This story has a long lead-in before there is any sexual activity, so if that is what you are after, look elsewhere.
It is based in Glasgow, Scotland, and the main characters are involved in the criminal justice system. Criminal Prosecutions in Scotland are carried out by the Crown Office and Procurator Fiscal Service (COPFS) and dates back over 500 years. It is headed by the Lord Advocate (who may be male or female). It has a similar function to the English Crown Prosecution Service and in many ways the District Attorney in the US. The COPFS has a Procurator Fiscal for each of the six Sheriffdoms (geographical areas) and each has several Deputes who make decisions and present the Crown case. Procurator Fiscal Deputes can be referred to in several ways, including PF, Depute, or Fiscal. All but the most serious cases in Scotland are tried before a Sheriff who may sit alone or with a jury depending on the severity of the crime.
All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is accidental. All of the places exist except Dumfries Road. All sexual matters are consensual. There are a couple of Scottish terms used, they should be self-explanatory, but if not you have the internet.
Waiting
I managed to find a quiet corner of the waiting room which was packed this morning; no doubt most of the courts were going to be busy with trials. Glasgow Sheriff Court is a huge building with about thirty courtrooms, some used for jury trials, some smaller courtrooms in the basement, but the majority are on second and third floors where there is a central waiting room for witnesses on each floor. I was in one of those.
I read through my notes and thought back to the events that lead to my being here this morning. My colleague, Jim Smith, and I had been interviewing witnesses about a series of robberies and were on our way to see the last one for the day when we heard a radio message. The Controller was directing some uniform colleagues to attend to an ongoing serious domestic abuse incident in Dumfries Road. We happened to be in Dumfries Road at the time and when the cops replied that they were about five or six minutes away I keyed the mike to tell them that we were almost outside the address and would attend.
It was obvious where the incident was because the shouting and threats could be heard a fair distance away. I ran up to the second floor of the tenement block to see a huge guy, a good six or seven inches taller than my five feet nine inches and built like a Scottish rugby forward. At that moment he had a woman by the throat, holding her against the wall so that she was almost on tiptoe. There were bruises on the side of her face, blood was coming from her lip or mouth and his fist was clenched and raised as if about to land another blow. Oh, he was also snarling all sorts of threats.
My knees were knocking a bit as I shouted, "Police, let her go right now!"
He turned to look at me as if I was something unwanted on the sole of his boot and snarled, "Fuck off!" Well, that seemed clear. I pulled my baton from my belt and flicked it so that it extended with a thump, which he ignored.
"Last warning, put her down and stand back."
"Or what?" He sneered. His weight was all on his left leg so I swung the baton and caught him right behind the knee. It was unlikely to do any serious damage, despite how hard I'd swung, but it broke his stance and it was a pleasure to see him crumple to the floor with a whimper. Jim was over like a flash with his cuffs drawn and applied in a smooth motion. He'd paid more attention than I had done during our officer safety training, that was impressive.
"Nice move, now I know why they call you Hell!" I'm Helen Walsh and my colleagues sometimes called me Hell.
Two uniform officers arrived right at that moment and the older one commented, "CID attending domestics, whatever next?"
I turned to the male officer who'd spoken, "Can't let you lot have all the fun. George could you and Jim take this clown back and lock him up. I'll sort out things here with your colleague."
The colleague was someone that I didn't recognise and her uniform was still fairly new looking. "Hi, I'm Helen Walsh. Let's get this lady inside and check the damage but I suspect we may need a trip to Glasgow Royal."
"Hi, I'm Lydia Green, a month out of Tulliallan as you probably worked out."
(Note: Tulliallan is the Scottish Police College where most training, including basic training, is carried out).
We checked on our victim, Vivian Black, and found that she had several bruises, a split lip and her eye was starting to swell. I thought it best to get her checked up so we headed to the hospital and took a statement from her whilst we were waiting for the doctor to treat her.
It appeared that her ex-boyfriend, Gavin Williamson, wasn't very pleased when his pal had seen her on a date with someone the previous evening. This ignored the fact that he'd dumped her for someone else six months ago.
I bought Vivian a coffee and she told me more about her relationship with Gavin whilst we waited for Lydia to get some details from the doctor. I happened to look up as Lydia was heading back towards us. For the first time, I got a good look at her and found myself having a rather dirty thought and wondering what she would look like out of that shapeless uniform. Still, she was only about twenty, a recruit and probably straight, so that was never going to be an option.
Vivian had been called in to give evidence and she would be a while so I headed for the toilet. After washing my hands I checked my long very dark hair, today it was in a ponytail. I usually wore it in a bun at work to keep it out of the way and reduce the chance of it being grabbed. This place was full of 'ne'er do wells' but I thought that I was unlikely to get into an altercation whilst at court. I reapplied some lip gloss and took my life into my hands by using the coffee machine.
It tasted like it had been made from ... well, not coffee beans anyway. I closed my eyes and thought back to the image I'd seen in the bathroom mirror. Slim, a decent figure, nice face, not pretty but attractive, great legs, smart and good at my job, but my love life was ... not good. Single, single, single ... I was a good catch, I lived in a large flat (apartment) which I owned because my Dad had left me money when he died, in the West End of Glasgow a couple of minutes walk from the Botanic Gardens.
I was seventeen when Dad had a massive heart attack in his office and was probably dead before he hit the floor. He was a bit of a workaholic but he was a great guy, made time for me and I loved being with him, football, cricket, and tennis, basketball in the garden, long walks, music, board games and his practical jokes.
My Mum appeared to be devastated at first, but she got over it pretty quickly, although during one moment when she'd had too much to drink and I'd pissed her off she let fly at me. Dad preferred me to her; he didn't pay her enough attention and on it went. I bit my tongue and managed to avoid pointing out that long lunches, crawling into a wine bottle before midday and staying there until midnight most days might have influenced his behaviour.
I have no idea how she managed to snare Malcolm Davies, a businessman with a chain of retail clothing stores two years after dad died, but she did. Soon after the wedding, they moved to Mallorca and I regret that I didn't much miss her. When we did speak she sniped at me, wasting my life in the police, mixing with trash, unmarried and so it went on, never a pleasure. Malcolm had a son, Roger, a twenty-year-old student who currently occupied my spare room. Not my idea but he was my stepbrother and in a moment of weakness I'd agreed to the arrangement.
I'd wanted to join the police for many years and hadn't regretted it for a moment. It had been exciting and fascinating, sure I'd seen some pretty nasty things and met some evil bastards, but I'd also met people who needed help and others who were just lovely. I'd moved to the CID after four years in uniform and had spent the next four years as a city centre detective. Two years ago I was transferred to special crimes where we dealt with the more serious stuff, I loved it. I had a promotion board next week and, if successful, I might make sergeant within a year.
