CitPC Chapter V, part 2.
Another dramatic one this is, so watch out.
Rating: PG-13 for cursing, lots of Mike, and some violence/police brutality.
Chapter V: No Pity For The Chaste, part 2.
Tuesday, February 15th. 10:17am, Scotland Yard, main office.
“Everyone listen up!” announced DCI Steele, coming out his office and shutting the door from behind.
Everyone stopped and all eyes were fixed upon Mr Steele as they waited for the news. They followed him as he sat down at an empty desk. Steele gave them all a sour look.
“This investigation has now reached a whole new level.” He began in his usual upper class manner, “Snake had now struck 4 times in 1 week, 3 times successful. Fortunately the 4th victim of Snake’s wrath managed to pull through, only by the skin of his teeth. Once he is fit enough to talk, we must interview him.” Steele slammed his fist hard against one of the desks, startling the staff, and making a coffee mug bounce off the desk and shatter onto the floor. “We cannot and will not let him get away with this!” he roared, “WE WILL NOT FAIL AGAIN!” Mr Steele swivelled his chair round so that he was now facing DS Sutherland standing next to him. “Do you have any potential suspects?!” Steele asked him, remaining red-faced from all the shouting.
Mr Steele arched his eyebrows even more and stared at Sutherland angrily.
“One?! That’s not good ENOUGH!” he snapped.
“It maybe only one sir,” DS Sutherland said, whilst cautiously watching him as if the Detective Chief was about to explode completely at any moment. “However there is a substantial amount of evidence to prosecute this one person.”
Mr Steele exhaled and cleared his throat.
“Go on then, give me the details.” He said hurriedly.
“Well, the knife used to murder Mr Jones was covered in the suspect’s fingerprints.”
“Oh…” Mr Steele said, looking very intrigued.
“And when we eventually recovered the box, it had two sets of DNA on it, one from the 4th victim Mr Idle and some from our suspect, which is pretty decisive evidence if you ask me.”
“Who is the potential suspect?”
DS Sutherland looked concerned. “Ah, about that--”
“Problem?” Mr Steele asked raising a curious eyebrow.
“Yes and no. The suspect is… well; it’s shocking to say the least. Never would’ve expected it to be him in a million years.”
“Who? WHO?!” Mr Steele shouted, impatience growing on him.
Mr Sutherland turned to his fellow colleagues and announced the suspect’s name. As before, there was a wave of gasps, leading to a shocked silence.
“That can’t be right.” Steele muttered to himself. He shook his head then looked at Sutherland straight in the eye. “How could someone like HIM be the murderer?”
“I dunno.” Sutherland shrugged, “I know how you feel, sir, yet forensics never lie.”
Mr Steele looked to the floor and sighed deeply.
“Fine,” Mr Steele said, standing erect from his chair and placing both hands upon his hips, “Celebrity or not, he is not getting away with another murder! YOU!” Steele shouted, suddenly pointing to a bearded 30-something officer to his left, “Get to his house, and detain him immediately!”
The man widened his eyes and returned with a sly grin.
“Right away sir!” he replied.
Gesturing to PC Johnson sat at a desk behind him, the man rose up from his tattered chair and raced out the doors. Following close behind was the very bouncy Mr Johnson. This was his very first arrest, only a week into his job, and boy was he thrilled. So thrilled in fact that, running at full speed, he slammed straight into the double doors. (This, too is proving somewhat popular in this story…) He stumbled a few steps back in a daze and rubbed his face.
“Tyler, the doors say: ‘Pull’… or are you blind?” Sutherland mocked from behind, subsequently triggering stifled giggles and titters from the others.
Oh how they loved this careless young constable and his persistent clumsiness. Mr Johnson’s face turned a ruffled pink and, pulling the handle towards him, he opened the door and made a quick exit to follow along after the man…
Tuesday, February 15th. 10:30am, Gospel Oak, London.
We bring you back to the Palin household in Oak Village, North London, where we find Mrs Palin in the sitting room attending to her two boisterous sons, and Mr Palin getting changed into a white shirt, scruffy jeans and Converse sneakers. Holding a pile of books under one arm and a box of rather expensive chocolates under the other, he gallivanted down two flights of stairs and then entered the sitting room.
“Okay, I’m off to visit Eric in hospital.” He said, passing his two children and giving his wife a goodbye peck.
“Alright.” Helen replied, “Poor chap, he’s been through so much lately.”
“Yeah, what with his wife suddenly being murdered and he on the brink of death? God almighty.”
Tom had stopped play fighting with Wil for a moment to wave goodbye to his father. Michael smiled and waved back.
“Right I’ll see you all later.” Said Michael happily.
Mike smirked to himself and walked out the door. He placed his books down on the floor for the moment to open the front door and make his way out. However he was greeted to the sight of two sturdy looking men standing on his doorstep right in front of him. This gave Mike the shock of his life. One of the men had his arm raised as if he was halfway towards knocking on the door.
“Mr Palin?” asked the man with the raised arm, quickly pulling it back down.
“Excuse me,” Mike said, bending down to retrieve his books, “I’m just about to go and visit a friend. Can’t it wait?”
“No it cannot.” The man replied firmly. “My name is Sgt Martin Gardener of the Met Police. I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of the Jones’, Mrs Idle, and attempted murder of Mr Idle.”
Mike’s mouth almost hit the floor and gave the two men a concerned stare. Gardener’s comment had left him completely flabbergasted.
“You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something, which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
Mike scoffed and continued to look at them in disbelief. “No… You’ve got this all wrong…” He said, widening his eyes considerably. “I haven’t done anything!” he pleaded.
Gardener, however, was having none of it. He slowly began to advance on the stunned Mr Palin.
“There’s no point in trying to defend yourself. You’re only making things worse.”
Mike in an instant knew what was coming. He dropped his presents and stepped back cautiously. Gardener outstretched his arm and roughly clutched onto one of Mike’s, dragging him forward, and using his free hand, began to reach into his pocket for a pair of handcuffs.
“Hey, get off me!” Mike begged, now starting to panic, “And, g-g-get those cuffs away from me!”
He struggled slightly, but then somehow managed to snap his arm back and out of Gardener’s grasp. Gardener growled aggressively.
“Don’t make me call for backup, Mr Palin! Just come along quietly!” He said between clenched teeth. He had a considerably short attention span, and was prone to temper tantrums. So when someone refused to comply with his rules, boy does he get pissed. He made another grab for Mike’s arm and roughly pulled him forward again. He pinned Mike against the wall, and tried to turn him around to be cuffed, but Mike fought back.
“Please don’t do this!” cried Mike, trying to escape Gardener’s heavy grasp.
Gardener’s nostrils began to flare up with anger and continued the scuffle still unable to retrieve Mike’s other arm. In the other room, Helen’s ears perked up as she heard some of the commotion coming from outside and soon made her way out to investigate.
“Just… STAY WHERE YOU ARE!” shouted Gardener, red-faced.
“S-s-stop it please!” begged Mike pitifully.
“What’s going on here?!” She inquired, as she entered the hallway from the sitting room.
She saw to her shock Sgt Gardener trying his hardest to restrain Mike who was wailing and begging of him to let go. She shot the sergeant with a riled glare. “What on Earth are you doing?!” she spat. “He’s innocent for God’s sake!”
He ignored her and still holding onto Mike, he shouted to his colleague still casually standing by the front door watching the commotion in horror – So much for that excited attitude he had earlier that morning, huh?
“DON’T JUST STAND THERE GAWPING! HELP ME OUT!” yelled Gardener.
Johnson flinched and was hesitant to help. He began to back away. Gardener gritted his teeth and made another attempt to cuff Mike’s wrists. Mike began to whimper and shake as he carried on fighting against the 15 stone Sergeant. The sheer look of terror and dread in his eyes, his childlike cries, and his unnatural apprehensiveness - It was clear to Helen… Mike was almost… going mad. The final straw came when Helen saw Gardener clutch Mike’s head and smash it violently against the wall.
“Stop right now!!” she screamed, as she forced herself in-between Gardener and Mike. “NO ONE TREATS MY HUSBAND LIKE SOME RAGDOLL!” She fought as hard as she could to free Mike from Gardener, but he had the greater advantage.
“Stay out of this, madam!” spat Gardener, moving, well shoving Helen out the way.
Mike witnessed this and gasped in shock. No one treated his wife like that, police or not. A sudden burst of energy shot through Mike, and he countered Gardener’s acts by punching him smack bang in the mouth. SHA-POW! A mixture of blood and spit descended from Gardener’s mouth as he plummeted into another wall parallel to where Mike stood. Mike panted heavily, a look of astonishment spreading across his face. He started to tremble even more so than before. What the hell did I do that for?!
“I told you… I n-n-never mur-m-murdered a-a-anyone!!” Mike’s voice trembled, as he watched Gardener attempting to get up from his fall. Mike couldn’t handle this any longer. There was only one option left for him. Escape. Without any second thought he shot past Gardener and Johnson and raced out the building.
“DAMMIT!” shouted Gardener, wiping the blood from his face. Once he was upright again, both he and Johnson turned and raced out of the house. Gardener snatched hold of his walkie-talkie and put it to his mouth. “Sgt Gardener requesting backup! IMMEDIATELY!” He swiftly looked around, left and right, until he finally spotted Mike racing down the street.
Several officers were called to the scene as numerous police cars surrounded the area and screeched to a stop. Mike stopped and tried to get his breath back. His eyes looked around wildly at the police cars and approaching officers, having no idea what the hell was happening to him. Everything seemed surreal, almost blurry to him. He began to shiver and mumble words to himself like someone who’d just come out of Broadmoor.
“I never killed ‘em, I never killed ‘em, I never killed ‘em…”
He placed his hands on his face and gave out a stifled cry. When he removed his hands, a mixture of sweat and hot tears raced down his face. He stood trembling and crying at what was going to happen to him.
“Oh God, OH GOD, PLE-E-EASE!” Mike begged.
He was about to speed off down the road once more, when Gardener suddenly leapt at Mike and rugby tackled him to the ground.
“STAY DOWN YOU PIECE OF SHIT! YOU’RE NOT GETTING AWAY FROM ME!” he screamed in Mike’s ear.
“Y-you don’t understand! I would never KILL ANYBODY!!” Mike cried out in protest.
Gardener smashed Mike’s head onto the pavement once more and rained down punch after punch on him. Two or three more officers ran towards Mike and proceeded to pin him securely to the ground. More officers encircled the scuffle between the others and pointed guns straight at Mike’s face. Mike looked up at them in agony, more tears racing down his dejected face.
“DON’T YOU DARE MOVE ONE INCH OR WE’LL SHOT, YOU HEAR?!” declared one of them.
A large crowd had gathered to witness this violent commotion. Helen raced out the house, and watched her husband get brutally beaten up by the vicious Gardener. She tried to intervene once more but many officers held her back. She could only observe the fight in torment. Once Mike had grown a little weaker during his constant struggle, Gardener took hold of his handcuffs and shackled them securely onto Mike’s wrists. He grinned proudly to himself. Grabbing Mike’s collar, he roughly lifted him and stood him upright. Everyone watched the beaten up Mike groan and wail in agony whilst Gardener held him up. With the help of the other officers, they dragged him over to a police van and threw him into it.
“NOOOO! GIVE MY… M-m-my Mikey b-back!” cried Helen, stammering between sobs.
“N-noooo… Helen-n, help-p m-m-meeeee…” Mike whimpered quietly still in agonising physical and mental pain.
Darkness grew upon him as the heavy doors of the van locked shut in front of where he lay. Helen fell to her knees and wept profusely as she watched the police cars and the horrid police van drive off into the distance…
Part 3 (and stuff):- http://pythonline.com/media/citpc-chapter-v-part-3