Vixen

25

Falls and Andrews were called to a domestic. The husband had been beating on the wife for two hours. The disturbance was at a block of flats in Meadow Road. Falls cautioned:

‘Follow my lead on this, these can get nasty very fast.’

Andrews nodded but Falls was uneasy about the gung-ho expression she was wearing. She emphasised:

‘I’m serious, watch the woman.’

‘Isn’t she the one who got beaten?’

‘Yes, but if you decide to cuff hubby, they suddenly have a change of heart.’

Falls banged on the door and it was opened by a small boy; he looked petrified.

Andrews asked:

‘Can we come in?’

‘Dunno.’

‘We’ll just be a minute.’

‘But Dad is beating on Mum and he doesn’t like to be bothered.’

Falls moved him outside, said:

‘You wait here, we’ll only be a minute.’

They ventured slowly in, the sound of a woman crying in their ears. Turned into a sitting room, a scene of chaos. A TV had a hole in the screen and every stick of furniture was smashed. A woman was huddled in the corner, weeping. They heard the toilet flush and then the man appeared, zipping up his flies. He was small, about five four, dressed in a raggedy T-shirt, dirty jeans and barefoot. He was wiping his mouth and seemed unfazed by them, asked:

‘What you cunts want?’

Falls walked over and turned as if to address Andrews, used her elbow to hit him in the stomach. He went down with a whimper. Andrews was about to speak when the woman launched and landed on her back, sinking her teeth into Andrews’ neck. The joint screaming and howling would have put a banshee to shame.

Falls marched over and pulled her baton, lashed the woman on the skull. You get a biter, you can’t fuck around; it’s not the time for negotiation. Let the stick do the therapy.

The woman fell off like a downed Man-U prima donna. Andrews, in shock, was sobbing. The man on the floor began to sit up so Falls gave him a tap to the side of the head and finished his song.

She got out her radio, shouted:

‘We’ve got an officer down, two perps in need of aid and SEND SOME FUCKING BACK-UP!’

She moved into the kitchen, spotted an open bottle of scotch, brought it out, tilted it to Andrews’ neck, and poured. If Andrews had howled before, it was nothing to the cry of anguish she gave now. Falls tried not to think of Rosie, her best friend, who’d been bitten by a junkie and after Aids testing, took her own life.

The booze revived Andrews and she managed to complain:

‘What were you thinking, that hurt more than the bite?’

Falls was seriously angry, pulled Andrews round, said:

‘What did I tell you? What the fuck did I tell you? Not to turn your back on a woman in a disturbance… and what do you do?… You turn your friggin’ back… Do you know how serious a bite can be? Do you have any bloody idea of how that can go, you stupid bitch?…You think I can afford to lose another partner?’

And realised she was shaking Andrews so violently that the WPC was returning to shock mode. She let go and grabbed the bottle. Took a huge wallop. The guy on the floor opened an eye, asked:

‘Could I maybe get a snort of that?’