Mike Pannett - Now Then Lad...

Born in York, Mike Pannett joined the London Metropolitan Police in 1988, and became one of the youngest officers in service to be given his own patch. He went on to serve on the Divisional Crime Squad, Robbery Squad, Murder Squad and the TSG (Riot Police), where he was also trained in surveillance.

Missing his native land, Mike transferred to the North Yorkshire Police in 1997, working as a Rural Community Beat Officer and eventually, as a Wildlife Officer. Mike became one of the highest commended officers for intelligence gathering, drug seizures and bravery, to name but a few examples. In 2005 he starred in 26 episodes of the BBCs Country Cops series. Mike and his wife Ann, who is still a serving police officer, live with their three children in a small village in the shadow of the North Yorkshire moors.

Tales of a Country Bobby

PC Mike Pannett

CONSTABLE LONDON

This book is based on real events; some names and locations have been changed to protect the identity of those involved.

Constable & Robinson Ltd
3 The Lanchesters
162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER
www.constablerobinson.com

Published by Constable,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson, 2008

Copyright Mike Pannett and Alan Wilkinson, 2008

The right of Mike Pannett and Alan Wilkinson to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents act 1988.

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication
Data is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-84529-811-1

Printed and bound in the EU

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

For Ann

With great thanks

to Alan Wilkinson

and also Algy, Soapy, Walter

and all of the other characters

you know who you are

Christmas was a memory. Theyd slung the trees out a week since, taken the decorations down and now it was a matter of counting the days and weeks, and months until spring. To tell the truth, though, I was busy counting the hours till I would get home to a nice warm bed that icy January night. It was minus seven by the patrol car thermometer as I sat overlooking the lake at Castle Howard in the moonlight, its edges rimmed with ice, when blow me if a fox didnt come trotting up from the tangle of last years flags and bulrushes with a fat mallard in his mouth. I almost choked on my cheese-and-chutney sandwich as he trotted across the pasture and slipped quietly into the woods. Then I started thinking about how long it was since Id eaten duck myself. It must have been the time me and the ex treated ourselves to a dinner in that posh place over by Kirkham Abbey. It was the last wedding anniversary we ever celebrated, and it needed to be: the food may have been great but they dont half know how to charge you out there.

You get like that some nights, when theres nothing doing and even your jobbing burglars have decided to stop home by the fireside. Your mind wanders. You sit there looking at the stars, and thinking. Then maybe youll see a big white owl flit noiselessly down to grab some little creature from a hedge bottom, and you yawn and check your watch again. Ten past three. All of five minutes since you last looked.

Oh well, only a couple of hours to go and I could wend my way back to the station. I drained the last drop of tea from my flask, closed the lid on my bait tin and set off up the long straight avenue, the light of a full moon flickering at me from behind the bare lindens. To tell the truth, Id not had any particular direction in mind; just keep the engine running warm and the car nice and snug.

I decided I might as well take a tour round Sheriff Hutton. If I timed it right I might catch John, the milkman. He usually started out on his rounds about this time. That was some pretty strong cheddar Id picked up from the Farmers Market in Malton and I was still thirsty. Maybe Id get a drink off the back of the float. John was one of my most useful contacts on that part of the beat: always on the look-out, keen as mustard; had all our numbers on his mobile me, the lads from Malton and the other two who covered Kirkbymoorside, Helmsley and Pickering. He was dying to set me up with a decent arrest.

I timed my run perfectly; entered the village and was just passing the school when I saw him, swinging a crate of empties into his truck, right under the street-light, his breath coming in a white cloud. He was wearing a bright red felt hat, the sort of thing only a married man could get for Christmas.

Now then, John. Give us an orange, will you?

Ill sell you one.

Aye well, if you must. I dug my hand into my pocket as he passed me a bottle. Dont believe what you hear: there arent many perks on this job, not in North Yorkshire at any rate. They have deep pockets out here. Whats new, then? Apart from this daft thing? I pointed to his hat.

Hey, I may look like a bloody pixie, but at least Im warm.

I shivered as the icy juice hit my front teeth. Have to see about them some time, I was thinking except that I hate dentists. So, is there anything happening?

Tell the truth, I was on the point of calling you. Seen a car parked in Church View there.

Oh aye?

Aye, and theres someone in it.

Whats he doing?

Reckons to be sleeping, but youd want a fair drop of beer to make you drop off on a night like this, dont you reckon? He scratched the thick white rime on the pavement with his boot. Old car too. Doesnt belong round here by tlook of it.

Okay, I said, slinging the empty bottle into a crate. Ill check it out. Cheers now.

It was a Cavalier, ten years old. No frost on the roof, nor the bonnet. He hadnt been there long: windows werent even steamed up. I pulled in behind him and got out. He was squirmed right down in his seat, head tilted theatrically to one side. Doing his best, I suppose. I tapped on the window.

Now then, young man. He reached for the handle and started winding. What are we up to then?

Of course, he had to do a pretend yawn and stretch. But he looked more dozy than sleepy. Oh, its okay officer. Bin on a night out, like. Tired, tha knows.

Whereve you been?

He had to think about that, just for a second. What he came up with wasnt very original. Er... Scarborough.

Scarborough? In January? So howd you end up in Sheriff Hutton?

Oh... got lost, like.

Youre very lost, sunshine. On your own, are you?

Aye.

And wheres home?

Barnsley.

Barnsley, eh? And youre quite sure youre alone?

Aye.

Because the milkman reckons hes just seen a couple of lads out and about in the village. Bout your age too.

Nah, Im on me own, honest.

I didnt like the way he kept rubbing his face. He was edgy. He was lying to me.

You got a job, mate?

Aye.

Well, what is it?

Er, Im an electrician like.

Who dyou work for?

Missen.

Mind if we take a look in your boot? He didnt like that, but he had no choice. Id reached into the car and removed the keys from the ignition. Didnt want him doing a runner. What you got in there then?

Tools and stuff.

Okay, you sit there while I take a look.

Tools, hed said. And he wasnt wrong. It was stuffed full of them. A super big Stihl saw that was several hundred quids worth on its own; a nice set of Stanley chisels, good as new with their little plastic caps still on the cutting edge; a Bosch drill. It was quality gear. And of course, when I asked him what make they were he couldnt quite remember. But they were his, he assured me, and he was still quite sure he was on his own.