Sarge-03

Pritti came in from outside just in time for lunch. The change in her that one week in the country had done was remarkable.

“Hi there. I saw you arrive. I was out collecting the eggs.”

I smiled.

“We’ll make a country girl of you yet,” I said jokingly.

“Sorry, but the smell of animal poo still makes my stomach turn,” replied Pritti.

After lunch, Mum disappeared leaving Pritti and myself to clear up.

“You are so lucky to have such a nice family,” said Pritti as she dried the plates.

“I think so too. It is only when you see some of the train wrecks that other families are that you can even begin to appreciate your own. I see plenty of those on the ‘job’.”

“Thanks for bringing me here. I know that I’m putting you all at risk and all that.”

“Nonsense. You needed to get out of London and this place was as good as any.”

“Thanks again.”

“Pritti, just get this straight. Yes, you are our guest but you don’t have to keep thanking us for everything. From what Mum has been telling me, you are mucking in and helping around the place. She thinks that you are earning your keep. If Mum thinks that then you are good.”

She smiled back at me.

It was then that I realised that she was really a woman and not a man trying to be one.

I changed the subject.

“Mum said that you’d taken a few walks around the area. See anything you like?”

Pritti grinned.

“It is all so different from being in a town. Back… before we never went into the country. It is so peaceful around here. I went through some woods. It looked like all the trees had been cut down at the roots. Won’t that kill them?”

I laughed.

“You must have taken the footpath through Chambers Copse. It is ok, those trees will grow again. The wood is what we call coppiced. George cuts the trees down and uses it to make charcoal from it. Do you want me to take you to meet him?”

“Can you?”

“Sure. It is a nice afternoon so we can go when we are done here.”

Twenty minutes later, we climbed into the farm Land Rover and I drove us the couple of miles to George’s place. It wasn’t a place as such but a clearing with an old caravan that George lived in and his six charcoal kilns. There was also a huge tarpaulin that covered an area where there were fence stakes and panels being made.

We got out and I heard some whistling coming up the track.

“That must be George now. He always whistles when he’s happy.”

The man called George appeared a minute or so later. He was carrying two rabbits.

“Hello there, Peter. Who’s this with you?”

“Hi George. This is Pritti. She’s staying with us for a while. She saw your coppicing so I’ve brought her over to see what you do with the wood. Pritti is from the City so…”

George smiled.

“I get you. Let me put these in my home. They’ll be supper for a few days,” he said holding up the Rabbits.”

“Did you kill them yourself?”

George smiled.

“Sort of. I put some traps down last evening and got these two. I dug up some wild garlic and sorrel yesterday. They’ll make a great stew.”

I could see that Pritti was intrigued.

“George lives here all year round. How long have you been here now George?”

“Oh, about twelve years. Came down from London and as they say, dropped out.”

“How do you make a living?”

He laughed.

“Everything you see around you, I make. There is the Charcoal and also items from the wood from the forest. All sustainable and renewable. I go to markets in the spring and summer with the Charcoal and sell the fencing bits all year around. It gives me enough to live on. The land gives me the rest.”

“But… You don’t have electricity or anything?”

“True. But I recently received planning permission to build a house off of Squires Lane. That’s about 400 yards in that direction,” he said pointing the way he’d come.

George went to put the Rabbits away.

“George has been trying to get permission for a house for years. The townie who moved into the house near where George wanted to build finally moved away about six months ago. This bloke had always objected to another house being built near his home. With him out of the way, it is no surprise that George got the permission.”

George had returned from his caravan.

“One of the kilns is ready to be unloaded. Do you want to see the results?”

“Please,” said Pritti.

I could tell that George had enthralled her. I guessed that just being able to live a simple life out here was interesting to her.

Fifteen minutes later, we’d taken the covering layer of mud and turf off the kiln.

“There you go. Five hundred pounds worth of Charcoal once I get it bagged up. I store it in a barn near where my house is going to be until the spring when I bag is and start to sell it.”

He pulled out some lumps of the black stuff. He handed one to Pritti.

“Great for Barbies. More and more people are having them and thankfully, more of them are deciding to use locally produced charcoal rather than stuff that has been shipped thousands of miles. There are a couple of hundred people like me in England producing our version of 'black gold'.”

“Wow! I never knew where it came from,” exclaime Pritti.

Later that day, Pritti asked,
“Do you think that George needs some help?”

I laughed.

“I could see that he spiked your interest.”

“Yeah. He lives such a simple life. I like simple.”

“Perfect for keeping out of the limelight perhaps?”

“Yes. I need to do something. I… I can’t stay here forever.”

“George only has that Caravan you know.”

“But he’s got permission to build a house?”

I laughed.

“George will be wanting to make it using as much material from his woods as possible. He will take his time. I would not expect him to move in for at least three years. The man is a perfectionist. You saw that with those fence posts. They were all identical. That takes time and dedication.”

Pritti looked sad.

“I’m not even sure if George wants any help. I would think that he likes his own company but it won’t hurt to ask now will it?”

“Can we go tomorrow?”

I smiled.

“Pritti, why don’t you walk over and ask him yourself? You know the way now. Just go through the copse where the trees were coppiced and you will hit the track that George came up yesterday. Turn right and you will get there. The road between here and there is far from direct.”

She was silent for a while.

“Do you think he’d give someone like me a job?”

I looked her right in the eye and said,

“From what I saw today, he likes you. He sees you as others do, as an intelligent woman. Go and ask him. He can only say no and if he does, it won’t be the end of the world you know.”

She smiled back at me.

“Thanks, Sarge.”

“Hey, I’m not in uniform or in London now you know. Call me Pete. Only Mum calls me Peter.”

She grinned.

“Thanks Peter.”

---

Pritti had her tattoo removed using a laser the following weekend. When that had healed, she was able to dispense with the scarf that she had to wear to cover it up. With it gone, she seemed to get a sense of freedom.

She carried on walking around the area but always seemed to end up at George’s work site. Without really asking, she began to help him with loading the kilns and even learning how to sharpen an axe.

I didn’t see her for nearly a month because of the work roster so I when I turned up at home, I’d hardly gotten through the front door when she gave me a huge hug.

“I thought you’d forgotten me,” she said with a beaming smile.

“I didn’t forget. Mum’s been keeping me up to date.”

“I made my first hurdle today,” she said proudly.

“Really? So, George has taken you on as an apprentice then?”

Her face dropped.

“Not really.”

“You haven’t asked him, have you?”

She replied with a slight shake of her head.

I sighed.

“Ok, ok. You don’t need to go on about it.”

“Pritti?”

“I get it. I need to ask him properly. But that would mean involving officialdom won’t it?”

I saw where she was coming from.

“It might. I understand your concern.”

Before she could answer, I said.

“I might have an idea about getting rid of that problem. I’ll work on it next week so don’t even ask about it now.”

She replied with a bit of a pout. I laughed.

Then Mum came to the rescue when she shouted from the kitchen,
“Dinner is ready”.

The following Wednesday, I was giving evidence at the Old Bailey in a Murder Trial. The prosecution Barrister was the same one who’d prosecuted the Albanian man. During the Lunch recess, I took him to one side.

“I can’t discuss the case you know,” he said at the outset.

“I know you can’t besides, it is not about this case that I want to talk about. Do you remember that case of the Albanian drug trafficker and kidnapper?”

“Oh yes. We got a good result there.”

“We did. A lot of that was due to the witness. Do you remember her?”

“Yes, yes I do. What happened to her?”

“The Home Office denied her witness protection.”

“Bugger. That bunch of idiots. They really don’t have a clue.”

I thought that it was a bit rich coming from him. He’d been educated at Eton and Oxford before going to Harvard Law. He’d had it easy. I quickly put those thoughts behind me.

“I wondered if you knew of anyone in the Home Office with at least half a brain and some integrity that could help her get a new identity? To me, it is the very least that they could do. It does need to be on the QT. Careless talk and all that.”

“Indeed,” he replied and thought a bit.

“I think I know of someone who can help. I’ll make a call but if they call you, forget all about me. Understand?”

“Got it,” I said trying to supress a smile.

“Good. By the way, thanks for the testimony earlier. You are really good in the box. I wish more Officers were as clear and concise as you in your Testimony.”

“Thanks.”
This time I smiled.

It was nearly two weeks later that I received a note from the station commander when I returned at the end of a shift.

“A Mr Smith called for you. Wouldn’t say what it was about but left a number for you to call.”

He handed me a slip of paper. I recognised that it was a government number.

“Thanks Sir.

“Do I need to know who this ‘Mr Smith’ is?”

I smiled.

“No Sir. Just an old contact. He may have a tip that could lead to something but until I see him I won’t know,” I said winging it.

He smiled.

“Just make sure that the contact is recorded if it seems that it might lead to something.”

“If he has something worthwhile to say then I will do that, Sir.”

I called the ‘Mr Smith’ the following morning. I was on the late shift so I had the time to do it when not in the office or in uniform.

“Mr Smith? This is Peter Dawson.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Yes, I can meet tomorrow.”

“I know where that is. What time?”

“Can we make it an hour later? I’ll be on my break then. I’m working two till ten this week.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

I hung up and thought for a moment.
‘It shouldn’t be that easy…’

I was on shift with a not quite rookie constable. After a little bit of finagling, we were assigned to cover the area around Kings Cross Station. This was perfect because my meeting for my mid shift break was due around then.

Thankfully, it was a quiet evening. We’d only had to deal with a traffic accident Euston Road and a broken down, HGV in a ‘yellow box’ on Pentonville Road.

“Constable, it is time for our break. I have to see someone about a dog outside Mornington Crescent Tube Station. If you drop me off there and go and get us a sandwich and some coffee from the Deli on Camden High Street, I should be done by the time you get back. Understood?”

“What sort of dog Sarge?”

I sighed.

“Seeing someone about a dog is slang for ‘I have to meet someone and you aren’t invited’. It is a former snitch and they get positively anxious if there is anyone but me around. Understand?”

“Sorry Sarge. I get you.”

Ten minutes later, I was watching the patrol car disappear into the darkness. I was beginning to wonder if my meeting was going to happen or not when I heard a cough from behind me.

I turned around and saw someone standing in the shadows.

“Sergeant Dawson, I presume?”
It was the voice on the phone.

“Mr Smith, I presume?”

“I understand you need a new identity for someone who was a witness in a trial?”

“That is correct.”

“As the person was a witness we can do that. It will be off the records. By that I mean that there will be no official record of the request coming into the office. That means there is no paper trail and that the identity is 100% genuine.”

“How much will it cost me?”

He laughed.
“As your request is to do with someone who was refused witness protection then I won’t take any money for it. Someone else is calling in a favour on your behalf.”

He handed me an A4 sized envelope.

“Inside are all the details that we will need. Include four passport photos and send it to the address on the sheet of paper. Ten days later a messenger will deliver the documents.”

“Thanks. May I ask why the secrecy?”

“No paper trail and plausible deniability. This meeting never happened and you don’t know who I am really. What I am going to do for you is borderline illegal but as they helped us out in court, I got the nod from my director to do this but off the books which is what you want isn't it?”

“Ok. Understood and yes it is. The fewer people who know about this the better.”
“And thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. If it wasn’t for this austerity thing that HMG is bent upon inflicting on us all, she’d have a new identity and life already.”

Then he turned away and disappeared into the night.

A few minutes later, the Police Car returned with our meal.

“Did you buy the dog?” asked the Constable as he saw the envelope.

“We agreed a price. Delivery will be later.”

I went home after my shift the next night and sat down with Pritti to develop her new identity.
“People here know me as Pritti. Won’t it be suspicious if I change it?”

“That is true, so why not just change your surname? Does anyone here know that? I didn’t until the trial.”

“Pritti Khan. That is pretty generic in Pakistan.”

“Where were you born?”

“Bradford? Begins with a ‘B’ like Birmingham.”

“We need to change your date of birth and the names of your parents, where they were born and what they did for a living.”

Pritti sat back poker faced.

“It all seems so clinical, so final.”

Then she said,
“I suppose you will want to get rid of me when all this is done?”

I saw the fear in her eyes.

“Pritti, if I said that to Mum, she’d probably kill me on the spot. You don’t have to leave unless you want to leave. Besides, Mum likes having you around.”

“She never said so?”

I chuckled.

“Have you seen the way she looks at you?”

“Oh, the look of sorrow?”

“No, it isn’t the look of sorrow. Mum always wanted another baby, another girl.”

There was nothing more to be said on the subject. Pritti understood perfectly.

I sent the details for Pritti’s new identity off two days later and returned to London. The train journey up from East Devon is not the fastest in the world but I realised that I was finding it harder to go back to London every time I went home. Before, I’d gone to London to escape the country. I knew the reason why it was getting harder but would never admit it to myself or anyone for that matter.

Pritti’s new identity was delivered by a courier some twelve days later. When I returned home I saw a young woman happy with the world. She was a totally different person to the one I’d encountered on the streets of London. I was so pleased for her.

---

[Springtime the next year]
Pritti had been living with Mum and Dad for more than six months. She’d been paying her for room and board despite the objections of my Mother. The money came from helping George from dawn to dusk almost every day. Mum now considered Pritti to be an adopted daughter. One week, I got a call from Pritti asking when I’d be coming down.
“At the weekend. Why?”

“I’ll tell you then,” was all she’d say.

Duly summoned, I went down to East Devon the following Friday. I tried to get her to say something but she put me off.
“We will go for a walk in the morning.”

The next morning, we headed off for a walk. We’d just crossed the first style when she said,

“George has asked me to be his partner.”

“What in the Charcoal Business?”

“Yes, and in his house and everything and more.”

“Are you trying to tell me that he wants to marry you?”

She nodded her head.

“Yes.”

Then the smile disappeared from her face.

“Working in the woods with him, gives us a lot of time to talk. Eventually, I told him about myself. Everything and that includes things that I never told you or your Mum.”

“In doing so, I remembered some things about my time with those Albanians.”

She fished out a slip of paper from her coat pocket.

“You might like to speak to someone about that bank account. From what I heard, a number of important people were paid off using money from it.”

I looked at the piece of paper. It had a UK Bank sort code and an account number on it.

“I remembered seeing a bank statement once. Those are the details of that account.”

I put it in my pocket.

“But that does not explain you and George?”

“He knows all about me and now that I have official documents, he’d like to marry me so that he can pay for my operation and stuff. He calls it making a complete woman out of me.”

“That’s good but I know that there is a lot you aren’t telling me.”

She nodded her head.

“Do you know if George ever told anyone why he came down here?”

“No. Well to the best of my knowledge he didn’t. He just turned up on the doorstep one day and said, ‘I’m George. I’ve bought Hedges Copse and about a hundred acres of woodland.’ Or words to that effect.”

I thought for a second.

“Come to think about it, I don’t even know his surname.”

Pritti smiled.

“It is Carmichael. George Carmichael, or to be absolutely correct, Sir George Carmichael.”

I swore under my breath when I heard that name.

“And he’s making Charcoal?”

“Yes. He left London and came here. When he came here, he was recovering from Cancer. He was and still is in remission. He’s had three lots of Chemo. He’s on borrowed time. It has been seven years since the last time it came back.”
“Wow. I always though George was just a bit eccentric.”

“He and I just get on so well. He’d like to pass on the business to me when the time comes. He knows that the chances are that another round of chemo won’t work. He has a brother and a sister who live in London. When he goes, they’ll just sell the woods and he does not want that to happen. We have actually started building his house. We spent the winter making the timber frame from Oak that he cut down few years ago.”

“I said yes by the way. He’s booked the Church for late May. I’m going to be baptised the week before.”

I knew that Pritti had been talking about becoming a Christian for several months. She’d left the faith of her birth a long way behind. As she put it, ‘on the streets, you eat what you can.’ She’d soon learned that a Bacon sandwich was good food when you are hungry and observing the fasting for Ramadan was really hard when your only food for the day is served at lunchtime at a soup kitchen.

It all sort of made sense.

We walked on a bit more. We stopped to watch a couple of Deer run across a field.

“George wants to talk to you about after… after he dies.”

My stomach was doing somersaults. I was struggling to accept that Pritti was going to marry someone else.

Pritti saw how unhappy I was.

She smiled at me.

“It isn’t so bad.”

“I… I…”

She took my hand and squeezed it.

“I really do love you, you know.”

Those words served to make me even more confused.

[to be continued in part 4 of 4]