The story is about a cop we'll call Andy Jones. Andy was a right miserable bastard, a cynical grumpy long-in-the-tooth community bobby who was doing nothing more with his job than waiting to retire. Andy, like every cop, dreamed of the big jobs, the ones you hoped to be involved with when you join. He wanted to catch murderers and robbers; he didn't want to be doing what he was when our story starts: stood guarding the door of an upstairs flat where a body had been found. He considered this job as one suitable for probationary constables, or in this day and age, a PCSO; not that Andy had anything better to be doing, he just didn't want to be doing this.
The body was lying inside the sparsely furnished flat, currently surrounded by cops with more glamorous jobs than Andy: detectives wearing what they thought were sharp suits and white-suit-wearing crime scene examiners. The dead teenage girl was well known to the police as someone frequently reported missing from home and suspected of being a drug user. A neighbour had reported that the front door was insecure and that all was uncharacteristically silent inside the flat. It was unclear who the actual tenant of the flat in question was but it was a familiar hangout for local youths of dubious character.
The flats were arranged in pairs with a landing at the top of the stairs having two front doors opposite each other. PC Andy Jones stood unhappily outside the potential crime scene muttering to himself about the unfairness of his being stood there. The door of the opposite flat opened and a fat man in his thirties wearing a stained vest and track suit bottoms filled the doorway. He had lank hair of a nondescript brown that was stuck to his head, he was wearing old-fashioned metal rimmed glasses and had not shaved for at least three days. He didn't speak to PC Andy Jones stood sentinel opposite; the best description of his demeanour was to say he was stood gawping.
His presence irritated PC Jones who was distracted from his miserable musings by the intrusive presence of the neighbour. PC Jones was of the opinion that much of the current excessive demand suffered by the police was their own fault. He felt that the police had made themselves too friendly and approachable, he looked back to the days when the public wanted nothing to do with the police and sorted out minor problems for themselves. He also was of the view that Alexander Graham Bell had a lot to answer for: if the pubic had to walk half a mile in the rain to report an incident like-as-not much of the current dross the police dealt with would never come to their attention. He tried to make it quite clear to the nosy neighbour opposite that he did not want to pass the time of day with him and scowled accordingly. But the neighbour continued to lurk, shuffling from foot to foot.
Eventually PC Jones was so irked by his presence that he could no longer contain himself and burst out (having first made an unkind social judgement that it was highly unlikely that the man would complain about what was about to happen):
'What are you staring at? Fuck off back in your house and mind your own business!' said PC Jones. The man looked a little abashed but beat a hasty retreat.
As the result of diligent detective work and effective evidence gathering a suspect was soon identified, arrested and interviewed. It turned out that the murderer had secretly loved the victim from afar until the day he plucked up enough courage to make a clumsy and ultimately fatal pass at her. Having committed the act and being unsure what to do next he had decided to keep her warm in front of a three-bar electric fire until something happened that would help him know what to do next - he was a simple soul. The account of his actions came pouring from him as soon as he was given the opportunity to unburden himself during the tape recorded interview in front of two detectives who couldn't believe their luck at this gushing confession.
During the interview another interesting fact came to light that may have made the job of detecting the crime quicker and easier:
'I wanted to tell someone what had happened, I didn't know what to do, I came to the door of my flat and saw the policeman outside her door I was trying to pluck up courage to tell him but he looked so mean I was scared, then he told me to fuck off back inside so I did.'
Poor grumpy PC Jones who only cared about how soon the end of his day came, and thus another day less of his career to work had missed his moment of glory: the opportunity to detect a murder and arrest the murderer.
I shall look to my laurels and be at my best, as best as I am able from now on. You never know.
His presence irritated PC Jones who was distracted from his miserable musings by the intrusive presence of the neighbour. PC Jones was of the opinion that much of the current excessive demand suffered by the police was their own fault. He felt that the police had made themselves too friendly and approachable, he looked back to the days when the public wanted nothing to do with the police and sorted out minor problems for themselves. He also was of the view that Alexander Graham Bell had a lot to answer for: if the pubic had to walk half a mile in the rain to report an incident like-as-not much of the current dross the police dealt with would never come to their attention. He tried to make it quite clear to the nosy neighbour opposite that he did not want to pass the time of day with him and scowled accordingly. But the neighbour continued to lurk, shuffling from foot to foot.
Eventually PC Jones was so irked by his presence that he could no longer contain himself and burst out (having first made an unkind social judgement that it was highly unlikely that the man would complain about what was about to happen):
'What are you staring at? Fuck off back in your house and mind your own business!' said PC Jones. The man looked a little abashed but beat a hasty retreat.
As the result of diligent detective work and effective evidence gathering a suspect was soon identified, arrested and interviewed. It turned out that the murderer had secretly loved the victim from afar until the day he plucked up enough courage to make a clumsy and ultimately fatal pass at her. Having committed the act and being unsure what to do next he had decided to keep her warm in front of a three-bar electric fire until something happened that would help him know what to do next - he was a simple soul. The account of his actions came pouring from him as soon as he was given the opportunity to unburden himself during the tape recorded interview in front of two detectives who couldn't believe their luck at this gushing confession.
During the interview another interesting fact came to light that may have made the job of detecting the crime quicker and easier:
'I wanted to tell someone what had happened, I didn't know what to do, I came to the door of my flat and saw the policeman outside her door I was trying to pluck up courage to tell him but he looked so mean I was scared, then he told me to fuck off back inside so I did.'
Poor grumpy PC Jones who only cared about how soon the end of his day came, and thus another day less of his career to work had missed his moment of glory: the opportunity to detect a murder and arrest the murderer.
I shall look to my laurels and be at my best, as best as I am able from now on. You never know.
