *     *

In Villiers House, life continued, more or less, normally, since the discovery and ultimate selling of the penny black stamps. The team involved in the exercise, had long invested their proceeds into their own futures.

Doctor Williams, now an OBE, or Mrs W as she still liked to be known and being the owner of the property, lived in Villiers House with Rodney, her dog whose antics continued to spread stress amongst those who visited her.

She had completed the renovation of her house including the five Flats and had taken in a Swedish nurse to assist her to cope. The nurse was tall and slim and very attractive. Much consternation was caused throughout the house and surrounding countryside, when she insisted in going out in a bra-less see-through top and short skirt. During the day, however, she wore a doctor’s type coat and slacks, which did little to constrict her assets. She was gentle and understood the Mrs’s eccentricities.

Moira was still living in one of the flats, while at this time, Edna, her flat-mate, was travelling abroad for a few months.

Following Jakes departure, one of Ozy’s relations had temporarily stayed there for security reasons. Then the Mrs took in another lodger.

This time it was the son of her close friend Margaret Hudson. His name was Michael and he was a teacher at the London School of Economics.

He had been close to Edna for some time, but for some reason, she didn’t seem interested in him. He, like Jake, was useful around the house and being a driver, would ferry her about when he could. He lived in Jake’s flat on the second floor. His one worry was the lusting he felt for the Swedish nurse, but he managed to control his feelings, to date.

Her Business Manager, Colonel Richardson, was settled in, in the flat, opposite him. His job was to control her small business that was about to expand due to the contracts she had accepted with the BBC, as well as others.

The day started normally enough. Mrs W was woken by Rosella, putting her tray down, beside the bed. After a juice and a piece of cake, she took the tablets and lay back whilst her blood pressure was taken.

‘What’s the weather like outside?’ she asked.

‘It’s fine at the moment,’ Rosella replied. Then, making sure everything was all right, she turned to the Mrs. ‘Well your blood pressure is down today,’ she began. ‘That’s good. The water has been run for your bath, so out you get.’ She gently helped her out of bed.

‘Oh. You do molly-coddle me,’ complained the Mrs lightly.

‘What’s that mean?’

‘It means you take good care of me.’ Together they made their way to the ground floor bathroom and the Mrs insisting she went in alone proceeded to undress and slip into the warm bath. ‘Oh!’ she uttered. ‘This is good!’

Rosella, in the meantime, went back to the bedroom, stripped off the sheets and pillowcases and took them to the kitchen for Mrs Jones to wash. As she entered Michael was sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee. He rose and came towards her ‘Let me carry that,’ he insisted, taking the bedclothes from her and placing them in the washing machine. He stood up and faced her. ‘How are you today, Rosella?’ he enquired, hoping against hope that she would smile favourably at him.

‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she answered, knowing full well that he fancied her and any involvement with him would jeopardize her job.

‘There’s a new play on at the Apollo Theatre,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a couple of tickets for Friday. Would you like to come?’

‘Thank you, but I’m busy on Friday. That’s the night I go the evening classes.’

‘Perhaps I can give you a lift?’

‘That’s not necessary. A friend from the Swedish club is coming to pick me up.’

‘Oh I see. Well, perhaps some other time, then?’

‘Yes some other time. You must excuse me I need to make the Madam’s bed.’

‘Of course.’ He watched her go out of the kitchen. Christ, he thought. I fancy that one! Imagine walking in the club with that on my arm! Oh well, off to work. He washed up the cup and made his way to his room on the second floor, gathered his books and went down the stairs and out of the main door.

Another teacher was waiting for him in a blue Mini. ‘Come on Mike!’ he exclaimed. ‘We’ll be late.’

Michael got into the car. At that moment Moira came out of the house. ‘God!’ uttered his friend, John. ‘Moira looks good today. I’ll offer her a lift.’ He leaned out of the window. ‘Fancy a lift to town?’ he asked.

Moira walked up to him. ‘You can drop me near Oxford Street,’ she replied.

‘Surely. Get in.’ He got out of the car and allowed her to make her way to the back of the car. ‘Sorry it’s a bit cramped,’ he said, noticing that her legs were all exposed, as she struggled to sit comfortably in the back. ‘How’s life?’ he continued.

‘Fine.’

‘What about the acting thing?’

‘Oh! She’s doing fine.’ Michael interrupted, who at the time, could not count Moira as a conquest.

‘I didn’t ask you!’ His friend exclaimed.

‘I’ve got a part in a movie, but it seems to be taking a long time.’

Moira continued.

‘Ah! The best things are worth waiting for.’

‘I hope so.’

John looked around and then drew out into the square. ‘How’s that other lovely bit getting on?’ he enquired, forgetting that Moira was in the back.

‘Glorious! But a Swedish iceberg.’ Michael retorted, with a laugh.

‘Never mind! You’ll get there in the end.’

‘Yes. The trouble is, when?’

Moira just sniffed in contempt.

They drew out into the main street, keeping further thoughts to themselves, as they drove towards the city.

Mrs W, after dressing and eating her breakfast laid out by Rosella, It consisted of Muesli, toast and a cup of tea. She liked the muesli, but it got behind her dentures.

Mrs Jones entered. ‘How are you, love?’ she hollered.

Mrs W tried not to be next to her, as the volume of her speech hurt her ears. She must be deaf, she surmised. ‘I’m fine,’ she replied as she went out of the kitchen towards the study.

As she entered, the Colonel stood up. ‘Good morning, Madam,’ he began.

‘Good morning, Colonel. How are things going today?’

‘Well, I’ve got a meeting with the BBC. They want a list of Artefacts that might be interesting for your forthcoming arts series, so I’m off with the technical advisor. When we’ve compiled the list, we’ll give it to you to consider. Then we can visit the museums and finalise.’

‘Sounds good,’ she replied. ‘Are there any other problems?’

‘No, not now. But Rodney’s not used to me yet and keeps chasing me.’

‘Never mind. He’ll calm down. Anyway, I’m off to the shops. Is there anything I can get you?’

‘I’ll have a copy of The Telegraph, if you don’t mind.’

‘Of course.’

She went outside where Rosella was waiting. Rodney was sitting quietly on the doormat. ‘He’s in a good mood today, ma’am.’

‘Yes. Hopefully he won’t pull me too much.’ She took the lead and made her way out of the house, down the garden path and out into the Square.

She arrived at shops and tied Rodney up, she entered. After doing her shopping, she went outside to find, to her horror, that Rodney was missing. She went back into the shop in a panic and spoke to the owner.

‘Oh Mr Singh,’ she began. ‘Rodney’s missing!’

‘Oh!’ he retorted, not sure what she was talking about.

‘It’s Rodney my dog. He was there outside, when I came in, but he isn’t there anymore. Can you call the police? Inspector Conway at Westbourne Grove knows about it. Quickly, now!’

‘Very well, Mrs,’ he replied and went to the phone and dialled the Police Station.

‘Good Morning. Westbourne Grove Police Station, ‘a voice answered.

‘Can I speak to Inspector Conway? It’s urgent.’

‘Very well, hold on.’ A little later a voice came on the phone.

‘Inspector Conway?’

‘Ah. Inspector. I’ve got a Mrs W on the phone. She’s lost her dog.’

Conway was well used to this. She lost Rodney at least twice a month and he always came home on his own. ‘Put her on,’ he said wearily.

‘Inspector. It’s Rodney again. He’s missing!’

‘I see, Mrs W. I’ll put our team on it right away.’ This meant that he would advise a mobile team and foot patrol to keep an eye open for a small terrier dog, probably running around with lead attached around its neck. ‘Don’t you worry now. He’ll be home soon.’

‘Thank you, Inspector,’ She handed the phone to the shop owner.

‘Oh! Mr Singh. He is a naughty dog.’

‘I know,’ he replied, wringing his hands and replying in his best Indian English. ‘But he’ll turn up soon.’

‘I hope so,’ she answered, as she as she picked up her bag and made her way home. On arrival to Tavistock Square, she took the long route around the park in an effort to spot Rodney, but he was nowhere to be seen. She worried at home and rang up her friends to tell them about it. Colonel Richardson, who was up in his flat, came down to see what the fuss was. Of course they could do nothing, except sympathise with her at the same time blessing the dog’s absence. Then at eight o’ clock in the evening, the phone rang. Mrs W ran to the hall. It was Inspector Conway.

‘I’ve found Rodney,’ he announced.

‘Oh! Where is he?’ she asked fearfully.

‘He’s in the pound at the Battersea Dogs Home. Apparently he was picked up about an hour ago.’

‘Oh I must fetch him.’

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll pick you up in about an hour and take you there.’

‘Oh you’re very kind. She turned her head towards the stairs. ‘It’s all right,’ she shouted at anyone who cared to listen, which by volume meant most tenants. ‘Rodney’s been found at the dogs home. I’ll see you later then.’ She put the phone down. Michael came out of his room having heard the good news. ‘That’s OK then,’ he called down. ‘Do you want me to drive you over there?’

‘No there’s no need, Inspector Conway is picking me up.’

‘OK then.’

Mrs W was happy now. She scurried into the kitchen and opened a tin of Rodney’s favourite dog food. ‘That’ll make him happy,’ she decided. ‘I’d better get something to eat myself.’ Going to the freezer, she took out a frozen dinner and put it in the oven. Oh, I’m glad Rodney is all right, she kept thinking, as she sat down and waited for her dinner to thaw.

Rosella, hearing the noise, came down the stairs.

‘Oh. I’m going out with the inspector to pick up Rodney,’ she explained.

‘Do you want me to prepare something for you?’

‘No. But you can look after my frozen meal if you like.’

‘Of course. Now try not to be out too long. It gets cold at night.’

‘Oh. Don’t worry about me,’ she retorted.

Rosella could see she would get nowhere by trying to advise her.

‘Well, take care.’

‘Of course. Now where’s my top coat?’

Conway made a call home. ‘I’ll be a bit late, dear,’ he explained.

‘I’ve got to help one of the local’s to pick her dog up.’

‘Oh, why must you get involved with these things?’ she grumbled.

‘The dinner’s nearly ready.’

‘Sorry,’ he reiterated. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Oh you’re always saying that,’ she continued. ‘Why can’t you get a job in a shop or something? You know I hate you being away.’ Her voice rose. ‘I think you do it deliberately to upset me.’

‘Now, now dear,’ he replied, trying to calm her down. ‘You know It’s my job.’

By now she was getting quite upset. ‘Well don’t think there’ll be any dinner for you when you get back!’ She slammed the phone down.

‘Don’t be like that!’ he began, then the phone went dead. ‘Christ!

What’s the matter with the woman?’ He put his things away in his desk and giving final instructions to the duty officer and made his way to his car. Getting in, he sat for a few minutes trying to calm himself down from what he considered was a completely unreasonable outburst. He then shook his head and drove off towards Tavistock Square.

He arrived outside the Mrs’s house and waited. She was ready and came out almost at once. ‘Thank you officer,’ she said. ‘I was so worried about Rodney.’

‘Well I don’t know if we can pick him up tonight. The office is closed.’

‘At least we can try,’ she answered. Within fifteen minutes, they were outside of the dog’s home. Conway got out and went to the main gate. After spending a few minutes there he returned. ‘It’s not usual,’ he began. ‘But the guard’s letting us in. The night staff may be able to help.’

In they went to the front door. A man was waiting dressed in a white coat. ‘Come in. Is your dog named Rodney, of Villiers House?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well he was found a while ago in the High Street. We brought him back and were going to send him home tomorrow.’

‘Oh can I take him now?’ she asked.

The man looked at the Mrs. She was well-known and had been a guest on the television in some sort of antiques show. ‘In this case I’ll make an exception,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

They went out of the building to the pens where a number of cages contained dogs. There was much howling and barking from the animals, as they entered. There down the end, was Rodney, looking very dejected. When he saw his mistress he began jumping up and down, barking continuously. ‘See. He’s missed me,’ announced the Mrs, going up to the cage.

‘Wait a moment while I get his lead and you can take him home.’

He went off, to return a few minutes later. ‘Here we are, doggy,’ he said, opening the cage and grabbing Rodney by the neck to attach the lead. It was then that Rodney decided that the man’s ankle was most attractive.

He lunged forward and fastened his teeth round the offending foot.

‘Shit!’ shouted the carer, trying to shake Rodney off. Round and round he went, with Rodney hanging on for grim death.

‘Rodney!’ she shouted. It was so loud all the dogs in the home whimpered and retreated to the rear of their cages in terror. Battersea Bridge came to a halt as the deafening sound reached beyond the river Thames. Rodney let go and crouched down with his paws over his ears.

‘That’s better,’ gasped the man, clutching his bleeding ankle.

Rodney allowed the leash to be attached to his collar.

‘Oh. I’m so sorry,’ Mrs W apologised.

‘Never mind,’ he replied, through gritted teeth. ‘We get this all the time. Usually we wear boots, but I’ve just taken mine off.’

Conway looked on from a distance. Perhaps he should have said something before, but had preferred to remain silent.

‘Is there any charge?’ she asked.

‘No. No. We run on donations.’

‘Right. I’ll send you a cheque tomorrow,’ she promised.

Following the man limping heavily into the office, they were shown out.

‘Goodnight and thank you,’ The Mrs muttered as they walked out to their car.

‘My pleasure,’ he replied with one hand on the door and the other holding some cloth to his damaged ankle.

They got in the car and soon Mrs W and Rodney were safe home.

‘Oh he’s such a naughty boy,’ she said to him, rubbing his ears. ‘Thank you,’ she uttered turning to Conway. ‘You’ve saved me a lot of trouble.’

‘That’s OK,’ he replied. Making sure she was indoors, he drew out into the road and made his way home to an uncertain evening.

*     *     *

She was awakened the next day by the sound of Rosella, her nurse, opening the curtains and Mrs Jones closing the back door. She showered, dressed and came out. ‘Do you know what happened to Rodney last night?’ she began, seeing Mrs Jones busy at work.

‘I’ll never guess,’ retorted Mrs Jones, thinking that it would be something dramatic.

‘Well, Rodney ran off whilst I was at the shops.’

‘Oh dear! What then?’

‘That nice Inspector Conway found him at the dog’s home and we brought him back.’ Bending down, she stroked the dog’s ears as it appeared from behind the cooler. ‘Didn’t we poojey—woojey?’

‘Woof!’ went Rodney, wondering where his first meal had got to.

‘You were lucky,’ commented Mrs Jones. ‘I hear the some people eat dogs.’

‘What?’ replied Mrs W, aghast. ‘Not really?’

‘Oh yes, surely you saw that when you used to travel?’

‘Yes. But that was abroad. Not in England, surely?’

‘So I’ve heard.’ she grunted, reaching for a cigarette.

‘Anyway, I’m off to the museum this afternoon to see Professor Portman.’

‘That’s nice. I believe you go back a long way.’

‘Oh yes. He was in the same class as I was.’

‘Well mind how you go. Do you want me to cook?’

‘I’d like a shepherd’s pie.’

‘You always have that,’ she replied.

‘Well, I like it.’

‘Very well. Shepherd’s pie it is.’

Rosella came in. ‘It’s time for your tablets,’ she said, holding out a glass of water.

‘Oh, very well.’ Taking the tablets, she swallowed them with the aid of the water and handed the glass back to Rosella.’ Thank you dear.’

‘I’ll tidy your room out,’ Rosella continued, ‘and get Mrs Jones to wash the quilt.’

‘You only washed it last week,’ Mrs W commented. ‘However, all right then. Thank you dear. I’ll be going to the museum this afternoon.

You don’t have to accompany me.’

‘In that case, ma’am,’ she replied, ‘I’ll go and do some shopping.’

‘That’s a good idea. Make sure you wear something warm. It still cold out there.’ Mrs W had noted her dress sense and the number of car accidents she had caused when she went out due to her lack of clothing.

‘That’s all right, ma’am. It’s much colder in Sweden.’

‘Hang on.’ Mrs Jones exclaimed, who had stood up and stopped the cleaning. ‘If she’s going shopping this afternoon, I can take her to my local market. She’ll get a good price there.’

‘Well,’ began Rosella, ‘It’s up to Ma’am.’

‘Yes, of course you can go. It’ll do you good to see our people more.’

‘Then that’s settled,’ replied Mrs Jones. ‘She can come home for a cup of tea.’

‘If it’s no problem?’

‘No. It’s a pleasure,’ she uttered. ‘I’ll leave here about 3 o’clock.

Be ready by then.’

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Chapter 2

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It was raining when Mrs W had to go out. Settling Rodney down after feeding him, she donned her raincoat and carrying her favourite umbrella, made her way out into the square. A taxi was waiting outside and after enduring a wet ride, she was deposited outside the Natural History Museum in twenty minutes.

Paying the driver, she made her way up the impressive steps to be greeted by Mr Hinds, one of the security guards.

‘Hello Doctor Williams,’ he said. ‘How are you today? Go straight in, the lift’s waiting.’

‘Thank you Mr Hinds. I’m well today. How’s your family?’

‘They’re well, thanks,’ he replied, tipping his hat.

She walked through the imposing lobby, passed the range of animals on display and to the office lift. At the sixth floor she alighted and knocked on the professor’s door. His secretary opened it ‘Good morning Doctor Williams,’ she said. ‘The Professor’s waiting for you.’

She went into an imposing office, to be greeted by the Curator.

‘Good morning Edith,’ he said. ‘Please sit down. Congratulations on your OBE. Much deserved I know.’

‘Thank you, Cecil.’

On his desk he had two bones about fifteen inches long.’ What do you think of these?’

Mrs W picked up the bones. ‘Well they’re identical,’ she said. ‘It’s a femur of a large animal. It could be an elephant or something.’

‘Nearly right. Anything else?’

‘Well. One is lighter than the other,’ She looked at it closely. ‘Why, this one isn’t bone. What’s that metal at the top?’

‘It’s plastic. That metal strip at the top,’ he continued, pointing at the bone, ‘connects with a magnet in the socket to hold it in position.

Would you like to see what we have invested in?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come,’ He rose and led her to the lift where they descended to the basement and walked over to an assembly area. There, partially erected, was a mammoth.

‘All plastic,’ he announced proudly.

‘It looks like the real thing,’ she commented. She walked over to examine it. ‘Very life-like.’

‘Yes. We’ve invested in a few extinct items, to be used in our up-coming travelling show. It goes together very quickly and can be erected or dismantled in about an hour.’

‘Much better than a real one,’ she agreed. ‘What about the public?

How do they feel about it?’

‘Well, when it comes to the larger animals they accept it. The smaller ones can be transported whole.’

‘Where do they come from?’

‘There’s a company in the Netherlands who export them in kit form. Because they’re plastic, they’re hollow and light, so transport is cheap. When they get here, they are filled with water to give the weight. I’ve got a spare card here.’ Reaching into his pocket, he handed one over.

‘Thanks. Yes,’ she replied, pocketing the card. ‘It’s a good idea.

And it looks so real.’

‘Yes, but sometimes things don’t work out. The bit upstairs belongs to the mammoth, but the plastic split and some of the water leaked out. I’m sending it back later to get it changed.’

‘Fascinating.’

‘Now shall we go for a break now? I want you to take the real bone home and the copy to see how near it is to the original.’

‘I’ll be pleased to. Right, where’s the tea?’

The rest of the day was spent looking at the latest videos to come out of Africa and one or two of the recently discovered Egyptian mummies.

*     *     *

At 3