Little Dick Tracy scared me. In his own domain, where he was king, he was an autocrat and a sadist one at that. I was in his dungeon now, where he had practiced harm reduction for some very dangerous and painful practices. To successfully carry out his charge of keeping the law, there was not one he wouldn't break to do it.

The first question he asked was a smack in the mouth, opening up the cut I had inflicted upon myself some days ago. As my eye was already black he hit me there too.
“Did you capture that?” he asked one of the constables at the back “I'd like to watch a replay of it... has been a long fucking time coming.?”
“No, sorry inspector,” came the reply, “was miles away and forgot to start the video.”
“Well that's a pretty serious breach of conduct, Jones... a sackable offence. But on account of it being so late I'll turn a blind eye to your incompetence this once.”
“Oh thank you Sir, that's very kind.”

In front of me Little Dick was a little stock of firm meat. He looked in close admiring the damage he had caused then handed me a tissue and said “Ok, lets get started.”

In a daze of fear and tiredness and I think even hunger I sat spinning in my chair as Little Dick acted like an animal that was barely in control of its rage. His questions were asked in such a way so as to suggest that if I didn't give the correct answer I would get another smack in the mouth. I swallowed hard, knowing that what I was about to say would bring a flurry of blows.
“Inspector, at this point I would now like a solicitor,” I said.
Little Dick glared at me with all his animal but his words were tamed. “Mr Spencer has at this juncture requested his right for legal aid. The interview will be terminated forthwith until legal representation arrives.” He nodded at one of the constables who then disappeared. A few moments later there came a knock on the door. It was a sign.
“SOL-LI-ZIT-TAH”. One, two, three, four. Left, right, left, right, boxing the sides of my face sore. I fell off my chair and tried to crawl out of harms way. Little Dick came over, stamping a boot on my back and pinning me to the floor. “Get this fucking idiot outta my sight and cleaned up.” he screamed to the remaining constable.

The doctor I saw this time was a different, younger man than the one who hadn't taken care of me earlier. This doctor had warm tender hands and seemed sad at what he was doing. He even once put his arm around my shoulder and asked me if I was OK.
“My eyes are just burning and running,” I answered, wiping them dry.
When the doctor had finished fixing me up, I asked,. “Will this treatment be on record?”
“Just leave it, Mr spencer,” he said. “and I don't tell you that as a threat but as a doctor who cares about peoples health. As an advisor I'll also tell you this: If they bring you in a loud mouthed little cockney solicitor called Jack Wild, refuse him.”

As it turned out my solicitor was not a man named Jack Wild but a woman called Miss Sedgewick. The first thing she did was take me off for private counsel. When she saw the state of my face she asked: “Did you arrive here looking like that?”
“Yes,” I replied, “only not quite so bad.” Miss Sedgewick huffed. She knew as much. Then she said: “Come on, let's try and get you out of here.”

Inspector Little Dick Tracy had made a drastic character change. In front of Miss Sedgewick he had become a charmer and as soft as the Toilet Fairies in Barry's nightclub. I think that only annoyed my solicitor more. No man had paid her that attention in forty years and I think she had become cold and cynical to any flirtation from the opposite sex. Not that Little Dick could flirt, he was too arrogant to believe he would need to.

Little Dick Spent nearly three hours questioning me, rattling on about CCTV footage and traces of blood found on John's Super Dong ankle chain. For the CCTV they had footage of the wheelchair from the night I drove it out, with someone in it (“trying to look like John”) cutting across Camberwell Green and heading northbounds towards St Mary's church. They also had footage from two and a half hours later of the same man (minus the Elvis Costello type glasses) boarding a no. 68 bus. After a few questions from Miss Sedgewick it turned out that they based the assumption it was the same man on account of them both wearing a similarly hooded duffel coat. The CCTV had not captured the suspect's face, just a lowered head as he paid for a ticket.

Miss Sedgewick: Other than the bus footage are there any other recordings? Did the camera on the bus capture the suspect alighting? Any recordings of him coming down the highstreet? For a London evening it was still pretty early, are there any witnesses claiming to have seen Mr Spencer en route? The active Neighbourhood watch on his very own street, did anyone see him returning home?

Little Dick Tracy: No. Although we've one key eyewitness, but no official statement as yet. But that part of the investigation is still ongoi...

Miss Sedgewick: Well Inspector, if it's still ongoing don't you think you should have waited until it wasn't? We've a man here, detained for almost 24hrs, and from what I can make out, on very flimsy evidence. All you've really got are Mr Spencer's neighbours, or more unbelievably his post man, claiming certain things against him... all people with very certain personal grudges. For the CCTV I'll need to see the video footage.

Little Dick: Yes, the video footage is available... in a day or two.

Miss Sedgewick: Well you better hope it's not two because you have to charge my client within the next 24hrs or release him.

When she said that I looked at her like I was in love. Hope had arrived. Of course, Little Dick did his best to scupper that.

Little Dick: Mr Spencer, if I told you that traces of John's blood were found on the infamous 'Super Dong' ankle chain, how would you suppose it could have gotten there?

I opened my mouth but before I had time to speak...

Miss Sedgewick: My client wouldn't suppose anything until he had the forensic reports, knew what type of test was carried out, and whether the match was based on blood type or DNA. Aside from that, something as innocent as shaving the legs could account for it. Were Mr McManus's legs shaved when you found the.... Oh no, that's right, no body has been found yet.

Little Dick looked like a pissed off drunk. I could hear the air being sucked in up his nostrils.

Little Dick: Mr Spencer, what if I was to tell you, and show you, that the blood found on the ankle chain did not match John's but matched yours... how would you account for that?

At that one of the uniformed wallflowers stepped across and laid two sheets of paper on the table. It was the results showing up a positive blood match to me.

Miss Sedgewick: My client informs me he has never been DNA tested by police, in fact, this is his first time in a police station. I'm curious to know just how you matched the blood to Mr spencer's?

Little Dick: I cannot divulge that at present.But that wasn't what I asked.

Miss Sedgewick: Oh, I see. It was underhand, but wouldn't smack of corruption against a charged suspect?

Little Dick smiled.

Me: mine and john's sexual relations were violent... there was often blood, and always mine. I suppose if it is my blood on the bracelet then it could have got there like that. Outside of any bedroom activity, you'll see from your past notes that the days leading up to Johns leaving were extremely violent. I lost at least an armful of blood alone in them days.

For the next two hours we went through times, and days, and arguments and the nature of mine and John's sexual relationship. But Little Dick kept returning to the CCTV and the ankle chain like it was an obsession... like if he just formed the question correctly then the right answer would come. As the time passed Little Dick's tie became looser and the knot smaller and tauter. The thinning strands of hair on his head were straggled with sweat. He scrunched out cigarettes looking like he was in pain and sometimes walked about firing questions.

Sometimes I answered and sometimes Miss sedgewick answered, but on many points she advised me to keep my silence. By the time we were finished it was Little Dick who looked like the suspect.

“Ok, we're gonna take a break,” he finally said.
“A break?” asked Miss Sedgewick, “Well unless you have a new line of questions I object. It's pointless. I think from this point forth I will advise my client to say nothing more.”
“Object all you like,” said Little Dick, “but as you rightly pointed out I have 48 hours to detain Mr Spencer and I will use them as I see fit. Your client has the right to silence, but I have the right to wait for it.”

“Very well. But you know the protocol, holding a suspect uncharged for the full period may be legal but it is not looked upon in a decent light. It says a lot about your investigation, and for a man of your rank to make an arrest without proper evidence, well, it's a very serious and worrying misjudgement. So whether you charge my client or let him go, that's your call. It's your reputation. But further questions will bring about nothing new.”

Little Dick did not reply. He proceeded to terminate the interview and have me taken back to the holding cell. I felt weak and nervous although better than before. I sat in the cell wondering if Little Dick would back down or arrogantly go through with his hunch and charge me any way. He had that right. I was thinking thoughts like that when the cell door opened and a disgusting species of tramp was pushed rolling in. He hit the floor, tried not to be sick and failed, and then rose to a miraculous sway, a filthy little penis showing through the broken zip of his trousers. I looked at his life beaten face. My god, it was the Morrison's Bum.

He stood there swaying and squinting at me like he was trying to read, or, as if he wasn't too sure anyone was actually in the cell with him at all. Then he was sure and he said in a gruff, toothless voice: “i know ya don't I mate? D'you know me?”
“I think I've seen you around,” I replied
“yeah, that's me then, I get around... I used ta work at the Ritz.... the fucking door geezer if ya ken believe that. The fucking Ritz! You gotta cigarette? I've dogends but theyr'all damp and I've no fucking light. They always do that. Bastards. Wot yew ear four?
“Nothing,” I said not wanting to talk.
“Well, wer'all ere fer nuffing... but what nuffing is yours? Mines indecent exposure, i think...”
“Well Ok,” I started, thinking I'd just baffle him “I'm here on suspicion of cutting someone's cock off. It's a long story and not a very interesting one.”
“Ya mean your the Camberwell Cock Clipper? That's wot we've bin callin 'im! I though't it was old Jim at first, but then he turned up two weeks later with a new bottle of scotch. Haha. So, d'ya do it or din't ya? If ya did ya can tell me, mate, I'll forget it anyhows. Was it you?”
“Ha, me! Of course not, but these shitstools won't believe that. I can only say “no” in one way?”
“Oh, OK. But ya musta had summin ta do wiv it? They got ya on film, mate? I even telled them about seeing ya that night... coming home in a kinda rage and covered in blood. Why don't ya jist admit it ta me? I want ya ta git off wiv it... don't like the idea of any man in the hokey. SO WAS IT YOU?”
He said those last words in a very loud clear voice. Then he was looking up and around the cell as if searching for something. I looked at him curiously. All of a sudden he didn't seem so drunk at all, more plain desperate. And how the hell did he know all them details? As clear and as loud as he had asked the question, I replied: NO, IT WAS NOT ME. I'M INNOCENT.

Two minutes later the door opened and the Morrison's bum was dragged out. I heard him saying “I did me best, mate.. tried to help out... did me best. I used ta work at the Ritz....”

Sometimes, quite unexpectedly the world will make you smile. I smiled and listened to the Morrison's bum shuffle off, telling tall, gruff tales and going his way into history. Fifteen minutes later the cell door was opened again. There was a uniformed policeman and behind him Miss Sedgewick.

“No charges are being made at present. Mr Spencer, you're free to leave?” I lost my smile and then must have looked just absolutely astonished.


  1. Perhaps Little Dick will work in a 'security of the nation' issue - then you will be spirited away to the sub-basement at Paddington Green, not to be seen for a very long time.

    Sedgewick seems like a good egg. However, shells can be cracked in the strangest circumstances.

    Nice touch with the forensics - unreliable and inadmissable sources: 'bloody' typical =]

    Nice to know Tristy will be out for the New Year - I hope celebrations are happy ones!

    G =]

  2. Clearly the MB was sent in there by the cops to get you to confess on some hidden tape/film.

    I wonder if Ms Sedgewick is related to Edie (or her sister Saucy). With that sort of name she must be on the level.

    So to get to 200 you're going to do 4 final posts before 0.05 tomorrow?

  3. Abigail: I may have promised a little too much there... we'll see. How I ever thought I could write and time this thing to the exact minute is beyond me! There may be an apology on it's way... haha

    But I'm still trying, and will try and shorten one of the posts. I think it may end on 199 and I'll clear that up later.

    Ruby & Dommed but Cheerful: Thank you, I can't say much more (time reasons) and only answered Abigail in a little more depth as it concerns everyone reading here. X


Tristram's Birthday: Sunday 3rd October

Tristram's Birthday: Sunday 3rd October
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Trolley Dash August 2010

Trolley Dash August 2010
Did Tristram accidently pick up a REAL bargain?

Brian the Postboy's gift to John: an ankle bracelet inscribed 'Super Dong'

Brian the Postboy's gift to John: an ankle bracelet inscribed 'Super Dong'
Scrap metal or has John been 'tagged'. Is Tristram Spencer really the only fated man in town?

The Dangerous Dandy by Barbara Cartland

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An Influx of Pigeons

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Is there still some hope for the fated Mr Spencer?
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