EXTRACT FOR
The Illusionist
(Author Unknown)

Chapter 1 ??" Inspector Ashton

    

    "What a miserable day to start my new job?" Inspector Ashton thought as she drove through the pouring rain.

    It was early, she was trying to beat the rush hour; she had left at seven o'clock; the sun wasn't up yet, not that it would show its face today, the forecast was for rain, and more rain.

    At thirty she had not had a fast rise through the ranks, but she had made steady progress, and her prospects were good. The move from Manchester to London was a good move, but she knew just how bad the traffic could be, and she had left early to try, and make a good impression.

    Julie Ashton was a good-looking woman her black hair tied back in a ponytail hanging between her shoulder blades, a trim figure well proportioned, and a smile to melt any heart.

    "Yes Madam," the desk sergeant said smiling a welcoming smile.

    "Good Morning Sergeant, Inspector Ashton reporting," Julie said handing over her papers of introduction.

    "Morning Inspector, the chief isn't in yet, you are a bit early. Jones, show the Inspector to the canteen. I don't suppose our excuse for coffee is any better than the stuff you are used to, up north," he said smiling at her.

    "Probably not," she replied, smiling back.

    Julie didn't have to wait long, in the staff canteen, before Jones came for her to meet the Chief Inspector, again it was amiable, and friendly as you might expect. He suggested that to allow her to find her way around there were just two, as he put it, straight forward cases for her to look into. Jones was called, and he showed Julie to her desk.

    Julie sat down after being introduced to the other detectives, and looked at the first case.

    It was very simple; an argument had reached a crescendo, and a neighbour had called the police. They arrived to find the husband stood over his wife with a blood-soaked knife in his bloody hand, and his wife lying in a pool of blood.

    Julie smiled wishing all cases were so simple, this case just needed her to cross the T's and dot the I's, a confession would add icing to the cake.

    The husband was in custody, so she decided to go, and have a chat with him.

    "Sergeant, can you have PC Jones bring Mr. Higgins to the interview room please, I want to have a chat with him?" Julie asked him.

    "Jones is due on a break soon, will it take long?" he asked.

    "No, it is more a matter of sign the confession, rather than an interrogation," Julie replied.

    A detective showed her the way to the interview room.

    "Good morning Mr. Higgins, I trust you slept well?" Julie asked him.

    "Hey, what?' he asked confused.

    "The accommodation was suitable, the bed comfortable, and every room is en suit. How was the breakfast?" Julie asked amiably.

    "Yu, erm who are you, what the hell are you on about, it was a fucking prison cell, are you stupid, woman?" he asked confused and angry.

    "Yes, indeed, allow me, I am Inspector Ashton, and beside me is Detective Sergeant Williams, by the door is PC Jones. Now we all know each other, shall we begin? The red light lets us know that this little chat is being recorded.

    First of all, what was the argument about? We know this because a neighbour rang us to complain about the excessive noise, like an argument. Let me give you a clue. Was it because she wanted to buy some food, for a meal, instead of the Heroine you wanted to buy?" Julie asked being glib.

    "Fuck you, I didn't do it," he shouted at her.

    "Mr. Higgins, there is not a cat in hell's chance of that. With regard to being guilty or not, shall we look at the facts? One, you were arguing with your wife. Two, you were found holding the bloody knife, with blood all the way up your wrist, arm and across your chest. This is called blood spatter from a stab wound. Three the look on your face was outrage, etched with anger, and directed at your wife.

    If I were you I would go for diminished responsibilities, because of drug abuse.

    Just one more little thing, we all know that according to the prison population they are all innocent, but the courts rely on two things evidence and facts. Evidence we have, the bloody knife with your fingerprints on it, and you were found standing over her lifeless body with her blood dripping from your hand. Oops, big mistake, hey what? A little overzealous in the stabbing, weren't you? What was it? Seven stab wounds, but I will have to wait for the coroner's report before knowing exactly how many times you stabbed your wife. You were slow to think about being caught red handed in more ways than one. Was that because of an abused childhood, or are you just thick?" Julie asked demeaning him.

    "Look, look can we do a deal, I, I, well, she was screwing around?" He asked bleating.

    "Ah I see, jealousy, you know that is quite a common motive for murder, along with money, so what deal? This is England, and not America, we do not tend to plea bargain. The name of your supplier is not enough to get you off," Julie said calmly.

    Her soft approach, calmness, and factual statements were confusing him, his mind was not quick enough to counter her accusations, and faced with overwhelming evidence he was close to confessing, Julie knew this, and sat back smiling at him, she had him.

    "I, I don't do drugs, but I do know who the main supplier is around here," he said uneasily.

    "I have here your arrest record, three arrests for possession, what was it, icing sugar? Have they really started selling icing sugar by the gram?" She asked in a mocking tone.

    "No, no, I was a user, but I am clean now, and have been for six months. What have I done?" he asked, and slumped in his chair sobbing, "I didn't mean to kill her," he added.

    "No, I am sure you didn't. It was just the heat of the moment. To find out that your wife is being unfaithful is a nasty shock, and your actions are understandable, if regrettable. Now you just write down exactly what happened, and Sergeant Williams will get you a nice cup of coffee. Do you take sugar?" Julie asked, not so much belittling him, more mothering him.

    Julie got up, and left with Williams, leaving PC Jones in the room to watch over him whilst he wrote his confession.

    "I have never seen that approach before," Williams said when they were outside the room.

    "He is not a full shilling, probably from the drug abuse, but bullying tactics, hardnosed shouting would only make him retire into his shell, and cower in a corner fearful, mothering him, being friendly, but firm; helped him open up.

    I am sorry to inform you Sergeant, but you lack two assets to make it work," Julie said looking down at her breasts, "I had him sucking on them, metaphorically, he is a lost little boy that threw a tantrum at being hurt, but as an adult, it killed. You would have known this, if you had read his sheet, and the psyche report from the last time he was arrested.

    He is not unlike me actually, I have two sides to me, but I control both sides, he cannot. In there I was his mother cuddling him with words to get him to tell me what was troubling him, and it worked. Then there is the other side I let out rarely, the Bitch, and boy is she a bitch. Sergeant even you, as big as you are, do not want to meet her.

    I joined the British army to see action, and spent a lot of time in the barracks or on exercises, so I applied for, and got into the SAS, but again I seemed to be barrack bound, a spell in Iraq where we were more of a police force, little, or no action. It did give me the idea to join the police force, and I have never regretted it. I use my brains and occasionally my abilities. The courts tend to frown on catching a criminal and slitting their throats, pity," Julie said, and looked into his eyes, she laughed, "The look on your face Sergeant was a picture.

    I don't deny that on the one and only foray into a Taliban nest, I was called upon to slit a throat or two, I had been trained to do it, and the mission called for surprise. I took out two guards before we went in shooting. Iraq was where I became a bomb disposal officer. I would hate to say expert, but I have defused a couple of bombs, under supervision, erm, successfully as you can see, ten toes and fingers, quite an achievement.

    After the mission I went back to the barracks, and cried my eyes out, being soft, not on your life. I would not be normal if I could kill without regret. I leave that to the psychotics. I am proud that I did, it proves that I am a normal human being, doing a dirty job efficiently, and effectively.

    Being glib about it, is just my way of coping with the trauma, and horrendous sights I have witnessed, passing it off so lightly makes it seem less traumatic, somehow. We all cope in different ways, my granddad was in the D day landings, and he never spoke about it, even when asked. I sometimes wonder if that contributed to his mental state as he grew older, bottling it up, all those years," Julie told him.

    "You may have a good point, a very good point. A few years ago I was diagnosed with PTSD after attending an explosion, picking up all those body parts turned my stomach. As you said it was just a job that had to be done, but it does play on my mind, and talking to the councillor helped me, so perhaps your way of being glib, is effective. An undertaker I knew laughed and joked all day long, disrespectful, no he was very respectful, but again it was his way, of coping," Williams said thoughtfully.

    "We have had a chat, and now my friend in the interview room is waiting for the coffee I offered him, and asked you to supply. Oh I can feel the Bitch rising, I do so hate it when people do not do as asked," she said.

    "I am on my way, Inspector," he said smiling back at her smile.

    "After you have done that I want to take a walk, and look around at the area, find my feet as it were, and settle in," Julie told him.

    "Shall I get a pool car for us, ma'am?" He asked.

    "The car, a means of getting from point A to point B, efficiently, but useless when wishing to converse with the locals, they can't run fast enough, so perhaps not, on this occasion," Julie replied giving him a look.

    "Right, Ma'am a walk, as you said," he replied, and went to make the coffee whilst Julie went to her desk, and opened the other file.

    The file was of a mugging that had gone horribly wrong. The assailants may not have known that he was on the waiting list for a pacemaker to be fitted, there were several bruises to his chest, and abdomen from hard punches, which caused his heart to fail; killing him, therefore it was classed as murder.

    "Inspector, I believe you got him to confess, was his solicitor present?" the Chief asked.

    "You seem to be under a misconception Chief. I merely went to have a little chat, and he decided to make a full confession, to ease his conscience, I suppose. I followed protocol in having a detective sergeant with me, and a PC on the door, and I recorded the chat as per the guidelines, but at no point did I push him to confess, or use forceful means by strong questioning to get him to confess. It was just an amiable chat, to help me understand his mental state. In my humble opinion he is psychotic, and may not be fit to stand trial. He is incapable of understanding what he has done, and I believe he does not know what he has done; the period during the attack is blank; he was in such a rage that he acted without thought, or memory, but I am a humble police inspector, and not a psychologist, so my opinion does not count, does it, Sir?" Julie asked him, smiling her got you smile.

    "I was told about your, erm, not so much disrespect for authority, but disregard, and your effective if unorthodox methods. Fortunately for you it has proven to work, according to your success rate, but be careful, I will be watching you," he said.

    "Thank you for the compliment, and I will be careful. Whilst you are here Sir; this file, are there no witnesses? It was broad day light when he was attacked, yet no-one saw anything, not even some yobs running down the street? I am going to go out with Sergeant Williams, I want to take a look around, and visit the scene. Shall we see if my unorthodox methods can work a miracle?" Julie asked him, adding a smile to lessen the words.

    "Has nothing I have said sunk in, Inspector?" he asked.

    Julie knew that he was pleased with her so far, but had to make the point about her methods, which as he indicated, were questionable, but effective.

    Sergeant Williams caught up with her at reception.

    "Ma'am, where would you like to go?" He asked.

    "Home, but I am on duty, so how about down the High Street, and taking in some of the side streets, and alley ways, and in particular where he was mugged, Sergeant?" She asked, and turned to the desk sergeant, "Chase up on forensics and the autopsy report, please. All I have is that he was mugged, and is dead. I need to know how? What was the case of death, definitively, was it caused by a fist or some sort of weapon, and if so what type?" she asked him, and thanked him, and then left with Sergeant Williams.

    They walked down the main street towards the centre.

    "Well Sergeant, I am waiting," Julie said.

    "Waiting Ma'am, what are you waiting for?" He asked.

    "What are you, six two, one hundred and seventy pounds, good looking, late twenties early thirties, apart from that, I know nothing," Julie said.

    "Where to begin, I have a degree in philosophy, and joined the police, I have a wife, and two lovely children. I enjoy helping people, and woodwork. What else is there?" He asked.

    "Have you arrested anyone, broken up a bar brawl, chased a suspect down an alley?" Julie asked him.

    "Of course I have, apart from breaking up a bar brawl; once I enter they seem to stop. Once whilst on the beat I caught a man beating on a woman, and got stabbed for my efforts, he got away, but I got him three weeks later, he's now doing time," Williams said.

    "Good, I now know that I don't have to protect you," Julie said.

    "Ma'am, really," He replied shocked.

    "Just kidding," Julie said laughing, "Wait; hold up a minute, what is that?"

    "What Ma'am, erm, a dress shop," he said querying his answer.

    "Yes, yes, I know that, the dress. What do you think? It's in the half-price sale, and red suits my complexion," Julie said.

    "And like a red light warns of approaching danger," he said glibly.

    "Oh, you do have a sense of humour," Julie said, and laughed.

    "Stop, stop!" a woman exclaimed.

    Julie and Williams both turned to see a youth running towards them clutching a handbag. Williams tensed ready to catch the youth Julie just stood there waiting. The youth saw Williams tense and dodged to his left.

    "The dress over, oops, sorry, did I hurt you?" she said to the prone figure lying on the ground at her feet.

    "Clumsy bitch," he retorted.

    "Well really, such course words from a young man. By the way, I am Inspector Ashton, and I moon-light for the fashion police, and really don't you know that accessories should match. I mean bright green trainers with a red handbag, is so bad, red and black, you can get away with, but two so distinct colours.

    You don't mind if I take a look inside your handbag, do you?" she asked and snatched it from him.

    By this time the woman had arrived puffing and panting, Williams blocked her path.

    "Let me see now, my oh my what have we here, you know I think the shoulder length blonde hair suits you much better, and the lipstick yes a nice shade of red, but a deeper red, to match the handbag, like I said all accessories should match. Green eyes, are those contact lenses? In the picture on the driving licence the eyes are blue. Maybe this is not your handbag, in which case, why do you have it?" Julie asked him. Her foot firmly planted on his chest holding him down.

    "Erm, erm, well, erm," he said lost for words.

    "I am Inspector Ashton, and my sergeant is Sergeant Williams.

    Sergeant, will you please contact the station, and ask that they send two nice police officers to our location, and take this little boy for a nice ride. What's your name, and how old are you?" Julie asked.

    "Billy Sutch and I am thirteen, so you can't arrest me," he replied.

    "Billy, why do all criminals think they have a law degree, I can, and I have. Now Billy listen carefully to me, I am arresting you for theft, and anything you say will be taken down in writing, and can be used against you in a court of law. Do not say anything you may later rely on in a court of law. Do you understand?" she asked him.

    "Yes," he replied.

    "Good, now when you arrive at the police station they will put you in a room with a pen and paper, and I want you to write me an essay telling me all about this afternoon, and most importantly, recent events. Will you do that for me? Oh, and who told you to steal? That is very important, you don't have the brains. I mean a bright red handbag, I saw you snatch it from over there, over a hundred yards away, not very bright," Julie belittled him.

    "Madam, will you please make a statement, your handbag I believe, from the photo on the driving licence," Julie said handing the handbag back to the woman.

    "Yes and thank you, Inspector," She replied.

    "May I suggest a clutch bag is perhaps not the best handbag to take shopping?" Julie advised her.

    The officers arrived, and took Billy away, and Julie with Williams continued on their walk.

    "Ma'am, what just happened? It was a good collar, but I never saw you move, and a bit excessive on a thirteen-year-old, don't you think?" Williams asked.

    "Most people tense when about to make a move, and he probably saw you, and went for the softer target, the female. I just waited until he was committed, and raised my arm locking my elbow. The energy he used in his attempt to escape could have pushed me over, except that I made half a step back to ride the impact, moving my centre of balance to ride the impact, and then planted my foot on his chest.

    I studied martial arts, and I mean studied, not just the practice although I did. I actually read books and asked questions, the main thing I learned, is not to exert energy, but to utilise the energy of your opponent. In a fight black belt against black belt it isn't easy, but to a thirteen-year-old kid, hitting my arm at full speed was like running into a brick wall dazed, but no real injury. Now lesson over, did you know he was thirteen, or like me did you think he was much older, he is a big lad, and looked to me about seventeen, eighteen, now, where, is this alley?" Julie asked him.

    "It is at the end of the next block Ma'am, this end is as you can see onto the main street; it is the other end where the muggings take place. It leads onto a much quieter street Ma'am, and yes he was a big lad, and I would have to agree with your assessment," He informed her.

    "Interesting, it is clear at this end, but there is a multitude of rubbish bins at the other end, well away from the main street, I presume that is for appearances. We can't have our crap on the main street, can we?" Julie asked him when they arrived at the alley.

    "Most of the shops take their rubbish away so as not to have to enter the alley. We don't know this, but the butcher takes a knife with him, and I for one do not blame him," Williams said.

    "You may not, but the courts will if he kills one of them," Julie said.

    "It would be self-defence, surely Ma'am?" Williams suggested.

    "A knife to a fist fight is never self-defence Sergeant, and you know it that, is premeditated," Julie scolded him.

    "I don't understand you, one minute you are well soft and cuddly the next hard as nails. I am not uneasy with you, I just don't understand," Williams said.

    "No-one does, soft as a pin cushion, and then I hit you with a concrete block, surprise and confusion, my best tools. Mind you the pins in the pin cushion are tipped with curare," Julie said and laughed.

    "Why does that not surprise me?" Williams asked rhetorically.

    "So this is the scene, no cameras, quiet, secluded yet visible, and no-one saw anything. It doesn't surprise me that they didn't; I can imagine the locals running across the opening, after what you have told me. Even now, at lunchtime the closeness of the buildings means it is well shaded, hum, these guys are not stupid," Julie mused.

    "The council have deliberated about a camera, or street lighting, but budget cuts mean that it is talked about only," Williams offered.

    "Yes, just like putting officers in cars, we have become reactionary rather than pro-active. We attend crimes instead of trying to prevent them. The beat bobby was a form of prevention, raising awareness, now there isn't a policeman, to ask the time," Julie said and chuckled.

    "Ma'am I didn't know you knew about that, my dad told me, even so I could never find one when I needed directions," William's said light heartedly.

    "Are you inferring that I am old, Sergeant?" Julie asked a wicked smile on her lips.

    "Indeed not Ma'am, I just wondered who had told you?" Williams asked light-hearted.