“Mr Poole.” The man was older than Carl Benson, the policeman who’d come out the previous time, he moved languidly as though he was experiencing gravity differently from the rest of us. “Miss Kilkenny.” He nodded at me. “PC Doyle.” He turned his head slowly to the woman at his side, “WPC Gilmartin. You reported the incident?”
He was grinning nearly all the time, nodding his head to some slow beat. He reminded me of a Jack Nicholson character, all lazy amusement and hidden menace. I wondered if he were stoned, his eyes were glassy, lids drooping a bit. Maybe he’d had a long shift.
“Seems like a little horseplay got out of hand. I’ve had a word with the lads and…”
“Hang about,” interrupted Mr Poole, “it’s not horseplay. This lot are terrorising that family. The council and the police know all about it. Your lot have been called out here countless times these last few weeks.”
He went on to outline all the forms the harassment had taken. PC Doyle didn’t like being corrected. The grin faded, was replaced by a pained frown and he looked to the sky while Mr Poole spoke. A belittling gesture. His colleague was doing her best to be invisible. She neither spoke nor even watched what was going on. Feet close together, eyes down, she rocked now and again lightly on her heels and waited.
When Mr Poole finished Doyle grinned again. “I’ve made a note of the incident, it’s been recorded.”
“Aren’t you going to see Mrs Ahmed?” I demanded. “Reassure her?”
“Mrs Ahmed?” He gave a little extra weight to the name, very subtle but enough to signal that he was a bigot too. “Mrs Ahmed doesn’t speak any English.”
“I still think you should show her you’re here. We can tell her the window will be boarded up tonight.”
He sighed. His eyes flicked to me then away. They looked hard, reptilian. He turned and walked in a slow roll over to the house followed at a distance by the WPC, Mr Poole and myself. The gang still hovered round the gateway. Why hadn’t he sent them away? He banged on the door hard four times and shouted ‘Police’. He sounded like he was going to launch a raid on the place not reassure a frightened citizen. There was no response. Surprise, surprise.
I went up to join him. As I passed the youths one of them made sucking noises.
PC Doyle banged again. “Police.”
I spoke too. Maybe a woman’s voice would be less threatening. After all how did Mrs Ahmed know whether this wasn’t yet more aggro from the gang, a trap set to get her to open the door?
