This story has a long lead-in before there is any sexual activity, so if that is what you are after, look elsewhere.
It is based in Glasgow, Scotland, and the main characters are involved in the criminal justice system. Criminal Prosecutions in Scotland are carried out by the Crown Office and Procurator Fiscal Service (COPFS) and dates back over 500 years. It is headed by the Lord Advocate (who may be male or female). It has a similar function to the English Crown Prosecution Service and in many ways the District Attorney in the US. The COPFS has a Procurator Fiscal for each of the six Sheriffdoms (geographical areas) and each has several Deputes who make decisions and present the Crown case. Procurator Fiscal Deputes can be referred to in several ways, including PF, Depute, or Fiscal. All but the most serious cases in Scotland are tried before a Sheriff who may sit alone or with a jury depending on the severity of the crime.
All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is accidental. All of the places exist except Dumfries Road. All sexual matters are consensual. There are a couple of Scottish terms used, they should be self-explanatory, but if not you have the internet.
I managed to find a quiet corner of the waiting room which was packed this morning; no doubt most of the courts were going to be busy with trials. Glasgow Sheriff Court is a huge building with about thirty courtrooms, some used for jury trials, some smaller courtrooms in the basement, but the majority are on second and third floors where there is a central waiting room for witnesses on each floor. I was in one of those.
I read through my notes and thought back to the events that lead to my being here this morning. My colleague, Jim Smith, and I had been interviewing witnesses about a series of robberies and were on our way to see the last one for the day when we heard a radio message. The Controller was directing some uniform colleagues to attend to an ongoing serious domestic abuse incident in Dumfries Road. We happened to be in Dumfries Road at the time and when the cops replied that they were about five or six minutes away I keyed the mike to tell them that we were almost outside the address and would attend.
It was obvious where the incident was because the shouting and threats could be heard a fair distance away. I ran up to the second floor of the tenement block to see a huge guy, a good six or seven inches taller than my five feet nine inches and built like a Scottish rugby forward. At that moment he had a woman by the throat, holding her against the wall so that she was almost on tiptoe. There were bruises on the side of her face, blood was coming from her lip or mouth and his fist was clenched and raised as if about to land another blow. Oh, he was also snarling all sorts of threats.
My knees were knocking a bit as I shouted, “Police, let her go right now!”
He turned to look at me as if I was something unwanted on the sole of his boot and snarled, “Fuck off!” Well, that seemed clear. I pulled my baton from my belt and flicked it so that it extended with a thump, which he ignored.
“Last warning, put her down and stand back.”
“Or what?” He sneered. His weight was all on his left leg so I swung the baton and caught him right behind the knee. It was unlikely to do any serious damage, despite how hard I’d swung, but it broke his stance and it was a pleasure to see him crumple to the floor with a whimper. Jim was over like a flash with his cuffs drawn and applied in a smooth motion. He’d paid more attention than I had done during our officer safety training, that was impressive.
“Nice move, now I know why they call you Hell!” I’m Helen Walsh and my colleagues sometimes called me Hell.
Two uniform officers arrived right at that moment and the older one commented, “CID attending domestics, whatever next?”
I turned to the male officer who’d spoken, “Can’t let you lot have all the fun. George could you and Jim take this clown back and lock him up. I’ll sort out things here with your colleague.”
The colleague was someone that I didn’t recognise and her uniform was still fairly new looking. “Hi, I’m Helen Walsh. Let’s get this lady inside and check the damage but I suspect we may need a trip to Glasgow Royal.”
“Hi, I’m Lydia Green, a month out of Tulliallan as you probably worked out.” (Note: Tulliallan is the Scottish Police College where most training, including basic training, is carried out).
We checked on our victim, Vivian Black, and found that she had several bruises, a split lip and her eye was starting to swell. I thought it best to get her checked up so we headed to the hospital and took a statement from her whilst we were waiting for the doctor to treat her.
It appeared that her ex-boyfriend, Gavin Williamson, wasn’t very pleased when his pal had seen her on a date with someone the previous evening. This ignored the fact that he’d dumped her for casino şirketleri someone else six months ago.
I bought Vivian a coffee and she told me more about her relationship with Gavin whilst we waited for Lydia to get some details from the doctor. I happened to look up as Lydia was heading back towards us. For the first time, I got a good look at her and found myself having a rather dirty thought and wondering what she would look like out of that shapeless uniform. Still, she was only about twenty, a recruit and probably straight, so that was never going to be an option.
Vivian had been called in to give evidence and she would be a while so I headed for the toilet. After washing my hands I checked my long very dark hair, today it was in a ponytail. I usually wore it in a bun at work to keep it out of the way and reduce the chance of it being grabbed. This place was full of ‘ne’er do wells’ but I thought that I was unlikely to get into an altercation whilst at court. I reapplied some lip gloss and took my life into my hands by using the coffee machine.
It tasted like it had been made from … well, not coffee beans anyway. I closed my eyes and thought back to the image I’d seen in the bathroom mirror. Slim, a decent figure, nice face, not pretty but attractive, great legs, smart and good at my job, but my love life was … not good. Single, single, single … I was a good catch, I lived in a large flat (apartment) which I owned because my Dad had left me money when he died, in the West End of Glasgow a couple of minutes walk from the Botanic Gardens.
I was seventeen when Dad had a massive heart attack in his office and was probably dead before he hit the floor. He was a bit of a workaholic but he was a great guy, made time for me and I loved being with him, football, cricket, and tennis, basketball in the garden, long walks, music, board games and his practical jokes.
My Mum appeared to be devastated at first, but she got over it pretty quickly, although during one moment when she’d had too much to drink and I’d pissed her off she let fly at me. Dad preferred me to her; he didn’t pay her enough attention and on it went. I bit my tongue and managed to avoid pointing out that long lunches, crawling into a wine bottle before midday and staying there until midnight most days might have influenced his behaviour.
I have no idea how she managed to snare Malcolm Davies, a businessman with a chain of retail clothing stores two years after dad died, but she did. Soon after the wedding, they moved to Mallorca and I regret that I didn’t much miss her. When we did speak she sniped at me, wasting my life in the police, mixing with trash, unmarried and so it went on, never a pleasure. Malcolm had a son, Roger, a twenty-year-old student who currently occupied my spare room. Not my idea but he was my stepbrother and in a moment of weakness I’d agreed to the arrangement.
I’d wanted to join the police for many years and hadn’t regretted it for a moment. It had been exciting and fascinating, sure I’d seen some pretty nasty things and met some evil bastards, but I’d also met people who needed help and others who were just lovely. I’d moved to the CID after four years in uniform and had spent the next four years as a city centre detective. Two years ago I was transferred to special crimes where we dealt with the more serious stuff, I loved it. I had a promotion board next week and, if successful, I might make sergeant within a year.
A sudden loud voice caught my attention, “Detective Constable Helen Walsh.” That was my cue. The Court Officer opened the door and pointed out the witness box despite me having been in one many, many times. I glanced over at the dock to my left and there he was, the accused Gavin Williamson, and the look he gave me was not one of friendliness. I switched my glance to the right and the Sheriff, an older large man with a stern face, who stood to raise his right hand. I raised mine and repeated the oath. The Sheriff sat and the Procurator Fiscal Depute gathered her papers and walked to the far end of the dock where she could rest her notes and still see them whilst she stood. It also had the benefit of ensuring that everyone could hear her. Another glance to the left revealed three or four people sitting on the public seats on one side of the room and another couple on the far side of the public seating area and who were clearly known to the accused.
“Good morning Constable. Could you tell the court your full name, age, length of service and current posting?”
“Good morning Ma’am. I’m Detective Constable Helen Walsh, thirty years of age, I’ve completed ten years of police service and I’m a member of the Special Crimes Unit stationed at Baird Street Police Office.”
The Fiscal asked a series of questions to elicit what had happened that had resulted in today’s trial. She was good. I’d seen her in the Court building before but had never given evidence in a case that casino firmaları she was presenting. Rachel McGregor was about my age, slim, had long blonde hair fastened with a barrette. She wore a gown but it was hard to hide the fact that her dark grey suit and black patent heels were not from a chain store, no, these were from some upmarket retailer.
It took about twenty minutes to get through most of my evidence and then the last few questions.
“Detective, after interviewing the accused you cautioned and charged him. Is that correct and did he make a reply?”
“Yes after concluding the interview. Constable Green and I took Mr Williamson to the Charge Bar where I administered a further caution and charged him. He replied “You fucking lesbian bitches all stick together. She had it coming to her.”
“Thank you, Detective. I’m sure my friend will have some questions for you.”
With that the Fiscal sat down and ‘Her friend’ stood. He’d been sitting at the large table where the defence solicitors sat opposite the Fiscal. He collected his papers and walked over to stand where the Fiscal had been. Mr William Downs was well known to most of the police in Glasgow. An older man, late fifties I’d guess, grey hair, a slight stoop and his gown was frayed at the edges. He was not a man I’d ever seen smile, smirk a few times, but never smile.
Mr Downs went through the evidence I’d already given until I got to the part where I’d struck Williamson. “So you assaulted my client? You struck him with a baton, a large baton and with such force as to cause him to collapse?”
“Yes, I struck your client with a police issue baton, in accordance with my training. I struck him at the back of the knee where it would do little lasting damage but because his weight was on that leg he fell. I did so because, in my opinion, he was about to punch Miss Black, having apparently already done so.”
“So you assaulted him?”
“I’ve answered that question already. Your client made a complaint of assault which was investigated, a report was submitted and no action is being taken. It appears that my actions were adjudged to have been justified.” He left that matter there and moved on to some other matters that were not going to help his client. Then he surprised me.
“Detective have you met my client, the accused, before the day of this alleged incident?”
The Fiscal’s head shot up to look at me and her eyebrows went up as well. This was something that she hadn’t been expecting.
“Yes, on one occasion about two weeks previously.”
“And what was the nature of that encounter?”
“I was with three friends at a bar in the city centre. One of my friends had gone to buy another round of drinks and I saw a man speaking to her. As I watched, I formed the view that she was trying to get rid of him. So I went over and as I approached I heard him trying to persuade her to go on a date with him. It was obvious that his attention was unwelcome. I told him clearly that she wasn’t interested. When he persisted I pointed out that she was with her partner. Then he started some rant about lesbians. I told him to be quiet and leave us alone.”
“Did you threaten him?”
“I told him to leave us alone or he would regret it.”
“So when you saw my client on the day of this alleged incident you saw this as an opportunity to exact revenge, didn’t you?”
I managed to stifle a laugh but only just. “No. I didn’t recognise him until much later on when I was interviewing him.”
He waffled a little more about this and other trivia before sitting down. The Sheriff invited the Fiscal to re-examine me.
“Thank you, My Lord, I have a couple of questions.” She looked down at her notes before looking at me. “Detective just to confirm that you didn’t recognise the accused until you saw him again at the police station. Is that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“So when you struck him it wasn’t a matter of gaining revenge.”
“No. I struck him because I believed that he was going to assault Miss Black, again. The blow I struck was intended to prevent that assault, which it did. If I’d wanted to extract ‘revenge’ I could have struck him elsewhere and caused a serious injury. I used the minimum force required to protect a citizen in accordance with my training.”
“Thank you, Detective, nothing further.” I was finished, left the room and headed back the office for an afternoon of paperwork. I spent the next couple of evenings and the weekend studying, preparing for my promotion board, what fun.
Monday morning I was up early having slept well and was feeling good. Smart skirt suit, heels, hair nicely done, modest make-up, I was ready. The interview went well, as far as I could tell. I found answers to all of the things that they asked and there weren’t any huge surprises. That could mean that it had either been a disaster or a success, time would tell.
I got dogs güvenilir casino abuse from the guys when I turned up at the office because I was ‘dressed up.’ I’d expected it and it made me laugh. It had been a great day and I was in a good mood until I opened the door of the flat. The sink was full of dishes; there were drink stains on the coffee table, a pile of Rogers damp laundry was on the kitchen worktop and the place smelled. “Roger, in here now!” I screamed at the top of my voice.
“Hi, Sis, what’s the problem?” The smirk set me off and I gave it to him, both barrels. After a good few minutes, I reminded him about not smoking and slammed the door as I stormed out. I phoned my friend Janice and got the okay to head over there.
I was fuming as I drove but took several deep breaths and willed myself to calm down. Janice and I had met about twenty years ago when we sat next to each other on our first day at high school. We’d been firm friends ever since, shared highs and lows, supported each other and kept each other’s secrets. She was the one person who I hid nothing from. She’d been the person I’d first told about my realisation that I was gay and she was great. I’d never fancied her ‘that way’ and it hadn’t changed our relationship. I even liked her husband Pete. The day that they married was one of the best days of my life and the only time I’d ever been a bridesmaid. They had a daughter four years ago, Megan, and she was perhaps the most wonderful child that the world has ever known. Maybe I was biased but I loved babysitting and playing with her.
When I got to the door Janice let me in and Megan ambushed me demanding that I go to her room to see her latest soft toy. I spent half an hour with her and by the time I managed to get to the kitchen and say a proper hello I was feeling so much better.
Over dinner we spoke about my promotion board and what Roger had done to annoy me. “So, Helen, any new love interest?”
“No, nothing. But you never know what’s around the next corner.”
By the time I got home, Roger had made a valiant attempt to clean up but he wisely kept out of my way. I’d slept well until something woke me up in the middle of the night. I stared at the ceiling and realised that I’d been dreaming about Rachel McGregor
In the pub
It’d been a good week but really busy. By Friday we’d managed to clear up a series of housebreakings involving the theft of artwork and several robberies at off licences. That was an excuse to adjourn to the pub, not that we’d ever needed that much of an excuse.
I’d ordered a pizza in an attempt to stave off hunger and help prevent me getting drunk too quickly. My hands were covered in the sauce so I headed to the toilet to wash them and on the way back to join my colleagues stopped to order a round of drinks. My mind was elsewhere when I heard someone ask, “A celebration detective?”
I turned to my left and was surprised to see Rachel McGregor. “Hi, yes in a way. We’ve had a good week and should be able to keep you in work for a little while.”
“That’s good, but we never seem to be short of work. Mr Williamson was sentenced today and you may be pleased to know that he is spending a few weeks inside.”
“Good, I’m sure Ms Black will be relieved as long as he leaves her alone when he gets out. Somehow I doubt it. Are you celebrating?”
“Veronica Smith is moving to Hamilton so we decided to give her a send-off.”
“Damn, she’s good, but I suppose it’ll be a positive career move.” She nodded but didn’t say anything. “I was quite impressed with your courtroom skills.”
“Thank you, but you made it pretty easy. Your statement was detailed and you were clear as you gave evidence that makes things easier.” We chatted for another few minutes until our drinks were served and then parted company.
It was midnight when I got home and fell asleep quickly thanks to the alcohol.
I opened my eyes and checked for any pain or evidence of a hangover. Thankfully I was fine. Nine o’clock and it seemed like a good time for a run, maybe down Byres Road to the Kelvingrove Museum, through the park and back along Great Western Road, it was about four miles. I pulled on my running gear and went to get a drink. That was when the smell hit me – cannabis! No police officer would ever miss that and the fact that I had, showed how much I’d had to drink. The ashtray still held the remnants of four joints and there were some traces of herbal on the coffee table.
I crashed open Roger’s door and dragged the duvet off of him. “Get up, get up now you fucker.”
“What? What the hell Helen, you can’t just come in here.”
“Oh yes I fucking can and I just have. I have no idea who you had here last night but you were smoking weed. You know how I feel about smoking, but fuck me, Cannabis! What if I’d brought a colleague back last night, Jesus you moron I’d be in big trouble. It stops now or you’re out on your ear, understand?”
“Chill out Helen, it’s only a bit of weed. And you can’t kick me out.”
“Chill out? Fuck you could get me sacked and I can kick you out, this is my house, mine, bought and paid for with my money. I can and will kick you out if there is any more of this shit.”