big boots all over the place. Maybe she just took a sleeping pill and fell asleep with the music on.’
‘If she can sleep through that, she’s the only one!’ snapped her husband. ‘I agree with Miss Warren. I think we should call the police.’
‘Oh dear, I hope it won’t cause bad feelings,’ said Lucy. ‘One hears such dreadful things these days about neighbours falling out.’
‘We’re doing it with the best of intentions,’ Miss Warren reassured her. ‘We’re worried about her welfare.’
As agreed, Miss Warren called the police when she went back downstairs. She did so in a very apologetic way, as she did most things in life, and was told that a Panda car would shortly be on its way. She gave the operator details of her buzzer number so that she could admit the officers when they arrived and then sat by the window. Her heart sank when she saw the flashing blue light appear. Drama was the last thing she or any of the other residents of Palmer Court would welcome, but at least the police car wasn’t making that awful noise.
Miss Warren admitted the two constables and briefed them on what had been happening.
‘And you say there was no response at all?’ asked the elder, PC Lennon.
‘None, and Mr Dale tried several times.’
‘Right, then, Miss Warren, leave it to us.’
The two officers went upstairs, their personal radios crackling with the static created in the steel-framed fire escape.
‘Nice place,’ remarked PC Clark as they climbed.
‘You’d need a few bob to live here,’ replied Lennon. ‘Come back when you’re a chief super.’
They went through the same routine that George Dale had before deciding to force an entry. Lennon, the beefier of the two, crashed his shoulder into the door three times before the lock gave way and splintered wood fell to the ground around their feet. The door swung open and the sound level went up even more. The two policemen entered and heard Bruce Springsteen going mournfully ‘down to the river’. They made their way slowly through the hall but did not call out, knowing that they could not compete with Bruce.
Lennon signalled to Clark to kill the music and watched as the younger man tried to figure out the controls on the front of the expensive sound system. In the end, he lost patience and pulled the plug out of the wall. A respectable silence was restored to Palmer Court.
‘Miss Danby? Are you there?’ The two policemen walked through to the bedroom and found a woman on the bed. She was wearing a nightdress and lying on top of the covers with her eyes closed. Her pillow was stained with vomit and her nightdress soaked in sweat.
‘Miss Danby?’
They moved closer and saw an empty whisky bottle on the bedside table. An empty pill bottle lay on its side next to it.
‘Oh, love, was life really that bad?’ murmured Lennon as he felt for a pulse at the woman’s neck.
‘Is she dead, Tom?’
‘Yeah, poor lass. Just shows you, money can’t buy you happiness.’
Both men looked around at the expensive furnishings.
‘This is my first,’ said Clark, looking down at the body. ‘She looks just like she’s sleeping.’
‘She’s not been dead that long, she’s still warm. Wait until you see them pulled out the canal after a week or lying on the floor in summer for a month because they didn’t have anyone to check on them.’
At that moment the ‘corpse’ moved its head and Clark jumped back. ‘Jesus, she’s alive!’
‘Christ!’ exclaimed Lennon. ‘I couldn’t feel a pulse. Get an ambulance. Miss Danby! Miss Danby, can you hear me?’
The woman groaned quietly.
‘Come on now, waken up! D’you hear me, Miss Danby? Waken up!’
‘Men …’
‘What’s that? What about men?’
‘All men … are bastards.’
‘Come on now, Miss Danby, waken up. Don’t go to sleep again.’
Her head slumped back on to the pillow.
‘Shit! Maybe her airway’s blocked. It’s the sort of thing that happens when drunks throw up. Come
‘If she can sleep through that, she’s the only one!’ snapped her husband. ‘I agree with Miss Warren. I think we should call the police.’
‘Oh dear, I hope it won’t cause bad feelings,’ said Lucy. ‘One hears such dreadful things these days about neighbours falling out.’
‘We’re doing it with the best of intentions,’ Miss Warren reassured her. ‘We’re worried about her welfare.’
As agreed, Miss Warren called the police when she went back downstairs. She did so in a very apologetic way, as she did most things in life, and was told that a Panda car would shortly be on its way. She gave the operator details of her buzzer number so that she could admit the officers when they arrived and then sat by the window. Her heart sank when she saw the flashing blue light appear. Drama was the last thing she or any of the other residents of Palmer Court would welcome, but at least the police car wasn’t making that awful noise.
Miss Warren admitted the two constables and briefed them on what had been happening.
‘And you say there was no response at all?’ asked the elder, PC Lennon.
‘None, and Mr Dale tried several times.’
‘Right, then, Miss Warren, leave it to us.’
The two officers went upstairs, their personal radios crackling with the static created in the steel-framed fire escape.
‘Nice place,’ remarked PC Clark as they climbed.
‘You’d need a few bob to live here,’ replied Lennon. ‘Come back when you’re a chief super.’
They went through the same routine that George Dale had before deciding to force an entry. Lennon, the beefier of the two, crashed his shoulder into the door three times before the lock gave way and splintered wood fell to the ground around their feet. The door swung open and the sound level went up even more. The two policemen entered and heard Bruce Springsteen going mournfully ‘down to the river’. They made their way slowly through the hall but did not call out, knowing that they could not compete with Bruce.
Lennon signalled to Clark to kill the music and watched as the younger man tried to figure out the controls on the front of the expensive sound system. In the end, he lost patience and pulled the plug out of the wall. A respectable silence was restored to Palmer Court.
‘Miss Danby? Are you there?’ The two policemen walked through to the bedroom and found a woman on the bed. She was wearing a nightdress and lying on top of the covers with her eyes closed. Her pillow was stained with vomit and her nightdress soaked in sweat.
‘Miss Danby?’
They moved closer and saw an empty whisky bottle on the bedside table. An empty pill bottle lay on its side next to it.
‘Oh, love, was life really that bad?’ murmured Lennon as he felt for a pulse at the woman’s neck.
‘Is she dead, Tom?’
‘Yeah, poor lass. Just shows you, money can’t buy you happiness.’
Both men looked around at the expensive furnishings.
‘This is my first,’ said Clark, looking down at the body. ‘She looks just like she’s sleeping.’
‘She’s not been dead that long, she’s still warm. Wait until you see them pulled out the canal after a week or lying on the floor in summer for a month because they didn’t have anyone to check on them.’
At that moment the ‘corpse’ moved its head and Clark jumped back. ‘Jesus, she’s alive!’
‘Christ!’ exclaimed Lennon. ‘I couldn’t feel a pulse. Get an ambulance. Miss Danby! Miss Danby, can you hear me?’
The woman groaned quietly.
‘Come on now, waken up! D’you hear me, Miss Danby? Waken up!’
‘Men …’
‘What’s that? What about men?’
‘All men … are bastards.’
‘Come on now, Miss Danby, waken up. Don’t go to sleep again.’
Her head slumped back on to the pillow.
‘Shit! Maybe her airway’s blocked. It’s the sort of thing that happens when drunks throw up. Come
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