The night response Inspector is out and about with the patrol Sgt in tow. They have ticked their boxes and want to hit the streets for a few hours, just to remind themselves what life is like, out there, when it is dark and the forces of darkness abound. Some of them still do, despite the management view that managers should manage and let others of less standing but more worthy of the task do the business.
Yes some do still remember what is it like and take the chances when they occur to get their hands dirty in this thing we call policing. Some still remember what it is like to do it, says me to reinforce the point again.
They are cruising as quietly as a diesel police car will allow, so rest assured that everyone who is not deaf within a 2 mile radius knows there is a car out there, somewhere, in the darkness.
They turn a corner and see two males, walking with some purpose and decide to stop them. After all, it is after three in the A.M. and most sane people are tucked up in bed next to a lap full of something warm and cuddly.
They stop to speak and immediately are aware of a strong smell of petrol so decide to check out the nearby parked vehicles. On the floor at the side of one car nearby they find some petrol cans and a length of hose, the hose still with one end sticking into a petrol filler on one of the cars. They decide on some further investigation so begin to question the two males who immediately become evasive, very vague about their presence in the area and decidedly stroppy and uncooperative. A decision is made to arrest the two and a fight ensues accompanied by call for immediate back-up. One is catched but the other manages to escape the clutches of the forces of good and is lost into the ether of the night.
As response arrive they plot up around the area covering the relevant junctions. I get to the last known sighting and harness up my mate. Immediately we are off, he is on the track of our foe.
Along a road, through some gardens into the next road, along this road and into some more gardens. This chap wants to keep off the streets and may be nearby trying to avoid the eyes and ears of response plotted up. I continue to follow the dog through a series of gardens, crossing more roads until I notice we are tracking straight towards one response officer covering a junction crossroads from the cover of some useful garden fauna and flora.
My mate continues past her to a passage between two houses and not more than 5 yards behind her……………..bingo, he is now ours.
After the ritual growling and barking, our man is extricated from within some bushes, to the utter amazement of the officer. The one who must be obeyed is obeyed, strangely enough, and the gent is handcuffed and commences the usual spirited bravado of someone with the protective force of arrest and the offer of all that he was going to do to us but was not stupid to try when it was just him and my mate. He is led away and after a search of his hidyhole, I retrace my steps to check what I might find on the way back to see the night Inspector walking frantically along the road, he is sweating profusely. He must have had one hell of a scrap.
He is distraught and very concerned. I notice this and it seems a little odd as this is not normally what he is like, even after a bit of a fight.
He has lost his watch and his pen during the disturbance and subsequent battle. His satisfaction of the chance to do some proper police work is distinctly tempered what appears to be a great loss.
This is not just any watch. This is not just any pen. The engraving on both tell their own story. It is one that exists in a place where money has no value what-so-ever. These items are simply irreplaceable, to him anyway. He will not be able to sleep when he gets home, if he gets home. He will not rest with this much trouble on his mind. He has scanned the area at least three times but I suspect he is looking but not seeing. This sounds familiar.
I commence a search with my mate and start off where the stop began. I watch my mate. On the road, in the gutter, suddenly my dog lies down. I look but can see nothing. I check again, nothing. I move the dog and underneath I see it, a pen, that pen. I continue along the road and within yards my dog begins to stick his head underneath the front of a car before lying down. In my torchlight is all the confirmation I need. There is the watch, strap hanging off on one side and strap pin missing.
I can still remember the look on his face, the night Inspector that is. That look that tells me everything he is thinking but is unable to say.
This night my presence has been appreciated.
This night my presence has really been appreciated.
Did I say this twice ?
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