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Troubador Publishing Ltd - John Donoghue

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130 pages

English

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Discover what REALLY happens in the police. Is the discovery of a headless corpse the work of a serial killer? When do police & paramedics fall out? Who killed Yoda? What is a Death Fart? Why do some criminals think they are 'worth it'? Who invented the Crying Machine? How do you beat the burglar? Why do the police have to pay particular attention to boobs? Come on patrol with PC Donoghue and get the answers to all these questions and more. Police, Lies & Alibis is the fascinating and hilarious account of a year in the life of a front line police response officer, and the only humorous police book written by a serving officer who is not hiding his identity. It is the follow-up book to Police, Crime &, a book which still remains hugely popular today, with over 240 5-star Amazon reviews, and which garnered positive feedback from a number of national publications. WARNING: Contains Humour & Traces of Nuts.

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True crime

Informations

Publié par	Troubador Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	01 octobre 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783068845
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Police, Lies
& Alibis
the true story of a front line officer
John Donoghue

Copyright © 2013 John Donoghue
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study,
or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents
Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in
any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the
publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with
the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries
concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
Matador
9 Priory Business Park
Kibworth Beauchamp
Leicestershire LE8 0RX, UK
Tel: (+44) 116 279 2299
Fax: (+44) 116 279 2277
Email: books@troubador.co.uk
Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador
ISBN 9781783068845
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

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For Bethan
Contents

Cover

About the author:

Other books by John Donoghue

Acknowledgements

Chapter One: Teaspoons For Arms

Chapter Two: Terror, Like Charity, Begins At Home

Chapter Three: Hooray For Boobies!

Chapter Four: The Sandford Two

Chapter Five: Dear Diary…

Chapter Six: Single Shot Espresso

Chapter Seven: New Shit Has Come To Light

Chapter Eight: Too Much Scooby Doo

Chapter Nine: The Scorn of the Women

Chapter Ten: The Last Temptation of Chris

Chapter Eleven: May the Force be with you

Chapter Twelve: The Magic Roundabout

Chapter Thirteen: Something in Oil

Chapter Fourteen: Wrong On So Many Levels

Chapter Fifteen: Egg Patrol

Chapter Sixteen: The Other Side of Summer

Chapter Seventeen: All Roads Lead To Rome

Chapter Eighteen: The Crying Machine
About the author:
John Donoghue never set out to be to be a writer... he wanted to be a sailor... and a soldier... and a policeman.
He has been all of the above and has written three books covering his escapades so far...
He is still a serving police officer.
Other books by John Donoghue
Shakespeare My Butt!
‘Marsupial Elvis’ to ‘No Place’ …ramblings, meanderings, digressions… and a dog
Police, Crime & 999
The True Story of a Front Line Officer
Acknowledgements
Q. How many proof readers does it take to change a light bulb?
A. Too.
That just goes to show that I have some people to thank… those fantastic individuals who, despite having better things to do, donated their free time and boundless energy to help me out.
Firstly, heartfelt thanks to Sharon, my underpaid and overused editor, who had to buy a new box of red pens just to correct my many errors. I really appreciate your invaluable input, even though you did make me take out that dodgy joke about the party at Spiderman’s house.
Thanks to Nancy and Lysa; essential proof reading and medical advice respectively.
Clearly, there is no point having a book out unless people get to hear about it and for that I have Jane to thank for tirelessly promoting my scribblings.
The clever chap that is Rich Endean aka The Creative Agent is responsible for another great cover.
In true Oscar tradition, I’d really like to thank my agent – however, I can’t, as I don’t have one.
Instead, a big thanks to my friends and colleagues in the police, particularly on E shift – without them, there would be no book. Names and places have been changed to protect the guilty… and if you read this and are offended in any way, please note that I’m a different person than the one you think I am, but just with the same name.
I guess it’s here that I say that all the views expressed in the book are my own and not endorsed by any constabulary, living or dead.
If you are a fellow fuzz, I’m sure the incidents and escapades in the book won’t come as any surprise to you, as you’ll have a million tales of your own to tell. If you are not, I hope this gives you an insight into what the police really get up to – well, this policeman, anyway.
You now hold in your hands the true story of a year in my life as a police response officer, so I guess that the final thank you goes to you, you splendid thing, for taking the time to read it.
So, why not get yourself a cup of tea, and I’ll see you back here in five minutes?
I hope you enjoy the book.
John Donoghue
Chapter One: Teaspoons For Arms
“Grab your helmet and get yourself into the town centre.”
“I think that may actually be a criminal offence, Sarge… and anyway, it’s freezing out there!”
I wasn’t exaggerating. There was already a blanket of snow covering the town. It was a bitterly cold morning, and a biting wind straight from the Siberian Steppes was threatening to bring in more snow clouds from the west. It was the type of cold where you trip over the dog turds instead of slipping in them.
It was my first day back since the turn of the year, and I was on early shift. If I was hoping for a gentle introduction back into the job it was clear that I was going to be sorely disappointed.
“I thought I was the town mobile, Sarge.” In other words, I was hoping to be able to drive around in a nice warm panda car with the heating set to high.
“Well, Donoghue, you know what thought did?” replied the Sergeant.
“Yes, Sarge, I do.” Apparently, he thought he had shat himself, and then found that he actually had. Strange chap.
“Exactly. Now, observe these stripes on my shoulder. Now, note the absence of them on your own. I think you’ll find what that means, Donoghue, is that whilst you may be a response driver, when I say you are on foot patrol that is precisely what you shall do. You may find it a bitter pill to swallow, but I’m sure you’d rather take it that way than as a suppository.”
It’s only a hunch, but I’m guessing that he wasn’t really a morning person.
“I’ll get my coat.”
“Steady on, steady on. We’ve got a new girl on shift. I want you to take her into town and show her the sights, point out the local Sandford villains, the crime hotspots and so forth. See, Donoghue, I’ve got your interests at heart. She’s up in the canteen making you a cuppa as we speak. Her name is Jessica. She’s transferred down from the north of the county.”
“What’s she like?” I enquired.
“Quirky.”
“Quirky good, or quirky bad?”
“Quirky,” he repeated, thrusting his hand out towards me. “And Happy New Year, by the way.”
“Cheers, Barry,” I said, shaking it. He was grinning. I would later learn to recognise this and prepare myself accordingly, but for now I took it at face value. I managed a grimace back although I was still disgruntled at having to brave the elements, even with quirky female company.
“Happy now?” he enquired.
“Nah.”
I left the office and went up the stairs to the canteen. A girl in her mid-twenties, with a pony tail and glasses, was standing pouring boiling water into three cups.
“Jessica, I presume?” I enquired.
“John, I presume?” she replied. “I’ve made you a cup of tea. I’ll take mine and the one for the Sarge downstairs. See you there.”
After she had left, I searched out my brew; a solitary ‘High School Musical’ mug stood on the work surface. Oh no, of all the mugs and cups available, why had she used that one! It wasn’t even a mug – it looked like something an Easter egg would come in. It didn’t even have any handles! I was going to look a right idiot carrying that back into the parade room. In fact, you couldn’t even carry it. I was going to have to cup it between both hands, probably making a noise like a hyperactive chimp as it scalded my palms. And it was filled to the brim; I’d never be able to carry it without spilling it all over the place. There was even a meniscus on it! I didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but surely it couldn’t be that difficult to make a normal cup of tea in a normal mug?
I waited for it to cool, and then started to drink from the top like a dog. What a start to the shift!
Twenty minutes later, and Jessica and I were on our way into town. Wrapped up against the cold in fleece, body armour and with bright yellow fluorescent jackets, we resembled two big lemons on legs… with police hats. As we walked I gave her the lowdown on the area and the shift.
Sandford, known in police radio talk as Kilo 1, was the hub of our area: a dormitory town of about 60,000 people. Kilo 3 was an industrial town to the west, and Kilo 2 was a group of small villages and mining towns to the east.
“There are ten of us on E shift. You’ve met Barry, our Sergeant – he’s a walking encyclopaedia on World War II. At Kilo 3 is George, who is reputed to be older than the internet, along with Ben, our resident rugger bugger. At Kilo 2 we have Geezer, our Londoner, who is always stressing about his weight. We keep telling him to lighten up. Also covering the area is No Nonsense Ron. Finally, at Kilo 1 there’s Bob – late of the Zimbabwean police; Lloyd – late for everything; Chad who is the brainy one and Gwen – a lovely lady, and the only one you can hold a sensible conversation with. Oh and last, but not least, there’s a new probationer called Andy, who also gets called ‘The Boy’. I’ll introduce you to them in person when we get back.”
“Great,” she replied, “And you?”
“I usually cover Sandford town, but on a busy day you can end up anywhere.”
“And have you always been in the police?”
I decided against the ‘I was born at an early age’ introduction, and instead just told her that I’d had a career in the military. After leaving school, I’d run away to sea, or more accurately, caught the train to Dartmouth where I’d enlisted in the Royal Navy. Then, after six years on the high seas, I had transferred to the army, serving Queen and Country throughout the Cold War. When things began to thaw I left, and joined an inter