The Fall and Rise of Jimmy Darke

By CJ Warren

Jimmy Darke was a serving police officer with the Northern Police Force, and in 2004, his dream of becoming a detective on the Northern Serious Crime Team became a reality. But, very quickly, he found that he did not like the way some of his colleagues worked, and he did not want to be part of it anymore. He wanted out.

This is when it all went wrong for him, and in a very short space of time, he was deliberately setup by two senior detectives on the team. This resulted in him going to prison for two years for a serious crime that he was not guilty of. The world of Jimmy Darke had fallen apart.

This book tells the story of how Jimmy Darke fought against all odds to prove his innocence and that is exactly what he did with the help of some friends that he had made along the way. Jimmy Darke rose once more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524664329

Book preview

Prologue

Jimmy Darke was a serving police officer when he joined the Northern Serious Crime Team: and it was a decision that would change his life forever. He was an individual who was subjected to corrupt practice by his sergeant and chief inspector that led to him being imprisoned for an offence that he had not committed.

Jimmy Darke always believed that he would prove his innocence and this is the story of how he set about to do just that.

Chapter One

It was six in the morning and there was the usual banging on my door followed by that now famous Scottish voice bellowing out, ‘Darke, get out here now!’ As the metal door swung open and inwards there stood Senior Officer Jock Killgour, barely 5' 6" in his metal-toe-capped boots, but he had been my best friend for nearly twelve months. Today, Friday the 24th of February 2006, was a massive day for me: it was the day I went before the Parole Board. I was hoping to get released on probation after serving half of my sentence.

What was I doing in prison? I had been framed by two detectives from the now infamous Northern Serious Crime Team, or NSCT for short. Yes, on 4th March 2005 I had appeared at Northern Crown Court where I was found guilty of possession of a firearm and for that I received two years’ imprisonment. You notice I said I was ‘found’ guilty: because to this day I am an innocent man framed by two dishonest police officers.

I had now served nearly twelve months of that sentence and two months ago in early 2006 I had an appeal thrown out by the High Court: they believed the words of my two bent detectives.

But now I was up for parole. I had kept my nose clean for nearly twelve months and today was the day. If I could convince the members of the board that I was sorry for everything and showed remorse for my crime, then I could be out of there within the week. That’s what I wanted more than anything because I was going to prove to the world that these two detectives had framed me, had set me up and had stuffed me. Why? Well, that will become clear as the story unfolds. In the meantime it was slop-out time and breakfast, in that order.

Jock was a fantastic prison officer and I never did find out his real first name: everybody called him ‘Jock’ or ‘sir’, depending on who was about. But he had helped me through the last long year. Most of the landing where I was knew that I was an ex-police officer: but with the help of Jock and a couple of the other prisoners, I had survived. But now I wanted out.

And that’s where this story all began. I joined the Northern Police Force in 1996 and, after completing nearly six years in uniform, I transferred to the local burglary squad and spent another two happy years, but I wanted more. I wanted to be a detective, so I applied for and got a two-year secondment to the Northern Serious Crime Team. They dealt with all the serious and organised crime in the force area and I believed that this was where my career lay. I had tasted the local criminal investigation department on attachment at my local station and I loved it. But now I had made up my mind: I wanted to become a full-blown detective on the NSCT.

NSCT were based at the police headquarters in town and I was due to start my secondment on 5th January 2004, but little did I know that, within a matter of months, I would quite literally be driven out of the job I loved. That was by two detectives who were to become a big part of my life until it ended with me being arrested and going to prison for something I had not done.

My first day in my new job was all about being introduced to the detectives of the NSCT. The chief inspector was a seasoned detective and had spent the last twelve years on the team. He showed me to my desk and introduced me to my new team, DS Graham Giggs and DC John Finn, both long-term detectives who had been with the NSCT for years.

Being a detective can be hard work and you have to be liked, because if you are not, then you will not be accepted as part of the team. That means you have to go drinking with them, staying out late and pretending to be working when in actual fact you are on the piss. Going for a curry, even though you may not like curries. You were expected to work loads of overtime even if there was no call for it – and I will give you an example of that. My first day there, I was due to work from nine in the morning until five, when at about four-thirty I was approached by DC Finn. ‘Darke!’ he shouted. ‘We have a job on.’

I naturally asked what and was told that DS Giggs would tell me about it in the car. So off I went and followed Finn out of the office, down the stairs and into the car park.

‘Can you drive police vehicles?’ I was asked by DS Giggs.

‘Yes,’ came my reply.

‘Drive then,’ he said as he threw the keys in my direction and naturally they landed on the floor and he added, ‘I hope you can bat better than you can catch.’

‘What do you mean by that, sergeant?’

‘Doesn’t matter and call me GG: everybody does.’

DC Finn, or Freddy, as he was better known, just smiled and I was silently thinking to myself ‘What a pair of wankers’ but please don’t judge a book by its cover: it’s day one, for God’s sake. ‘Where to?’ I asked.

‘Do you know the Weatherall estate the other side of town?’ Freddy enquired.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know the pub, The Chase?’

‘I’ve been past it.’

Freddy then said, ‘Well, today you are not driving past it, you are driving to it, and when you get there park in the car park at the back.’

‘What are we going there for?’

GG replied, ‘You’ll know when we get there, now drive.’

Fuck me, I only asked a question. Now I want to come onto this team, so no doubt they are trying me out. They don’t know me and I don’t know them, it’s all about knowing one another and trusting one another. It will get better, I’m sure.

I reached the pub and what a shithole it was. I had driven past it before but I had never been inside. I wouldn’t want to go inside. The Weatherall estate is full of low-class social housing and the people living there are mainly unemployed criminals. Nobody works there: they just steal what they want and they will steal literally anything. I presume that’s why we are going to park around the back of the pub, so nobody sees the car. Although the car wasn’t a marked police car, the locals would sniff out a CID car anywhere, as there were always at least two or three of us in the car. Hence the famous joke: ‘What is yellow and hangs around in bunches?’

‘Bananas?

‘No, the local CID.’

Anyway, I pulled into the car park and, as instructed, drove around to the back of the pub. In tandem the three of us got out of the car, and then we followed the sergeant into the pub: me, I was last obviously, being the new boy. I walked into the bar of the pub and up to the counter, but at the end I saw a rather large, rotund man. ‘Darke, this is Barry, the licensee, better known to all his punters as Baz,’ said GG.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Baz, this is the new boy, DC Jimmy Darke, but everybody calls him Darke.’

‘Nice to meet you. You are new to the team, then?’

‘Yes, first day today.’

‘I presume you are buying, then?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. Get them whatever they want and I’ll have a Diet Coke please.’

Freddie sprang into action: that was the first time he’d spoken since we left the station. ‘Diet fucking what?’ he bawled.

‘Diet Coke please.’

‘You’re not on the CID now, you are on the Serious Crime Team. Nobody drinks Coke here, let alone Diet Coke.’

Nothing like feeling intimidated. ‘I’ll have a pint of lager, then.’

‘That’s better,’ Freddie remarked.

Now I knew it was my first day, but what were we doing in a shit pub on a shit estate at five in the afternoon when I should be going home? It was at this stage that GG and Baz decided to have a game of darts. Freddy was on the one-armed bandit and me, I was just sitting on a bar stool looking into my pint glass which was half-full with flat lager.

I knew I wanted to be a detective and I knew I wanted to be on the Northern Serious Crime Team, but I didn’t want to be sitting in a shit pub on a Monday afternoon when I should have been going home. Perhaps they were waiting for someone, a criminal or something, I just didn’t know.

I suppose it was a little after six and three pints later when a man walked into the bar. I suppose he was six foot six plus and built like a brick shithouse. He was white, with a full, grey, bushy beard and to me he looked like a retired wrestler. He walked straight up to Freddie who was still playing the one-armed bandit and handed him an envelope. Freddie instinctively put the envelope in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and then proceeded to shake hands with this man, who then turned around and walked back out of the pub.

Was that what I thought it was? A backhander. Perhaps I would find out in a bit. Freddie was then joined at the one-armed bandit by GG. Baz walked back around the counter and proceeded to pull another three pints. I really didn’t want any more beer: I just wanted to go home. GG then turned to me and said, ‘Darke, come over here.’

I did what I was told and then said, ‘You want me?’

‘Yes, here.’ He then handed me some £20 notes and carried on and said, ‘Put them in your pocket.’

I didn’t know what to do, so I put the money into my pocket and then I decided I needed the toilet. ‘Won’t be a minute, just nipping to the toilet!’ I shouted towards GG.

‘Carry on,’ GG muttered as he walked back to where Freddy was still playing the one-armed bandit. I reached the toilet and opted for one of the sit-down toilets: I needed a few minutes to think. I closed the door and pulled the bolt across and just sat there looking at those £20 notes. Why, I don’t know, but I decided to count them, 1, 2, 3, and so on: in total there was two hundred pounds in brand new £20 notes. And my sergeant had just handed them to me: why? I didn’t know, but my first thought was that they had just taken a backhander off that big man who came into the pub.

I walked out of the toilet and back to my stool by the bar really not knowing what to think. Just then, GG walked over and said, ‘Darke, welcome to my team.’

‘Er, thank you,’ I nervously replied.

‘I suppose you wonder what that was all about.’

‘Well, yes, it’s not every day you get £200 for sitting in a pub.’

‘On overtime as well.’

‘Yes.’

‘That big bloke is known around here as Big Macka and he is one of the best handlers in the business.’

‘Okay.’

‘So when a big job comes off, he will know who’s done it.’

‘And has there been a big job?’

‘Yes, there was a good, class burglary at the big houses the other side of town. Big Macka has handled some of the stuff, so of course he knows who is responsible – so he tells us.’

‘Where does the money come into it?’

‘He gives me the burglars and I let him handle a bit of stuff for his trouble.’

‘Yes, but what about the money?’

‘Oh, he has to pay me to keep my eyes shut.’

‘So you let him handle some of the stuff and he gives you the burglar and some money?’

‘Yes, Darke, that’s about it.’

‘What if I don’t want to be part of it?’

‘You are part of it.’

‘How?’

‘You have just accepted £200.’

‘But you can have that back.’

‘Too late, Darke, much too late.’

Chapter Two

We got back to the office at seven-thirty and my sergeant, GG, said, ‘Now, Darke, you don’t tell anyone about this, do you understand?’

‘Yes, of course I do, I’m not stupid.’

‘Now we are on at five tomorrow morning, we have a burglar to arrest.’

‘Okay, but how do you know he will have the stuff with him?’

‘He will, don’t worry.’

I then booked off in the time book and made my way to the car park at the back of the police station and drove home. Thinking all the time: what have I got myself into? Is it too late to tell anybody? Shall I tell the DCI? No, he’ll be one of them. I really didn’t know what to do: I had been dragged into the world of policing by DS Giggs and his able-bodied sidekick, DC Finn. I had heard rumours about the detectives on the team, but that’s what they were – just rumours.

My father was an ex-policeman. I’ll talk to him, that’s what I’ll do. In actual fact, I will drive there now. My father had retired from the police some ten years ago and was very proud that I was going to carry on the family tradition. After all, his father was a policeman before him and my father wanted me to become a policeman. He was the ideal man to talk to and I felt he could help me with what was happening on only my first day on the NSCT.

We had our little chat but he wasn’t surprised. He knew the DCI in charge of the team, Teflon Jack Mitchell as he was known – because nothing ever stuck to him. My father told me he had been the subject of numerous complaints about the way he and his team worked, but as his nickname went – nothing stuck. I was shocked. I know my father warned me about going on the NSCT, but I wanted to be a detective and at that time that was the only option open to me.

I left my father’s house feeling upset: was my ambition going to go up in smoke? Or do I do as I am told? Become one of them: surely the whole office can’t be like Giggs and Finn, surely not. I decided that for the time being I would see how the next few days would work out, see what Giggs and Finn were up to, and, more importantly, what they wanted me to do.

I was on at five the next morning as instructed. I was going to arrest the burglar and that’s as much as I knew. I hadn’t got a clue about his name or where he lived. I would be told at the briefing by DS Giggs. He was in charge of the operation and it was him who had the so-called information. No doubt Big Macka had told him all about it yesterday at the pub.

The briefing consisted of DS Giggs, DC Finn and myself: that was it. The sergeant took the briefing and said, ‘Darke, we are going to the Weatherall estate, to number 1, Piddock Close, the home address of Alan Saunders, known as the Tinman. He is going to be arrested for a burglary at one of the posh houses on the other side of town.’

I enquired, ‘I know it’s a silly question, but why is he called the Tinman?’

‘Tell him, Freddie,’ said the sergeant as he smiled, showing his yellow-stained teeth.

‘The Tinman only deals with gold, silver and things like that, so he is known on the estate as the Tinman, it’s really as simple as that.’

‘So what you hoping to find at his house today?’

GG replied, ‘There will be several expensive gold watches, Rolex and the like, and silver bracelets and rings, good stuff, very expensive stuff.’

‘Worth a lot, then?’

GG said, ‘Yes, Darke, probably around £40,000.’

‘Wow, and what did Big Macka get out of this?’

GG angrily responded, saying, ‘Darke, that has fuck all to do with you: remember you got £200 out of it.’

Well, that shut me up. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like today, but arresting people, I don’t mind that part of the job. I was sarcastically reminded of the address for the Tinman and told to drive past the house and park some 50 yards further up. Never done that before! GG told me to go around the back and watch out for the dog and he and Freddie were going to the front door. I suppose they wanted the glory, and what about this dog?

‘Can I ask, sergeant, you mentioned a dog?’

‘Yes.’

‘What sort?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘You must have been to his house before.’

‘Yes I have, but I’ve forgot.’

Bastard, I thought and then asked, ‘How do I get around the back?’

‘Use your initiative, you’re a detective.’

The three of us got out of the car and walked towards the Tinman’s house, number 1. I noticed a side entry next to number 3, so I assumed I could get to the back of the Tinman’s house that way, but I would ask first. ‘Sergeant, I’ll go down here, then.’

‘Okay, Darke, and take these with you, you will find them in the house somewhere.’

I had a quick look at what he had given to me and I could roughly make out under a street light that they were in fact price labels. They were about three inches long by two inches wide, white in colour with a piece of string at one end. No doubt you used the string to tie around items. There was some writing on there: but I couldn’t make out what it said, it was just too dark.

‘What do you want me to do with these?’ I asked.

GG responded in his usual abrupt manner. ‘God, son, are you stupid? These are labels from the shop that the people from the posh house own.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, we are going to find some watches and jewellery in there and the labels are a bonus. They will fuck Tinman, and in time convince a court.’

I never answered, I just nodded and continued to walk towards the rear garden of number 1. I wondered what the Tinman had done to them. Even though they were going to find some stolen property, the labels and me ‘finding’ them in the house were another test of my bottle. The Tinman was fucked anyway if the watches and jewellery were in there, so the labels would make no difference. It was testing time again.

But what could I do? Perhaps after today things would calm down: if I passed the test, then they might leave me alone. I kept thinking back to what my father said about the DCI: it meant I couldn’t go to him with my suspicions and I didn’t know any other people at the station. Well, let’s get on with this job then. I reached the back gate and it was already open. I walked through and this led me into the back garden.

Three steps in and yes, I had found the dog shit: I managed to get most of it off my shoes by using a pillowcase that was on the washing line. Why do people leave their washing out all night? It never dries, it just gets wetter and dirtier. Idle bastards. Anyway, up until then there had been no dog, just its shit. I reached the back door and just stood there waiting. GG and Freddie were going in the front door and, once inside, one of them would come and let me in. That was the plan anyway.

The curtains at the back of the house were drawn but I could hear voices. I could hear GG shouting at someone, then all of a sudden the back door was opened and standing there was Freddie. ‘Come in,’ he beckoned to me.

‘Okay, where’s the dog?’

‘It’s dead.’

‘What do you mean, dead?’

‘Dead, deceased, that’s what I mean.’

‘When?’

‘Oh, it was taken ill last week and the vet put it down.’

‘The back garden is still full of dog shit, I just found some.’

‘Unlucky you, or do they say dog shit is good luck?’

‘Dirty bastards, have you got the Tinman?’

‘Yes, old Mrs Saunders is doing her usual – gobbing off.’

‘And the property?’

‘Me and you are going to do a search of the house now, whilst GG keeps Tinman and his old lady quiet.’

‘Are there children in the house?’

‘No, there aren’t any, I don’t think.’

With that, I followed Freddie into the house and what a shithole it was: considering he was a burglar he wasn’t making much money at it. It was the type of house where you wipe your feet on the way out and not on the way in, if you get my drift. Freddie turned to me and said, ‘You can do upstairs and I will do down here. You know what we are looking for.’

‘Watches and jewellery.’

‘Yes, and a few labels would be helpful.’

‘Okay.’

Well, I know what that means. What happens if I don’t find any: what are they going to do about it? What they are doing is dishonest. I have made my mind up: I am not going to find any labels and see what they do about it. They can’t tell the DCI, can they? I didn’t join the police for this and I certainly didn’t join the CID for all this shit. No, I’ve made my mind up: this was going to stop now before I was in deep shit, and up to my neck in it.

I completed the search upstairs and I had found four gold Rolex watches in a shoebox in the wardrobe. They were beautiful and worth thousands. In the rear bedroom on top of another wardrobe I found a cloth bag full of silver rings and jewellery – just like the sergeant said I would find. I brought the stuff down and put it on the kitchen table next to where the sergeant was standing. Tinman was sitting at the table handcuffed to his front and Freddie was talking with Mrs Saunders in the lounge – what about? I couldn’t hear them.

‘Ah,’ said the sergeant and continued. ‘Where did you find these, DC Darke?’

‘Upstairs in the front and rear bedrooms.’

‘Anything else?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure, Darke?’

‘Positive, sergeant.’

‘I will ask you once more, DC Darke, did you find anything else?’

‘No, there’s nothing else.’

‘DC Darke, would you just step outside with me?’

‘Yes, sergeant.’

I then followed DS Giggs outside and into the front garden, where he stood directly in front of me and bawled directly into my face, his face being about one inch away. ‘Darke, I told you I wanted you to find those labels.’

‘Well, sergeant, I found the watches and jewellery, but for the life of me I couldn’t find any labels.’

‘Darke, you are not smart: in actual fact you are fucking stupid. Now give me those labels.’

‘Here, take them: perhaps you or Freddie can find them.’

‘Fuck you, Darke, fuck you.’

With that, GG walked back into the house and came out with the Tinman, closely followed by Freddie who was holding the cloth bag and shoebox containing the recovered property. Well, I’ve done it now, I have stuck to my guns. I wonder what my punishment will be. Perhaps I will get kicked off the team, kicked off the NSCT and back to uniform. I really couldn’t give a fuck: in the space of two days I wanted out. So I didn’t like what I was seeing. These policeman were bending the rules and I didn’t want to be part of it.

Chapter Three

We got back to the station and nothing further was said, but I guessed my time with the NSCT wasn’t going to be much longer. Would they ask me to go? Would the DCI tell me to go? I didn’t know, but in the meantime I needed to be as professional as I could be.

As I thought, the Tinman was interviewed by GG and Freddie and me. Well, I took no part in it except to drive him back home when he had been charged and bailed. I was given my instructions before I drove him home and those were: ‘We will be in The Chase, come down for a drink when you have taken him home.’ I nodded in agreement and set off with Tinman in the car. Nothing was said for the first few minutes, then the Tinman said, ‘You’re different from the rest of them, you almost seem human.’

‘Thank you for that, but this is only my second day.’

‘You’re not like them.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re too nice. GG and Freddie are evil bastards.’

‘Why?’

‘They’re bent.’

‘But you committed the burglary at the posh house.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘And that property, the watches and the jewellery, was found in your house, I mean I found it.’

‘Put in my house.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Son, I’ve said enough.’

‘No, what do you mean, put in your house?’

‘Look, I committed the burglary and that’s it.’

‘Why won’t you tell me more?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Go on, you must tell me now.’

‘I did the burglary and that’s it.’

It was clear that I wasn’t getting any further with it so I left it as it was. He had committed the burglary and that was it. I pulled up outside his house and let him out. He turned to me and said, ‘Son, get out of this.’ And with that he walked off, opened the front door and disappeared into the house. I turned the car around and began to drive back to the station when my mobile went: it was GG. He enquired, ‘You popping down for a pint then?’

I thought for a few minutes and said, ‘Yes, I will come for one.’

‘Great, see you in a bit.’

Am I mad? I don’t know, but I didn’t want to make things any worse than they were now. Let’s just hope things will quieten down and I can get on with my job of being a detective. I pulled up at the pub, it was packed: so I decided to park around the back as I did the day before. I could see why they parked there now. I walked around to the front and into the bar. Freddie was in his usual place in front of the one-armed bandit.

GG was standing at the bar with a couple of men I had never seen before, but also there was the DCI, Jock and the licensee, Baz. They were all laughing and drinking and I had to be part of it. I decided to walk over to where Freddie was. ‘Freddie?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Who are those two men with GG and the DCI?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I’m interested, that’s why.’

‘Okay, the one on GG’s left is Mad Mick Martin, and the other bloke is Hughie D. I don’t know his last name: everybody calls him Hughie D.’

‘And who are they?’

‘Two heavies in the drugs and guns world.’

‘What, and GG is after some information?’

‘No, don’t be a prat, they are regulars here. They just like a drink and GG is a good springer for them.’

‘So he buys them drinks?’

‘Yes, and every now and again they will put a little druggie in.’

‘But not the big ones?’

‘No.’

‘And guns?’

‘I’ve never seen nothing and I have been with GG for two years.’

‘Freddie, do you enjoy this job?’

‘Yes, it’s great, you can put the baddies away and get loads of overtime into the bargain.’

‘Doesn’t your wife mind?’

‘No, the overtime means she gets more money to spend on clothes, so she’s happy.’

‘Is GG married?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who to?’

‘The job.’

‘I see, silly question really.’

‘No, he has a wife, but I’ve never met her.’

‘Oh, right.’

I then left Freddie feeding the one-armed bandit with pound coins and walked over to where GG and the DCI were standing. GG turned to me and said, ‘Ah, Darke what do you want to drink?’

‘I’ll have a pint please.’

‘Baz, get him a pint and get the others a drink.’

Baz replied, ‘Okay, GG.’

GG said, ‘Darke, it was a good day today: did you enjoy it?’

‘Yeah, not too bad.’

‘What happened to those labels?’

‘I wasn’t prepared to plant them.’

‘Plant them, what do you mean?’

‘You wanted me to plant them in Tinman’s house.’

‘Tinman is as guilty as shit, it was merely a way of helping the man over the fence.’

‘I don’t want to say any more on the subject.’

‘Darke, you are digging a hole for yourself. You have applied for and got a secondment to the NSCT, now you have to prove yourself.’

‘By planting stuff?’

‘No, by helping the real criminals get potted.’

‘Like me, with those labels.’

‘Darke. I have never potted an innocent man in all my career. What I have done is to help the guilty ones over the fence.’

‘I’m going now, I’ve had enough: what time do you want me on tomorrow?’

‘Let’s say eight.’

‘Okay, see you then.’

I really was pissed off: I kept looking for positives and I couldn’t find any. But let me try, as tomorrow is day three: perhaps it gets easier. I so much wanted to be a detective and one that dealt with serious crime, not just the shit like shoplifters. I needed to be more positive and not think that everything that GG and Freddie did was bent. Perhaps they were both good coppers trying to put the bad people away.

I arrived at the station just before eight and noticed how quiet it was: was I the first one there? I walked up the stairs to the office and opened the door and went inside. There was no one there: the office was empty apart from a cleaner. ‘Where’s everybody?’ I asked, hoping she would know the answer.

‘They’re all on late.’

‘What?’

‘They are all working late today.’

‘The whole office?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s DCI Mitchell’s birthday, so they are all working late to go out for a drink with him.’

‘What, even the DCI is on late?’

‘Yes, it happens a lot: birthdays, promotions and things like that.’

‘What time is late?’

‘Two, or it might even be later. Didn’t you know?’

‘No, no one bothered to tell me.’

Just then the phone went, so I went across and picked it up. ‘DC Darke, can I help you?’

‘Is that you, Darke?’

‘Yes, who is that?’

‘Darke, it’s me.’

‘Who’s me?’

‘Baz from the Chase.’

‘Oh yes, sorry, I didn’t recognise your voice. DS Giggs isn’t here at the moment.’

‘No, I know that: they are all coming to mine later for Jock’s piss-up. Are you coming?’

‘I haven’t been invited.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, they are all on at two and I’m here now about five hours early.’

‘I’ll tell you what, I am after GG’s mobile. I can’t find it at the moment: have you go it?’

‘Yes, hang on a minute, I’ve got it written down, yes here it is. It’s 07777 121213.’

‘Thanks, will I see you later?’

‘Possibly.’

I put the phone down and thought: I did ask the sergeant last night what time he wanted me in and he did say eight. I am not making it up. Just then my mobile rang: it was the sergeant. ‘Good morning, Darke, are you at work or home?’

‘At work like you told me to.’

‘Oh, did I? Sorry about that. Well, you are invited to the DCI’s birthday party later at The Chase: will I see you there?’

‘I don’t know yet, I’m at work.’

‘Well, fuck off home and I will see you at the pub about three.’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘It’s the DCI’s piss-up. Make sure you are there and another thing: never give my phone number out to anyone again.’

And with that the sergeant hung up. Fuck me, I am really doing well. I’m only on day three, and no doubt the phone number trick was another test for me and another test I have failed. I so want to be a detective: I have got to ignore their petty things and get on with the job in hand. Perhaps helping a criminal over the fence wasn’t too bad: especially if he had committed the crime in the first place. And thinking back to the Tinman, he did have the stolen property in his house. Now they want me to go on the piss with them later, so I will. I am determined to succeed at the NSCT.

I decided to go and pay my father Bill a visit. I love my chats with him because he had been there, done it and got the tee shirt. Sometimes I needed reassuring and he was always there for me. He spent his retirement from the police in the garden, weather permitting: he loved his garden. He lived with his wife, my mother Alice, in a little village called Kings Winterton, several miles from the world of crime, criminals and shit.

Chapter Four

My father did spend some time on the CID: but he preferred to be in uniform, pounding the beat, as they used to say. He had no time for squads, units or teams, and he certainly had no time for the NSCT. His reasoning sort of made some sense: he said that the detectives on these teams had all been there far too long. They should only serve, say, five or six years and then go back to normal run of the mill CID work. Changes freshen things up, as my father used to say. I knew what he meant as some of the detectives there had been on the NSCT for over ten years. I will see how things go: I have only been on there for three days. Let me try and be positive.

My father knew instantly when I had a problem, and he knew when I turned up on that Wednesday that something was wrong. ‘What’s wrong, son?’ he asked.

‘Nothing really.’

‘Nothing really: that means there is something on your mind.’

‘The thing is, as you know, I have only been in my new job a couple of days, but my sergeant is taking the piss out of me.’

‘How do you mean, son?’

‘Well, on Tuesday morning we went and arrested a known burglar: but I was expected to do something.’

‘Like what?’

‘He wanted me to find some price labels in the burglar’s house.’

‘By ‘find’, you mean plant?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was your burglar guilty?’

‘Yes, I found some stolen Rolex watches and some silver jewellery in his house.’

‘You didn’t plant that?’

‘No.’

‘And what else has he done? Your sergeant.’

‘Take today, every other detective is working late because it’s the DCI’s birthday. He didn’t tell me that and as I walked into the office this morning, I was the only one there. The bloody cleaner had to tell me.’

‘Jimmy, I told you not to go on the team. The thing is, they deal with some of the area’s most violent and hardened criminals, so they need to be just as hard as them – if you get what I am trying to say.’

‘Yes, I know that, you mean by helping them over the fence?’

‘Yes, and if you don’t want to be part of it get out now, before it’s too late.’

‘Too late?’

‘Yes, you are either with them or you fuck off: that’s how it was put to me many years ago.’

‘Wow, so they are testing my bottle?’

‘Yes, in their own way. Once you have been accepted onto the team you will be okay. But only if you want to: if there is doubt in your mind then you must leave.’

‘Okay.’

‘Are they bent?’

‘Nothing has been proved and you can’t believe rumours.’

‘I except that, but be careful.’

‘I want to succeed there: I want to be a detective catching real criminals.’

‘I can understand, but let me give you a piece of advice – watch your back.’

‘Why?’

‘If they feel that you are not one of them and have arrived on the team as a whingeing pain in the arse, they will do all they can and use whatever means to get rid of you.’

‘Bill, I’m glad I’ve got it off my chest, I am going to knuckle down and become a detective you will be proud of.’

‘Good lad, now tell me, how old is Teflon Jack today, then?’

‘55.’

‘He can’t have long left.’

‘No, he retires next summer, apparently.’

‘Never liked the man.’

‘I guessed that when you referred to him as Teflon.’

‘Anyway, let’s have a cup of tea.’

Tea over with, I bid goodbye to my mother and father and went home. My intention was to go back to work at two: that was an hour or so before the DCI’s piss-up started. I had made a conscious decision that they would not get to me and I would do my damnedest to become a good detective.

I wasn’t looking forward to this drink, as I felt I would be the odd one out. Everybody would know each other and I barely knew any of them. But hey, let’s give it a go. I got to work just before two and most of the office was there, apart from GG and the DCI. The DCI, I guessed, was at the pub already: but where was GG? I walked over to Freddie and enquired where GG was and he told me that he had driven the DCI to The Chase and we were to meet up with them about three. ‘Who’s covering the office?’ I asked.

‘You,’ he quickly said.

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you, you’re the newbie, it’s your job to.’

‘So I won’t be going on the piss, then?’

‘If you want to, you can, but just remember if the wheel falls off you will have to sort it out.’

‘Well, that’s fucking great.’

‘What do you expect? You have only been here three days.’

‘Yes, thank you, Freddie, I didn’t expect nothing and that’s exactly what I’ve got.’

‘Listen, if you have a problem with it, see GG.’

‘I won’t bother, thank you.’

Just after three, the rest of the office began to make their way down to The Chase pub. I cadged a lift with Freddie, but in fairness not a lot was said on the journey there: I just felt once more that they were taking the piss out of me. I arrived at the pub and with Freddie walked into the lounge: I suppose there were about thirty people in there. Twenty or so I recognised from the office, and ten or so I didn’t know. Who were they? I wondered. Freddie would know. ‘Freddie, these other people, who are they?’

‘Villains.’

‘Villains?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘What the fuck are they doing here?’

‘Teflon has invited them: after all, it’s his birthday and they are good springers.’

‘Good springers?’

‘Yes, they had paid for the spread and they also have put two hundred pounds behind the bar.’

‘Oh.’

What more could I say? The villains that we arrested were paying for the DCI’s birthday. I thought I had seen it all: but how wrong can I be? Never mind, I did say I would knuckle down and do my best and if that meant drinking their beer and eating their food – then I would do it. I still felt like a fish out of water: it was all very cliquey and at the moment I wasn’t part of the clique. I looked around the room. The DCI was sitting at the bar with GG and a couple of heavies whom I had never seen before. Oh, Mad Mick and Hughie D were there, Freddie was on the one-armed bandit again, and the other detectives were talking amongst themselves – probably about me. So, as the afternoon passed, the drinks