Boy, Bennett, you're late, so keep it brief, just the old
Patreon recap and then the episode got it, Yes, sir, good my
boss, Ladies and gentlemen. He's normally very nice, but I missed the
episode release date yesterday, as you probably know, and so he's quite cross
now, even though it's my birthday today, like I should be having a
day off eating cake and and it's just doing it now, sir. Here
see, so let's rewind, ladies and gentlemen to the original Patreon episode recap
from twenty eighteen. SOCO is an acronym for scenes of crime officer that's going
to be in the episode, and you can probably tell from this that this
is the episode that basically sees Redmond and Coleridge go to Hoburn Station in the
wake of the shooting of Inspector Valentine and the other OCU guys. All right,
good, So then let's raise the curtain once again on Underwood and Flinch
season five in Tannerbress, Written and performed for podcast by Mike Bennett. This
podcast is intended for an adult audience. Listener discretion is advised. Episode seven,
Claire Redmond had worked plenty of murder cases. She was used to the
sight of blood, to the aftermath of violence, fury, and cruelty,
but until tonight, she had never had to face the murder of someone she
knew personally. The victims had always been strangers to her, and a shocking
as their deaths had sometimes been, that lack of any personal connection to them
had always helped her to remain detached, dispassionate, able to view the tragedy
and horror of violent death as neutraally as she might view any other crime scene,
a tableau of stark facts, of questions that it was her job to
find answers to now. As she descended the stairs into Hoborns Station staff area,
she reminded herself of the importance of trying to maintain that neutrality when confronted
with the scene of Guy Valentine's murder. She and Coleridge had still been in
his office at Metropolitan Police sub headquarters when he had been called with the news
at five police officers had been murdered at Hobin. Two of the dead were
British Transport Police, three were directly under Coleridge's command and included the man who
had been sitting in the chair next to hers. A little over an hour
ago, she saw again Valentine holding up his hand to show her his father's
ring, a gesture of solidarity and perhaps even welcome to the secret police department
of which both their fathers had once been part. She liked him then,
despite their rocky start, and on some levels she'd felt that they were going
to become friends. Now he was dead. In a room temporarily set aside
for the purpose, she and Coleridge donned the forensic coveralls, gloves, and
shoe coverings required for anyone visiting an active crime scene. When Coleridge removed his
jacket, Claire noticed he was wearing a gun holstered on his belt in the
small of his back. She looked away before he caught her eye, and
returned her attention to the men who were bringing them up to speed on what
had happened. The station's deputy manager, a full bearded thirty something called Ellis,
and the detective who had been the first to arrive at the scene,
a man named Farrell, whom she had never met before. Ellis was telling
them how the assassins had arrived in a police van and in police uniform.
Sorry, mister allis. But these uniforms you say they were wearing, they
weren't conventional uniforms, were they? Said Claire. We were told they were
wearing combat gear. Yeah, said Ellis. You know the kind of black
jump suits with the balaclavas, army helmets and eye goggles. They had police
written here he pointed to his left breast, and in big letters on their
backs. Surely not real, she said to Coleridge. Regan jagged on cz
TV, said Coleridge. Actually we can't, sir, said Farrell. They
disabled and wiped all CCTV before they left. What that's where the station manager,
mister Albert Shari was when they him. Presumably he was sort in Valentine
out with the recordings he would have asked for relating to the man he was
here. A question, what about external CCTV, said Redmond. Have you
checked traffic cams, banks, neighboring shops. Not yet. I've only been
here about ten minutes, said Farrell, A touch defensively. Well, get
someone on it straight away, said Coleridge. We need the number plates of
the van they used asap. Mister Ellis, did you personally see the van?
No? But staff who did say it was black with police written on
it, said Redmond. The muscles around Ellis's mouth tightened a little. Yeah.
Look, are you saying that we made some kind of mistake in thinking
that a van with police on it, full of policemen arriving at the scene
of a crime was a police van. No, sir, I'm just trying
to clarify things. These men must have been impostors. But there was no
way for you to have known that. Good because christ he shook his head
in despair. How the fuck? Who were they? These men? Your
blokes were interrogating. That's what are here to find out, mister Alice,
said Carleridge, as he pulled up the hood of his Coveralls you ready,
Redmond, Yes, sir, right. He nodded to Farrell. Let's go.
They left Ellis and the changing area, and Farrell led them down towards
the sound of voices and the click and whine of camera flashes. They turned
into the corridor through which the killers had made their escape, and where forensic's
officers were now combing the floor and walls for evidence. Up ahead, through
the milling white bodies of the bunny suited scenes of crime officers, Redmond caught
stark glimpses of black and red. The red was blood, the black the
uniforms of the dead Transport police officers Jesus christ. Redmond murmured on seeing Coleridge
approaching, the Sokos made way as best they could in the narrow space,
and she saw clearly the bodies of the murdered policemen where they lay outside two
open doors. Each man had a halo of blood around his head. Farrell
pointed to the rooms. These were being used as interrogation rooms by Valentine and
his men, one suspect in each room. These guys, he indicated,
the bodies at their feet posted as guards outside. Redmond looked into the first
room. The only furniture was a table and two folding chairs. On the
table, the plastic cup stood beside a numbered yellow evidence marker. She was
surprised to see so few signs of a struggle. Walking inside, she said,
looks like the suspect in this room didn't put out much of a fight.
People can be very cooperative when someone's pointing a gun at them, said
Coleridge. Yes, but Redman's attention was on the scene before her, staring
at it as if trying to see into the past. But what said Coleridge,
I don't know. It's just a cup. It's empty, light as
a feather, but it's upright, so said Farrell. So if the suspect
was sitting here facing the door, as the position of the cup suggests,
the door opens and he sees masked men pointing guns at him, dead policeman
on the floor, it's shit himself, said Farrell, exactly. He'd react
fight or flight, fear panicer. I don't know, it's just that cup
standing there. I would have expected it to fallen over. The killers would
have come in to get him, to make sure they weren't leaving any witnesses
behind the door. And all the time the cup stays upright. The table
isn't disturbed in any way. Maybe he wasn't sitting at the table when they
came in, said Coleridge. Here said Claire, leaning over the table to
look into the coffee dregs at the bottom of the cup. But even still,
there's not much room to move in here any kind of altercation, and
that table would surely have been disturbed. What he's saying, Redmond, that
the suspect knew these men were coming. It's possibility, isn't it? Somehow
the killers knew these men were here. How somebody had to have got the
information to them. Maybe it was this guy, Maybe he contacted them before
he was arrested. Hum. Coleridge scratched his chin, then to Farrell said
Okay, let's see this other rum, Yes, sir. As Farrell exited,
Redmond caught Coleridge by the arm. He turned to her under her breath.
Wary of the soko still in the room, she asked, sir is
Farreloh see you? Coleridge gave a brief shake of his head and went out.
After a moment, Redmond followed to find Coleridge standing in the doorway of
the next room. She waited for him to go in, but he remained
rooted to the spot. As conversation inside the room slowly died to silence,
Then from within came a familiar voice, that of Regional District Surgeon Bob Jeffreys.
Nisseus Coleridge, Christ Charles, I'm sorry. Coleridge stepped inside, and
then it was Redmond's turn to be momentarily paralyzed. Guy Valentine sat on a
plastic chair, his arms hanging at his sides, and his legs splayed out
before him, his head hung back, face to the ceiling, pushing his
chest out as if he were proudly displaying the single bullet hole and its bloom
of blood. On the wall beyond him was a spatter of blood, unmistakably
that of an exit wound, but it was too high on the wad wall
and too concentrated to have come from Valentine. Then as Claire came into the
room, she saw the other men, one beyond Valentine in the little kitchen
area and no doubt the source of the spatter on the wall, the other
on the floor just inside the door, both playing clothes police. She reasoned
these must be Whitmore and Sloane. Coleridge had explained their assignment to her in
the car on the way here. Fucking hell, said Coleridge quietly. He
walked silently round the table, not taking his eyes from Valentine until he was
able to fully see Sloan's body where it lay sprawled behind him in the kitchen
area. What do we know, Bob Jeffreys scratched his head with a latex
gloved finger, point blank range. In the case of Whitmore, they shot
him as he opened the door. The others were shot from the same spot,
one shot to the head, one to the heart, all at casings,
mostly in the hall. Nine millimeter rounds sawed machine guns. According to
staff who saw them come and go. No shots heard, so probably silenced.
You know about the station manager. Coleridge nodded. He and the officers
outside were also shot at point blank range. Jefferies continued, killer's uniforms would
have made them seem like friendly, so they were able to get up close
and personal. But why, said Coleridge. Who were these men that Whitmore
and Sloane arrested? Do we have anything on them? Jefferies shook his head.
All the CCTV was waited. We've got some eye witnesses among the staff
that saw their initial chase through the station. See idea conducting interviews as we
speak, and we're confident we'll be able to lift Prince and DNA from these
two rooms they were held in. What about the third suspect, said Coleridge
when he called in. Sloane said Whitmore was chasing two men and a third
bit be chasing him. If we had two in castle, where's the third
man? Don't ask me. Jeffries looked at Farrell, who could only scratch
his head. Seems he got away, most likely made it down in time
to catch a train. According to records, one left the platform around the
time they got down here. First guy called it, the others didn't,
so they had their little taser high noon instead. But we have eyewitnesses who
saw him. Yeah, well that's something. Coleridge looked around at his dead
men and shook his head. Jesus Christ, this is Asoco walked past,
brushing against him while trying to avoid bodies and items of tagged evidence. We're
in the way here, said Coleridge. We should give these people a room
to do their job. Farrell, carry on until Falcon bridges the id get
here, Bob, is there someplace quiet we can talk. Jeffreys considered a
moment, then shrugged, well kind of. He led the outside and down
the corridor. They stopped outside two doors. One bore the Machtick symbol of
a man, the other of a woman. This is all there is.
Take your pick. Coleridge pushed open the door to the gent's toilet and they
went inside. It was a small room with two urinals and one wc The
air was pungent with the smell of urine and disinfectant. Once the door was
closed behind them, Coleridge said, all right, first things first, Bob,
I've just recruited Redmond into the OCU. Oh. Jeffreys began, apparently
delighted with this news, but Coleridge went on without pause. She's not official
yet. Jeffrey's mouth clammed shut, but she knows what we're up against here.
Jeffries nodded, I see well. I can't say I'm surprised. That
hack and slash job on the victim we found in the skip didn't fool you
for a moment, did it. Redmond Claire was surprised to hear this,
So you knew that was a vampire bite on her neck, AI, but
only about ten seconds before you arrived. I hadn't even had time to call
it into him yet, But as soon as you were gone, I was
on the font of straight away. She knows, Charles, I said that
Admund is her father's daughter, and no mistake, it's in the jeans.
Save it for another day, will you, Bob. This isn't the time,
and it's certainly isn't the place. We're up against something the likes of
which London hasn't seen for generations. Not one, but three o CU agents
massacred five coppers in all, taken up with ruthless efficiency, and not to
mention the civilian christ, he covered his eyes with his hand. The press
are going to have a field day. Who who the fuck are we dealing
with? Bob? I don't know, sir, said Jeffreys gravely. This
pulls the rug from under everything we've assumed so far. First we're thinking it's
one vampire, then two, Now it's god knows how many. But are
you certain this is vampire activity? Said Claire. I know I'm new to
this unit, so forgive me if that's a stupid question. But where's the
proof. We don't know who those men were. They could have had mob
connections for all we know. It's too much of a coincidence, Redmond said
Coleridge. I told you on the way here that Whitmore and Sloan were telling
the journalist who broke the story, and how he and the guy he met
were discussing this case and talking about the Malleus. You think that's just a
random coincidence? No, no, I see that, But how does it
fit with what we actually know to be fact. We know about lydia.
She was asking me about the church murder, so she's likely behind the other
one, the body and the skip, and that makes her the more organized
of the two, but only barely. And nothing about her gave me the
impression that she could have pulled off something like this. More to the point,
why would she? Jeoffrey's held up a hand to call a halt wit
who's lydia? Vampire? Lared Redmond into a and fascinated her, said Coleridge.
I deprogrammed her a short while ago. I'll see you get a report.
Bloody hell. Jeffreys looked back and forth between Coleridge and Claire. Why,
I mean, to what purpose? Why of Edmond? She thought Redmond
was still heading up the case, and when she found out she wasn't,
she programmed her to find out all she could from Valentine and then report it
back to her. Then he remembered something that had slipped his mind since learning
of the hobe and shooting to Claire. He said, shit, she's going
to call you, isn't she tonight? Claire, who had also forgotten,
nodded, yes she did. She took out her phone and checked it,
but there were no missed calls and she hasn't called not yet anyway, or
maybe she's been busy, said Jefferies. If she was behind this, she
certainly has been. Yep, but that's what I'm saying, said Claire.
I don't think she is. That's not based on any evidence. It's just
my gut feeling. She wanted to know what Valentine was up to, but
not to kill him. I mean, if that's what she wanted, she
could have programmed me to do it, couldn't she. Well, maybe that
changed when she found out Valentine had her men under arrest, said Coleridge.
Your own theory has one of them calling for help before they were arrested.
So Lydia found out about it and mobilized her people people ay, said Jeffreys.
Vampires often have all kinds of people helping them, and I'm not talking
about fascinated people like you. I'm talking about willing helpers. Well, the
only person I saw helping Lydia was a woman in the fifties, and the
pair of them looked about as capable of organizing something like this as they would
have moon landing Wess, not her and It's like I said, said Jeffries.
We don't know how many vampires were up against here. It doesn't have
to be your Lydia or the other suspected London vampire. There could be another
Christ. There could be dozens, yes, but it could equally have been
a mob thing, said Redmond. All Right, Coleridge intervened. One thing.
We do know over sure this wasn't the work of some new born rogue.
And for the sake of argument, that's also accept Redmond's feeling that Lydia
isn't capable of organizing it either. So what does that leave us? To
recruit a team of professional assassins to do a job like this takes time,
planning and a ton of money. But this, this whole thing from Whitmore
and Sloan's initial sighting of the suspects to the blood bath next door, took
only a matter of hours or so. They weren't hired for this particular job,
said Jeffreys. They were ready to go at a moment's notice. But
that's not possible, surely, said Redmond. That would mean they were either
a private army or or real police. The thought almost made her laugh.
And that's definitely not possible. One bent copper is one thing, but a
team of them ready to gun down colleagues at a moment's notice. She noticed
that this caused Coleridge and Jeffreys to exchange a look as if each was silently
posing her question to the other. That is ridiculous, right, tell me
that's ridiculous. Of course it's ridiculous, said Coleridge. So more likely then
it's organized crime. They could easily have had the hardware ready, guns,
armor, none of it's hard to get if you have the right connections and
black vans, just a black van. Collridge listened, but his face showed
he was finding it hard to accept. Redmond, what mob do you know
of that would be crazy enough to do something like this? I mean,
if these suspects had been high profile mob figures, then maybe someone would have
gone to such an extent. But these guys were, by all accounts nothing
special. If they had been high profile mobsters, Slowan, for one,
would have known it. He was local Thames Valley. He shook his head.
No, but your comment about a private army is more in line with
my thinking. A vampire with many human helpers, and among them people who
could pull off a prisoner extraction like this at short notice. Now, that's
not the territory of someone new to this. That suggests a long and well
established operation an immortal, said Jeffreys. Coleridge nodded, could be Redmond frowned.
Aren't all vampires immortal? Ay? That might be what it says on
the tin, said Jeffreys, But most of them don't get to actually achieve
it. Yes, thanks to the Malius, said Coleridge. He turned to
Claire. The immortals is a term we used to use for the oldest vampires,
those who had managed to stick around for centuries until we finished them off.
Part of the secret of their longevity was often to have a network of
human helpers. They could have dozens of these helpers in different towns and cities,
sometimes even in different countries. But over the years, the Malleus tracked
all the immortals down, and one by one we destroyed them. He looked
at Jeffreys, or so we believe, Christ on a bike said Jeffries.
An org what original gangster they see it in America? It's a rap thing,
you mean music. Yeah, if we're dealing with an immortal, they'd
be like a vampire or g Not caring for Coleridge's disapproving expression, Jeffries waved
a hand dismissively. I forget her. I was just thinking out load.
Redmond said, So do you think one of these immortals may have survived?
Much as I don't like it, I think it's a distinct possibility. Yes,
said Coleridge. So do you have a list of possible suspects. Well,
no, that's what I'm saying, Claire. The Mallly has killed everyone
on the list. So whoever this is, if indeed it is an immortal,
it's someone who wasn't on the list, bloody hell, said Jeffries.
He went to bite a fingernail, but on tasting latex glove crossed his arms
across his chest, hugging himself. So it's someone who's managed to have detection
for possibly hundreds of years, said Redmond. Possibly, yes, said Coleridge.
I don't know. We're going to have to go over case files.
As he said it, the enormity of the task hit him. He put
a hand to his head. Oh God, we're going to need more people.
What about Heinrich Volkman, Sir, said Claire. Coleridge frowned. Volkman.
Yes, the vampire you said killed my father. You didn't say what
happened to him. Coleridge seemed to take a second to process this, as
though he were searching his mental case files. Oh uh, he was hunted
down. The Malius got him in Germany. Though. You said he spoke
with an American accent. Yes, so he probably learned English in America.
I think unusual in that. No. I just wondered if perhaps he had
actually been an American. I'm sorry, Claire, we don't know any of
his biographical details. Volkman wasn't taken alive and interrogated. The vampires really are
I see. Coleridge turned back to Jeffreys. All right, well, thanks,
Bob, I'll let you get back to work. Our people from Falconbridge
will be here any minute to take over from the regulars socoas DC McKay is
going to debrief them and make sure they all know this one's top secret.
Obviously, when you're done, have the bodies taken to Falconbridge, Sir,
said Redmond. What you were saying about going over old case files. Yes,
we're going to need a lot more people, but I don't want you
on that Redmond, You need to get some sleep. You can catch up
with mackay in the morning. No, that's not what I was going to
say, sir. I remember you told me that some OCU case files had
gone missing. You asked me if maybe I had them, if my dad
had taken them? Ah, yes, what about them? Well do you
know what was in them? No? They were christ It was so long
ago. Now. They came from various time periods, going all the way
back to the foundation of the Mallets and the OCU. So might it be
possible then, that the information we're looking for about this immortal is in those
files That would explain why the missing Immortal isn't on your list? What can
hell? Said Jeffreys and oor G that managed to infiltrate Falconbridge and take everything
we had on him? Will you stop saying o G? Said Coleridge.
We're not in the bloody hood. Sorry, sir, But what Edmond's saying
makes a horrible kind of sense, doesn't it. Yes, I'm afraid it
does. We're going to have to go over all the historical data we have
with a fine tooth comb. He probably took files relating to him directly,
those where the title names him or crimes that he was responsible for, but
not necessarily those that mention him indirectly. There has to be references to him
and the database that he doesn't know about, and we have to find them,
assuming it is a he said Redmond, yes, obviously, Coleridge snapped,
pardon me for not using the gender neutral pronoun that doesn't bloody exist.
I'm sorry, sir, I just wanted to point out I know what you
wanted to point out, Redmond, but it wasn't necessary. I may be
old, but I'm not a total ass. Sorry, sir, Yes,
well you just forget about it, and you're right, of course you are.
He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. God, it's been
a long and terrible day. I need to get some sleep, and I
know you definitely do. Redmond. In the morning, I want you to
report directly to Falconbridge and liaise with Anna McKay. She had just been assigned
to work with Valentine on the London vampire case, but now he's well,
now it's your case again, so she'll be your DC. Do you know
her? Claire did, and she didn't like her. Mackay was in her
late twenties, an attractive bottle blonde who played along with her male colleagues occasional
sections banter when she should have been reporting it, and from what Redmond had
heard, she was none too diligent a copper either. But when your dad
is a sitting member of the Metropolitan Police Board. She stopped herself from going
down that line of thought and said, yes, sir, may I ask,
does she have actual experience of vampires? No, it's the first time
she's been called up, but her old man's Oh see you, as was
her grandfather. Redmond nodded and gave a noncommittal shrug. What well, she
wouldn't be my first choice, Sir, Can I suggest we also call up
my ds Larry Beck. I've worked with Larry for a long time. We
have a good chemistry. He'll often see things that I'm miss and vice versa.
You know how it is. He's not o cu Redmond. We've been
recruiting some new non descendant people, but they're exceptional. Larry's exceptional, Sir,
just check his record. Yes, I don't doubt he is. But
perhaps it was residual annoyance from their spat a moment before. But Coleridge abruptly
seemed to lose patience. Damn it, Detective Inspector, you're working with Mackay
and that's an end to it. Do I make myself clear? Claire,
who was inwardly fuming at this outburst, swallowed hard and said, yes,
sir, good now let's get out of this fucking bog, shall we.
He pushed past her and out of the toilet. Claire went after him.
So what about Lydia? Coleridge stopped in the corridor, his back to her.
Jesus, I yes, yes, of course, he turned back to
her. I'll arrange for someone from Falconbridge to come home with you. They
can keep guard while you sleep and monitor your phone in case she calls.
But Lydia doesn't know where I live. You don't know that Redmond. Falconbridge
should be here any minute. If they're not here already, I can assign
someone to you then. And no, not Mackay. Before you say anything,
I need her here, Thank you, sir. And what do I
do if Lydia does call? Don't worry whoever comes back with you or know
what to do? Oh okay, Coleridge could see that she wasn't entirely convinced,
He sighed and unzipped his coveralls. Then, reaching inside and behind his
back, he drew out his gun. He came back and handed it to
her. Here take this. Normally we would have issued you with your own
as soon as you joined us, But today, he shook his head wearily.
I don't need to tell you, do I? But look, this'll
keep you safe. It's a Smith and Wesson M and P shield. I've
been carrying it since this ship storm started. But what about you If I've
got your gun? Oh, don't worry, I've got another one in the
car and another at home, he smiled. I should make it till morning.
Claire looked at the gun. Does it have I don't know, silver
bullets, Coleridge chuckled. Now, just regular rounds. Just be sure to
shoot her in their head if it comes to it. If you hit her
anywhere else, she won't go down and her wounded flesh will start to heal.
But if you get her in the head, he tapped the middle of
his forehead, and preferably more than once, that'll stop her. The vampire
brain can't direct its healing process if it's had a couple of holes blasted through
it. Oh and if you do shoot her in the head, said Bob
Jeffries, coming up behind her to rejoin them, follow up with a couple
to the heart as well, that'll kill her. It's the historical double tap.
The old European peasants used to stake em through the heart and cut off
their heads. But the invention of the gun has made things an awful lot
easier. Really, it's that easy, said Redmond. Oh fuck me,
Lassie, said Jeffreys with a chuckle. It's not easy, not by her
long chalk. These bastards are fast. Redmond looked to Coleridge, suddenly anxious
her. He gave her a tired smile. You will be fine, Claire.
You're going to be in safe hands. Don't worry. I'm not worried.
I'm just Claire considered the gun, bobbing it in her hands and feeling
its reassuring weight. When she looked up, she smiled, but there was
no hiding her anxiety. Yeah, I'll be fine. Will Lydia be paying
a late night visit on Inspector Redmond or will it just be a friendly phone
call. We'll find out in time, because the night is still young.
In Underwood and Flinch season five. The music you're listening to is ahmad Ama
by Farid Fajard from the album and Rusa Volume four, courtesy of Taranay Records
and our good friend Fahwaz al Maloud. You can stream the track from Spotify,
YouTube Music, Google Music, and all the other music streamers out there.