1973: Made in Yorkshire, #4

Warning

This book will contain large numbers of colloquialisms, phrases, and sayings that apparently make no sense at all. I assure you, I’m not utterly insane. That’s really how some of us speak in Yorkshire.

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Find out what happens to Richard Warren as soon as you can in James Farner’s Made in Yorkshire series.

Prologue

Scotland Yard is the heart of British policing. Inspectors and constables buzzed around its halls like someone holding an open flame above an anthill. The London Metropolitan Police Force was under investigation, again.

Officer Robert Hardy stalked the halls, searching for any signs of anyone who might come close to cracking. His beady eyes settled on every officer he passed on the corridor, and they shrunk away from his gaze. That was how the world worked.

Rob, can I have a minute? Inspector Cagan jogged down the corridor after him.

I hope it’s important. I’m about to go out on business, said Officer Hardy.

It’s important. The commissioner wants to see you.

Bloody Mark, again. I’m getting tired of this arse now. Cagan, go out and tell Yellsen I’ve been delayed, said Rob.

Inspector Cagan nodded and dashed back towards the stairway. Officer Hardy changed direction and headed to the offices of Commissioner Robert Mark at the top of the building. He had presented a problem since his appointment the year before. He was a reformer, and reformers were problems for people like him.

Two of his most trusted colleagues were already under investigation for alleged corruption. He knew Mark was getting closer to uncovering a rot he couldn’t have dreamed of. Officer Hardy had had to bring his escape plan forward. For now, he would keep Mark in his pocket with smiles, handshakes, and unwavering public support.

Officer Hardy, coming to see the commissioner, he said to the secretary outside the door to Mark’s office.

Wait one moment. He’s still in a meeting with his deputy, said the secretary.

He gave her a warm smile and sat down with his police-issue hat on his lap.

Hilda, do you know how long he’s going to be? I was just about to go out on duty.

He didn’t say anything. You just wait there.

She never even looked up at him. He always found it remarkable how secretaries could talk, type, and hold a pen in their mouths at the same time.

Officer Hardy waited in the corridor for fifteen minutes before Deputy Commissioner Jim Starritt emerged. He’d never got along with him, and even now Starritt shot him a look of disdain.

Starritt knelt down in front of him and lowered his voice. It’s not looking good for you.

And why would that be? he said.

Looks like you might be taking a bit of a trip out of London, permanently. I knew I’d have you eventually, Hardy. We don’t like having criminals in the Met.

He gave him nothing but a smile, and received a more ominous one in return. Starritt left him alone whilst he waited for Mark to call him.

Starritt had tried to get him for months. Had he finally succeeded in finding out about his dealing? No, he couldn’t have. He’d hidden everything too well. There were multiple backup plans in case anyone uncovered anything. He was safe. He knew he was safe.

You can go in now, said Hilda.

Officer Hardy broke off his thoughts, took a deep breath, and opened the door to Commissioner Mark’s office. A large oak desk at the far end dominated it. Behind it, with his back to the panoramic view of London, sat Commissioner Mark. His hair slicked back, and his shirt collar freshly starched, he looked down at him from his high chair through thick-rimmed glasses. His face gave nothing away. He knew how to play this game.

Sit down, Robert. I would like to speak to you about a matter of some sensitivity, said Mark.

Officer Hardy sat down and held his hat in his hands as a show of respect.

I will speak to you as frankly as possible. You know my stance on corruption within the police. We have been slaughtered in recent years, due to our poor record of internal inspections. In most cases, the people we were supposed to be investigating were investigating themselves. The public doesn’t trust us. If we can’t follow the rules, how can we honestly expect anyone else to do the same?

I agree with you, sir.

I wasn’t quite finished speaking.

Officer Hardy bowed his head in apology.

Now, you have been given a position of power within the Metropolitan Police. You have been given responsibility. Yet, since you took over serious questions have been raised about your conduct and your ability to help clean up your department. Do you know how I know this?

I...I don’t know, sir.

I had a conversation with my deputy commissioner. He is seriously concerned about a number of your officers and their ability to follow the laws of this country. Many of them should be expecting a full internal investigation, and, if it comes to it, a full criminal investigation.

It was coming now. Officer Hardy knew someone had cracked. It wasn’t the first time someone close to him had been caught out. Mark had ousted one of his main allies in Travell only months before.

Sir, allow me to explain. Officer Hardy rose to his feet.

I did not ask you to explain or get to your feet. Sit down.

My apologies, sir. He dropped back into his chair again. It felt like being chastised by his old English teacher.

In short, changes must be made. You are not the only man I will be speaking to about this.

Sir, please, I need to speak.

Mark sighed. If it is so important, ask away.

I’m aware of the corruption within the Met. I know it goes high up, but I have nothing to do with it. I’m completely on your side when it comes to corruption. It’s disgusting and it can’t be allowed to stand. Please allow me to help you in your fight to clean up the Met.

The Met? I suggest you alter the tone and content of your words, said Mark.

The Metropolitan Police, my apologies, sir.

Mark leaned back in his chair. That is commendable. If it helps ease your mind, I don’t believe you are involved in any of the corruption within our ranks. I don’t believe that for a second. In many ways, you remind me of myself. I’m the first commissioner to be appointed after starting at the bottom. You started at the bottom yourself, didn’t you? Where was it now?

Yorkshire, sir.

Yorkshire, yes, that’s right. I started in Manchester before the war. I like officers who start from the bottom and don’t gain their positions through their contacts in the police. Greased palms are a real problem and something I abhor. It’s why I think officers like you understand the importance of old-fashioned police work better than anyone else. The boys in CID have got soft. They sit in here all day and do very little. In truth, that’s where I think most of the corruption is. CID just seems to encourage it.

What would you like me to do, sir? said Officer Hardy.

As I said before, changes must be made. In this case, change will be made starting with you. It’s nothing personal, but I can’t work with the old order. Unfortunately, it means I’m going to have to remove a few good men from their positions to get rid of the bad. Do you understand where I’m coming from?

Yes, sir.

Officer Hardy’s knees weakened. He was glad he was sitting down or he might collapse. He’d worked so hard building his position and network of contacts in the Met and now it was all coming to an end. Goodbye, London, and hello the sticks of Shropshire.

It begins with you. You will be leaving the Met at the end of the week.

Sir...

Compose yourself, man.

I don’t want to lose my job, sir, said Officer Hardy. You said it yourself. I haven’t done anything wrong. Why should I lose my job because of other people who can’t play by the rules?

Mark smiled at him and got to his feet. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared out of the window. Officer Hardy could see his gaze reflected in the window back at him.

This isn’t your fault, Hardy. No, you should not see this as an assault on your position or a stain upon your integrity. Everyone knows of your diligent service to policing, even if my deputy commissioner does like to disagree with me on that.

Officer Hardy wanted to strangle him. He considered whether anyone would notice if he threw him out of the window. Could he get away from the scene in time?

Sir, please, if I’m going to get the sack can we please just get it over with?

"Sacked? Sacked? Mark swung around. No, you haven’t grasped the conversation. I’m not sacking you. Why would I sack a man with so much more to give? I said you were leaving the Met. I never said you were leaving the police force. I’m sending you to Newcastle. You will take over the position of chief constable in the county there. I once applied for a senior position in Newcastle, and I thought of you when asked for my opinion by the Home Secretary. I believe it could be ideal for a man of your talents."

Chief constable? Officer Hardy could barely get the words out.

Indeed. As you know, this is the highest rank in a county police force. I know you care about your future prospects, and as you should, of course. You want a challenge and you want to take on a position of responsibility. There’s no room for that down here. I don’t want you wasting away in these corridors. Newcastle will be the place for you.

Thank...thank you, sir.

Mark shook his hand with a warm smile. Congratulations, I know you will do well. You have earned this promotion. Who knows, one day you may follow the path I did and become commissioner yourself.

I’d like that very much, sir.

Officer Hardy parted from Mark and left the office. He found it difficult not to betray his feelings with a smirk. This was something he’d never calculated or even dreamed of. He’d gained the greatest victory of his career. He was going to ascend to one of the highest positions in the police force and he’d managed to extract himself from the Met before the purge. With victory in hand, all he had left to do was clean up a few loose ends in London and he would be on his way.

Chapter One

The year was 1973. America had signed a ceasefire in the Vietnam War, bringing an end to the bloodiest conflict since the Second World War. Great Britain was preparing to enter a European partnership for the first time and President Richard Nixon would soon have to face the sins of Watergate. And Richard Warren was in a position to cover it all.

Today, though, Richard was on holiday. After persuading Shane Richardson, his editor at the national newspaper Britain Today, he needed to take some time off; he was heading home. Home was Ledder Bridge, a place he hadn’t visited, or even had any contact with, in three years.

His parents had kicked him out of the house and forced him to find his own way in the world. Now, it was time to go home. For now, he sat in the early morning traffic in Newcastle, with his girlfriend, Jessica Deakins, driving him.

This is crap, said Richard. When did everyone decide to buy cars, anyway?

You’ve already asked that. It’s the seventies. People all have cars now, said Jessica.

We’ve already been in this car an hour. It was only supposed to be a few hours from Whickham down to Ledder Bridge.

I can’t help the traffic. You’ll have to be patient. Jessica pushed on the accelerator and they crawled forward another few feet.

Their battered Ford Cortina sat behind a dark blue van with Honeyson & Sons written across the back. This was the same van they’d been stuck behind since they’d entered Newcastle proper. Jessica had insisted on spending a half-day at work, instead of taking the day off.

Richard contented himself with tapping his fingers on the dashboard. With every tap, the wheels seemed to move forward and they got closer to home. Everything had conspired against him to delay his visit to Ledder Bridge. He was almost glad his parents hadn’t invested in a phone. With the number of delays they’d experienced so far, they’d have thought he was doing this on purpose.

First, it was the difficulties trying to get time off work. And then there was the reappearance of an old friend in Anna Perris. She’d delayed them for weeks. It was only when she knew she’d caused enough damage did she decide to leave him alone. Richard knew she would come back. He had caused her too much hurt when he’d abandoned her in Ripon on his way to Newcastle.

So, are you nervous yet? Richard said when he noticed Jessica’s tensed hands on the steering wheel.

I’m fine.

You look nervous, he said after a pause.

Leave it, Rich. I’m not in the mood for any of your rubbish today. We’ve got enough on without you starting.

Richard left the issue. She would never admit she was nervous.. She didn’t know his family and his family didn’t know she existed. He was trying to come up with ways of introducing her to his mother. And then he was trying to figure out what to do if they didn’t get along. Mum was always so particular about who she liked and who she couldn’t stand.

The traffic parted soon after they passed through the centre of Newcastle and they were flying down the motorway towards Yorkshire. Jessica had never stopped off in Yorkshire before. She was a native of Lincolnshire, to the south of the county.

They were making good time after the agony of the rush-hour and it didn’t take long for Richard to recognise the roads he’d followed when Chris Spencer and the rest of the Spencer family had taken him up to Newcastle the year before. He’d debated paying Chris a visit, but decided against it. Shane wouldn’t forgive him if he extended his holiday time any more. Things were so busy at the paper these days.

As they re-entered Yorkshire, the fields began to turn a lush shade of green and the hills took them up and down like a fishing boat climbing the highest waves.

Ripon’s close by, Richard said as they passed a road sign. Only ten miles off.

You’re not trying to get us to stop over there, are you? said Jessica.

I was just saying, really.

If you want to see that Anna of yours, we can do. Do you want me to park and you can go and see her? He saw her eyes flash at the mention of Anna. Jessica knew she had her boyfriend right where she wanted him. Well?

No, you’re alright. I don’t think I want to see her again.

Of course you don’t. We’ll go around and through to Ledder Bridge. And don’t mess with me, Warren. I’ve got you right under my thumb.

Richard smiled to himself as Jessica missed the turnoff to Ripon. He remembered when Anna had hit him in the jaw with a right hook. He’d collapsed back into the house and Jessica had had to intervene. Anna had a surprising amount of strength to her for such a small frame. They’d made a pact to avoid talking about the fact he’d almost got knocked out by a girl.

Should be here in a few minutes. Stop off when you see a big house, said Richard.

A big house? said Jessica.

Huge house. About the size of a mansion. You’ll see it easy enough. It’s on the road into the village.

Jessica shrugged and drove on. It didn’t take long before she saw it. The Georgian-style mansion loomed above them high on a hill. It bobbed out of sight as they descended down a hill. He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

Camberwell House hadn’t changed much in the years since he’d visited it as a child. Jessica drove around the outer edge of it and pulled up a few metres from the gate. The high, black gates still bore the family crest of the blue-blooded Camberwell family, decked in gold.

Come on, let’s take a look. Richard got out of the car.

What, like inside?

God, no. They’ll shoot us if we get in there. Let’s just take a look through the gates.

Richard and Jessica approached the gates and looked through to the other side. Trees still lined the path all the way to the entrance. The Camberwells had erected more outbuildings in the grounds and they seemed to grow in size and stature. It was more like the Camberwell Complex than Camberwell House, these days.

So this is that one who hates you, is it?

Aye, Rufus Camberwell. You saw him in the papers at the start of the year. When I broke that story about the tobacco lobbyists whilst I was working for him. He probably doesn’t like me much. That was a good story.

He probably thinks you should have been arrested.

Still. Richard jumped and slapped the centre of the Camberwell family crest. He’s got a nice house. Can’t fault him for that. Arse should stay out of politics, though.

You want to live in one of those, don’t you? Jessica opened the door of their car.

Not for me. It’s big, but it’s weird. There’s almost nobody in there. It’s like one of those horror films, where your voice echoes everywhere. You expect someone to jump out at you.

They started the car again and continued on their journey into Ledder Bridge. Richard had said he wanted to see whether Mr. Warner’s house was still intact. He suspected the Camberwells had knocked it down to spite him. Jessica stopped the car at the bottom of