Mr Dibbs Fixes Bikes

35

Alfie knew Esther would have his hide if she knew he had come down here, but he had a mission. He had laid on his back for far too long and, yes, he had struggled to get here, and didn't feel all that well, if he had to admit it, but this was important. For everyone concerned. Besides, he'd taken a taxi. It wasn't as though he'd walked the whole way. Although, had he the choice, he wouldn't use a taxi for anything. A wasteful expense when he had two good legs. They weren't that good at the moment, though, and he knew it.

This place felt more cold and sterile than even the hospital. Stark, un-cushioned, metal seats gave him no comfort. It had a sense of despair about it that Alfie had never experienced before and he didn't even want to think what it would feel like to those brought here against their will. What the hidden back rooms and corridors could look and feel like, he couldn't imagine. It felt oppressive, as though only sitting here he had become mired in something awful.

The walls were all plastered with photocopied posters, each detailing one horrible thing after another. Phrases repeated, in red, with the same numbers in bold letters, practically ordering people to call. This was only the reception area of the police station and Alfie felt glad he had never had to see the other side. Frederick had and that raised Alfie's ire that the lad had had to suffer such indignities.

It seemed like hours passed before a heavy door opened and a tall, heavy-set man, hair cropped short, trousers and pressed, white shirt fighting against a spreading waistline. Pointed toed shoes that Alfie had never liked to see on anyone, giving the man an odd, imbalanced look to him. In his hand, he carried a folder, looking through it as he entered the reception. A lanyard, hanging at an angle, mingled with a bland, disorderly tie.

"Mister Dibbs? Thank you for coming down, though I wasn't expecting you so soon." The man closed the folder, offering a hand that Alfie shook as he pushed himself to his feet, putting far more weight on his walking stick than usual. "I'm Detective Sergeant Wise. How are you feeling?"

"Better'n dead." Alfie leaned down to pick up the bag he had brought, but DS Wise got there first, lifting it with ease. "Now then, it's as come to my attention thy thinks the lad next door 'as got some-at to do with that fire and I'm telling thee, he hasn't."

"Well, we'll talk about that somewhere more private, shall we?" Wise swung the folder, indicating another door to the side, then tapped in a code to open it. "We're still pursuing enquiries."

The room looked even more dystopian than the waiting area. One table, plain and simple, two chairs, a recording device and, in two corners, cameras pointed down toward the table. Alfie didn't like it. It felt like something from an episode of The Sweeney. Wise pulled out a chair, laying Alfie's bag against the table leg, then moved to the other chair, taking a seat and dropping the folder onto the table surface.

Without saying a word, Wise opened the folder then produced a notepad and pen from his pocket, opening that pad, clicking the pen and using it to review the large amount of printed words upon the first page in the folder. Every so often, Wise would look up and smile, but Alfie had never seen a more fake one in his life. The man looked at Alfie as though wondering what laws he had broken, trying to dig into his mind for a confession.

"Now, as I was saying, that lad's done nowt, and thee folks have done nowt but bother him since he came here." Alfie stomped his walking stick against the uncarpeted floor, sending sharp echoes through the tiny room. "I'll not have thee making out I think the lad did it. I shan't!"

"Young Mister Douglas is known to us, Mister Dibbs. I've had his file sent over from London." Wise flipped a page then ran the pen down a list. "Suspected shoplifting. Theft. Vandalism. Assault. It's a long list. There are indications that he was involved in drug dealing and since he arrived here, incidents have risen. It's only a matter of time before we catch him at something."