Death By Decree

1

Detective Inspector David Stark sat in his underpants and dressing gown, waiting patiently for his toast and marmalade. He could quite easily have thrown the bread in the toaster himself, and it would probably have been quicker, but his wife, Carol, had insisted as she handed him a cup of tea. She was like that. This was her domain. Her mother was just the same; Carol was 'old-school' for such a fashionable woman.

However, this meant he was now in a queue behind his daughter, Laura, and son, Chris, albeit their requirements involved only a bowl of Frosties and a seat in front of the telly in the living room.

‘Love and Pride’ by King triggered David to drum his fingers on the breakfast counter as the music from the kitchen radio enveloped him.

1987 had been a busy year for him and his team; it felt like it would never end. As Autumn approached, so did the darker nights, as if competing with the even darker days that had haunted his team of detectives at Nottingham CID in recent months.

Dave Stark was a handsome man, in his forties and with an almost Italian olive complexion and a temple of grey; he cut something of a dash in a masculine way. He was in good shape despite years of living a detective’s life. He would put it down to his ancestry, saying he could fit into his jeans because of his genes.

He could smell the browning of the toast as he continued to tap his fingers on the smooth Formica surface, and he hummed perhaps a little too loudly.

‘David, stop tapping. You aren’t even in tune with the song. It’s painful.’ Carol jibed.

‘Bloody hell, Carol, who rattled your cage?’

‘You did. We’re getting low on milk. Are you seeing your therapist later because I could do with you nipping to the shop on the way, if you don’t mind?’

David replied in hushed tones. ‘Shush. Keep it down, Carol. I don’t want the kids to know about my seeing Linda. They will think I’m barking mad. It will unsettle them.’

Carol had a glint in her eye as she walked past him, clutching two bowls of cereal, her thumb wetted by the milk in one of them.

‘Woof!’ She snapped at him. Giving him one of her looks.

David slapped her on her backside as she passed, causing a little skip.

‘Eh, pack it in. This will go all over the floor.’

The toast popped up right on cue as she hurried back to the breakfast bar.

Stark liked to watch her petite figure scurry around with a finesse of her own. Even after all these years, she kept that. She had always been a beacon of light in the ugly world he inhabited. She was oblivious, of course. She was just Carol. She couldn’t see it herself.

‘Make sure you get to see Linda, no excuses. Your health is important, David. I shouldn’t have to keep getting on at you like this.’

‘I will, but don’t forget it is only very rare this so-called anxiety. Even Linda gets that. It is few and far between.’

‘Still. You have a stressful job, and I worry about you.’

‘Stress. Huh. It’s a bloody made-up word, I think. Somebody is making a lot of money out of it, not least that bloody Linda.’ Stark continued his tapping regardless of his wife’s chastisement.

‘David, get with the times. The word might be new, but the condition isn’t.’

She skidded the plate of toast over to him across the counter. ‘Nice. Don’t let the Maître D see you.’ Stark quipped.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, dear. I said, “thank you”.’

He immediately took a bite, pausing slightly to chew and savour the freshness of the marmalade and the coarseness of the bread, before continuing. ‘It is not stress, anyway. It is only when I am talking to a large number of people that I go a bit funny; it will go of its own accord. I’m not frightened of anyone or anything, and you know it.’ He pointed with a bit of toast to emphasise his point, but it lost its emphasis when a lump of marmalade fell onto the plate. ‘Oops.’

Carol tutted. ‘Men.’

‘It’s true.’

‘I know, but… just eat your toast, David. It’s because I care, not because I don’t. All I ask is that you take the visits to Linda more seriously so you can put it behind you.’

‘I know. Come here.’

They kissed briefly.

‘Jeez.’ Their son, Chris, still embarrassed by such things at fourteen, had come into the kitchen with his empty Frosties bowl.

‘Keep your nose out, you.’ Carol said, tapping her finger on the said nose. ‘You need to get ready for school, Chris. Have you seen the time?’

‘Yep, thanks for the Frosties, Mum, they’re Grrreat!’ David groaned. ‘See you later, Dad.’

‘See you later, son. Be good at school.’

Stark finished his last bite of toast as the phone rang in the hallway.

‘I’ll get it.’ Carol said.

Within a few seconds, she returned, shoulders hunched. ‘Work.’ There was irritation in her voice. The unwelcome intruder had returned to their world.

‘Work? Can’t they last five minutes? Christ, I’ll be in the office in the next hour.’ David said as he sipped his tea.

‘Exactly. I don’t think they could survive without you.’

Stark walked to the hall and took hold of the phone, stretching the curly plastic lead as he sat on the stairs. The elongated cord was never quite long enough for comfort, and he had to lean forward slightly to speak. Strangely, it had never occurred to him to slide the telephone table along a couple of feet to remedy the problem.

‘Stark.’

‘Sincere apologies, boss, it’s Ash.’

‘Ash, I’m going to be there soon, won’t it wait? Mrs Stark has got the hump again, now.’

‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t like to ring but…’

‘Where’s DS Clarke?’

‘I think he must be travelling in. I did try him first.’

‘Anyway, what’s up?’

‘I’ve had info come in just now, from a snout. He says an armed robbery will take place today on our patch, but he’s not sure of the location. I wanted to know what I should do, because if it went down and I hadn’t done anything and say someone got shot….’

‘Ashley, Ashley, it’s fine. You were right to ring. Is the informant tried and tested?’

‘Absolutely, it’s…’

‘Don’t tell me who it is, Ashley. Need to know basis, yes?’

‘Sorry, yes, boss.’

‘What exactly has he said?’

‘Blagging with a shotgun somewhere in Hucknall or Bulwell during the daytime. It’s on for today, definitely.’

‘Is that it?’

‘‘Fraid so, boss.’

‘It’s thin, isn’t it?’

‘I know, but I bet you it happens; he’s right every time this lad.’

‘Okay. Do we know who the offenders are? How does he know the info? Are we sure it’s not a decoy?’

‘No, he doesn’t know the offender. I forgot to ask him that bit about how he knows. Sorry.’

‘Okay. Look, there’s no magic wand with stuff like this, Ashley. Get uniform to park up at banks and building societies and any likely targets when doing their reports. Get in touch with Sergeant Briars at Traffic. Give him my compliments, tell him what you know, and see if he can steer the armed response unit towards our area for their patrol. That way, they aren’t in the middle of nowhere when and if it goes down.’

‘Okay, will do, sir, thanks.’

Stark could sense Ashley was putting down the phone. ‘Woah! Hang on a minute.’

‘Hello?’

‘I haven’t done yet. Also, get back to your informant and get some more out of him; how he knows the info, task him to find out more if necessary. We need an offender or a location; otherwise, we will just be responding after the fact. Let’s face it he might as well tell us there will probably be a burglary tonight somewhere, and he’d be right.’

‘Okay, fair enough, sir.’ There was a pause.

‘Ashley?’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘You can do it now. Look bloody sharp.’

‘Oh, sorry, sir, yes. I’m on it.’

‘See you soon.’

Stark smiled to himself as he quietly placed the phone receiver back on the cradle.

He noticed Carol standing in the hallway, with hands on hips. ‘Well?’

‘Just the normal.’

‘It’s not going to stop you from going to your appointment, is it?’

‘No. It’ll be fine. Well, hopefully.’

*

Jane Cooper’s slight build made the trolley look unwieldy as she negotiated around the supermarket's aisles. In her early thirties, she had a trim figure and a spring in her step. Life was good. It wasn’t that super as supermarkets go, as it had only five short aisles of goods; the lights were too dim, and there was just one till operator, who was slowly tapping in the prices. Jane was mindful that she had just over eight pounds in her purse, so she needed to keep to essentials.

Yet again, Jane had somehow found the shopping trolley with the bloody dodgy wheel, so steering was a challenge. Despite the irritation, the decision to replace the trolley never quite reached sufficient a level to do so, versus making do with the rogue wheel. It was too much hassle, and she was committed to it now.

Jane always looked well-presented even when in casual clothes, and today was one of those days where, despite her brown hair being in a ponytail and a mere swipe of lippy, she still looked fresh and full of life. Her dress had padded shoulders, and she belatedly discovered to her horror that the floral design was not dissimilar to her mother’s wallpaper.

In recent times, she had been trying to figure out how to spend more time visiting her parents; it wasn’t so much her mother but her dad, who had become forgetful and quite frail in his seventies. It looked like he had Alzheimer’s, but her mother had always been a bit cagey about it. ‘We don’t know that.’ She would say.

Jane was plagued with guilt for not visiting as often as she would like, but she had her own family and responsibilities with which to deal. However, it didn’t stop the feeling that she was letting them down—the constant guilt of the child within us.

As ever her mind was busy; monitoring the time, as she had to pick her daughter, Daisy, up from school and so, as always, her activities were marshalled by the ticking hands of her watch. Before she started doing anything, she had to hurry up and finish. Everything had become a rush, and she couldn’t figure out a way to have time to herself, never mind the luxury of a visit to Mum and Dad.

Her eyes flicked at the various wares on the shelves, trying to find something for dinner and had failed, finding herself feeling the slight chill of the freezer aisle. The latest fad was pizza and garlic bread, which was very exotic, but foreign foods were a relatively new experience. In the trolley, it went. Her mother would shudder if she could see her; ‘Foreign muck,’ she would call it. She was a traditional cook–good English grub such as pie and mash, corned beef hash, stew, and fish and chips. In fact, that was pretty much the entire repertoire, apart from the Sunday roast, of course.

Jane also grabbed a packet of frozen Chicken Kyiv’s, which was another new dinner time treat compared to what they had been used to in previous years, certainly when she was a child. She needed milk, some little pots of Angel Delight, and a sliced loaf. Oh, and eggs. ‘If you’ve got an egg, you’ve got a meal.’ Her Mum would say.

Jane was on the homeward strait now and manipulated the trolley towards the till whilst eyeing up the eggs in the next aisle. She could hear banging and crashing and swearing emanating from the next aisle. Someone was kicking up a right old stink.

The woman and her two girlfriends crashed around the supermarket aisles ad hoc, in a bolshy, and anti-social manner. It was a whirlwind of swear words and stomping around in a huff. She didn’t seem to care who was in the way, and customers of a meeker persona would hurry to get out of her way. If they didn’t, they would feel a barge of the shoulder or step on of toes.

The women seemed to have a sense of entitlement, and those in the know steered clear.

Jane was oblivious to all of this.

The woman came around the aisle far too quickly, and her trolley smashed into Jane’s head-on, at a fair rate of knots.

‘Fuck off out of the way.’ The woman barked as Jane stumbled backwards.

‘Oi! Watch out!’ Jane shouted instinctively.

‘You what?’ The woman had stopped dead, and only her two friends turned toward Jane as the woman stared straight ahead.

‘There’s no need for that. You nearly sent me flying. Just have some consideration, please.’

The woman turned for the first time to face Jane. ‘Are you talking to me, bitch?’

‘There’s no need to take it out on me because you didn’t look where you were going. Be careful. I could have been an old lady.’

There was an audible gasp from the two friends. A small crowd of onlookers had gathered at the ends of the aisle.

‘Do you know who I am?’ The woman growled.

Jane was getting annoyed. ‘Let me guess, the Queen of Sheba?’

The two friends laughed momentarily, but then caught it between clenched lips.

‘Clever fucker, eh? I am Sharon Brown. Does that name mean anything to you?’

‘Nope. Anyway, apology accepted.’ Jane began on her way again, shaking her head. She didn’t have time for all this, but she had always been brought up to stick up for herself, and she was more than capable of doing that.

Sharon Brown raised her voice.

‘Don’t you walk away from me, you fucking slag!’

Jane ignored the abuse, but as she neared the end of the aisle, she could sense the woman running from behind at full pelt, and she quickly sidestepped her, with the trolley corner catching her attacker in the pelvic area as she launched herself at Jane. The trolley had wedged against a metal pillar, creating an immovable object, and the corner of the handle might as well have been a sledgehammer swung into her lower abdomen.

Sharon cried out and tumbled to the floor in a mess of arms and legs. As she fell, her shoulders and head knocked into the shelving, and three or four bags of flour fell onto her, one of which split, covering her in a layer of fine white powder. Next came a tray of eggs.

She lay there dazed, and several customers began laughing, and even her friends couldn’t resist chuckling at the comical sight. They had no clue that she had really hurt herself.

Jane stared at her open-mouthed and then too gave way to laughter. She reached forward instinctively to help her. ‘I’m sorry, but you caught my trolley. It jammed against the beam. I didn’t mean it, but what were you thinking of?’

‘Fuck off; I’ve banged the side of my face on the bleeding shelf. You’ve done something to my stomach; it’s torn inside. I can feel it. You have made one big mistake, bitch.’ Tears were welling in the woman’s eyes, borne from both pain and embarrassment. She was stunned by the collision, and pain seared through her hip as her adrenalin subsided. Her lower stomach was taut and griping with pain. It didn’t feel right.

‘I didn’t do anything.’ Jane remonstrated. ‘I just moved out of the way. You were attacking me!’

One of the woman’s friends tried to help Sharon up, but she was in too much pain, and it had knocked the fight out of her bones. The pain in her lower abdomen increased, and she groaned. Sharon curled into a ball, pressing at her stomach, all to no avail. She writhed on the floor as her friends exchanged quizzical glances.

‘I feel sick. I need to get to a hospital.’ Sharon said.