It was, Sergeant Croft thought, not his night. The drizzle that had covered his hat had turned to a thick, grimy, clinging rain, the sort of rain that gets deep into your bones and takes days to shift. He had been standing there only an hour and a half – well that’s what his watch told him. It felt considerably longer. The lights of St Martin’s Street, usually brightly illuminated, were all switched off. There had been little movement down the street – one elderly woman had walked her dog past during the entire time Croft had been there. It looked like it was going to be a long and disappointing night.
Shifting his stance so his shoes didn’t totally fill with water, Croft thought back to the words of encouragement his Chief Inspector had given him before venturing out into the bitter night.
“Cheer up lad, you might catch more than a cold out there tonight! If you’re lucky, you’ll get The Ferret red-handed.”
Croft felt the hollowness of those words particularly thoroughly as a passing car splashed him. He had been standing as close to the inside of the ornate door of Ripley’s Department Store as he thought possible, in order to miss this further torrent of cold, murky water but it had not been successful. Croft cursed his Chief; who but a truly idiotic thief would venture out into weather this bitter and unrelenting?
The Ferret, however, was no ordinary thief, Croft considered. His moniker came from the fact that he could seemingly dash up to any shop, no matter how well secured or regardless of the adverse weather conditions. His two-month long crime spree had left the Division in a twirl of anxiety and depression; no matter what the force had tried, they had failed to catch him.
Stakeouts had been held to no avail. Increased beat patrols had become more and more frequent but still The Ferret had eluded them. Now the Chief Constable had begun to hear grumblings from local worthy gentlemen on the town council, who also happened to be shopkeepers, that something had to be done about this menace. There had been press interest of course, but all the descriptions published in the local periodicals had been of no use – the man was too quick and too slimy to be properly captured in any description. He was like a flash, a blur across a store window or by a door. As soon as he had arrived, he seemed to have snaffled anything of value and legged it.
Croft had only been peripherally involved in the case and as he stood shuddering in the rain, he wished he hadn’t been involved at all. Was his hunch a wild goose case? If it was, he thought rather smugly, he’d at least have an excuse for avoiding the Chief Constable’s lecture on modern policing methods, so dreaded in the corridors of the Park Lane station…
Croft could feel the cold getting to him. The rain truly was unrelenting, and his vision began to feel blurred, the rain clinging to his eye lashes and causing him to blink an unnatural number of times. He tried to concentrate. His regular snout, Willing Ward, as he was known down the nick, had decided in exchange for Croft turning a blind eye to his mild mark-up of the cigarettes he had flogged to the local pub, information on The Ferret.
“Are you sure you can trust Ward? He is a villain after all and one who is always willing to cough for anything as long as he can see some profit from it.” Croft’s Chief Inspector, Jim Dixon, was often one to look on the bleak side and this was certainly one of those occasions in which he chose to be pessimistic.
“Listen Chief, I know that it’s a bit of a long shot but if we can get The Ferret red-handed the Chief Constable will be pleased and every shopkeeper for miles around will breathe a sigh of relief. It’s worth a go isn’t it?” Croft felt any chance of making a mark slipping through his fingers. He’d been overlooked at every turn with pretty much every case that had crossed the threshold of Park Lane for as long as he’d been at the station and it was only by sheer persistence that he’d become a Sergeant.
As he stood in the drizzling rain, Croft considered if his enthusiasm had been misplaced. His Chief had relented and allowed him to go and follow through Ward’s tip off though he knew that it was because he felt sorry for him rather than his belief that it might result in an arrest. He hadn’t, after all, allowed him any back up.
Croft drooped his head back towards his watch, hoping that swiping at it with his hand could remove the streaks of water covering the time. It was ten past midnight. The supposed break in at Harvey Shellgood’s hardware store was meant to happen exactly at midnight. Croft sighed. He’d certainly have something to say to Willing Ward when he next got his hands on him. He hadn’t seen any indication that The Ferret was nearby and if he had any chance of catching him, he knew it would only be by using the element of surprise.
A night encounter
Croft turned skyward and wished the rain would cease, at least for a moment. The enveloping darkness of the sky and the rain, like tiny shards of glass, seemed to reflect his mood perfectly. He began to turn away from the street and trudge in the direction of his small room at the Station House.
Suddenly, so slight and quick he almost missed it, something caught his eye. He had almost missed it – a crack in blind. Light was flashing out from it, only a little but clearly there was light there. Croft looked up and down the street. There was no one about, he’d seen no one, so how…
He walked across the street as slowly as possible, trying to keep his focus directly in front of him. The Ferret would be used to seeing uniformed beat patrol but Croft’s thick overcoat would make him look like an ordinary member of the public; at least that’s what he hoped. Maybe if he pulled this off he might get formally transferred to CID…
He paused by the front door of Shellgood. He could definitely hear someone inside and Mr Shellgood had told Croft that he would be locking up early and leaving the defence of his shop up to Croft; he’d looked rather nervous at the prospect of being struck by The Ferret but Croft had eased his fears.
The rain continued to pour, and Croft wondered if he could ease the door without squelching his way into the shop. He could try and cut off his quarry by going around the back, but this would take at least a couple of minutes, walking down the side of Shellgood’s shop and he considered that there was no risk of wasting his opportunity.
He grabbed the handle of the door. It felt wet to the touch and Croft wasn’t sure whether this was due to the rain or his own sweat. Grabbing his torch firmly in the other hand, he yanked the door open, shining his touch directly into the face of the diminutive figure bent over the till.
“Freeze Ferret you’re under arrest!” Croft’s voice croaked; he hoped more due to the weather than any fear. A face darted upwards and in seconds was turning around and heading towards the back of the store. Croft propelled himself forward, hoping the water flying off his clothes and shoes wouldn’t make him skid on the floor. His hand, gripping the torch, was turning white with the effort to keep a hold of it.
The Ferret dashed towards the back door. His small hand seemed ready to grab hold of it; if it did Croft knew he would have lost his one chance to get a hold of him. His legs felt numb with the effort of running, his feet no longer seemed able to remain steady. Exhaustion overcame him and Croft slipped forward, falling forward just as The Ferret was opening the door.
Yet, as he fell towards the floor Croft realized he had one chance. With the greatest amount of effort possible he forced his body forwards. He knew he couldn’t stop himself landing on the ground but he was certain that he wasn’t the only one going down.
As his hand connected with the back of The Ferret’s jacket he pulled on tight. The thief struggled, squawked under Croft’s grip.
“Sorry mate,” he wheezed, “you’re nicked.” As he and The Ferret fell towards the floor, Croft was certain of one thing – he had at least, been right.
Back at the station
They stared at one another across the interview table. Croft had felt a true sense of triumph arriving at the nearly deserted station with The Feret under arrest. Yet now, having achieved his aim he wondered whether it had all been worth it. The feared criminal did not look especially villainous. He was a tiny man, with blonde hair that seemed stapled to his scalp and teeth when he spoke that were at various wonky angles. His eyes never looked upwards. He’d admitted to all the crimes committed by The Ferret and was happy for his fingerprints to be taken.
“How did you manage to be avoided for so long?” Croft’s question broke the silence like a knife cutting through hot butter. The Ferret looked up. He seemed even more sheepish now than before, his eyes darting around the small interview room, the lamp reflecting off his beady eyes.
“My brother works in the canteen. I’m sorry sir but you fellah gossip a lot and well… he picked things up.” Croft’s eyes widened – the crack team that had been meant to catch this man had ended up giving him an advantage with their unwarranted blathering.
Croft took a pencil in his hand and flicked it between his fingers, the leaded point crossing over between his thumb and index finger, then back again. Something else, something he could describe was gnawing at him. He’d seem other officers derive motive – it wasn’t too important they felt but for Croft now, sitting across this man who had plagued the whole town for so long there was only one thing on his mind.
“Why did you do it? I mean you know you’re throwing your life away don’t you? And for what, a measly fistful of pounds? Why put yourself through all that trouble.” Croft had to know he needed to know – perhaps to help him answer a question about his own future.
The Ferret looked him directly in the eyes for the first time, his gaze unflinching in its intensity.
“You see me mister, I’m not someone many people take notice of, I never have. I’ve never had no luck in life and I know I’ve only made it worse but I thought… I thought if I could get one over just one person, even if it was just one job on one store, I could feel like I’d achieved something. That I’d gained recognition, even if just from myself. Then when the whole campaign to catch me started… well I knew it’d end like this but at least I’d have something to show for it. I could say I’d managed to do something at last.”
Croft again starred in amazement. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused? How many lives you’ve mucked about with ye? All for what?” The pencil snapped between his fingers. Letting the pieces fall to the floor, he stood up and walked to his door. Opening it, he looked back at the small, dejected figure, crumpled by having been found out. His face softened.
“We all want recognition lad. Just a shame you couldn’t have tried to get it for something worthwhile.” Walking out into the corridor and toward the Chief Inspector’s office, Croft felt the truth of his words perhaps more than The Ferret ever would.
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