Nothing Ventured(12)

The car sped away when the driver spotted two policemen in his rearview mirror. They ambled on toward the town center, Fred regaling William with stories, some of which he’d heard before but were worth a second outing, and others that he wasn’t sure hadn’t been embellished with the passing of the years.

William was going to ask Fred about his retirement plans when his mentor grabbed his arm and pulled him into the nearest doorway, suddenly no longer the friendly neighborhood bobby but transformed into a policeman who’d spotted a real criminal.

“It’s our lucky night,” said Fred, nodding in the direction of a giant of a man clutching a terrified girl by the neck. “I’ve been after that bastard for years. Don’t bother reading him his rights. That can wait until he’s banged up in a cell.”

Fred drew his truncheon, leaped out from the shadows, and began running toward the assailant, causing several other girls to scatter like pigeons in every direction the moment they saw him. William followed and quickly overtook the old-timer, who was not only thirty years older, but hadn’t won the 100 yards in his last year at school.

The thug looked around and, seeing William heading toward him, let go of the girl, who fell on her knees, whimpering. That was when William saw the knife, but he was only a couple of strides away and committed to the tackle. He dived low, hitting the man just below the knees, causing them both to crash onto the pavement. By the time William had recovered, the man was already back on his feet. William instinctively raised an arm to protect himself as the knife was thrust down. The last thing he remembered was the shock of the blade entering his chest.

“Officer down, officer down! Urgent assistance required in Luscombe Road!” shouted Fred over his radio, as he leaped on the assailant.



* * *



His eyes opened. He blinked and looked around the unfamiliar room. His parents and sister were standing by the side of the bed, and a senior officer he didn’t recognize was stationed by the door. Three pips on each epaulette indicated that he was a chief inspector.

William gave his family a weak smile as he tried to sit up, but he could only manage a few inches, suddenly aware that his chest was heavily bandaged. He slumped back down.

“How’s Fred?” were his first faltering words.

None of them seemed willing to answer the question. Finally the police officer stepped forward and said, “I’m Chief Inspector Cuthbert, and I’m sorry about this Constable Warwick, but I have to ask you some questions about what happened on Saturday night, because as you well know, we can’t hold a suspect for more than twenty-four hours unless we have enough evidence to charge them.”

“Of course, sir,” said William, once again trying to sit up.

The chief inspector opened a large brown envelope and extracted several black-and-white photos of different men, one of whom William would never forget.

“Is that the man you attempted to arrest on Saturday night?” asked Cuthbert.

William nodded. “But why do you need to ask me, when Fred could identify him in person?”

Chief Inspector Cuthbert remained silent as he placed the photographs back in the envelope.



* * *



The parish church of St. Michael and St. George was rarely full, even for the mayor’s annual carol concert, but on this occasion the pews were packed long before the choir had entered the nave. PC Fred Yates QGM had been granted a full police service funeral, while a uniformed guard of honor lined the approach to the church.

The funeral cortege was escorted by mounted officers, and Fred’s coffin was draped in the blue and silver colors of the Metropolitan Police, along with the Queen’s Gallantry Medal and a silver trophy resting on top. Inside the church, senior officers were seated at the front, while those who couldn’t find a seat had to be satisfied with standing at the back. William, seated in a wheelchair, was pushed down the aisle by his father, and the congregation rose to acknowledge him. A church warden guided them to reserved places in the front row.

He who would valiant be …

William held up well, until the coffin, borne on the shoulders of eight serving officers, made its slow progress down the aisle toward the chancel, when he was unable to hold back the tears. The parish priest looked down from the altar steps and offered prayers for the locals from Fred’s patch, many of whom rarely, if ever, attended a church service. They had come to pay their respects, even though some of them didn’t know Fred’s second name. William looked around and spotted Mrs. Perkins among the mourners.

To be a pilgrim …

When the congregation knelt to pray, William bowed his head and recalled Fred’s words: I like to kid myself that I’ve made a difference. He only wished that Fred could have been there to witness what a difference he’d made.

The hymns were sung lustily by Fred’s colleagues and friends, which William knew Fred would have appreciated, although he would have described the eulogy delivered by the station’s chief superintendent as way over the top. William could hear Fred chuckling away when the super talked about his commendations. What about my suspensions? he could hear him saying.

After the priest had given the final blessing, the congregation stood and the pallbearers resumed their duties, bearing the coffin back down the aisle and out of the church to the burial plot. William tried to stand as it passed by, but he couldn’t quite manage it until the desk sergeant and the super came to his aid.