Suspicion

Suspicion by Neil McCall

"Call for you in the office, Mr Dale!"

That was the voice of Dawn, the assistant manager of the restaurant.
That is, if you could call a fast-food chips-with-everything joint
equipped with formica tables and nasty red plastic chairs a restaurant,
and if you could call that lazy cow Dawn an assistant manager. She was
encumbered by cupidity and stupidity in equal measure, so I insisted on
being called by my surname at all times to reinforce the gulf in status
between us.

I went into the tiny manager's office and picked up the phone.

"DCI Taylor of Greater Manchester Police," explained a surprisingly
young voice,
"I hope you can do us a favour, sir."

I was hardly in a position to refuse as the police always responded to
the frequent late-night incidents involving drunk or aggressive
customers with an alacrity which many in the city would scarcely
believe; there again, uniformed officers were always given an
unofficial free mega meal.

"If you have a mobile phone available, sir, could I please have the
number as we will need to be in constant contact?" he added.

I gave him my mobile number which he rang immediately, asking me to
leave the office and survey the main restaurant.

"Do you see a young woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and a red
coat?"

I confirmed that she was there, eating a burger meal and drinking a
shake.

"Good. Now the situation is this, sir? " And he described how this girl
had just visited the nearby branch of a well-known jewellery chain,
after which the manager had found that an extremely costly diamond ring
no longer nestled on the display pad and was therefore certain to be in
this young lady's possession.

"I'm afraid that we can't even despatch a uniformed officer due to a
serious incident in Longsight," he explained, "so we're hoping that we
can count on your co-operation."

"Of course," I assured him, "but what do I have to do?"

"Get her into the office and we'll take it from there," said DCI
Taylor.

As I approached the girl I wondered whether I would be empowered to
make a citizen's arrest if she tried to make a run for the door, but in
the event she followed compliantly to my office. I asked her to sit in
the interview chair whilst I sought further instructions from the
police.

"Ask her to take her coat off and search the pockets; then go through
her handbag carefully. Check cosmetics, she may have pressed the ring
into cream or powder, and let me know what you find."

The girl was a cool customer all right; she showed no fear whatsoever
but, despite a most painstaking and rather interesting investigation
into the girl's belongings, I drew a blank.

"Damn," swore DCI Taylor. "You didn't notice, by any chance, if she
used the restaurant toilets when she came in, did you, sir?"

I didn't, of course, as I'd been far too busy to have seen her arrival,
so I offered to try to obtain a witness statement from any of the
staff, but the police officer vetoed that suggestion.

"No, sir, we don't want to create a commotion, got to be discreet about
these things. Well, the next step is to do a strip search, I'm
afraid."

I could hardly believe my ears:

"Are you sure, I mean, shouldn't I read her her rights or something?
?"

DCI Taylor cut in, his voice rising to a new level of agitation.

"I know, sir, we should do it down at the station all proper-like, but
there's a thousand quid's worth of jewellery somewhere on that girl,
and if we don't find it soon it'll be out on the street and turned into
cocaine and heroin and goodness-knows-what-else. She knows the ropes;
if it's done in private and the suspicion's reasonable, she doesn't
have a leg to stand on."

I slowly put the phone down and tried to mask wild glee with a tone of
conferred authority:

"A police officer has just instructed me to order you to get
undressed," I told the girl.
"I think you know what we're looking for."

To my surprise she merely shrugged, unbuttoned her dress and pulled it
over her head; I checked there were no hidden pockets before continuing
the search.

"I'll have to pat you down, miss," I warned her. DCI Taylor hadn't
actually told me how to conduct a strip search, but I'd been patted
down at the airport on the way to Benidorm and I reckoned I knew how it
was done. First I tackled her bra, feeling all round the edges, then I
realised that she could have hidden the ring in the cup itself, so I
tautened the fabric and carefully ran my fingertips across each nipple.
Needless to say, by now I had started to enjoy myself, but I was
determined to be thorough and professional. I checked that she hadn't
slipped the ring on to a toe as opposed to a finger, then felt inside
the elasticated tops of her hold-ups which could of course have held
the ring secure against her leg. Nothing. I told DCI Taylor the bad
news.

"Have you done an internal yet?" he asked.

"No, but ?"

"Bloody hell, man, that's the only place left. Have you got any rubber
gloves in the kitchens?"

"Yes, I'll go get one," I offered.

"No, get two. She's got more hiding places than you, sir. Use one for
the front passage and one for the rear. Also use different hands for
each to minimise the risk of cross-infection; first thing we learned
down at Hendon! Good luck!"

I locked the door behind me whilst I went to get the rubber gloves from
the cleaning area; I also poured a small quantity of cooking oil into a
small drinks cup in case I needed lubrication. Dawn gave me a very
curious look but I had reached the point of no return. Back in the
office I slipped on the first rubber glove with a brisk snap like in
the movies, and for the first time the girl showed signs of fear.

"Knickers off, hands against the wall and spread 'em, please, miss!" I
announced briskly, in an effort to conceal the excitement pounding
through me. Despite dousing my gloved forefinger in the cooking oil the
girl gave a sharp yelp as I penetrated her anus and wiggled my finger
around. Nothing there -well, nothing that shouldn't be. I threw the
soiled glove in the waste bin and put the other on my left hand, with a
slight pang of regret that I had thoughtlessly used my favoured right
hand first.

I wasn't at all sure how you should perform a frontal internal
examination on a girl, and not surprisingly the American cop films I'd
seen never showed this bit, so I opted for the obvious:

"Now lie on the desk with your legs wide apart, please, and mind the
pencil sharpener!" I never dreamt I would ever get to say such things
in real life!

The girl obligingly took up position and spread her legs; I dipped my
left forefinger into the oil and, after a moment's hesitation, repeated
this with the other three fingers. So this was it; time to discover the
jewel in the crown. I didn't want to hurt the girl, so I inserted one
finger, then the second and a third. She gasped slightly - maybe I'd
hit the G-spot - but didn't cry out so I began to delve more deeply
?

The door opened and in walked Dawn.

"Oh, shit!" was all she said as she fled. I reluctantly withdrew my
hand and picked up my mobile to tell DCI Taylor the bad news that the
girl was clean after all, but for some reason he had hung up.

"So what was all that about?" asked the girl as she mopped up the
cooking oil which was dribbling down her thighs. I realised that this
was the first time she had spoken, she had taken it all incredibly
calmly.

"Police orders; suspicion of theft of a very valuable item!" I solemnly
informed her.
"Maybe you've already fenced it whilst it was still hot," I added
knowledgeably.

Then she suddenly began to get truculent:

"I've never been in trouble with the police and I've never stolen
nothing. That wasn't the police you were talking to, I bet it was one
of your pervy mates. I can't believe what you just did! Well, my dad
works for the Citizens' Advice, he'll know what to do. That other girl
who just came in will be a witness, indecent assault it were! You're
going down, mister!"

I ran out of the office and called Mr Crawshaw, the area manager, and
asked him to come and attend an emergency. By the time he arrived the
girl had gone, but not before she had exchanged phone numbers with Dawn
whilst I hid in the gents' toilets.
Mr Crawshaw listened to my story then told me I was a bloody fool and
was dismissed for gross misconduct. With immediate effect.

I didn't "go down", as it happened; the girl decided not to press
charges, or so she said when she later rang Dawn and asked her to pass
the message on to me. Dawn, of course, is now managing the restaurant
whilst I've had to resort to being delivery boy for the Indian
takeaway; Mr Ahmed was the only employer in the area who would give me
any kind of job after hearing the story of my dismissal, though he
laughed for ten minutes before suggesting adding a new item to his
specials list, namely Tandoori Grope (three lightly-oiled fingers in a
delicious wrap). Ha bloody ha.

Last week I saw the blonde girl with the red coat standing outside the
cinema so I carried out some discreet surveillance. She met up with
Dawn and a scruffy young man and they went inside to the ticket office;
I followed and stood behind a vending machine whilst the young man
booked the tickets, in the agitated voice I will forever associate with
the clearly fictitious DCI Taylor. I just can't believe what some
people will do for their friends!