Creative crime piece & Podcast

 Character study :

• My main character is a young (early 20’s) police officer who has just been forced to move from his new home.
• He doesn’t make much money and is forced to rent properties, like so many young people in London.
• He now lives in a deprived council estate in North London whilst he searches for somewhere else to live.
• Recently discovered that the reason he was forced to move is because a rich businessman bought the land where his old house was.
• He drives a second-hand car to work every morning, and it takes him over 2 hours to get through all the traffic.
• He did well at school and completed his A-levels but he did not continue into higher education.
• He lives with a room mate who he has known for quite some time.
• He fears that he might lose the little money he has left – Pride.
• Loss of pride triggers anger – his ambition is all gone.
• His goal is to find out how and why all the housing is inaccessible in London and seek justice for those who are affected.

Hunted – A short story by Archie Hall

The time was about 6 o’clock in the morning, mid-January, and as I gingerly shuffled out my bed, I was immediately greeted by the sound of rain pummelling against my window. Peeping through the protective shroud of my curtains, I observed the chaos occurring outside as gale force winds flung all matter of inanimate objects about the street. It seemed more of a war zone than a North London housing estate. Not to say the area I lived in was ever aesthetically pleasing, but this had certainly done it no favours and I immediately began to wish we’d never had move there. Some things are just out of our control.

After transforming out of my pyjamas and into my uniform, I made my way down my creaky, shoddy staircase in search of a morning coffee. Cars need petrol – I need coffee, it’s as simple as that. After that I was straight out of the front door and out into the modern day wild-west otherwise known as London.
Sitting in my car, the heater blasting in front of me, my mind yet again drifted back to the thought of why I had been forced to move to this somewhat unsavoury neighbourhood. I loved my old place, everything about it was perfect. Nice neighbours, peaceful area and above all a lovely house. I’d grafted for years to afford the rent and just as I was settling in it was all snatched away from me by some greedy, bloody millionaire. From what I’d heard, his name was David Hunt and he’d been buying up residential areas across the city for quite some time. He was said to be quite a dodgy fella, but people like him were well out of my league to go after. After slogging my way through the hordes of cars, I parked and made my way into the station, making sure to grab another cup of coffee on my way through. From there I went to lockup to see what new arrivals we had today. This was always a laugh because as this time in the morning all the drunks we’d pulled in would be sobering up and wondering where they were. “Morning,” I grunted as I wandered past the officer in charge of the cells. As it was a Tuesday, not all the cells were full as most people would be working instead of out drinking. Everyone I could spy through the gap in the doors was still asleep, apart from one ragged looking man who was sat cross legged on the bed. As soon as he saw me, he just glared and muttered “Unless your here to let me out…Fuck off.”
It had been a quiet morning so far and we’d passed the time filling out the stacks of paperwork that come with being a police officer. Many incident reports later, we heard a commotion out near the interrogation rooms. “Give me my phone call!” yelled a tall man in a black trench coat. He was clearly very angry. The officers around him told him to calm down and that he’d be let out very soon. “Do you know who your messing with?” he demanded angrily. “We have all your details here sir,” one of the officers said as he tried to usher him into the interrogation room. As the small group of men disappeared into the room, the last thing I heard was “I’m David bloody Hunt you idiots, let me go or….”. And just like that there was silence as the soundproof door closed behind them. Or what I wondered. But then I realised who he was. The man I’d heard about on the news who was buying all the properties in Chelsea. The same man who’d bought my house! I waited outside the interrogation room for around an hour before one of the officers came out. I was eager to find out what had brought Mr Hunt into our custody and desperate to be part of the team who were trying to take him down. Upon asking this officer about what was going on, I was told that someone from inside Hunts organisation had tipped us off about a major weapons deal going down in a apartment complex owned by ‘Hunts properties limited’. Apparently, someone had slipped a note onto the windscreen of a parked police car, which meant we had no idea who our mystery informant was. Of course, Mr Hunt didn’t know that. The note simply read ’12 Barton lane, 10 o’clock, weapons deal’.
After the interrogation was complete, Mr Hunt quickly left. He stormed through the station shouting at the top of his lungs as he went. Waiting outside was a blacked-out range rover, which whisked him away as soon as he got into the back seat. Still determined to be part of this case, I ran upstairs to the chief’s office. He invited me in, clearly happy to be speaking to someone who wasn’t cussing at him with every word like our friend David Hunt. “Right kid,” he said, “As I’m pretty sure you noticed earlier that gentleman, we just interviewed is not our typical detainee. He’s a gangster, and ruthless one at that. He’s one hell of a clever fella though and makes millions from buying and selling houses”. Little did the chief know, I knew this all too well. He continued, “I know you’re still new to the game but some of the officers are too intimidated to go after him and I need men who aren’t fazed by this scumbag. Are you in?” I accepted in a heartbeat and promptly left the office. It was strange, with those words I was both happy and deeply scared. I knew I had the chance for revenge, the downside being it would be against the most dangerous man in London, and if they found out about my personal vendetta against him, I’d surely be pulled from the case…
Hunt was scheduled to be back for a second round of interviews in 2 days’ time, which meant I didn’t have long to brush up on my interrogation skills. That evening I was sat in bed writing out endless amounts of questions into my notebook, I had to find something that would make him trip up and expose himself. After mulling through the list of questions in my brain, I came up with an idea. What if I could convince him that we knew someone in his organisation, and they were us information? We might be able to rattle him enough into making a crucial mistake that we could use as evidence in his prosecution. The next day I was sent out on routine patrol, but I continued to practice the interrogation in my head. Every detail had to be perfect if we were to get our man. It was all or nothing.
The day had arrived. I got to the station early that morning in order to prepare for what could kick-start my policing career. Before Hunt arrived, I made sure to undertake the obvious precautions for dealing with a man who could supposedly make men like me disappear. I removed my badge number and anything else that could be used to identify me and agreed with the other officer in the room that we would not refer to each other by name in his presence. The last thing I needed was a mafia style hit on my head. From what I’d heard it was rumoured that the last 2 officers who had investigated Hunt both had attempts made on their lives. The interview was scheduled for 11:45 but as that time came around, he did not show. I tried hard not to show how scared I really was, but my brow was constantly damp with a cold sweat. Eventually, about 45 minutes late, a blacked-out Mercedes rolled up outside the main entrance. Out stepped Hunt, who was clad in designer clothes from head to toe. He was flanked by two men who both wore suits and shades. His thugs I presumed. He made his way up the steps and stopped. Looking me up and down like a lion sizing up its prey, he snarled “Right you, let’s get this over and done with.” I smiled, “Just this way sir,” and gestured for him to follow. As we made our way to interrogation room number 4, I instructed his men to take a seat in the waiting area nearby. My words seemed to fall upon deaf ears until their boss nodded and they obeyed. It was obvious to me at that point the power that this man held; he need not tell these two huge men what to do as they simply followed his lead.
After arriving at the interrogation room, the officer in charge of that wing of the building unlocked the door for us and we all went inside. The room itself was covered in soundproof panels and was set up with a metal table and 3 chairs. In the far corner was the flickering light of a camera which was recording for our own safety. The officer who accompanied me opened the discussion by pressing play on the tape recorder. He then read out loud “Interview number 2. Subject is Mr David Hunt and time is 12:20 AM.” It was now over to me. “So, Mr Hunt,” I began, I sensed his confidence through his wry grin, “Someone close to you has been giving us all kinds of interesting information about you.” His grin disappeared. “I have nothing to hide,” he said, “people say things about me all the time, it comes with being so widely known.” I folded my arms and laid back into my chair trying to act as confident as possible. “Well our source doesn’t seem to like how you’re running part of your business. Tell us what you know about the weapons deal that went down last week.” “Nothing!” he snapped back. “I’m a legitimate businessman who’s just trying to make his way in the world. Naturally some people don’t like some of the stuff that I do, and they want to tarnish my good name.” It was obvious to us that Hunt was well versed in dodging our questions. He wasn’t letting a thing slip and I was starting to get agitated “We know you are involved in this Mr Hunt! You better start helping yourself now because at this rate you won’t be seeing daylight for a very long time.” Hunt’s jaw dropped at my sudden outburst and it took him a few seconds to compose himself. “Unless you’ve got any proof officer, you can threaten me all you want.” I took a little while to think of a response. He was right after all, without any evidence there was nothing we could do.
I took a short glance at my colleague, and the glazed expression in his eyes told me he’d given in to the pressure. I had to think of a response fast. “Surveillance photos clearly show you arriving through the rear entrance of the apartment in question.” I was lying through my teeth, but I was willing to try anything to get a confession. “Explain that to us then!” I demanded. Hunt looked at the floor and I noticed him playing with the buttons on his coat. He was rocked. All through the interview he had been firing back with quick responses and now he had sunk back into a protective shell of silence. “Erm, well, I think I was visiting one of my tenants,” he stuttered. ‘Bingo’! The sense of unease in his voice was obvious and it was time to go in for the kill. “Ah well that’s strange,” said the other officer, who until now had been sat silently by my side observing the conversation. “Considering that apartment block has been vacant for about 6 months, I’d say that’s complete nonsense!” That was all we needed. He had admitted to being at the location when the deal was going down. “I want to speak to my lawyer now!” demanded Hunt. I chuckled sarcastically. “You most certainly will Mr Hunt. You’re under arrest for the trafficking and distribution of illegal weapons. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if not mentioned when questioned, something which you will later rely on in court.” And just like that my part was over. The other officer slapped on the handcuffs and Mr Hunt was not so graciously dragged off, kicking and screaming to a cell to await his date in court. Justice had been served. Not only was a dangerous weapons dealer off the streets, but many low-income families had been saved from losing their homes, just like what happened to me.

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