Dear Diary (2)

Nodded off yet?

No?

I’ll continue then:

After the initial excitement of using my investigative powers to add to the statistics had worn off, we settled down into an unfamiliar routine. In normal circumstances we’d be going from one call to the next making copious notes and avoiding contact with bodily fluids.

Instead we got to trawl around looking for naughty people doing naughty things. Invariably this means we have to make use of some of our special powers. Sadly these don’t include leaping from tall buildings (banned under HASAW), x-ray vision (banned under RIPA) nor running at the speed of sound (banned under the Too Many Pies Act).

That just leaves section 1 of PACE, section 163 of the RTA and section 23 of MOD. For those of you not past the preface of ‘Law for Dummies’; these are the most common powers we use to stop cars and to stop and search suspected naughty people. Our use of them is not an exact science and unlike integrative biology the decision to stop someone isn’t easy to explain.

Stop them we did though. It is amazing how many people you can find “just waiting for a friend” in the early hours of the morning. Stops are like buying a house, you know if they’re ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ in the first eleven seconds. Although several will be having a day out at court in the next six months we didn’t arrest anyone.

The best answer of the night came from an unemployed eighteen year old driving his nearly new German car. All forty grand’s worth.

“I got traders insurance innit”

Yeah right, just like the only person he could name with a non-‘international’ driving licence was someone related to his second cousin’s girlfriend.

Before retiring to the station to write down everything we had done in triplicate, there was a final call. We refer to it as a “suspects on” and it is one of the few remaining good calls. By this time of night those units not tied up with a drink drive or domestic prisoner will all go. So that was two cars then.

Local knowledge of the area was enough to know that we’d need some specialist help and the furry exocet was requested. Fortunately one was close by and arrived shortly after us. Now, without revealing any trade secrets; I can only say that the Mark I can do in a few seconds what could have taken us twenty or so minutes to do. The handler then makes their buddy do it all over again in a more thorough manner just to make it look good. Then they say “They went that way”, coupled with vague pointing.

However, this particular Mark I had obviously had a big dinner. After his first scoot around he settled down out of sight of his handler to lighten the load. When he didn’t respond to commands I informed the handler, from my vantage point, that his partner was temporarily indisposed.

I’m no Gillian McKeith, but I don’t think that he was getting enough fibre in his diet as the movement went on for what seemed like an eternity. I started wondering what overtime code I could use for this situation.

“Has he finished yet?” came the cry, followed by some very juvenile giggling from the darkness.

“Nope, has anyone got a newspaper for him?” The only one not laughing by now was the handler who made use of a very rude phrase.

That seemed to do the trick and the Mark I was off with a new found spring in his step. After a meticulous search to the accompaniment of a barrage of toilet humour the, now hangdog, handler said “They went that way”. I had a feeling someone wouldn’t be throwing any rubber balls for a while.

So, Insomniac of Tonbridge Wells, there you go. Some real police work to get you off on. I trust it worked and I can get back to normal?

After all, it’s not all thrills and spills.

Defecating dogs aside that is.