Monroe ( 9)

The team weren’t best pleased about handing over the case to Anti Terrorism, but Frank explained there was nothing they could do about it. Thomas Sago was a “wrong un” from Nigeria who’d eventually got his comeuppance over here. Time to get started on another case. Gangs were running rife all over London and kids were being knifed every day so there was no shortage of cases to get stuck into. Each member of the team had a job to do and they got on with it.

Frank hadn’t had a day off in over four months and decided to go home for the afternoon open up a bottle of wine and chill listening to either John Coltrane or Miles Davis. It sounded like a plan but in reality he knew he’d be asleep within ten minutes.

Back at the flat he kicked off his shoes and opened the fridge. A bottle of white Rioja was calling his name. He took a large wine glass from the cupboard then pulled the cork from the bottle and poured. It was ice cold and that first sip made his whole body tingle. He was about to sit down when his phone rang. It was his ex-wife Jenny. This wasn’t going to be a nice call, she only ever contacted him if there was a problem. He answered.

“Hi Jen. You okay?”

He was convinced he already knew the answer to that question.

“No I’m not. I’m fucking fuming. I’ve just had the school on the phone, you still haven't paid for Sophie’s trip to Switzerland. They said if they don’t get it by the end of the week she can’t go. You know how much she’s looking forward to it. You promised you’d do it and once again you haven’t. Typical you that is, always saying you’re going to do something and then not doing it. Just the same when we were married, time after time you said you’d be somewhere and then you wouldn’t show up because you were too busy or just forgot. It’s not good enough Frank it really isn’t.”

Frank had stopped listening after he heard her say “fuming”, while Jenny was having her rant, he’d taken a small piece of paper from a drawer that had all the payment details.

“Jen, Jen, Jen, calm down. I’ve got the details here. I’ll do it this evening. Promise. Okay?”

“Well you make sure you do. You know how much it is don’t you or have you forgotten that as well? It’s £1250, and no cheques this time Frank, it's all done on line.You will do it Frank won’t you? ”

As always Jenny knew how to press Franks buttons and suddenly he snapped.

“Look I said I’ve got the fucking details here. I WILL do it tonight!”

But Jenny had to have the last word.

“Good. Or your daughter will be let down...again!"

She hung up. Frank walked over to a pile of vinyl records next to a turntable on a wooden sideboard. He chose one, looked at the cover and smiled.  Miles Davis, “Quiet Nights”.

He very carefully took the record from its sleeve and placed it on the turntable. “Wait till you see her” began to play. Frank sat down with his glass of wine and remembered a time when Jenny wasn’t quite so angry. They’d met when they were both twenty-four, he was just a Constable back then and she worked for an Insurance Company in the City. Two years later they were married and just twelve months later along came Sophie. That was sixteen years ago. Sophie was only eight when they divorced. His fault of course, he was ambitious and wanted to climb the ladder fast, and he did. But it came at a price. It cost him his family.  He was away from home so often that Jenny found comfort with someone else. He wasn’t angry, how could he be? It happens. His biggest regret was that Sophie knew her stepdad better than she knew him. Oh well, no point in worrying about things you can’t change. He took a big gulp of wine and let Miles do his magic. He could feel his eyes beginning to close, he put his glass on the floor and fell into a deep sleep.

It was three hours later when he woke up. It was already dark outside and his belly thought that his throat was cut. He was hungry. He picked up his wine glass and poured a refill. A new Thai restaurant had opened at the end of the road, he was wondering whether to walk down there or order a takeaway. He switched on the TV, the six O’clock news had just begun. The wine tasted good, no longer ice cold, it was fresher and sharper than before. The sips turned into gulps and soon it was gone. Now he had a dilemma. It was only six thirty and he’d already drunk a bottle of wine. Should he open another or go out and eat. No “Fuck it”, he’d order a takeaway and relax indoors.

He walked to the fridge and took out another bottle. He pulled out the cork just as the local news came on.

“Huge disruptions in East London tonight as a massive fire engulfs a house in Forest Gate. Police fear there may be a number of casualties.”

He looked at the screen, he recognised the road.

His phone rang. It was Mark.

“Guv, you watching the TV? It’s that Doctors house, in Claremont Road.”

Frank stared at the screen, the whole place was alight.

“Yes Mark watching it now.  No point in going down there, nothing we can do. Besides, it’s not our case anymore. Have a good night Mark, see you in the morning.”

Frank hung up, then quickly dialled another number. A familiar voice answered.

“Hello Frank, didn’t expect to hear from you. What’s up?”

Frank tried hard not to gloat.

“You know the good Doctor from the Ministry Of Divine Miracles and Manifestations? The one that you couldn’t tell me about because of National Security?”

Jackson’s voice sounded intrigued.

“Yes?”

Frank went straight to the punch line.

“Well his house is burning to the ground as we speak and it’s likely that he’s still inside.”

Frank heard only two words before the phone went dead.

“Oh Fuck!”