WE ARE TOTALLY THRILLED TO WELCOME OUR GUEST AUTHOR, ROSHAN K. PITTEEA. TODAY HE IS SHARING AN EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER 13 OF HIS NOVEL, 'CARE AND CONTROL' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat

CARE AND CONTROL

Chapter 13

The police car screamed through the streets, weaving like quicksilver round any obstacles without slowing. Louis was feeding information to the operator through the radio, allowing Damien to focus on the road.

They were moments away from Wycombe Crescent, a street in the affluent eastern suburbs of the city. This was the address to where the car that had picked up Connor was registered. The keeper was recorded as Bryan Hillesley, the operator advised. No warning markers. No relevant history. The house had been the location of a sudden death three years ago, an elderly lady with the same surname. The assumption was that Bryan had inherited the house.

Why the hell would Connor be there? Louis wondered. A flare of light from the street dazzled him momentarily. He spoke into his radio. “4029. Speed camera activation, Fraser Road.”

It was good practice to let the control room know if any traffic cameras were triggered during a response run. Louis didn’t need to see the speedometer to know that Damien was well over the speed limit. He had been on plenty of response runs with Luke before, but Damien was another class altogether. His eyes were focussed on the road, his head only moving to check for approaching traffic as they flew past junctions towards their destination. Man and machine had melded seamlessly. As much as Louis was focussed on the job ahead, he took a moment to acknowledge that his heart wasn’t just racing because of the speed they were travelling.

Damien killed the blue lights as they turned into Wycombe Crescent. Louis sent the Code 6 signal, letting control know they were at the scene. Their body-cams activated automatically. Units were coming from across the city but they were the first here. They drew up outside a red-brick bungalow. The curtains in the front window were drawn but the lights were on.

As soon as the car halted, Louis took off up the tarmac driveway, passing the grey Volvo on his way. Damien was hot on his heels. Louis reached the side door and knocked hard.

“We haven’t got a red key,” Damien told him, referring to the heavy metal battering ram that would take most doors off their hinges.

Louis nodded and knocked again, harder this time. “Police!”

Damien ran round the corner to the back of the house. A second later, he shouted, “Louis! Hillesley’s in there! He’s run into the hallway!”

Louis didn’t hesitate. He rammed the sole of his right boot into the door, just under the handle. It burst open and he charged in, yelling once more, “Police!”

He ran through a dark, narrow hallway into a bright, open-plan living room and dining room. The fug of fried food and stale body odour hung in the air. Hillesley stood with his back to the living room window, panting with fright in grey joggers and a white t-shirt. His arm raised like a tennis player about to serve. Louis saw the black iron poker in his hand.

Before he could react, Damien had darted past him, Taser raised. “Put it down!”

So fierce was Damien’s voice that even Louis flinched. Hillesley was frozen on the spot, the colour drained from his face. Damien took his right leg back, bracing himself. “Put the poker down now!”

Louis saw a red dot appear on Hillesley’s chest. The Taser was armed and ready to discharge if Damien moved his trigger-finger a touch more. Hillesley dropped the poker to the ground and lifted his hands in the air.

Damien barked instructions. “Turn around! Face the window. Hands in the air! Do it now!”

Hillesley complied without argument, moving as fast as his plump body would allow.

“Lie on your belly! Cross your ankles! Do it now!” Damien yelled. The purpose of getting him into this position wasn’t to humiliate him. If he decided to stop complying, it would take him a split second longer to attack, giving Damien and Louis time to react. Damien nodded at Louis, signalling to move in. Louis drew his handcuffs and leapt forward, careful not to obstruct Damien’s line of fire. He grabbed Hillesley’s right wrist, applied one cuff then brought it behind his back and secured the left one in the other cuff. He checked them for tightness, ensuring there was enough room for blood to flow to his hands but not so much that he could slip them off.

Damien holstered his Taser and stepped forward. Together, they lifted Hillesley to his feet and patted him down, checking for anything that might help him escape or injure someone.

“Connor McAllen!” said Louis. “Where is he?”

Hillesley gasped wetly, snot running down his nose and onto his thick lips, but said nothing.

“Search the house,” Damien said, taking a firm hold of Hillesley’s left upper arm.

Louis dashed out of the living room and down the long, dark corridor. The next room on the right was the bathroom. Nothing. The main bedroom, decorated in sallow, flocked wallpaper was empty. The final door led to another bedroom.

“Connor!” Louis rushed to the double bed where Connor lay on his back, eyes closed. He was almost as pale as the cream floral duvet. Louis looked around. The extra lighting in the room was like an amateur film set. He spotted the expensive-looking computer equipment in the far corner of the room.

Louis didn’t like the look of what he saw but the priority now was Connor. Louis shouted to Damien that he’d found Connor then yanked the pillow from behind his head. He lowered his ear to Connor’s face and squeezed his eyes shut in relief when he felt Connor’s breath tickle his cheek. Louis turned him onto his side in the recovery position then activated his radio. “4029. Expedite an ambulance to this address. Fourteen-year-old male, breathing but unconscious.”

The operator confirmed an ambulance was on route. Louis knelt down and tapped repeatedly at Connor’s cheek with his hand, calling his name. No response. He kept going, telling Connor to wake up. When that didn’t work, he pinched Connor’s earlobe hard between his thumb and forefinger. He saw Connor’s face crease up and applied pressure again. Connor’s eyelids fluttered open. His brilliant blue eyes were the most wonderful things Louis had seen all day.

“You’re ok, Connor,” he said, rubbing the boy’s arm and shoulder. “Come on, wake up.”

Louis was no expert but he knew this was more than just a sleepy teenager. He didn’t smell alcohol. “Connor, have you taken anything?”

Connor blinked, looking confused. “Louis?”

“That’s right,” he replied, smiling. “You’re safe. What have you taken?”

“Nothing,” said Connor, closing his eyes again.

Louis pressed his hand to Connor’s forehead. “No, mate, don’t go back to sleep. Stay awake for me now, ok?”

Connor opened his eyes again and tried to sit up. Louis helped him. Connor looked around the room, squinting at the light. His gazed finally came to rest on his bare feet, which were stretched out in front of him. Connor frowned, “Louis?”

“Yeah?” Louis rubbed Connor’s back, trying to keep him alert.

“He took my clothes off.” Connor blinked hard thrust his chin out towards his feet. Louis followed his gaze but didn’t see anything untoward, save for a healed scar on the arch of Connor’s right foot.

“Just your socks, mate,” said Louis. “Don’t worry, I’ll find them in a minute.”

Connor shook his head, frustrated, then repeated emphatically, “He. Took. My. Clothes. Off.”

Louis looked round the room again. The ring lights around the bed. The fancy computer equipment. An empty camera tripod. He suddenly felt very worried. “What’s happened here, Connor?”

Connor’s eyes flickered and he said again, “He took my clothes off.”

Louis felt his jaw clench tightly. He propped Connor up against the headboard then marched back into the living room. Damien hadn’t moved from the spot with Bryan Hillesley.

“Have you locked him up yet?” Louis asked. When Damien shook his head, Louis turned to Hillesley and said, “I’m arresting you on suspicion of kidnap and sexual activity with a child. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. The necessity for your arrest is for a prompt, effective investigation and to protect a vulnerable child.”

Louis caught a glimmer of pride in Damien’s eyes and the hint of a smile. He quickly noted the time of arrest on the back of his hand then went back to the bedroom. As he stepped into the corridor, his radio chirped with a point-to-point call. “Go ahead.”

“PC Mortimer, can you speak?” came a female voice with a strong northeastern accent. Louis told her to go ahead and she continued. “I’m DS Ryan, Operation Hollowpoint. Tell me what’s going on there.”

Louis had no idea who she was, or what Op Hollowpoint was for that matter, but updated her anyway.

“Ok,” she said. “You’ve done a great job so far. Are you SOLO-trained?”

Sexual Offence Liaison Officers were specially-trained response officers dispatched to victims of rape and serious sexual assaults. Their role was to gather evidence of the assault sensitively and as early as possibly to prevent it from being lost.

“No, not yet,” replied Louis. “I’ve done Early Evidence Kits before, though. Connor’s really out of it. I’m not going to be able to complete an initial account pack with him just now.”

“That’s fine. If you feel confident to do it, get the EEK done as soon as you can then take him to Freedom House. Do you know where that is?”

Louis knew. Freedom House was a specialist centre where forensic medical examinations were carried out on victims of rape and sexual assault. It also had its own interview suite and video link room. He’d transported a couple of people there in the past.

“Sarge, I think we need to put a scene on at this house and get Digital Investigations down here to look at these computers.” He explained his reasoning to DS Ryan.

“Spot on,” she replied. “I’ll get in touch with the shift commander to get some additional units down there. You just focus on the kid. I’m dispatching one of my cops to meet you at Freedom House. We’ll give them the heads-up that you’re on your way.”

Louis acknowledged the message and ended the call. Two paramedics entered the room and greeted them both. Louis quickly relayed the circumstances to them and let them set to work checking Connor out. He seemed to be coming round a bit now. “Louis, is my mum here?”

“No, mate,” he replied. “Just you and the guy who lives here.”

Connor’s despair was evident. “He said she’d be here.”

“Your blood pressure’s a little high, but ok,” said the paramedic, unstrapping the cuff from Connor’s arm. “Anything to eat or drink tonight?”

“Cheese on toast and some Pepsi,” Connor murmured, looking around the room again as if taking it in for the first time.

“You’re not in any trouble, lad,” said the paramedic matter-of-factly, “But I need to know if you’ve had any drugs or alcohol.”

Connor shook his head. “That’s all I had, then I went to sleep. The next thing, Louis woke me up.”

Now that he was more alert, Louis tried again. “Connor, why do you think he took off your clothes?”

Connor pointed at his bare feet. “I wouldn’t have taken my socks off here. In case I needed to run.”

Louis understood now. When his parents were at their worst, he had slept with his socks and school plimsolls on, ready to flee if his dad carried out his bellowed threats to burn the house down with them all inside.

The paramedic stood up and asked to speak to Louis in the hallway. Once out of Connor’s earshot, he said, “I’m happy enough that he doesn’t have to go to hospital. I think he’s been given ketamine or similar to knock him out.”

Louis replied, “I thought so too. I’m taking him to Freedom House.”

The paramedic nodded and went back in to finish up. Louis heard voices in the kitchen and saw Noreen and Jack heading over to him. He smiled, grateful to see them.

“Louis, what can we do?” Noreen asked, returning a warm smile of her own.

Louis felt surprisingly focussed and calm. “There’s an EEK in the boot, I’ll need that. Grab our keys off Damien. And a Tyvek suit, if there’s one. We’re going to need to lock this house down as a scene, get the prisoner transported to custody and get Connor down to Freedom House.”

“I’ll get the circs off Damo then we’ll book the prisoner in for you,” Jack confirmed.

As they split back up, Louis relayed the plan over the radio to the operator, advising that the prisoner would need to be booked into a dry cell with no wash allowed until further notice. This was an accepted measure that prevented a suspect washing away delicate forensic evidence before the appropriate samples could be taken.

The paramedics bustled past, taking their kit with them and bidding goodnight. Louis waved them off. Damien popped his head round from the living room. “All ok?”

Louis nodded. “Have I forgotten anything?”

“You’re doing just fine, mate.”

Noreen returned with a small cardboard box and a thin polythene bag containing the Tyvek suit. She followed Louis into the bedroom. Connor was sat with his legs hanging off the side of the bed. Louis knelt down in front of him and said, “We’re going to take you to see a doctor and get checked out, buddy. If you’re saying he’s taken your clothes off, we need to find out what’s happened. Is that ok?”

Connor nodded. “What if my mum turns up looking for me?”

“There’s going to be some cops staying here to watch the place,” he replied. “If she comes, they’ll let me know. I need to take a couple of samples first, ok?”

Louis opened the white box that Noreen had brought. He slipped on the latex gloves from inside then drew out a sealed plastic tub of water. He handed it to Connor then drew out a screw-top beaker. “Ok, mate, when you’re ready, open this water and swill it round your mouth. Count to thirty in your head then spit it into this beaker. Understand?”

Connor did as he was told. Once he spat out the water, Louis placed the sealed beaker in an evidence bag.

“Good lad. Do you think you can pee?”

“Fuck, yes,” Connor groaned, standing up. Louis and Noreen walked with him to the toilet. Louis handed him another beaker and explained what to do. Connor took it from him and closed the door. He reappeared a moment later with his sample. Louis repeated the same process of sealing it in an evidence bag and completing the details on the label.

Louis unwrapped the Tyvek suit and passed it to Connor to slip over himself. It was ridiculously big on him and Connor said as much. Louis made light of it, which made Connor grin. Louis knew there was potentially forensic evidence on Connor’s clothes, but it would be better to seize them in the sterile environment of Freedom House; chances were that they would at least have some clothes for Connor to change into.

Noreen went into the living room to swap places with Damien. There were no issues with cross-contamination, Louis figured, because Connor had been in the house with Hillesley. When Damien joined them, his demeanour seemed more relaxed and friendly. He said to Connor, “Come on, mate. Let’s get you on your way.”

They walked down the driveway with him and helped him into the back of the car. Louis closed the door and looked around. Curtains along the street were already twitching at the sight of the police cars. A thought occurred to him and he pulled out his handheld terminal to make a phone call.

“Louis?” Aliyah’s voice answered. “Is everything ok?”

“There isn’t a simple answer to that,” he replied mirthlessly then regaled the events to her.

When he had finished, she asked, “So, are they planning to video-interview him at Freedom House?”

Visually-recorded interviews, or VRIs as safeguarding professionals often referred to them, were a way of taking statements from children and vulnerable people. Instead of an officer writing down what had happened, a specially-trained detective would interview the person and the conversation was audio and visually-recorded. The recording could be played to the court at trial in lieu of a written statement.

“I’m not sure,” replied Louis. “They’re sending a detective down to meet me there.”

“OK,” replied Aliyah. “I’ll come anyway. You’ll need me there to consent to the medical examination as his corporate parent. If they want to interview him, I’ll stay and be his interview supporter.”

With all the arrangements agreed, Louis hung up and got in the car. Damien put it into gear and moved them off, out of Wycombe Crescent in the direction of Freedom House.

**********

Author Roshan Pitteea

The Author

The world that Roshan Pitteea writes about is one he knows well.

A born-and-bred Northern boy, he is the son of two nurses who moved from Mauritius in the late ‘70s for work. Roshan grew up in Bradford, West Yorkshire: his love of reading, and of story-telling, began at an early age, and he went on to complete an undergraduate degree in European Politics at the University of Leeds.

Early on in his career he began working with victims of crime, which led him to apply for a job with a project aimed at safeguarding teenage boys from child sexual exploitation. This, he says, was the turning point in his career. The role took him into schools… but also into police-stations, prisons, brothels and red-light areas.

Working as a carer in children’s homes to make ends meet, he went back to studying and was awarded a Masters with Distinction in Social Work.

Roshan began his career as a child protection social worker for a large Local Authority, working with vulnerable children and families experiencing abuse and deprivation. He quickly attained Advanced Practitioner status due to his work on a number of complex cases. He also developed a specialism for interviewing and assessing child sex offenders, consolidating this with a Post-Graduate Certificate in Forensic Psychology & Behavioural Analysis.

After eight years in social work, Roshan decided to seek out a new challenge, and attested as a Constable for one of the largest territorial police forces in the North with the intention of becoming an accredited detective. He spent a year in uniform as a response officer before landing his dream role as a trainee detective on a Safeguarding Team.

Roshan completed his detective and specialist child abuse investigation accreditations in quick succession. He investigated serious and complex crimes against children and adults, often securing significant sentences against those responsible. He currently runs a specialist unit within the force, having achieved the rank of Detective Sergeant.

With his love of creative writing and a fertile imagination that skews towards the macabre, a book like Care & Control from Roshan was inevitable. He has used his knowledge of social work, psychology and crime to develop authentic characters who move within a gritty backdrop that will feel familiar to anyone who knows the North of England.

Roshan is clear that his work is neither autobiographical nor based on true stories, but hopes that his readers will feel the same energies of the people and places that have inspired him so profoundly.

He has started writing at a time where policing, social work and UK public sector services in general are facing significant challenges; and he hopes that, through his work, he can pay tribute to the dedicated people who work so hard to protect some of the most vulnerable members of society.

Care & Control , he says, is just the beginning…

____________

Care & Control is available from Amazon Care & Control: Amazon.co.uk: Pitteea, Roshan K.:

9798327873896: Books in Paperback, Hardback, Kindle and eBook formats.

Connect

Find out more about Roshan via his website:

www.roshanpitteeaauthor.com

You can also follow him on the following platforms:

Instagram @roshanpitteeaauthor

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'Care & Control' by Roshan K. Pitteea

COMING SOON: On Friday, 29th August, we have our wonderful team member, Lorraine Carey sharing her short story 'The Doll That Had it All' from the 'What If?' anthology.