The Sweet Smell of Rain

CHAPTER FIVE

  Whilst waiting to enter the ‘Mine Field’, otherwise known as the D.I.’s office Hodder set Baxter the task of processing the four arrested persons as he circulated Parks as being ‘Wanted’ on both the Force Computer and the Police National Computer.

  He knew that Parks would show up sooner or later. They always did. He knew from experience that people like Parks were like homing pigeons…they always returned, maybe not always to the correct ‘loft’, but somewhere pretty close. It was only a question of time as to when and where he would surface. Hodder had to be patient, however, he knew that the D.I. would not be quite so generous with his time.

  Walking into the D.I.’s office, clutching the ‘Wanted Folder’ containing all that he wanted the D.I. to know about Parks, Hodder knew that he was in trouble when instead of being invited to sit he was told to close the door.

  Feeling like a schoolboy standing before the headmaster, Hodder placed the file on the desk and decided that if blame was going to be apportioned, then he was going to take it. After all, none of this had been Baxter’s fault, and he would make sure that the D.I. knew that. Hodder did not want to put the skids under Baxter’s career before it had really got going.

  It may not have been entirely charitable, but Hodder thought ‘Well, he can take the blame for his own mistakes, God knows, he will make a few and will have enough time to atone for his own sins’.

  The D.I. was in the view of Hodder, an over promoted fool…he was however, still the D.I. and as such, his rank, if not the man, required the requisite amount of respect because stupid or not, he could still make life pretty difficult for him. The senior man barely lifted his head in an effort to ‘create the moment’ and increase any tension that Hodder may have been feeling at the time. It didn’t really work, but Hodder did not let it show. The truth was that Hodder who was infinitely more experienced than his boss had been grilled in court by many a skilled advocate, all, bar none, were far more intimidating than the D.I.

  Apart from one occasion, when he was young in service, Hodder had never taken in any water, but he was of the opinion that you had to be burnt once or twice, just to learn how close to the flame it was comfortable enough to stand. In the seasoned opinion of Hodder, this was not likely to be the second such occasion, so, he felt comfortable leaving his ‘cerebral extinguishers’ outside the office.

  Hodder, however, knew that he had to hold his nerve, but he was mindful that he was still walking a very dangerous path, and that an explosion could occur at any time. He was determined not to be a casualty…and he secretly resolved that Parks would pay for this, even though he accepted that he was in this position largely because of his own folly. He also had to concede, privately at least, that when the adrenalin starting pumping he acted in a wholly unprofessional, erratic manner, bordering at times on the obsessive. It could so easily have turned out far worse than it had done, and it was more down to good luck than good management that it had not.

  He also knew that deep down that The Control Room, the D.I. and the uniform staff who came to his assistance, did not believe a single word that he was saying. He felt like a laughing stock. The D.I. would probably accept a lie, but not one that brought scorn firstly on him (the D.I.) and secondly, upon his department. He could only imagine how The D.I. would feel when the truth got out as he knew it eventually would.

  There was a knock on the office door and turning around Hodder saw that ‘Gee-Gee’ was standing there with one cup of coffee and a plate of digestive biscuits. Clearly, this was a pre-planned power play to demonstrate to Hodder that he was an outsider, persona non gratis, and that the D.I. was the boss, and that being the boss, that he meant business. It was not very subtle, or very effective, but once again he could not let it show.

  If ‘Gee-Gee’ could be relied upon for anything, it was for siding with the bosses. Popularity was not an issue for people like ‘Gee-Gee’, survival was the order of the day, as far as he was concerned, and as he had consistently demonstrated over the years, ‘Gee-Gee’ was a born survivor. Indeed, the rumour in the office was that in the aftermath of a nuclear holocaust only cockroaches and ‘Gee-Gee’ would survive. If there was any truth in that theory, Hodder did not wish to have any part of that world, and indeed, given time, he suspected that even the cockroaches would find no comfort in the arrangement.

  A small smile spread across Hodder’s face…he knew that the meeting would not last long…the stench from a trail of excrement leading from the office door to the desk was beginning to fill the warm air conditioned office. At this moment, contrary to how he felt on uncharacteristically temperate days, Hodder was incredibly grateful that the architect who had designed the building did not include any windows that could be opened.

  Security at any price! However, it may just secure Hodder’s imminent release. As his mood improved, Hodder also knew that ‘Gee-Gee’ would get the blame even though the evidence of who was responsible for the ‘pollution’ was clearly still visible on the soles of his own shoes. Lifting his head, and with a barely perceptive wriggle of his nose, the D.I. said ‘Bit of a mess here Jim…you have put me in a difficult position. The D.C.I. has been onto Professional Standards, they are obviously, going to want to talk to you. I am under a bit of pressure to suspend you…but I don’t want to (he lied)…’

  Hodder jumped in and said ‘I understand that, the prisoner was violent and determined to get away, there was nothing I could do about it. By the way, young Baxter was just doing what I told him. He is in no way responsible. I would hate to see Professional Standards come down on him. What happened was entirely down to me. There is no need to suspend me I have some leave to take, why don’t I take a few days off…Parks has been circulated, he will turn up. The ‘Rubber Heelers’ can visit me at home. That way I am out of your hair, but still able to assist Professional Standards’.

  After what seemed like hours of endless indecision, the D.I. said ‘I have to be seen to be acting in a decisive way. I will tell the D.C.I. that I have sent you home on enforced leave. But I warn you that you may yet still be suspended. Do not do anything that makes things any worse for yourself (meaning himself, the D.I.). And I am warning you now: Do not interfere with this enquiry…Am I making myself completely clear…You are not out of the woods yet. Keep in touch with me. Remember this, if I get touched by this in any way that is bad for me, I will burn you alive.

  When we are finished here go and see the D.C.I. he wants to know what we are going to tell the press. Meanwhile, I am going to allocate the wanted file to Baxter, and when you see him tell him that he is a very lucky lad not to be in the same boat as you. After a few seconds quiet study of the file in front of him the D.I. said ‘By the way…Parks? He sounds familiar. Why would I know him’?

  ‘Got no idea boss’, lied Hodder…he was not about to drop himself further in it…he had not included the Sunderland evidence in the ‘Wanted File’ for fear of stirring up some long forgotten memory within the D.I. and therefore some brand of revenge that he had hitherto managed to keep suppressed.

  It was clear to both men that the meeting was coming to a natural conclusion and as Hodder turned to leave, the D.I. sniffed the air and complained about the smell in his office.

  Ignoring the trail of excrement on the carpet, Jim left the office, but before going upstairs to the ‘Command Corridor’ to see the D.C.I. he decided to go to the outside workshop and clean his shoes with a ‘jet washer’, which was normally reserved for cleaning the police vehicles. As he was going outside he heard the D.I. scream at the top of his voice ‘Gee-Gee, get your fucking arse in here and bring a fucking mop’.

  ‘Life was not too bad after all’ thought Hodder.

  Minutes later, walking along the ‘Command Corridor’, he approached the D.C.I.’s office with considerably less trepidation than he had entered the D.I.’s. This was largely because Hodder and the D.C.I. went back a long way, and they had successfully worked together as Detective Sergeants in a branch of the Home
Office which did not officially exist. Indeed, its funding appeared on audited accounts as ‘Stationary, Vehicle Costs and Building Maintenance’. Its very existence had exercised investigative journalists for years, though none had come closer than mere innuendo.

  They were both very much of the ‘old school’ both mavericks, but unlike Hodder, the D.C.I. was a skilled politician. D.C.I. Benjamin Heath QPM, was universally regarded as being one of the most professional investigators the force had ever produced. He had a calm, authoritive manner, cool under pressure, and not in the least bit ‘senior officer-ish’. It was almost as if he had achieved his rank by accident. In truth, he was quite the most devious man that Hodder had ever met. They were kindred spirits and they had a deep professional respect for each other that manifested in a genuine friendship outside of work.

  Knocking on the open door, some conventions must after all, be adhered to. There could have been anyone (i.e. Professional Standards) sitting out of view within the office. Hodder stood on the threshold. Heath looked up over his half-moon glasses and seeing Hodder, cheerfully said ‘Hello Jim, come in mate, have a seat’. Without further ado, he picked up his telephone dialled an internal number and obviously speaking to his secretary, asked for coffee.

  A few moments of genuine ‘pleasantries’ ‘How are the kid’s’ etc were exchanged before the coffee and CHOCOLATE digestives were brought in. Hodder was eating at the top table. Who needed plain digestives when there were chocolate digestives to be had? Rank clearly had its privileges. Jim had arrived.

  ‘Well, Jim, if I am to believe that lot downstairs, you should be clearing out your locker and planning your leaving do.

  But…But, I know you, and there is more to this than meets the eye. So are you going to tell me…it’s got something to do with you ‘registering’ that solicitor hasn’t it?

  Hodder, for the first time, feeling that he was getting into deep water shuffled uneasily in his seat and said ‘Look Ben, I tried to pull that report. I may have acted a bit hastily doing that, but I had very good reason for doing it’.

  ‘And are you going to tell me?…no one downstairs knows a thing about it and I only recognised the name because I have come up against him in court myself…so, what is going on’?

  Irrespective of rank, Hodder, knew that he could trust his friend. He also knew that if anyone could smooth things out and give him the ‘heads up’ it was going to be Ben Heath. And so, Hodder told the whole story. Everything. Everything from the covertly recorded conversations, to the solicitor’s apparently unfortunate arrest to losing the prisoner. Nothing was left out. Apart from, that is, the damage to the Police vehicle.

  When he had finished, Heath ordered more coffee saying to Hodder, ‘When my secretary lets it out that we have been having a bit of a ‘bun fight’ in here it will really set the cat amongst the pigeons downstairs, so look out’. Ben Heath said that he would deal with the press release, the safety of Parks’ victim and ensure that anything that come up would be dealt with. ‘Now…Go home. Forget about this and relax.

  Hodder looked at his old friend and said ‘Would you’?

  Ben Heath said ‘Of course I wouldn’t. Do you know it’s at times like these that I really wish that I was back on the tools. I mean, apart from the occasional bit of ‘specialised handling’ of which we are not allowed to talk, I do not even get to investigate murders anymore…learnt loads about Home Office statistics and budgetary constraints though. Jim, watch your back and tell young Baxter not to worry. If he is good enough for you he is good enough for me…don’t tell him that bit though, it may go to his head. Now fuck off I’ve got some coffee to drink’.

  Hodder returned to his desk, submitted a duty report regarding the damage to the (second) CID car and collected a couple of personal items including his covert recorder. He needed a drink, but not anywhere where the rest of the lads were likely to turn up.

  On his way out of the building, Hodder dropped into the custody suite where Baxter was just finishing off with the last of the four prisoners. It seemed that three of them were candidates for an adult caution, whilst the fourth, the man whose house was now depleted by one Liquorice Allsorts mug, was to be charged with criminal damage to the CID car.

  A basic file to write. ‘That shouldn’t take you too long to do Jeff ‘chipped in Hodder helpfully. In not the greatest known attempt at black humour Hodder suggested to Baxter that he should consider discussing the damage to ‘the other vehicle’ with the prisoner. The ‘offer’ was impolitely declined by Baxter with a ‘Fuck off Sergeant’.

  Baxter said that he had had enough for the day, but demonstrating the breaking strain of ‘a warm crunchy bar’, and because he knew he was being kept in the dark he acceded to Hodder’s invitation, agreeing to meet him at ‘The Quay Taphouse’ for a strategic meeting and much needed drink.

  There was no way Hodder was going to leave this for other people to sort out. Despite the threat of suspension or worse, Hodder had created this problem, and he was going to sort it out. He did not know how or when, but he was going to find Dean Parks.

  Walking alone along the quayside towards ‘The Quay Taphouse’, Hodder felt that he was being prodded in the back and propelled along the footpath by the icy fingers of the bracing nor easterly wind which was one of the least attractive climatic features of life at the coast. Once inside, he was again greeted by the large man who was doing ‘The Times’ crossword, presumably, not exactly the same crossword.

  ‘You are becoming a regular after all…would that be a Ruddles and a Highland Park’? Pointing to a secluded corner he said ‘Francis is over there he seems a bit down today it’s not like him. He’s usually larger than life’.

  Taking his drinks together with a Highland Park for ‘Francis’, Hodder had no alternative but to join the solicitor who was studiously doing his own ‘Times Crossword’. As Hodder approached, he cast a shadow over the newspaper, as well as ‘Francis’s’ life which caused the solicitor to look up and sigh ‘Oh, no not you…bad things happen to me when I drink with you’…

  Without thinking Hodder was about to apologise but then he realised that ‘Francis’ still had no idea that he had been responsible for his arrest. ‘Best not raise the matter’ he strategically suggested to himself internally.

  They drank in an uneasy silence, both concentrating on the crossword, speaking only occasionally, to suggest an answer. The large man stood at the bar doing the same crossword, chipping in now and then with an answer, but obviously keeping an eye on their consumption because, uninvited, he walked over to the table with another round of drinks saying ‘There you go, thought I would bring them over to save you and your colleague having to walk to the bar’.

  ‘Francis’ reluctantly paid for the drinks and said to the large man ‘Colleague? Colleague? He’s no colleague of mine. Anything but…he’s a bloody Police Officer’.

  The large man whom Hodder learnt was called ‘Big Cliff’ winked at the Detective and said ‘Do you want me to throw him out Francis’?…Turning to Hodder he said ’You lot should come around here more often. After you two left the other night a car had its windscreen smashed just outside of here, it’s getting worse…if the bastards did it to my car I wouldn’t be calling you lot . Mind, I am surprised that the Police didn’t show up ‘cos I heard on the grapevine that it was a copper car that got done’.

 

  Looking at ‘Big Cliff’ Hodder concluded that he probably wouldn’t need the police, and that no criminal in his right mind would go anywhere near Cliff or his property.

  ‘Actually’ said Cliff, ‘I found something on top of my bins this morning, a book of some sort, I’ll go and get it for you’. He disappeared momentarily before returning with a small pink book which he handed to Hodder. It was the log book from the damaged CID car, and the last listed user of the vehicle was Hodder.

  ‘I’ll take that said Hodder’ hoping that he was not flushing too visibly as ‘Big Cliff’ said to ‘Francis’ ‘Well,
your pal did the sensible thing he got a taxi…mind you he didn’t really start drinking until after you left’.

  ‘Francis’ said ‘Tell me, would you Sergeant Hodder, how exactly did you get to the ‘Taphouse’ the other night’?

  Hodder was flushing now…’I err…got dropped off by one of the lads on the backshift’.

  ‘Did you really’ said Randall-Ord ‘How interesting’. Turning to ‘Big Cliff’ he then said…’So, it was a police car that was damaged. How very, very interesting’. These last few words were said with the very precise enunciation that reminded Hodder of a tri-nipple ‘Bond Villain’.

  An uneasy silence grew between them as Hodder tried to re-focus his attention on the crossword…Sensing this, Randall-Ord studied the crossword and said quietly but ever so clearly…‘ Six down…four letters…Person Who Is Economical With The Truth….Oh, I know….LIAR’. He glared at Hodder.

  If there was a God he intervened at this point by sending his ever reliable disciple, Baxter, to ‘The Quay Taphouse’ who upon seeing Hodder and Randall-Ord sitting together stood at the bar swapping weather predictions with ‘Big Cliff’.

  Seeing his colleague, Hodder went to the bar, putting the log book into his inside pocket. He ordered another round of drinks and invited Baxter to the table and introduced him to the solicitor. Hodder then made his excuses and made his way to the gents from where he texted Baxter…he sent ‘Stay quiet, he is Parks’ brief, slippery as an eel’.

  By the time he returned to the bar, having first made sure to activate the hot air hand drier, purely for special effect purposes, he hoped that Baxter had read the text. There was no hint from Baxter that he had done because he was happily engrossed in thirteen across with Randall-Ord. Unlucky for some thought Hodder. A lack of progress with the clue resulted in a growing boredom setting in.

  Soon the conversation meandered through some fairly neutral topics before, not entirely unexpectedly, Randall-Ord raised the subject of Dean Parks. Randall-Ord was concerned that he had not been called to attend any further interviews with his client. He also mentioned that he was of the opinion that his client was being held in local custody without good reason, and that he would be making such representations at his client’s next court appearance.

  Hodder assured the brief that his client was not being held without good reason. In fact, he had to concede to Randall-Ord that his client was not being held at all. Searching for an explanation, and sporting with Hodder, Randall-Ord said that the fact that he had been released demonstrated just how little evidence the police actually had. Hodder, knew that his adversary was well aware that the police could not sanction his release, only a court could do that, and so, when pressed further, Hodder was forced to come clean and concede that Dean Parks had escaped.

  ‘You see’ said Hodder ‘He has managed to dig a deeper hole for himself…if he does contact you, can I urge you to ask him to give himself up’? ‘So, that’s the reason that you came here? Do you really think that he is going to contact me? People like him only want people like me because we can get them out. He has effectively ‘cut out the middle man’ and managed this all by himself, so I suspect that until he comes to light, I will not hear from him again’. Hodder recognised the truth of this statement and was put more than slightly ‘on the back foot’ when Randall-Ord said ‘Which idiot lost him’?

  Knowing that it would eventually come out Hodder said ‘Guilty as charged Mr Randall-Ord’.

  ‘Francis’ was barely able to conceal his delight, his ruddy cheeks inflating like great red balloons as he roared with laughter…’Bet you are popular with your D.I.…been measured up for your new uniform yet’?

  This was getting just a bit too unsettling for Hodder, because he knew that Randall-Ord would find out the truth from the D.I. at their next lodge meeting. He wished that Randall-Ord would just fuck right off…but he knew there was little chance of that whilst the brief was able to turn up the heat. Additionally, Hodder did not want to say too much because he knew that (quite correctly) the solicitor would use it against him. For some reason, perhaps sensing a change in fortune, Randall-Ord’s mood seemed to lift and he enthusiastically made his way over to the bar for yet more drinks.

  At the bar, Randall-Ord ordered doubles. They seemed appropriate under the circumstances, the brief, at least was in a mood for a celebration. Now, no one would find out what he had told Hodder about Parks and it looked as if he could minimise any potential damage as a result of his drink driving arrest. Yes, given the circumstances, doubles seemed just about right.

  Whilst he was away Baxter whispered ‘What is this all this about…coded text messages, log books and drinking with the opposition. What is it that you are not telling me’?

  Hodder was about to respond when ‘Francis’ came back with Highland Parks’ all round, and three bags of crisps hanging from his mouth. Seconds later ‘Big Cliff’ arrived with three pints. This was going to be a long and difficult session.

  Randall-Ord ate all three bags of crisps with unrestrained enthusiasm. He smiled glibly to himself, making short grunting sounds, which would do justice to the best Sus Scrofa-Scrofa that you may ever eat or meet. Ord ate greedily whilst attempting to stifle laughter, and as he did so, moist, half chewed crisps were jettisoned from his mouth flying in all directions. ‘The devious bastard, may have the table manners of Gloucestershire Old Spot but, he clearly has a plan’ thought Hodder. ‘Best get planning myself’ he cogitated briefly, then fully.

  Drink followed drink. Paranoid thought followed paranoid thought as Hodder hoped that the inexperienced Jeff Baxter would not fall under the spell of ‘Francis’ and inadvertently ‘spill the beans’. At what seemed to be the natural conclusion to the early evening session, Baxter announced that he was going to have to go. Hodder agreed, and got his mobile out to order a cab. He gave the taxi firm a fictitious destination because he did not want ‘Good Old Francis’ knowing in what area of the town he lived.

  Within ten minutes or so, Hodder got a call back from the taxi company and he and Baxter left promising ‘Francis’ that they should ‘Do it again’.

  Within seconds of their departure, ‘Big Cliff’ had brought another Highland Park for ‘Francis’ and as he was clearing empty glasses from the table he said ‘Strange that’.

  ‘Strange what’? asked the semi inebriated solicitor. ‘Your mate’ said Cliff. ‘Told you, he’s not my mate, what about him’? hissed ‘Francis’.

  ‘He used the payphone the other night to call his taxi. You would think that someone doing his job would have a mobile with him all of the time’.

  Returning to the land of temperance for a few seconds ‘Francis’ picked up his glass drained it and said ‘Yes. Yes you would. Wouldn’t you? Thanks Cliff’. With that Bertrand Hall asked Cliff to call him a taxi. He had a home to go to and plans to make.

  Once inside the taxi, Hodder instructed the driver to drop Baxter and him off at ‘The Bee Hive’, a pub that was equidistant from both their homes. Upon arrival, Hodder paid the driver. As he entered Baxter banged his head on one of the distorted oak beams that supported the upper floor the genuine ‘Olde Worlde’ pub. Hodder made his way to an isolated corner table as Baxter cursed his way over carrying two pints of real ale. Forgoing any formalities Baxter said ‘Are you going to tell me what is going on? All this cloak and dagger stuff, it’s just not good for my health’.

  Sipping his frothy beer, Hodder looked over the rim of his glass and whispered ‘It’s complicated and I think that it is going to get more complicated. I have been put on leave. It was either that or get suspended for losing Dean Parks. Don’t worry, you are in the clear…if the wheel comes off tell them that you protested but I ordered you to get Parks out of the car. The radio cock up is down to me. That should never have happened’.

  ‘Tell me something that I don’t know…What is it, exactly, that you are not telling me’ said Baxter.

  ‘The less you know, the less trouble you will get in
. But, I do need you to do me a favour and if it comes off you should come up smelling of roses. But you have to keep me informed every stretch of the way and trust me. If it turns to ‘Rat Shit’ just say that you were acting on information received from an untried, unregistered informant’.

  Things were happening just a little too fast for Baxter, who was by nature, a cautious, studious man. Unlike his colleague, Baxter considered his options and planned the outcomes. He would, if there were any justice within the police service, which of course there was not, go far.

  ‘You’re still talking in riddles. Just spell it out Jim. What exactly is going on and what do you want me to do’?

  With a sharp intake of breath and making sure that he was not being overheard…who could hear him?... the place was deserted, that was, after all, one of the reasons that he had decided to go there, Hodder said ‘Parks told me that David Palma has two hundred Smart phones. They are in his lockup in a barn on Friarsdene Farm, just along the road from here. I need you to get a warrant and turn it over. I want Palma locked up. Then call me so I can come in and have a word with him’.

  Baxter was apoplectic, ‘No way’! No Fucking Way’! Parks is the reason you are in this mess and you are prepared to let me take the flak for another crock of shit. Has it not occurred to you that he was just spinning you a line. Do you want me to take a fall too’?

  Hodder gestured for his partner to calm down and said ‘It does not matter whether we get the gear or not, that is just a bonus. I want Palma’.

  Still not convinced, Baxter as restrained as he could be said ‘But why? What good is he to you’?

  ‘I’ll tell you what good he is to me. I have Parks recorded giving me the information about the Smart phones…we just need to cause Palma some inconvenience, let him hear the recording and let him out on bail on the understanding that after he is finished with Parks that he gives him to us’.

  ‘Us! Us! Since when has this nightmare been US…I’ve just finished getting my arse kicked from pillar to post around the courtroom, and believe me that was far more appealing than this’!

  ‘Look, Jeff’ said Hodder, all doey eyed, with ‘a little boy lost/you are the only person that I can rely on’ look…’I need you. I trust you’.

  ‘Well, I don’t need this’ said Baxter…’I am not happy. You know it’s not personal. Can’t you just give it a rest? Let things quieten down a bit, let the dust blow over, get yourself back to work and then get him’ You know that he is a creature of habit. He will come again’.

  ‘Actually’, said Hodder ‘That’s what I’m worried about. He is a creature of habit, I don’t think that his last victim is safe if he is out and about, or that worse still that she IS his LAST victim’.

  Hodder sensed a softening as the younger man said ‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, but, I need to hear the recording, just to satisfy myself’.

  ‘Perfectly understandable’ can you come around to my house in the morning and I will let you listen to it.

  Baxter sat quietly for a few seconds, exhaled loudly and said, ‘Okay, but it had better be the real thing. You know that I will recognise Parks voice, so it has got to be pucker. Now, go and get me a beer before I think about it again and change my mind’.

  Whilst Hodder was waiting at the bar for service, he was grateful that he had the morning to figure out how he was going to get the recording of Francis Randall-Ord off the digital recorder and safely stored somewhere else. He might need some help with that, but he figured he knew who could do that for him. In truth, Hodder felt very deceitful, about not telling Baxter about the recording of Randall-Ord but, he reasoned, quite correctly as it happened, that what Baxter did not know could not hurt him and he certainly did not want him swimming in open waters with sharks like ‘Good Old Francis’.

  God knows. It was difficult enough for himself and he had been around the block a few times. They finished their drinks in silent agreement and got separate taxis home. Another late night. Another cold shoulder. The good news was Hodder could probably collect a few ‘Brownie Points’ during his enforced leave, doing gardening, which he despised, decorating which he despised and sitting on his hands which he also despised.

  This was going to be harder than he had anticipated. But, he would get through it, or so he blindly hoped.

  However, He knew that experience had taught him that there was no situation that a Police Officer could not make any worse.