Read Big City Jacks for Free Online Page A

which covered Bacup, but stretched from the Greater Manchester boundary in the east, right up to abut with North Yorkshire in the north. It was a big, sprawling area, one which used to be covered by an inspector in each of the towns therein. Now it was down to one poor soul. How times had changed. As night-call SIO, Henry had made it his business to know who was on duty throughout the force of Lancashire. ‘What can I do for you?’
    â€˜We’ve got a domestic murder in Bacup . . . big drunken row, big falling out, wife stabs pissed-up husband to death . . . twelve times at least. It’s pretty much sewn-up. She called the ambulance, they called us, we went and she gave herself up. Cut and dried, so to speak.’
    â€˜Is your on-call DI aware?’
    â€˜Yeah. He’s turning out.’
    â€˜Where did it happen?’
    â€˜Moorside Terrace.’
    Henry knew it. Visualized it. ‘Is everything done that needs to be done?’
    â€˜Yes. Body’s still in situ, scene sealed, CSI en-route, police doctor pronounced life extinct. Home Office pathologist informed and on the way . . .’ It was as though the inspector was counting things off with his fingers. ‘Offender banged up, clothing seized, forensic issues addressed – no cross-contamination anywhere . . . yep, all done.’
    Even so, Henry made him go through it in more depth and when he was satisfied said, ‘Right, I should be across there within the hour. I’ll make to the scene and meet the DI there. Can you ensure he meets me, John?’ The Inspector told Henry that the DI was actually at Burnley police station, where the offender had been taken. Henry accepted this and said he would see him there after the scene visit instead.
    They hung up. Henry looked at his daughter. She tilted her pretty head and squinted quizzically at him.
    â€˜Dad?’ she said. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit odd?’
    â€˜What’s that, my dear?’
    â€˜Y’know – sitting around, waiting for people to pop their clogs?’
    Henry pouted thoughtfully. ‘Never really considered it in those terms.’
    â€˜Anyway,’ she said, her expression changing to one of glee as she moved her Queen regally across the chessboard, dramatically wiping out Henry’s remaining Bishop with a flourish. She announced, ‘Checkmate!’ very smugly.
    Father and daughter faced each other over the board for a few silent moments.
    â€˜You’ve been toying with me,’ Henry accused her.
    â€˜Yep – out-thought and outmanoeuvred,’ she admitted, stood up and said, ‘Bed for me.’ As she walked past him, she patted him patronizingly on the head.
    In terms of the county of Lancashire, Bacup and Blackpool – where Henry lived – could not be much further apart, but he arrived within the environs of the small Rossendale town in about fifty minutes without breaking the speed limit too many times.
    Henry knew the area well, having spent a large proportion of his early police service in the east of the county. He had been on the Task Force prior to its abandonment in the early 1980s and in that time – those ‘hallowed times’ Henry called them – he had regularly worked the ‘Crime Car’ as it had been known, in that neck of the woods. He was very comfortable about finding his way around, ably assisted by a detailed street map.
    Whilst driving across the county from the flatness of the Fylde coast up into the hilly region of the east, Henry reminisced a little about those days. A time when coppering had been a simple fun job, when a guy in uniform could do almost anything – and get away with it.
    In some ways he missed it, but some of his memories made him cringe and wonder how the hell he’d survived some of the things he’d done.
    Society had been very different then. The Toxteth riots and subsequent public enquiries had changed the face of