City of Dreadful Night Read Online Free

safety of the community if the police were routinely armed, even after the debacle on the London tube. I had become the government’s poster boy on the issue. I knew the fact I was a liberal on all other police matters made my view on this issue all the more powerful.
    It was a sultry evening so, although the car was air-conditioned, I lowered my window as we drove up the London Road and out towards Milldean.
    My phone rang as we passed under the high railway viaduct, which I always regarded as the boundary between the city proper and its outskirts. I recognized the number. Rupert Colley, Leader of the Council, a man who prided himself on his grass-roots politics. However near his ear was to the ground, I didn’t believe he could have heard so quickly, although he would have seen me leave the dinner. Not that it would have made any difference. I would still have ignored the call.
    Traffic was light so we sped past Preston Park then swung right on to the estate. We followed the labyrinth of pitted streets until I saw a large crowd of people. Milldean was a typical fifties council estate: low-rise but with many of the problems a decade later associated with high-rise.
    Wide avenues, cheap houses but a lot of them. In one part of the estate there were a couple of hundred prefabs still in use. When they’d been put up at the end of the Second World War they were only meant to be a short-term solution to the housing shortage.
    The mood was unpredictable. We edged by the crowd and pulled up in front of a set of steel barricades.
    The divisional commander for the area came over to the car as half a dozen uniformed officers cleared a way for us. He slid into the car beside me.
    â€˜We’ve got to disperse these people,’ I said as we passed through the barricade. I could see more people milling at the far end of the street.
    â€˜I’ve got two dozen officers in riot gear on their way,’ he said. His name was Lewis. He was a by-the-book officer, competent enough but lacking in originality. And he was rattled. He spoke in staccato sentences. ‘There are a few troublemakers among this crowd. People heard the shots, of course. Mostly when that happens round here people know to stay indoors. There are wild rumours. The police have shot a pregnant woman. A ten-year-old girl.’
    â€˜And did we?’ I hissed.
    â€˜No ten-year-old girl,’ he said quietly. I looked at his pinched face. He looked back at me with sad eyes.
    â€˜We don’t know at this stage if the woman is pregnant.’
    I clenched my fists and tried to control my breathing. I have a tendency to rage. It’s not something I’m proud of, although it has served me well when I’ve been in physical jeopardy, as I often was during my army service.
    Jack approached the car, neat as ever in a lightweight blue suit. He held the door as I got out.
    â€˜Sorry about the hacks,’ he said, nodding towards a middle-aged man and an attractive young woman standing in the street some twenty yards away. The man was looking nervously at the crowds gathered behind the barricades then scribbling in a notebook. The woman – bespectacled, hair twisted into a knot, vaguely familiar – was talking intently into a microphone.
    â€˜Not your fault. Bad timing. Who are they?’
    â€˜Just locals so we shouldn’t have a problem. The guy from the Argus – Vince Proctor – is solid.’
    â€˜And the girl?’
    Jack lowered his voice. ‘She’s fluff from the local radio station. A trainee.’
    I nodded.
    â€˜Do they know how many dead at this point?’
    Jack shook his head. I touched his sleeve.
    â€˜Openness is our policy, but we have to play this carefully. Organize a press conference for noon tomorrow. That should give us enough time to sort out what has happened. Everyone will expect us to close ranks, as the police always do. But we won’t.’ I looked around. ‘Where’s