Career Suicide

There’s noise all around me as my colleagues mill about their tasks. There are arrest enquiries to be completed, prisoners to be processed, statements to be taken, mug shots to be shown, and breakfasts to be eaten. My workload is not a particularly heavy one today; collect CCTV from the scene of a non-residential burglary, take it to Hounslow police station and view it in the hope that I get a good image of the ‘slag’ that ‘screwed’ the warehouse. Secondly, collect a victim of robbery from his H.A. (home address) take him back to the venue (place he was mugged) with a view to jogging any suppressed memory and identifying any overlooked forensic opportunities. The latter has all the hallmarks of an ‘insurance job’. A ‘victim’ pretending he/she was robbed in order to generate a crime reference number so they can claim a newer more up-to-date cell phone. Unfortunately, this is all too often the case, and is difficult to prove otherwise. Often it simply comes down to ‘gut instinct’ to detect a liar, which as we all know is simply a layman’s’ term for intuition and experience http://psychologytoday.com/articles/pto-20070424-000001.html . Sadly, this is not enough, and I’m digressing widely. Guess it comes with studying psychology for far too many years. Besides all that I’ve still got my other crimes to investigate, there’s a shortage of unmarked cars, and I’m still phasing in and out of reality. I cannot get behind the wheel of a police vehicle, nor any vehicle for that matter. I would be a danger to the public, my colleagues and myself. In fact, the way I’m feeling I shouldn’t be in contact with anyone in a working capacity, I’m a bleedin’ walking health and safety violation. I then decide to take the ‘long walk’ into the DI’s (Detective Inspector) office and put all my ‘cards on the table’. This crap isn’t going away.
“Guv, can you spare a few minutes”? “What’s up big man?” Now my DI, a stocky Glaswegian in his forties, is one of the nicest blokes you could ever hope to meet in this life. The sort of person a guy could instantly feel at ease with and open up his heart. I am truly blessed that I can refer to him as a friend of the family. However, potentially committing career suicide should be very low on the list of things to do of a young and upcoming detective, nobody wants a ‘loon’ on their team that could keel over in a fight, or ‘flip out’ in a high speed car chase. “Guv, I think I’m really ill”. “Close the door behind you mate, take a seat”. And then it all spills out and I begin to shake. “Likey… Likey, my office now!” The office door bursts open, “What’s up Guv?” “Get a car, one with blues ‘n twos, and get Ivan to the hospital pronto”. “What’s up mate?” “He’ll fill you in on the way, get going”.

I’m at Kingston Hospital in record time a testament to the driving ability of my work mate John. As promised I’ve got him ‘up to scratch’ along the way, and he decides to stay with me while I get booked in for the usual barrage of probes and questions. A phone call, “it’s the Guvnor, I should stay with you as long as it takes… I was anyway, we’re paid by the hour” I crack a wry smile.
After a while the doctor in charge visits my cubicle. He informs me that they cannot find anything wrong with me, and that they considered keeping me in for observation until my Neurologist appointment next week, however, he is more concerned that I’ll leave here with more diseases than I went in with. His advice is to wait at home until my appointment with Van Helsing, after all its only three days away. I’m discharged none the wiser, but at least free of MRSA. Another phone call from the DI. I’m not to come in until after the neurologist’s appointment next week. I wonder how I’m going to tell my folks about all this