Ridley had attended Mike Haskin’s retirement party some months earlier and had spoken so highly of Mike’s dogged determination and unwavering self-belief, that Jack had remembered his name. Ridley had even mentioned the Alley Burglar case, explaining how Mike had stuck to his guns, even when his DI had lost faith in him. If Ridley had taught Jack anything over the years, it was to respect the talents of others and to be humble enough to surround himself with exceptional officers who shone in the areas that he did not. Ridley had wanted Jack on his team for this very reason, and now Jack wanted Mike on his.
DS Richard Stanford was personally grateful for their help on the Wimbledon Prowler investigation, but unlike Mike Haskin, he had struggled with the silent derision from others on the force because he hadn’t yet got his man. He knew it should be water off a duck’s back, but, for some reason, it cut deep. The Wimbledon Prowler case was becoming the bane of his life and, worse, he’d lost the enthusiasm of his men. On one occasion, a cocky little PC by the name of Denny McGinty had loudly fake-yawned during a morning briefing and Stanford had gone ballistic in frustration and embarrassment. That was the moment that his boss had called Ridley, and Ridley had called Jack.
Jack Warr and Mike Haskin sat quietly and patiently in front of Stanford as he laboriously laid out all of the details of the investigation. It was clear he’d done nothing wrong as such, he’d just lacked imagination and the ability to step outside the rather sterile and restrictive box of police procedure and into the dirtier, messier world of the career criminal.
‘Sir...’ Jack interrupted during one of Stanford’s pauses for breath. ‘Mike has been where you are, and he got his man. Now, he’s going to help us get yours.’ Jack smiled, making sure that his deep brown eyes smiled too. ‘When going forwards isn’t working, go back.’ For the first time since they’d arrived, Stanford dared to relax and sit down.
For the next two hours, Stanford gave Mike the floor and he talked them through the Alley Burglar case. Stanford made copious notes, highlighting potential new approaches. Mike drew a map showing where all of the burglaries in his operation had occurred and, by the time he’d finished, a familiar fish-shape pattern was clear to see. Mike explained what Jack and Richard were now looking at. ‘The first burglary we knew about wasn’t the first one he did, our second wasn’t his second and so on. It was only when we caught him that this fish-shape emerged. Our perp lived in a squat situated right in the middle of the fishtail. His first burglary was the closest to his squat, out to the left — the top of the tail fin. His second burglary was the closest to his squat out to the right — the bottom of the tail fin. Then he went further and wider as he got ballsier, until he drew a fish across his self-selected patch. This pattern allowed us to predict roughly where his next burglary would take place... and that’s how we caught him red-handed.’
Mike could see the fascination on Stanford’s face.
‘Weird, innit, Rich. But this sort of subconscious pattern is very common according to the boffins at Bramshill. They’re the brains who spend their time making sense of the senseless, so I can stand here sounding clever. After we’d caught him, this pattern also allowed us to go back and find every single burglary he’d committed and do him for the lot. Your man won’t be being random either, Rich.’
Jack loved that Mike, as retired Job, was able to call DS Stanford ‘Rich’. It brought an informal friendliness to a situation full of tension because of the hole Stanford was in. Mike ended his stint at the evidence board with ‘I’m gonna need a cuppa soon, Rich, if that’s OK with you, mate’.
Energised by Mike’s informal approach and easy confidence, Stanford had suddenly found a new lease of life. ‘Take yourselves to the canteen and bring me back a tea, will you?’ he said. Jack and Mike threw each other a quick grin. They knew that when they returned, there’d be a second fish scrawled on the evidence board.
The canteen was empty, and the cleaner was taking advantage of the fact that most coppers were out on patrol. From the doorway, Jack and Mike could see the glistening wet floor and they wondered why on earth she’d started mopping from the doorway, ending up in the corner of the room with no way out other than back over her pristine floor. They watched in silence as she walked backwards towards the serving counter, sweeping broadly left and right, leaving the lino as clean as the day it was laid. The only marks that defeated her were the black rubber heel scuffs from police issue boots.
Then, without slowing, she dipped under the serving hatch and reappeared behind the counter. That’s why she’d started mopping at the doorway, because this cleaning lady was also the serving lady.
Mike looked at Jack. His face was serious, and his expression clearly said, ‘I may have been a copper for thirty years, dealing with the toughest of the tough, but there’s no way I’m going to be the first one to walk on her wet floor.’ So, Jack took Point, and ventured forwards. For some reason, Jack thought it best to take huge strides towards the frowning woman behind the counter, leaving behind as few dirty footprints as possible.
As they sat with two pots of tea and two full English breakfasts, they talked like old friends. ‘Are you gonna be at the birth?’ Mike asked, as he slurped his piping hot tea through pursed lips. ‘I was there for all of mine. It’s the most disgustingly fabulous thing you’ll ever see.’ Mike, it turned out, had six kids — ‘two of each,’ he joked. ‘Two girls, two boys and two as-yet-unidentified. They’re amazing. Have more than one, Jack. Mine fight now, ’course they do, they’re still young, but it’s good to know that, when me and the missus have gone, they’ll have each other.’
‘Maybe we’ll see how we cope with one first,’ Jack replied. And then, quite unlike him, Jack found himself talking about very personal things, to this relative stranger. ‘We left it quite late,’ he explained. ‘Maggie’s a doctor and, with me being Job, we always seemed to be working towards something, rather than arriving. Moving to London, her promotion, my promotion. The baby wasn’t planned, which, if I’m honest, was the only way it was ever going to happen.’
Jack smiled an unexpected smile as he recalled the moment Maggie had told him he was going to be a dad. They were on a flight to St Lucia, to collect his own dad from a cruise and bring him home to die. It wasn’t a morbid memory. It was a moment that told him to live life to the full, because, all things considered, it’s so very, very short.
When Mike took over the conversation again, he went into great detail about the birth of his third and Jack tried to filter out some of the more gruesome parts of the story as he was still eating. ‘He was blue ’cos the cord was round his neck. I tell you, Jack, there’s nothing more terrifying at the birth of your baby than silence. Scream! I was thinking. And he did. Then the little bugger carried on screaming for the first seven months of his life!’
Jack nodded, as if he’d been paying attention. ‘When your wife was pregnant, did you... did you...’ Jack searched for words that didn’t make him sound like a complete bastard, but he couldn’t find them. ‘Did you enjoy being at work, more than being at home?’ he said finally.
‘I loved being at work,’ Mike laughed and he could see how relieved Jack was to hear a wiser man’s experience. ‘We love ’em, Jack, but, fuck me, being pregnant affects a woman’s senses. Fact! She can suddenly see every knife you put into the fork section, she can smell your fear when she mentions a shopping trip. Work was my sanctuary.’
After this twenty-minute breakfast session with Mike, Jack found he had spoken more about the upcoming birth of his first baby than he had in the previous eight and a half months. But then, who did he have to talk to? Ridley was his boss, not his friend; DS Laura Wade was his partner but had shown no interest in the pregnancy at all — possibly because it drew a solid line under her fantasy of ever stealing Jack from Maggie; and DC Anik Joshi... well, Anik had become a bit of a dick since Jack got the Sergeant’s position instead of him. Jack’s only real friend, in fact, was Maggie. But he could hardly talk to her about how he felt like he was drowning. Which is why it had been so liberating to speak with Mike: he was a safe pair of ears, who Jack would know for a week or so, and then never see again.