All Quiet on Arrival Read Online Free

them, they immediately think ‘complaint’.
    â€˜Are you really called Holmes and Watson?’ I asked, as I indicated that Dave should remain.
    â€˜Yes, sir,’ said Watson.
    â€˜How come you finish up doing duty on the same instant response car? Coincidence, is it?’
    â€˜No, sir,’ said Holmes. ‘It’s the duties sergeant’s idea of a joke. Unfortunately, whenever I say I’m PC Holmes, and this is PC Watson, people think we’re having them on.’
    I laughed, and putting aside the Chelsea duties sergeant’s impish sense of humour, got down to the business in hand. ‘Which one of you called at twenty-seven Tavona Street on Saturday night? Or did you both call?’
    â€˜It was me, sir,’ said Watson. ‘And it was actually Sunday morning. We got the call at twelve ten and arrived on scene at twelve sixteen.’
    â€˜I’m the driver, sir, and I remained in the car,’ said Holmes, ‘in case there was another call.’ He seemed pleased at having made such a decision now that Watson’s actions were being questioned.
    â€˜Of course,’ I said, and turned to Watson. ‘So tell me about this disturbance.’
    Having heard that a dead body had been found at 27 Tavona Street not long after he had called there, Watson was justifiably anxious. I suppose he could visualize disciplinary proceedings for neglect of duty, and everything else that went with such a charge. He was probably wondering whether he should ask for the attendance of his Police Federation representative. Believe me, once an investigating officer starts digging, you’d be surprised what he can come up with. Like incorrectly completed forms, inaccurate incident report book entries, a disparity between the times in said document and in the car’s logbook, and Lord knows what else. I know because I’ve been on the wrong end of a disciplinary enquiry, and it’s not a comfortable experience. And to think that the public is convinced that we whitewash complaints.
    Personally, I felt rather sorry for Holmes and Watson – there but for the grace of God et cetera – but their commander would probably take an entirely different view once the facts were laid before him.
    â€˜A man called Carl Morgan answered the door, sir,’ said Watson, referring to his notes.
    â€˜Did you verify that name?’ I asked. ‘Did you ask for proof of identity, for example?’
    â€˜Er, no, sir. I didn’t think it was necessary.’
    â€˜Go on.’
    â€˜The man Morgan was wearing jeans, and was stripped to the waist. Oh, and he was holding a woman’s bra, sir.’
    â€˜What did he say?’
    â€˜He apologized for the disturbance, and told me that it was now quiet, and that most of the guests had left the house. Then a woman appeared, sir. She was dressed in a thong and nothing else. Oh, and she had two butterflies tattooed on her stomach.’
    â€˜Did the bra he was holding belong to this woman?’ asked Dave as though it were of vital importance.
    â€˜I don’t know, Skip.’ Watson, in common with many others, including me, didn’t always appreciate when Dave was exercising his sense of humour. ‘Anyway, the man Morgan called her Shell, presumably short for Shelley. She only stayed at the door for a minute or so, and then went back into the house.’
    â€˜How old was this woman?’ I asked.
    Watson thought for a moment or two. ‘Middle to late twenties, I should think. She had long black hair, shoulder-length,’ he added, as though that might help. ‘And she had a bit of meat on her. Good figure, not like some of those anorexic models you see in women’s mags.’
    â€˜And I suppose you didn’t take her full name,’ suggested Dave, with sufficient scepticism in his voice to imply that Watson had not done his job properly.
    â€˜No, Skip.’ Watson was beginning to look