The Sweet Smell of Rain Read online



  For:

  Harvey

  You have not been here very long, but already you have done so much.

  &

  Lynda, Rach & Phil

  Whom I love the most, and have hurt beyond measure.

  Sincere thanks to:

  Stephen Leece, for his unbridled enthusiasm, all too frequent ‘editorial meetings’, his modesty, but above all to use his own words ‘All the best bits’.

  Mark A Jones for helping me to improve my plastering skills.

  ‘F & B’, Kenco Smooth & BBC Radio 5 Live, for making writing overnight so bearable.

  Ian J Lightfoot, for his pyrrhonism, and the title.

  Cliff Anderson, for allowing me to ‘use’ the ‘Quay Taphouse’.

  Bill Llewellyn aka ‘Lighthouse Billy’ and finally David S Black guitarist and human being extraordinaire 1953-2015.

  &

  The real stars of the show:

  Tyneside & Northumberland.

  If you feel that you should have been mentioned above, or credited in some other way, please accept my sincere apologies. Feel free to append your name here to claim your place in literary history:……………..……………….…..

  Ian Douthwaite © July 2015.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Present.

  Jim Hodder hated this room.

  Or to be more precise, Jim Hodder in the guise of Detective Sergeant Jim Hodder, hated this room. The room itself held no particularly bad or painful memories for him, but it was just that the stagnant airlessness got to him, together with an overriding sense of claustrophobic foreboding.

  However, this time, for arguably the first time, it felt much different….he was having the kind of adrenalin rush that not everyone has the opportunity to experience. It was exhilarating, intoxicating and exhausting all at the same time and Hodder thought that if he had been able to bottle and sell it, then he would corner the market in ‘legal highs’ overnight.

  Drug wars would be a thing of the past…but that did not enter his mind right now, he was focussed. Really focussed. To Hodder at least, it felt like he and Dean Parks, serial criminal, and long-time ‘drain on the system’ could have been the only two persons in the world. This was a unique occasion, and at least one of the lives’ of those in the room was about to be changed for ever.

  The room, for it had been a linen store, and document repository at various times in its tawdry history, had on this occasion, taken on a wholly new and insignificant vitality, and it really lived down to its new found billing as a temporary interview room at North Shields Police Station.

  After formal introductions and legal obligations, Hodder said ’How are you doing?’ Parks took a sharp intake of breath and through his clenched, unnaturally clean teeth, delivered a barely audible ‘No Reply’.

  Hodder, a skilled and experienced interviewer, did not lose a heartbeat or indeed, any composure at all, he simply adjusted his tie, and said with a barely perceptible smile ‘I’ll take that as an ‘Okay’ then’…he paused briefly before continuing ‘there really is no need to be embarrassed. If you are not feeling up to it…I can always come back later… it really is your call…time, at least for now, is on your side’.

  Parks’ head seemed to drop for a moment, feigning disinterest but immediately, he was invigorated with a new found enthusiasm, which seemed to radiate outwardly, from his blank, vacant eyes, and with all the gusto he could conjure up he said in a slightly exaggerated falsetto, almost effeminate tone, ‘Fuck You’. And so it was, a less than beautiful relationship had been born.

  Hodder continued ‘Now that we are friends, perhaps we could talk’. However, this strategy clearly wasn’t working, because Parks hid his bloodshot eyes beneath the most convenient eyelids that he could find, and then failed quite miserably, to disguise the trembling of his hands.

  This was all very intimate. Parks was beginning to show the first signs of tension. Hodder quietly turned in his chair to face his adversary, and put his hand on the prisoner’s shoulder, as he uttered, just loud enough to be heard, soothing, some may say hypnotic, but most certainly penetrative words. ‘Say something…anything’.

  Parks, a veteran of many an interview, was convinced that Hodder was staring deep into his eyes. Of course he wasn’t, he was staring at a point just above the bridge of the nose, but it had the same effect. It unsettled the second man, who may actually have had an itchy ear or, it may have been a psychosomatic invention. Who could tell? None the less, he scratched it with undiluted enthusiasm.

  Zeroing in on Parks’ behaviour, Hodder saw him avert his gaze and stare silently at the ceiling, and focus on the gently decaying body of a moth trapped inside the casing of the fluorescent light buzzing away above their heads. The light, that is, not the moth. ‘Time to bring him back to earth’ thought Hodder as he gently laid a hand upon Parks’ thigh. He felt him shudder, a muscle contracting ever so slightly. This was working. Working way better than the Detective had anticipated.

  ‘Hey, Hey, I may have my way with you yet’…thought Hodder

  For the first time in what felt like an age, words were spoken….Hodder said ‘Please help me to help you’…and not waiting for an answer he went on to say…’Help yourself…please’. The silence was deafening, only the buzz from above offering an alternative to the aphony. Parks’ left leg launched into an impromptu display of involuntary ‘judders’, little jittery jerky nervous bounces off the ball of his foot. Hodder put his foot upon the second man’s foot. It stopped moving immediately. However, his right leg took up the ‘chalice’ and began doing its own version River Dance.

  Hodder was closing him down. Good.

  ‘I understand you know’ said Hodder. Parks took his eyes off the moth, pinned Hodder with his gaze and responded with an execrable ‘Fuck You’. Any words were better than silence so Hodder continued…‘I know that we have only just met and I rather hoped that we could get on but….’Parks spat out ‘No Chance’.

  Hodder continued ‘How does it feel to lose control of yourself’? ‘Uncomfortable?...I bet it is…but it must have an upside…power?., control?, what is it? What are you? Are you a Bully? Misogynist? Rapist? or Victim? You choose! Without your side of the argument you could be any or all of those things’.

  In the staged, contrived world of the interview room, nothing is off topic as long so it leads to effective communication, and sensing a breakthrough Hodder continued…‘You know that you do not have to talk to me, but surely you must want to answer the allegations or at least protest your innocence’.

  Something, somewhere must have struck a chord with Parks, because he began to quiver, and quite visibly shaking he said…..’I can explain, but you would not listen. You and your kind just want to screw me over’ as his voice trailed off into silence. Hodder felt that this was beginning to work and a minor celebration erupted in Hodder’s head. Parks’ vocabulary did actually extend beyond profanity.

  The celebration was interrupted as the Police Officer said…’I am prepared to listen….really, I am.’ Whilst he was waiting for a response Parks secured eye contact with Hodder and said ‘You are just like me’.

  Parks was beginning to talk, and not wishing to ‘spoil the moment’ Hodder did not respond but privately thought ‘Not in this or any other life time’. However, those words would prove to be the most profound and prophetic that the young criminal would ever utter.

  Hodder then moved his hand up the second man’s inner thigh, and if truth be known, he gave him a sensual, almost sexual squeeze, just enough to know, by two sudden flickers of the eye lid that he had elicited the required response, and that he now, he had Park’s total attention.

  Both men reacted differently, one
erotically, the other being hit by a power surge…At this point in time, no one beyond the two could tell which was which. After a brief silence Hodder said ‘So, tell me, how does it feel?

  ‘How does what feel?’

  ‘The power, the moment…How does it feel? Does it feel the same every time?’

  Parks did not respond, but he was clearly thinking about something. Hodder did not know if he was contemplating an answer or mentally reliving previous events. He let him briefly savour the moment before pressing on ‘You know, I could respect you if you had the courage to talk to me’…Silence and halitosis filled the void between them. ‘In my book’ continued Hodder ‘Silence is a weak man’s retreat….and as I see it right now you are a very weak man…had problems with your mother? Were you bullied as a child’?

  Taking a wild stab in the dark Parks said ‘Your daughter was a good fuck. But I still hope that she dies of cancer’.

  ‘Nothing new there then’ thought Hodder having heard numerous similar remarks on countless previous occasions. These spontaneous remarks were designed to offend, divert and mislead the officer. However, as Parks looked at Hodder he would never know that Hodder was privately reflecting on an impending domestic with his ‘Goth’ stepdaughter.

  Hodder, a man not normally prone to intimidation, was not about to show any weakness now, and he was about to speak when the third man in the room said ‘Officer, I demand that you halt this interview immediately…I wish to see you outside. With that, as per the rules of the game, Hodder terminated the interview and against his better judgement he left Parks and the moth in the temporary interview room. However, on the plus side, the two remaining occupants of the room, were at least, intellectual equals.

  Outside the room, the Detective ushered the third man, a solicitor called Francis Randall-Ord, into a detention room just across the corridor. The solicitor was a minor partner in the longstanding firm of Fagen, Becker and Wendell. He was a balding, corpulent man, mid to late forties, of indefinable sexuality. He had a penchant for the theatre, field sports, tweed suits and as Hodder would later to find out, Highland Park whisky.

  Local legend had it that he came from a long line of Industrialists and that he was just not up to the ‘cut and thrust’ of the world of big business, and so, his family coerced him into law where his ineptitude would earn him a decent salary and a modicum of status, a bit like the legal equivalent of a ‘Safe Parliamentary Seat’. However, of much more importance to the family, was the fact that he could not do any lasting damage, to their reputation, or share price. And to his family at least, that was all that really mattered.

  Randall-Ord had only a tenuous relationship with the concept of truth, honesty and justice, and over the years he had learned to revel in his nickname of ‘Ord the Fraud’. Indeed, his personalised registration number boasted this fact, much to the provocation and annoyance of the local Police. He was also said to be an avid advocate of a local charity supporting homeless young men. However, not all of his ‘donations’ to these hapless souls were believed to be entirely financial in nature.

  Jim Hodder, immediately rounded on the legally funded parasite making no effort to conceal his vitriol. ‘What the fuck were you thinking of in there! You know that he is guilty as sin!

  ‘Look Sergeant, you know that it is my job to stop him incriminating himself….if he keeps talking to you he, is going to prison …you know he is guilty, I know he is guilty. He is to put it bluntly…’in somewhat of a pickle’. If you are going to convict him you are going to have to do it without his help’.

  If the entire population of the world had been watching at this point in time, not one person would have known that an idea had just been born.

  Hodder said ‘In the idle chat before that interview started you told me how concerned you were that your niece was going to university in Birmingham. What were the words you used…? Oh yeah, you said when a parent has a son you only have one penis to worry about but when you have a daughter…’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know what I said but, this is different’.

  ‘How on earth is this different? You know that your client stalks, identifies and befriends young female ‘Fresher’s’ in the first few weeks of the university term, and usually, as in this case…he rapes them. Typically, he at least breaks into their homes…we have recovered evidence from his latest victim, and more importantly, from him…What do you not understand? You know because you have represented him before, that he is forensically very savvy. Just where in your job description does it say that you can pervert the course of justice?’ How do you sleep at night’?

  ‘Listen’, said Jim…’you and I have some serious thinking to do, mine will be with the Detective Inspector. You can do your thinking alone. I won’t be long’.

  As the weathered Detective left the room, he switched off the buzzer/intercom at a control panel situated outside the room. With the solicitor’s mobile phone safely with the Custody Officer, the solicitor was more alone that at any time in his life. After a few uncomfortable minutes, the solicitor noticed that there wasn’t a handle on the inside of the door. He was immediately consumed by a deepening claustrophobic anxiety and tried pressing the buzzer to call the Custody Officer. When he got no response he assumed that all of the custody staff were busy.

  How little he knew.

  The confused ‘other’ prisoner was returned to his cell, but effectively at this point in time, both he and his solicitor were in solitary confinement.

  Hodder did not see the D.I. that day, this was largely due to the fact that the D.I. was a total knob, who was more interested in closely supervising the female temporary Detective Constables. He excelled in regaling them with wild tales of his crazy crime fighting escapades, interspersed and frequent references to their erogenous zones. The cacophony of girlie giggles erupting from his office was endless. His room was starting to resemble a cross between a youth club, social club and strip club. But, hey, looking on the bright side, at least the D.I. did not get in Hodder’s way.

  The D.I.‘s work ethic was exemplary, and he was often heard to say that he was ‘Too busy for Police work’ He was, a clear example of someone being promoted well out of harm’s way. He was, in the opinion of Hodder, destined to go very far in the police service.

  Instead, Jim went to the CID office and made himself a cup of coffee. Then the most important paperwork of the day was then completed. This essential administrative task was an IOU for a penguin chocolate biscuit bar which he got from the CID shop which was located in the corner of the small fridge in the corner of the small office.

  It was his maxim (at least in the case of ‘goodies’ from the shop) ‘Do the paperwork straight away’, because it wasn’t entirely unknown for people to be barred from the shop for not paying their debts. Not only was this embarrassing, it was also inconvenient, especially if someone had nabbed all the unmarked cars, and it was pissing down outside and you had to walk to the local shop. There was clearly a lot more to modern day policing than meets the eye!

  There was a serious discussion going on amongst the other Detectives in the office. It was getting increasingly animated…tempers were beginning to fray…things were heating up amongst those at the cutting edge of the fight against organised crime. The England football team had been beaten yet again…no change there then! ‘Why was it’, thought Hodder, ‘That the only people who had absolutely no idea of running a football team were the team managers’. He surveyed his colleagues closely, every one of them a potential England manager. Personally, he wouldn’t trust most of them to run a bath.

  He looked at one in particular, ‘God’s Gift’ (to himself at least). He always had an opinion, which was consistently either ill-considered or more often than not, just plain wrong. Hodder was convinced that his erstwhile colleague possessed a deep seated level of stupidity rarely seen amongst vertebrates. He was however, highly skilled in the dark arts of work avoidance, a talent so well developed that it was in some perverse
way admirable.

  He did however, wear nice ties…’Well you gotta start somewhere’ thought Hodder. This workshy blockhead was an infrequent visitor to the cell block, and it was rumoured that a conducted tour of the police station was going to be organised to acquaint him with parts of the building which were clearly off his ‘beaten track’.

  ‘God’s Gift’, (also more commonly known as known as ‘Gee-Gee’ because of his innate ability to back losing horses) looked directly at Hodder who ruminated as to exactly how long ‘Gee-Gee’ had been suffering from what appeared to be a very serious case of ‘Tanorexia’. ‘Gee-Gee’ ‘switched on’ his remodelled ceramic smile, and said ‘What do you reckon James, did you see the game’?

  Jim, christened ‘Jim’ hated people ‘reworking’ his name, ‘If this arse keeps this up I may just ‘rework’ his smile’ thought Jim who replied ‘Bit on the busy side mate…police work got in the way again. You might want to try it one day. Really… there is nothing to be afraid of’. Despite being long in the tooth and long in service, it was widely put about that ‘Gee-Gee’s’ last arrest was his first one, and that his next one would be of the cardiac variety. ‘Well, you’ve got to have some hope haven’t you’? thought Jim.

  A team of wild horses would not drag ‘Gee-Gee’, who reminded Hodder of ‘Ken’, Barbie’s plasticised partner, down to the cell block. And what was even more certain, was that the horses that he backed, wouldn’t even make it that far. It was at moments like this that he thought ‘I should have joined the Masons when I had the chance. Life would have been so much easier, plus I would have improved my knowledge of football’.

  Ignoring his chattering colleagues, Jim then made a call to his colleague Detective Constable Jeff Baxter, who had been tied up at Newcastle Crown Court for the best part of two weeks with a trial for an armed robbery at an ATM. The hearing was entering its final stages and Jeff told Hodder that he hoped to be released from court duty early the next day.

  Hodder let his partner read between the lines by stating that he had a ‘bit of a runner’…coded language for…’If you don’t get back here soon, I may be forced into working with some of the Muppets in the office’.

  Coffee break over, equilibrium had been restored and English football had been saved. The team were back on track. Quarter finals and elimination here we come! Time for some sport of a different kind!

  All was good with the world. That twat of a solicitor s stewed long enough!

  One of the rare luxuries in the police station is ‘your actual’ ceramic mug…it’s a wonderful psychological tool, though known to be considerably more dangerous than its polystyrene counterpart. Granted, the contents of both can scald, but to his certain knowledge, Hodder knew of no recorded cases of serious head injuries being caused by our light weight friend in white.

  So, armed with a mug of steaming coffee, and a lightly salted poly cup of weak tea, he returned to the detention room and looking through the window in the door, he saw that a very fractious solicitor was pacing back and forth across the room. This vista took Jim back to a trip to Chester Zoo many years previously…where he had seen a caged lion doing the same thing. What he wouldn’t give for that lion now. Chuck it in the room with the gallant ‘Officer of the Court’… That would be certain to focus his attention.

  On this occasion however, it was Hodder who was about to pounce. He turned the buzzer back on and entered.

  Walking in, Hodder nonchalantly said ‘Got you a drink’…Reaching for the mug the agitated solicitor said ‘Where have you been, what took you so long’? ‘Err Hmm…This one is yours’, said Jim pointing to the poly cup and feigning disinterest he continued…’The Custody Officer is a bit busy to process you right now, and he would go absolutely spare if he found out that I was giving a prisoner a proper mug’.

  Hodder felt as if he had scored a minor victory.

  ‘I demand to know exactly what going on’? I’ve been ringing that buzzer for ages’.

  ‘Really’? replied Jim.

  The Detective went through the partially open door, pressed the buzzer saw a red light illuminate on the panel and heard the buzzer sound at the Custody Officer’s desk. ‘Seems fine to me…mind you they have been a bit on the busy side…it’s all this crime you know… If you ask me society is falling apart at the seams… It’s absolutely outrageous! I blame it on the parents’!

  Jim watched the solicitor wince as he tackled his saline drink …‘The D.I. is a busy man you know. It took a bit longer than expected. He has had to run your arrest past the CPS. And whilst I’m not normally offended by profanity, can I respectfully suggest to you that you moderate your language. Please try to keep on the good side of the Custody Officer when you speak to him…he can be a right moody cunt when he wants to be!

  Inwardly, Hodder was doing cartwheels…he hadn’t had this much fun since running over an escaping prisoner with a CID car. Over the years, Jim had learnt that every ‘up’ has a ‘down’ and as ever, and on that particular occasion, the insurance forms were a right ball ache to complete.

  Whilst speaking about the D.I. he had to fight hard to stop the image of the D.I. conducting yet another intimate search upon a hopeful young female Detective. The D.I.’s knowledge of current legislation and case law seemed to diminish in direct correlation to his increased knowledge of gynaecology. Hodder concluded that the two events were most certainly connected.

  But of course, he knew…he had seen it all before. The irony was not lost him that it should be the D.I. in the cell down the corridor, he was probably a bigger threat to the female population of the north east than Dean Parks would ever be!

  Continuing, the Detective said, ‘What’s going on is that unless you come up with a new strategy very quickly, you are getting locked up for perverting the course of justice. I bet that goes down a storm with your colleagues not to mention The Law Society’.

  Silence and steam filled the void between them, and it was only broken when Hodder said with a broad smile ‘However, the good news is… I can recommend a good solicitor’. It was as if a really magical magic potion, (or it could have been the salt in the tea), sapped the very life out of Randall-Ord. He slumped down on the hard wooden bench on his side of the table and held his head in his hands. ‘You are joking aren’t you’? Hodder went on ‘The D.I. isn’t. However, I do know that he is amenable to making this go away if you were minded to ‘assist’ us in protecting our female intelligentsia. He (the D.I.) did suggest that if we charge both you and your client, we will not, given your standing within the community, oppose your bail.

  Under the circumstances, I think that that is very generous of him. In fact, at this very moment he has one of our lads’ making enquiries with our colleagues in Birmingham to see if they could house your co accused in a bail hostel there. Mind you, he would be very upset if you and your new ‘best mate’ got your heads together to concoct a story whilst you were visiting your niece. Hey, perhaps you could introduce them to each other. I mean, she could probably do with a friendly face around the place’.

  Exasperated, the solicitor feebly mumbled ‘You are joking aren’t you? Officer, I would suggest that you reconsider ...this is most inappropriate’.

  ‘Yeah, I am joking’. There was an audible sigh of relief from the other side of the table.

  ‘The D.I. wants you remanded in custody too’.

  Hodder was enjoying this.

  ‘What…surely not. Get me your immediate superior NOW!’

  ‘Please don’t interrupt, this is the good bit…what the D.I. wants the D.I. usually gets. In fact, he was just telling me that he will be seeing the Chairman of the Bench at the Lodge tonight. Would you like him to pass on your regards…no worries if you don’t, you will be seeing him yourself tomorrow morning at court…from the dock. Is 10.00am good for you?’ In fact, I’ll give you an early morning call’

  The brief was about to say something but was silenced by Hodder’s raised hand.

  �
�Look’ said Hodder, ‘Your client is a piece of shit. Surely even you can see that. For your own sake give me a hand to screw him. I am not after you. Is he really worth the risk? Look, you know as well as I do, that you will never get convicted but your arrest will sure as fuck put the skids on your life, bang goes your career, bang goes the big house, bang goes your reputation. And what for? A tosspot who would stab you and rape your grandmother…alive or dead’.

  The arrogance and confidence seemed to drain from the solicitor. ‘Are you serious, I should advise you that I am good friend of...’

  Standing tall above the Solicitor, Hodder cut him off mid-sentence said seriously ‘Save it, tell it to the bench’. With open palms as a gesture of feigned sincerity Hodder said ‘As you know, I am not by nature a vindictive man, but sadly, you give me no choice…you need a friend, and like or not’…the Detective made a broad cartoon ‘toothy grin’, and pointing to himself, thumbs raised in exaggerated mime…he continued ‘I am, I am afraid to say, as close as you have got to a friend right now. Take it or leave it’.

  ‘Look, I know the balloon will go up as soon as I arrest you but, hey ho, it keeps me off the streets and my back is not what it used to be’.

  The solicitor, a man by trade used to thinking on his feet was sitting on his ample, well upholstered backside, largely to keep his world from falling out of it. He had the desperate look of a man found by his wife with the wrong wife.

  Hodder was feeling better by the second.

  ‘You gotta realise’ said Jim ‘You are just the same as everyone else, and your Audi A6 does not entitle you to super powers or a ‘get out jail for free’ card. You get yourself arrested and you can watch your practice loose clients like lemmings going over a cliff. By the way do you know that was staged, it didn’t actually happen…but this… oh yes, this is happening. You sure are heading for a fall’.

  ‘Come on let me introduce you to the nice Custody Officer and remember…mind your fucking language’.

  The Detective shelved his guilt and thought of the overtime. Look’ said the solicitor…’I really do not want this to get out of hand. For the sake of everyone concerned, I urge you to see sense’.

  ‘This makes perfect logic to me…prepare to join your client’

  ‘Okay, I am breaking every rule of client confidentiality. If this gets out I really will be fucked’…’

  Now, now’, said Jim, with the tone of a scolding parent ‘Language Timothy…Listen up’…you and I have more in common than you think. We both deal with shit it’s only the level that fluctuates. I do not want a statement from you. You can even defend him to save face, it does not bother me one iota. But, and this is non-negotiable, I want him stopped’.

  ‘Okay, but I want you to know that this is most irregular. I really do not approve of your methods’ said the solicitor, his words dropping to a conspiratorial whisper…’Last September he was arrested in Sunderland for an identical offence he was not charged and the case was discontinued.

  I know that there was forensic taken from the victim and scene. DNA was not taken from him and he was alibied to the hilt by a couple of alcoholic friends and he was released within hours. Even though I only attended the police station, he thought that I was wonderful, hence why I find myself in this sorry mess today. Notwithstanding the ‘dodgy alibi’s’, the truth is that your lads in Sunderland really messed up and let him go without doing a thorough investigation. I think there must have been a football match or some other important event on that night…

  Getting a second wind the brief continued with his rather protracted answer. ’I don’t want to sound too critical, but even my client thought that the officer in charge of the case was pretty incompetent. I have to say that if I was guilty I would certainly want him to investigate me. No offence but he was utterly useless’.

  Struggling to protect the integrity of a colleague, Jim crossed himself and said ‘We are a very broad church. We embrace all comers, incompetent or otherwise.’ He continued…‘So how can this help me’? I am no nearer to solving my crime and I am most certainly not doing someone else’s work’.

  With an earnest look, the solicitor pleaded, ‘Why don’t you do an interview with him and no matter what he says charge him with your offence. In the meantime, get Sunderland to resubmit their forensic with his new DNA sample whilst he is remanded in custody. So, what if he gets off with your offence, the evidence from Sunderland will do for him. Does it really matter how you convict him’.

  ‘Do you know’ said the Detective with a wry smile…’you should have been a Detective’…

  And just like the car salesman who says that he is going to speak to the sales manager to get you that (non-existent) ‘Once in a lifetime deal’ Hodder said ’Give me five minutes, I will have a word with the D.I. I promise that I will be back’. As he left the room he turned off both the detention room buzzer and his covert voice recorder. A broad grin spread across his face as he fumbled to remove the microphone concealed in his lapel.

  The day was looking up, detections for serious offences were on the horizon, a solicitor was on the rack, and in no order of preference, he knew that later that day, several pints of Ruddles County would have his name upon them.

  Returning to the office, a quick search through the force crime recording system revealed several things. The rape did occur, last September and Parks had been arrested for it. He had subsequently been released without further action being taken against him and the crime remained undetected.

  ‘Oh no’! And worst of all the Officer in Charge of the case was only his poxy D.I. prior to his promotion and transfer ‘out of harm’s way’. Well, he was most definitely in harm’s way now.

  A call to the Property Officer at Sunderland nick confirmed that the Forensic samples were still in storage. A second call to the female officer from the Public Protection Unit who was dealing with the current victim confirmed that a positive identification of the prisoner had been made.

  Hodder began walking back to the custody suite as shrill girlie giggles erupted from the D.I.’s office. He needed a plan and he needed it in the next two hundred yards, as his mind drifted back to the number of times he had ran along this corridor to answer assistance calls. On those occasions it seemed endless. Now he was covering it in record time despite walking slowly.

  Shame it wasn’t an Olympic year. As it was, he really did need something to enhance his performance… like some kind of crime fighting of Viagra or may be just some good luck for a change.

  As the custody suite drew ever nearer, a quote from a book that Hodder had read many years earlier came into his consciousness…‘ There is no situation that a Police Officer cannot make worse’.