Deep Heat II Chapter 3

3.

The initial work in the case was to find out the victim. I had to know him better than his mother would. It will mean the dirt in his life. When I found out digging the Assistant Chief Constable Kellie files, it was alike digging a well in the desert. On record, the Assistant Chief was cleaner than my ass. I took a risk with Anti-Corruption if there was an investigation on the Assistant Chief Constable. Their reply was curt and definitive.

“No, and if there was any, I will say No to you. He does not have a father who was the leader of the gang and a killer too.” The Superintendent replied to me. That was a below the belt blow but I was prepared for it. Later, I found out the Superintendent were mates before when they served on Uniform. The caution came much later.

“The words out that you are looking into some dirt on the Assistant Chief. I am telling you to stop questioning them. They won’t back you on any questions.” I got the advice from a precinct Sergeant who had served for over thirty years. “They are a cartel formed to protect each other. Spread your queries to outside this organization.”

I took the caution with the shrug of the shoulders until I got the call from Station Commander.

“I am here to tell you back off. The queries you raised on the ex- Assistant Chief Constable is trailing to the Precinct. No one wants to stand to answer for it.” I wanted to say fuck off but the warning was right. The boys in blue protect their own. I then saw the tabloid on the coffee table. It was dirt reporting but everyone reads it. I decided then to start on the Press journalists. They all have a tale to tell.

On anyone with a past.

“Sure, we are keen to know who killed the officer?” I heard their replies but the conversation was soon back towards me.

“How did the daughter of Sidney Madden the Crime Lord made it to Chief Inspector after investigating her own father?” I had to fend the questions with the standard ‘no comments’ line. It did not keep the wolves at bay and I changed pack. I moved onto back alley journalist and then the retired bastards. The last was once the pack leaders and with age were outcasts to be a lone wolf.

I did my rounds and soon ended up talking a retired journalist who had raised his hand at the bar counter. I hopped over and brought him the next glass.

“Assistant Chief of Police? Which one?” The elderly drunk was having one on me. I was taking it not when I was the one asking the question.  I moved to stand up when he held out his right hand.

“I remembered now.” The drunk voiced out. “Robert, ye? Robert Kellie. Yeah, I know him.”

“Yeah, like my boobs. They are huge like melons.” I remarked to the drunk. “Can you see them?”

The drunk laughed and then he replied.

“A good move to tell me I am drunk but I am not. I am sober and knew the person you mentioned.” The elder journalist looked at me. “To you, he is your senior officer. To me and to many others, he is just another bloke that was to appear on the press headlines. So, tell me, what do you want to know about this man?

“Who is Robert Kellie? And why did you volunteer?” I asked.

“Why not? You were to buy me a glass. And I was not overlooking that. More to it, I knew Robert Kellie since the day he joined the Police. I am his …. or was his neighbor. We stayed next door, our families. I am Derek Langston. It was from Bob. We called him that when we were young. We ….”

“Where was this?” I cut in. He told me the street. I had read that in the reports somewhere. I had to read a lot of reports when I heard of the murder.

“How long did you know him? I mean after you grew up.”

“Long enough. He went into the Police and I worked as a journalist. The fine relationship we had. We did not meet soon after we moved out, and I sort of lost contact with him. He started off as a Detective. I was the mail boy in the Press Section of the Mirror.  We went tangent on the career path. Soon after, we met and I was the Press Reporter and he was Police Sergeant. He started giving me the hot news that I took to the headlines. He went on until he became Superintendent and ignored me. Then I had moved on to the Middle East and then returned to a desk job. I read of his promotions and then more.”

“What is your name again?”

“Derek Langston, and I am not drunk.” The drinking bloke laughed. “Bob was my friend. And he changed soon after he was made up the ladder. Can I buy you a glass tomorrow? Meet me here.”

I was handed a card.