Nursery Rhymes

By Ian Smith

DCI Keir Dickson was the youngest DCI in the Essex Constabulary. With his loyal companion, Shambuck, a two-year-old Doberman, they set the task of finding out who murdered two known criminals. Was it a patch war? Was it a vendetta, or was it payback time?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781528998055

Ian Smith

Ian Smith was born and brought up in Edinburgh where he was educated at Heriot’s and the University of Edinburgh before joining the army and later setting up his own dental practice. He played nine Tests for Scotland from 1969 to 1970. He lives in Norfolk. 

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Nursery Rhymes

Ian Smith

Austin Macauley Publishers

Nursery Rhymes

About the Author

Dedication

Copyright Information ©

About the Author

The author was born in England, but now lives in Queensland, Australia. He found his love for writing at the age of eleven. It began with poems, and progressed to novels later on in life. He has travelled the world as an officer in the British Merchant Navy, gaining experiences which he later introduced into his stories. Crime novels are his passion. Jeffrey Archer and Lynda La Plante are his idols.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my precious wife, Shirley Fay, who has shown me what true love is.

Copyright Information ©

Ian Smith (2021)

The right of Ian Smith to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528998048 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528998055 (ePub e-book)

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First Published (2021)

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Tony Sanders sat, bare-chested, at his filthy kitchen table, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, looking at what looked like a gift-wrapped shoebox, a card read Happy Birthday, Tony. He had fallen asleep on his threadbare settee, after finishing his sixth beer. A knock on his front door had woken him from his drunken slumber, getting to his feet, he had staggered to his front door, cursing to himself, and on opening it, found on his doorstep a gift-wrapped box. What the fuck, it ain’t my fucking birfday, he shouted to the empty hallway, It can’t be errr, she’s not that fucking fick, he cursed, picking up the box, and staggering down the hall, into his kitchen, he slumped down onto a plastic chair. Placing the gift on his lap, he began to remove the birthday wrapping, revealing a shoebox, advertising, Bata size 8 running trainers. That ain’t even my fucking size, pricks, he scoffed, raising the lid and tossing it onto the floor, just missing the next-door neighbour’s cat as it hissed at him. Fuck off bitch, he yelled. Laying on top was a card, depicting a nursery rhyme, he read. Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet, what the fucks going on, he hollered, throwing the card at the cat. He sat, looking at the cotton wool lining. What the fucks going on, he hollered, as he removed the top layer of cotton wool. Fucking hell, he screamed.

Keir Dickson loved what his fellow colleagues said about his 1950 Morris 1000, which was normally, What a heap of shit, how could a detective chief inspector drive a piece of crap like that. Viewed from the outside, one might agree, the black paint work looked as if it had been rubbed down with three hundred wet and dry, the only endearing features were four magnesium alloy wheels, sporting low profile tyres which Keir had had shipped from the states, also the windows were heavily tinted, another states product. It was when one lifted the bonnet, and viewed the power unit, that one realised Keir’s passion. The cast iron head had been removed, and an alloy head fitted. The cylinders had been bored out, and high compression pistons replaced the standard pistons, taking the power unit from one litre to all most two and a half litres, the exhaust manifold was now a twin one-and-a-half-inch copper banana branch, feeding two Burgess straight through silencers, the twin inlet manifolds housed two twin choke Webber carburettors. Keir had manufactured a cross over valve, for the cooling system, during the winter months the cooling thermostat was bypassed, but in the summer months, it was back in business. The gearbox had been up graded to a four-speed close ratio box with, a sports gearshift, plus over drive, the suspension had been lowered and heavy-duty springs fitted. This little unobtrusive vehicle could, from a standing start, go from zero to 100 mph in 18 seconds. Keir had also lavished money on the interior, leather sports seats, rev counter, amp metre, vacuum and temperature gage, surround sound stereo, walnut dash, and door trims, and valour carpet throughout, not forgetting, a police radio.

The car was parked in the Swan car park. Horndon on the Hill, boasted two Public Houses, The Bell, which dated back to the 15th Century and The Swan, a mere sibling, only dating back to 1769. Keir preferring the Swan, due to the fact that the restaurant was on the second floor, allowing a view of Horndon High Streets passing traffic. More to the point, he had a secret crush on the proprietor. In his job, he was the boss; people did his bidding. But when it came to Christine, he was helpless. At the last minute, his courage would fail him, and he would go home alone cursing himself, One day, he would say, one day. They would chat about their lives, but when it came to asking Christine out on a date, his throat would dry up and his tongue refused to work. It was the second Thursday of September. Every second Thursday of every month had become a ritual with Keir. He didn’t have to book, he didn’t have to phone, all he had to do was arrive at his usual time of 1900 hrs. No sooner had he sat down, than Christine would place a starter of cannelloni in front of him, and fill his wine glass with, Grant of St James, French Sauternes. How’s it going, Tel? she would ask, the reply was always the same.

Between average and shit house sweet.

Keir would smile up at her, and Christine would return the smile, this had been the ritual for over two and a half years. They had known each other from school. Christine was two years younger than Keir, and at school she was a loner, flat-chested, freckles, skinny and mousey short hair. But like Hans Christian Anderson’s ugly duckling, Christine had bloomed into a swan, five foot nine inches tall, a 38-24-38 figure, shoulder length, sun bleached blonde hair, that she wore in a ponytail, calves that a cow would be proud of, a complexion out of Vogue and Paul Newman’s baby-blue eyes. All up, Christine was absolutely bloody gorgeous, and to top it all, she had a brain. She had always been in the ‘A’ stream, and always in the top three students. So, anything new, Tel? she asked.

Not really, sweet, same crap different day, he replied forking a portion of Cannelloni into his mouth, closing his eyes, and pleasuring his taste buds. Jesus Christ, Chris, this is something else, he beamed.

You say that every time, Tel, we do aim to please, she said, turning and walking toward two new customers, giving Keir a heart-stopping view of her tight black silk-skirted backside. She was back leading the couple to a table four tables away, as she passed Keir, she whispered, Thanks, Tel, and disappeared into the kitchen. Keir had finished his starter and was sitting back savouring the taste. As Christine returned, carrying two dishes and placing them in front of her new customers. "Bon appetit, enjoy," she said, as she left them and sidled up to Keir’s table, picking up his plate. Keir looked up into those baby-blue eyes.

What was that all about? he asked.

They wanted to know what you were having, so I told them that you always had the same meal every month, and they have ordered the same, she giggled.

Keir turned and smiled at the couple, raising his glass.

Thank you, it’s gorgeous, the woman said.

You’re more than welcome, Keir replied, do I get a discount? he whispered.

You’ve not paid the full price, for two years, we re-cork the wine for next time, and you don’t get charged for the Black Forest Gateau, she scowled.

Only joking, Chris, he smiled.

I should bloody well think so, she whispered, then smiled. Saw your name in the local rag, nice bust, she said.

Oh, you mean shit for brain’s, yes, we’d kept an eye on them for months, they live with their mother, she runs a boarding house down Westcliff. I can’t take all the credit. If it hadn’t been for Shambuck, we might have missed it. One of them must have used a tissue. It was on the shop floor. Shambuck must have sniffed it, because when we went into the yard at the back of the shop, Shambuck started growling at their dustbin. Inside on top of some crap, were two pair of rubber gloves. Stupid bastards, their finger prints were on the inside of the gloves, can you believe that? Christine smiled.

You’re quite a team, you two, aren’t you? she asked, Which one of you is Sherlock? she giggled.

That would be Shambuck, he’s the brains, I just follow his leads, he laughed.

So how did you know that they had stolen the stuff? she asked.

Their Transit van was seen pulling out of some lock up garages off of the A13, at Chalkwall. When the team arrived, I let Shambuck out and within four minutes, his nose had led him to the second from the end door. He sat there growling with his paw resting on the door. We organised a search warrant. When the locksmith let us in, we couldn’t believe our eyes. The garage was chock a block, and right at the front was all the stuff from the TV shop. Before we closed up, I fitted a little unit to the door so when the door was opened, it sent a signal to a receiver. Then we waited. Two days later, at eleven thirty at night, my little receiver chirped up. Four panda cars blocked both exits. After I cruised my little Morris up to their Transit van, it was a real giggle. They told me to ‘F’ off or they would work me over. One of the pricks picked up a three-foot length of pipe and asked me if I wanted it shoved you know where. I told him ‘no’ and who I was. They both moved towards me. I had left the driver’s door open. It was then that I called,Shambuck Guard. The look on their faces was priceless. The one with the pipe, began to lift the pipe above his head. I’d think twice about that shithead, I told him, he dropped the pipe and they tried to make a run for it. It was then that the panda cars switched on their headlights, blinding the two of them. The rest is history. They both got eight years, trouble is, where they are is a teaching ground, they’ll come out bigger and better criminals. Their mother was quite proud of them. She bragged, You think the Kray twins Ronnie and Reggie were bad? They don’t come close to my two boys. She even paid for two Barristers, to represent them, but our case was water tight.

That beats the hell out of serving tables, Chris replied smiling.

You own this, Keir stated spreading his arms out, want to swap?

I’ll get your main, she smiled, turned and swaying her hips, sauntered to the kitchen. Keir heard her giggling, as she left his table. She returned four minutes later, with Keir’s Lobster. He noticed that the three top buttons of her white silk blouse were now open, as she leaned forward placing his meal in front of him, smiling, her baby-blues sparkling. Enjoy, she giggled, making sure that he had a full view of her voluptuous cleavage.

Are you trying to put me off my meal, young Chris, he smiled.

Just enhancing your day, Tel, she giggled.

Well, I’m certainly not thinking about lobster, at this moment, he whispered.

So, what are you thinking about? she chuckled.

Are you joking? What do you think I’m thinking about?

Good, she replied, moving off to the couple’s table and removing their plates. Keir tried to concentrate on his Lobster Thermadore, but his mind kept flicking back to those two gorgeous breasts. He pushed his plate away, as Christine approached him smiling. Ready for dessert, Tel, she smiled leaning forward.

I think I’ll bale out on that, Chris, he whispered.

Why? she asked.

I’m going to go jump in the cold River Thames. Christine burst out laughing, picked up his plate and sauntered back to her counter, placing the plate on the serving hatch. Keir removed his wallet from his inside jacket pocket and drew out a five-pound note, walking up to Christine’s counter and placing the note on the top.

Not hungry, Tel, she smiled.

What’s going on, Chris? he asked.

And I thought you were a top detective, she giggled.

Is Shambuck with you? she asked.

Yes. Why? Christine walked over to the serving hatch.

Karl, she called, can you keep an eye out here? I’m just going down to say hello to Shambuck. I won’t be long, there’s a dear.

A guttural German accent responded with, Yar Miss Christine, no problems.

Thanks, Karl. Christine picked up the five-pound note, but instead of opening the till, she placed the note inside her bra. This way, she said taking Keir’s hand and led him through a door behind the counter. As they walked through, Keir realised that this was where Christine lived. No sooner than the door was closed, she turned facing Keir. Well, Mr Detective, she smiled, putting her arms around his neck, do I need Shambuck to tell you what to do?

Errr, came the reply.

You can remove that five-pound note from my bra, but you’ll have to undo all my buttons first, she whispered.

Keir’s hand went to her blouse. His fingers trembling. Hurry, Tel, please, she whispered.

Christ, Chris, I’ve wanted you for yonks. But I was too shit scared.

Quit talking and get my bra off, I want you. The blouse was off. The bra sprang forward, as Keir undid the strap.

God, they’re gorgeous, he whispered.

My skirt, Tel, she whispered, the zip’s at the back. Her skirt fell round her ankles. Kicking it to the side, Keir ran his hands across her gorgeous cheeks. Discovering that she was naked, he ran his right hand to the front where he found her moist lips pressing against his fingers as they caressed her. Yes, Tel, yes, she moaned. Her hands went to his belt. With her left hand, she removed his belt. Chris’s other hand caressed his crotch. Quick, Tel, I need you, she whispered. Keir’s trouser and jocks were quickly discarded. Your jacket and shirt, Tel, she whispered, she pulled away to look at Keir. God but you’re beautiful, Tel, and there’s so much of you, she giggled, placing both her hands around his erection.

Can I kiss you first, Chris? he whispered, as he sank to his knees.

Oh yes, please, she moaned, spreading her long legs wide, and placing her fingers in Keir’s hair forcing his face into her curly blonde pubic bush. Keir’s tongue finding her moist lips. Christine’s hips began thrashing forward. Keir slid his thumb into her moist flesh. Faster, darling man, faster, she moaned. Oh my God, oh my God, I’m coming, I’m coming, she screamed, her body shuddered, as she collapsed onto the sheep’s skin rugs that lay on the parquetry flooring. They laid there drenched in their perspiration, their hands caressing each other. They began very slowly, treasuring every second, exploring each other’s moist warm bodies, Keir deep inside her. Oh my God, Tel, she screamed, as her body began to convulse. At the same time, Keir could feel the onset of paradise, meeting her thrust, as he thrust into her body. They both felt their love juices mingle as they came together. Christine collapsing onto Keir’s chest, their mouths devouring each other, their tongues caressing. Keir began kissing her shoulders, her arms, her face. Can I ask a question? Keir said.

Am I going to be interrogated, officer? she giggled.

I would just like to know, why you didn’t make your feelings known, because you have just blown me away.

God help the British copper, she laughed, I fancied you from school, but you left before me, so I thought that’s it, then two years ago, you came to the Swan. I saw you down in the public bar, with some of your copper mates. Do you remember I asked you if you were dining, you replied, ‘no’. I showed you a menu, and pointed out the Lobster. You said you’d pop in the next Thursday. I then asked you if you recognised me, but before you could open your mouth, I told you my name. I’ll never forget the look on your face, it was priceless. From that day, I’ve tried to discreetly let you know I was interested, until tonight. I thought, sod this! Right Chris, take the bull by the horn, or in your case darling man, take your copper by the balls, if he backs off, so be it, at least you’ll know. Keir began to chuckle. What’s funny? Chris asked.

I’ve decided to change my name.

What for? Chris queried.

I’m going to change my sir name, from Dick son to Dick head. They both began laughing, until Keir said, Stop laughing, Chris, you’re pushing his Lordship out. They both fell about laughing again. Chris, Keir said seriously, I didn’t use anything. I didn’t ever think I would ever need to. I haven’t been with anyone in years, but I couldn’t have stopped, if my life depended on it. I’ve fantasied about you, and what it would be like, to make love to you, but I wouldn’t have come close, you made me fly with the angels. There were tears streaming down Christine’s face. Taking her fist, she began hammering on his chest. Shut up, you idiot, you’re making me cry, and don’t worry about wearing anything. I put ALL my eggs in one basket tonight. Since last Thursday, I’ve been on the pill. I have known for yonks that I wanted you, so as I said, I threw caution to the wind. I don’t know what I would have done if you had turned me down. Before you turned up tonight, I had two large straight vodkas for Dutch courage.

Do you mind if I use a naughty word, sweet? he asked.

No, my darling man, she giggled.

WHAT a pair of FUCKING idiots.

I’ll drink to that, Chris echoed.

Boy have we got some catching up to do, my love, he said.

Just then, they both heard a piercing howling coming from the car park. What the blazes is that?

My alarm system, Keir replied.

Why don’t you have a hooter or something? Christine asked.

It’s Shambuck, my police radio has gone off, and he’s letting me know I’m wanted.

That’s some mutt you have, she giggled.

Tell me about it, Keir replied.

When will I see you again? she whispered.

Can I come back tonight, if it’s not too late? he asked. By the time I’ve shut up shop, it will be about twelve thirty. I normally have a half hour relax, with a hot chocolate, and into bed by one, one thirty. So if you can make it by then, that would be wonderful, I’d love to wake up with you beside me.

I’ll try to get back, that’s the trouble with this job, crimes don’t work nine to five. They quickly dressed, and Christine took him down the back stairs to the car park, opening the door. She put her arms around his neck. Their lips came together, as their tongues caressed.

Hope to see you tonight, my darling man, she whispered.

I’ll call if I know I can’t make it, he said squeezing her right breast.

Naughty boy, do it again, she whispered.

If Shambuck would shut up, I would, but it wouldn’t stop there, would it?

No it wouldn’t, now go, before I drag you back in.

As Keir ran towards his car, Shambuck stopped howling, and barked twice. Yep, I’m coming, he called. Shambuck was up on all fours, his backside wagging from side to side. As Keir slid into his seat, Shambuck, sniffed, and let out a whine. What? he said, Shambuck growled. I still love you, he whispered. Shambuck looked at his master, and barked, twice. Placing his face inches away from his mate, Keir said, Oh yes, I do. As he picked up his handset. Now be quiet. Shambuck, whined. I said be quiet. Putting his hand in his right-hand jacket pocket, he retrieved a treat. Shambuck’s backside started gyrating. Are we mates now? he asked. Shambuck barked once. Good. And opened his hand offering his mate the treat. Shambuck’s eyes were glued to the tasty morsel, his nose only an inch away, his body shaking. Take, he commanded. Shambuck’s tongue shot out and lapped the morsel into his mouth. It was consumed in seconds, giving a single bark. Later, you can have another one later. Shambuck whined. Sod you, Sham, I said later.

Pressing the switch on his handset, Kier said, D.C.I Dickson reporting in. What’s the problem control, I was having my usual second Thursday of the month dinner, I missed out on my Black Forest Gateau.

Sorry to ruin your gastronomic delight, guv, but can you get down to two twenty-one Butts Lane; we think we’ve got a naughty one.

Hang on a minute, I know that address, that little prick, Sanders lives there. What’s he done this time, duffed up his girlfriend?

No, guv, he’s dead.

Shit that’s all I need, who called it in?

His f’ing girlfriend, every other word starts with ‘F’. The two pandas are down there, they’ve seen nothing like it.

Why? Is there blood everywhere?

No, guv, it’s the look on his face.

On my way, Keir said, placing the handset back in its cradle. Sham, seatbelt, he commanded. Shambuck, manoeuvred his nose between the back of the seat and the seatbelt, so that when he turned his head, the seatbelt slid down and held him side on to the back of the seat. Good boy. Shambuck barked once. Keir placed his ignition key and turned it. The little Morris roared into life. The wheel spun as he reversed. Then slamming it into first gear, he headed towards the arch, that would take him onto Horndon High Street. Just before he arrived at the arch, he looked up to see Christine. Blowing kisses, he waved back, thinking, It would be tonight, wouldn’t it? He turned left and opened her up. Arriving at Rookery Corner in under two minutes, he had to stop to allow the Easter Nation two B bus to pass. Minutes later, he was outside two twenty-one Butts Lane. Sham, heal, he commanded, as he exited his car.

Hi, guv, he heard, looking across at one of the pandas, he saw a familiar face.

Hi, Jeff, so what’s happening? he asked.

Never seen anything like it, guv, Jeff replied, scared the living shit out of all of us.

A dead body’s a dead body, Jeff.

Yeah I know, but you should see the look on the poor bastard’s face, fuck knows what killed him, but it must have scared the living shit out of him.

He wasn’t a poor bastard, Jeff, he was a little shit.

I heard that shit head, the scream came from a person of the opposite sex, standing at the front door. She was nearly wearing a Minnie skirt, her tits were either too big or her blouse was too small. She had Mick Jagger lips, painted brilliant red and eyes that looked like piss holes in the snow. She stood in six-inch, red stiletto shoes. She would have done reasonably well up in Soho.

And who might you be, young lady? Keir asked.

I ain’t no fucking lady, and who the fuck are you, dickhead.

I, Madam, am D.C.I Dickson, and I’m here to determine what has happened.

Well, you ain’t coming in my house with that fucking dog, so you can fuck off.

This, madam, as you so adequately put it, isn’t a fucking dog, this is DC Shambuck, which means he is part of the Essex County Constabulary. Where I go, he goes.

Well, I don’t give a fuck if he is running the show, he ain’t fucking coming in my house.

Constable Shambuck, Keir addressed Shambuck, this young lady doesn’t want you to enter her residence, what do you suggest. Shambuck stood up and moved towards the women.

Keep that fucking dog away from me, she screamed.

Guard, commanded Keir. Shambuck sat, bearing his lips and bringing up from his throat, a terrifying grown. "You have upset him, Miss, and he isn’t very happy, so I