Title: Heartbeat: Constable on Call

  Author: Nicholas Rhea

  ISBN: 0747243719 / 9780747243717 (UK edition)

  Publisher: Headline

  12. Constable On Call 1993

  *** Scanned & Edited by biggles! ***

  The lives of PC Nick Rowan and his wife Kate are never less than eventful, even in the calm of the North York Moors. Both are continually on call, whether it be from an irate Greengrass, furious that a local bigwig has taken a pot shot at his dog, or from a woman about to give birth in the snow.

  First published in 1993 by HEADLINE BOOK PUBLISHING LTD

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN 0 7472 4371 9

  Typeset by Letterpart Limited, Reigate, Surrey

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by HarperCollins Manufacturing, Glasgow

  HEADLINE BOOK PUBLISHING LTD A member of the Hodder Headline plc Group Headline House 79 Great Titchfield Street London W1P 7FN

  Heartbeat

  Constable on Call

  CHAPTER ONE

  It was just after eleven o’clock at night and the telephone was ringing. It rang incessantly, its shrill noise filling Aidensfield Police House with the sounds of urgency. It could not be ignored; it demanded a positive and instant response.

  ‘You get it, Nick,’ Kate shouted. ‘I’m in the bathroom.’

  ‘And I’ve just got into bed,’ grunted Nick. ‘It’s your turn. I’m on duty at six in the morning, I want an early night!’

  ‘No, it’s your turn. I took the last one, remember? And hurry up, it might be important. Whoever it is isn’t going to give up. You can’t just let it ring!’

  Muttering under his breath, PC Nick Rowan struggled out of bed, wrapped his dressing gown around his body and hurried downstairs to answer the call.

  ‘Aidensfield Police.’ He was slightly breathless as he lifted the handset.

  ‘Nick?’ It was Dr Ferrenby’s voice. ‘Nick, please … Nick, it’s Alex …’

  ‘Alex? What is it?’

  ‘Nick … I …’ and then Alex said no more. There were crashing noises in the background accompanied by the sound of groaning, then the telephone rattled as it fell on to a hard surface.

  ‘Alex?’ Nick was shouting into the mouthpiece now. ‘Alex, for God’s sake … Alex? Are you there?’

  But Dr Ferrenby did not respond. Nick tried to get him to reply but there was no sound in the awful silence of the surgery. Nick wasted no time.

  ‘Kate?’ He ran upstairs and hammered on the bathroom door. ‘Kate, quick, get dressed. It’s Alex, something’s wrong.’

  They hurriedly threw on some clothes, then ran around to Dr Ferrenby’s house; the upstairs lights were blazing and so were those of the surgery which was on the ground floor. Nick could see the gaping hole in the surgery window which had been pushed wide open, but the front door was locked and so was the surgery entrance. Kate had her own key, however, and this quickly admitted them.

  Without a word, they ran into the consulting room. Alex Ferrenby was lying on the floor with shattered glass all around him. The scene was one of devastation. Nick took it in at a glance. The window had been forced open and someone had climbed in to wreck the place. The drugs cabinet had been raided and there was splintered wood and broken glass all over the floor. It looked as if ruthless burglars had been at work, but of primary concern was the blood on Ferrenby’s cheek.

  It had run from a wound on his temple and was congealed upon his pale skin. This was no mere burglary; whoever had done this was ruthless and dangerous.

  Criminals of this kind would not hesitate to commit murder in order to plunder the homes of others. But these men had been seeking drugs - and that made them even more dangerous.

  ‘Good God!’ Nick bent down to touch Alex. He was still breathing. With more than a hint of relief, Nick said, ‘He’s alive, Kate. You see to him. I’m going to check the rest of the house.’

  As Dr Kate Rowan bent to the task of caring for her partner, Nick made a swift but thorough search of the interior and then the exterior of the house. He searched all the grounds, outbuildings and surrounds of the surgery, but there was no sign of the perpetrators; eventually, he was satisfied that they were not hiding anywhere on or near the premises.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ he sighed. ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’ll survive,’ said Kate. ‘Come along, help me get him on to a couch, I want a proper look at him. He’ll have a terrible headache in the morning, but he’s as tough as old boots. I might need an ambulance, though - he’s had a severe blow on the head. An X-ray will be needed, his skull might be cracked.’

  After lifting Dr Ferrenby on to the consulting couch and reassuring himself that Kate could cope on her own, Nick said, ‘I’ll ring Ashfordly Police. I hope somebody’s in the office, we’ll need to circulate this crime to the lads on patrol. Whoever did it can’t be far away and I’ll need to call the CID out for this one.’

  PC Alf Ventress answered the telephone. ‘Ashfordly Police.’

  ‘Alf?’ Nick spoke calmly and with deliberation. ‘Alf, it’s Nick. Listen. Aidensfield surgery’s been done over, drugs taken by the look of things. Dr Ferrenby’s been attacked, beaten over the head with a blunt instrument. I reckon it was the crowbar they used to get in. They’ve given him a right bashing. Can you circulate this to all mobiles, ask them to stop and check any suspicious motor vehicles seen in the locality? Check them for drugs. Some of the stolen ones are in bottles and some are in packets. They’ll be labelled with the surgery name. I’ve no details of suspects yet, but I’ll give you more details when I’ve had a chance to talk to Alex Ferrenby.’

  ‘You’ll need the CID to come and fingerprint the place?’ asked Ventress.

  ‘Sure, can you see to that?’

  ‘Leave it with me, Nick, I’ll call out the whizz kids from CID. You look after things at that end.’ He paused. ‘It’s nothing to do with Greengrass, is it?’

  Nick was surprised. Alf Ventress didn’t have quite the fixation with Greengrass that their sergeant had. ‘Claude Jeremiah? No, this isn’t his sort of crime.’

  ‘I didn’t mean he’s a suspect, but he’s just been in here to report his car stolen. A big flash American job by all accounts, a pink Cadillac. He hasn’t had it long enough to get to know its registration number! I just wondered if anybody had heard or seen a car near the surgery at the material time.’

  ‘A pink Cadillac? I didn’t know he had a car like that! How long’s he had it?’

  ‘Not very long. He said he’d got it on trial, he’s thinking about buying it. He reckons he’s going to come into some money and this American chap from Fylingdales wants to sell the monstrosity. So Greengrass has got it on appro for a day or two, so he says. Now it’s been nicked!’

  ‘I don’t believe it! I bet he hasn’t even paid a deposit on it. I wonder if he’s insured? Anyway, all that can be checked later. I’ll ask about sightings when I’m doing house-to-house enquiries,’ promised Nick. ‘A car like that shouldn’t be hard to miss, should it? The thieves can’t be all that bright if they’ve stolen something as recognisable as that. I know the car - I’ve seen it around the village from time to time, when the American had it. So it’s been nicked from Claude, eh? Serves him right. I bet he never locked it up!’

  ‘So we’re looking for Claude Jeremiah’s car on the one hand and some villains who’ve nicked a load of pills and potions on the other, eh? Two serious crimes in one night,’ grumbled Alf.

  ‘Three,’ Nick corrected him gravely. ‘There was also a violent attack on an ageing doctor. A case of grievous bodily harm to add to the others.’

  ‘And I thought I was having a quiet shift! Right, Phil Bellamy’s here, he’ll circulate details now. You get back to Dr Ferrenby. I’ll drive Sergeant Blaketon out to visit the scene of your crime straight away. See you soon.’

  ‘So what’s happened, Rowan?’ Sergeant Blaketon stood before the window of the surgery while two CID officers

  in plain clothes examined the woodwork for fingerprints. ‘Give me an up-to-date situation report and an outline of the crime.’

  ‘Dr Ferrenby’s gone to hospital for a check-up and X-ray. Kate thought it best. It was a very severe head wound and she felt there might be a risk of embolism,’ said Nick. ‘He was conscious when he left here and I did manage to ask him a few things before he was whisked off in the ambulance. He said he heard a noise and came downstairs to investigate; when he entered the surgery, he found two men raiding the cabinets.’

  ‘Time, Rowan?’

  ‘Elevenish.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, Sarge, they’d broken in with a crowbar and had smashed open the drugs cabinet. They were packing haversacks with drugs when Ferrenby disturbed them. They went for him with the crowbar, walloped him over the head, then ran off.’

  ‘Ran off? How? All the doors were locked.’

  ‘Back out of the window, Sarge. They got away with some amphetamines and barbiturates in bottles, canisters and packs, as well as some other drugs. Some could be lethal if they’re misused. We’d better warn the public.’

  ‘Descriptions, Rowan?’ barked Blaketon.

  ‘Some look like sweets, Sergeant, like Smarties. All different colours.’

  ‘I meant the villains, Rowan, not the bloody drugs! Have we a description of the villains?’

  ‘Oh, I see. Yes. Well, there were tw

o men, youngish, wearing dark-coloured parkas, gloves, scarves and black balaclavas. One was tall and thin, in his twenties, so Alex believed; the other was a bit stockier and possibly younger, but it was hard to see, they had the balaclavas over their faces.’

  ‘It sounds like the team that’s done other surgeries in this area,’ said Blaketon. ‘Loftus and Whitby areas have both had a bashing. They know what they’re after, they know who carries drugs, where they’re kept and how to get at them.’

  As he spoke Kate opened the door quietly and stepped in.

  ‘Can I start to tidy the surgery, Sergeant?’

  ‘Not yet, Mrs Rowan, the CID need to examine it thoroughly before anything’s touched. Right, PC Rowan, you wait here until the CID’s finished their examination of the scene, then secure the surgery when they’ve gone, and retain the key.’

  ‘Right, Sergeant.’

  ‘And I want these men caught, Rowan, I want no undetected crime waves in Ashfordly Section. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ said Nick. He didn’t need telling twice.

  Nick’s enquiries in Aidensfield, supplemented by those made by the CID within the Ashfordly district, soon led to a pair of youths who were selling stolen drugs in the amusement arcades of nearby coastal resorts. Nick’s own investigations showed that, just prior to being raided, the other surgeries which had been attacked had received a visit from a couple of youngsters offering to clean windows. And when Nick had questioned Kate, she had remembered two youths who’d called at Aidensfield surgery a few days before the raid. They were offering to clean windows, and in fact, Dr Ferrenby had engaged them for that purpose; he’d paid them seven shillings and sixpence for the job. Clearly, they had been looking at the surgery with a view to raiding it and their window-cleaning had provided them with all the necessary information about the layout of the premises and the whereabouts of the drugs cupboard.

  Nick had also discovered from the local coastal police officers that the men operated along the Yorkshire coastline from Redcar down to Bridlington, selling the stolen drugs in cheap pubs and amusement arcades. Their customers included gullible young people and even schoolchildren.

  From two teddy boys he learned that the supposed window-cleaners had a lock-up shed in the grounds of an old brickworks in Leather Lane, Ashfordly. It was there that they stored their ladders and other equipment and, Nick’s informants stressed, they used the shed as a store and distribution centre for their stolen drugs. His tip-off was that they would be there now; it was clearly the time to investigate that lock-up.

  On his way into Ashfordly, he noticed Phil Bellamy patrolling in the section car. Nick waved him to a halt.

  ‘Phil,’ he said urgently, ‘I’ve got a tip-off. Those burglars are using a lock-up garage in Leather Lane. I

  have to go there now, I’ll need you with me.’

  ‘You’ll need more than me, Nick!’ Phil protested. ‘You should have words with Blaketon to get more men, CID even. If it’s a drugs raid, you’ll need our experts with you. The Drugs Section will have to be there. And Blaketon’s not at the office just now, he’s gone over to Strensford for a conference. You can’t go in alone, you know that.’

  ‘There’s no time to worry about getting permission, Phil, the villains are in there now, with some of the stolen drugs. I got the gen from a couple of teds. We’ve got to go in now, before they disappear to Scarborough or wherever. We can catch them red-handed, in possession of the stuff. It’s the perfect evidence.’

  ‘Blaketon won’t like it, Nick!’

  ‘He’s not here, so it’s my decision. Look, we can radio for assistance, but it’ll take time to get the cavalry here and we can’t afford to wait that long. If we don’t go in now, we could lose them.’

  ‘OK,’ grinned Phil. ‘You’ve persuaded me. Count me in. I’m all for a bit of fun!’

  ‘Right, park that police car out of sight, radio for help, then join me inside the old brickworks. It’s just round the corner. There’s a row of lock-ups. I’m not sure which is theirs, so I’ll have to check them all. We’ll be able to hear them inside. I’ll see you there, but watch out for villains!’

  ‘I’ll be right behind you.’ Bellamy sounded confident as he radioed for assistance before driving the police car out of sight.

  Nick walked towards the old brickworks with his heart pounding. He knew the rules about drugs raids but there

  were times you had to ignore them and this was one of those times. He knew that if he didn’t catch these men now, they might escape for ever.

  Nick managed to gain entry to the complex without anyone seeing him but as he crept forward to examine the various sheds and outhouses, he heard the approach of a vehicle. Stepping deftly behind a huge stack of disused bricks, he noticed an old van heading in his direction. It was being driven by a young man.

  The driver hadn’t noticed Nick and parked some distance from the lock-ups. He climbed out of his vehicle and looked about him for a few seconds. Then he began to walk towards the lock-ups, all the time glancing around. He was obviously very nervous. Then Phil Bellamy appeared behind him.

  Desperately, Nick wanted to shout for Bellamy to keep out of the youth’s line of vision, but it was too late; the lad saw Bellamy and began to run, shouting, ‘Baz … police … keep down!’

  ‘After him!’ yelled Nick to Bellamy. ‘You get him, I’ll deal with the lock-up!’

  Bellamy needed no further instructions and, being a fit amateur footballer, was soon gaining on the fleeing boy. Nick dashed to the lock-ups, peering through cracks in the old doors, alert to sounds of activity or the smell of paint or petrol. Then, through the crack in the faded woodwork of one door, he saw a light. Pressing his face to the gap, he could see two oil lamps burning on a bench. The bench was crowded with small containers and bottles, the ingredients of Ferrenby’s drugs cupboard, by the look of it.

  ‘This is it,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Now or never …’

  He peered inside again; there were two skylights and he could distinguish some ladders against one wall and the outline of a huge car covered by a tarpaulin. There was no sign of life, however, except the flickering flames of those dim oil lamps and the unmistakable smell of petrol. But the fleeing youngster had called out to somebody called Baz. Baz must be hiding somewhere in this garage. Where could he hide in such a small place?

  Glancing behind him, Nick saw that Bellamy had caught the youth and was busy handcuffing him; he’d be taken to the waiting car and handcuffed to the steering column. That would take some time. That youth had shouted a warning … If his pal, Baz, who was surely in here somewhere, had heard that call, he’d be preparing to escape. Through one of those skylights, perhaps? Or by attacking Nick? Whatever, Nick had to stop him. There was no time to waste and there was no alternative but to go in alone.

  He knew that if someone was inside, he would try to escape through the door as Nick opened it and so he eased it open gingerly, pulling it only wide enough for him to squeeze inside. Closing it gently, he stood in the gloom, smelling petrol, noticing a pool on the floor. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim light and he could see all the drugs and pills on the workbench, all neatly arranged in identical piles for placing into containers for sale. Then he lifted a corner of the tarpaulin.

  Underneath was Greengrass’s pink Cadillac. At that moment, a man burst from behind the covered car,

  shouting, ‘Bastard … you bastard …’

  A furious bundle of violence, the man leapt at Nick across the bonnet, eyes blazing and swinging a vicious iron bar.

  Nick ducked. The bar whizzed over his head, knocking his helmet off as the attacker landed on the floor. Nick struck out, trying to produce his truncheon from its pocket, but failing. Baz was wild; the iron bar was searing and whirling above his bare head and so Nick went in close, ducking and weaving and cursing, and managed to kick Baz in the stomach. Baz staggered backwards and stumbled to the floor, landing in a pool of petrol. Nick went for him and threw two punches, but Baz had staggered to his feet; he continued to swing the iron bar, his aim wild and careless, the impetus almost throwing him off balance. Nick took advantage of this. Grabbing a spar of timber from the floor, he whirled it at the shouting Baz; Baz stumbled backwards again, yelling and cursing. He came to rest with his back against the workbench and took an almighty swing at Nick. But he missed and lost his balance; his arm knocked over one of the oil lamps and within seconds his petrol-soaked clothing was ablaze, making a whooshing sound as the flames spread in an instant. Suddenly Baz was screaming with fear. He threw away the iron bar, trying vainly to beat out the flames which had now reached his long hair.