Page 6 of The Other Side

That, at least, sounded familiar.

Gordon took a folder out of a drawer. “This is your new job. Thirty-seven-hour week, forty with breaks. Usually, the eight-hour-shifts would be rotated but you’re on your own. I don’t want you working nine to five, five days a week so arrange your hours in an appropriate way. You’ll work two weekends out of four. When you’re off at the weekend, they’ll be covered by PCSOs from other areas. No working past midnight. It’s all in here.” He tapped the folder.

“Yes, sir.”

“Training’s considered unnecessary in your case. Make sure your weekend rotas target times when rural areas get busy. Summer tourist spikes, agricultural shows and village events such as well-dressing, which are on now and spread over months. A Sunday shift might mean parking the police vehicle at a popular hiking trail-head or in a country park to hand out crime prevention leaflets. You might have to talk to farmers about rural crime or chat to kids in a school about stranger danger or assist with a missing person search. The Peak District Mountain Rescue look for lost hikers and climbers but rescues are coordinated by the police. That’s handled from here but if you have local knowledge, which you’d better get quickly, you’ll be needed too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Saturday late shifts mostly involve driving or walking through villages to provide reassurance. I want a high-visibility uniform presence, especially outside local country pubs or community hubs. Clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Stay visible. On foot or on a bike. Drive between villages but don’t drive everywhere. Excessive mileage won’t be approved. Your accommodation is fifteen miles from here. There’s a vehicle for you in the car park. Bike and helmet are already loaded in the back. You have tomorrow to settle in. Start at eight the day after. Report weekly in person to Sergeant Wilson unless she tells you otherwise.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have any questions?”

About a hundred. “No, sir.”

“Then one final thing.”

Drum braced himself.

“Whatever happened to you in London stays in London. I don’t care about rumours and I don’t care about gossip. You do your job, we’ll get along fine.”

It was probably intended as encouragement. Instead, it felt like a warning.

“Yes, sir.”

Gordon nodded towards the door.

As Drum headed back down the corridor, his bag on his shoulder, now holding the second folder about this job, a woman stepped out of a room on the right. Judging by the three chevrons on her shoulders, he guessed this was Sergeant Wilson.

“Drummond?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded and held out her hand so Drummond shook it. “I have your uniform and equipment here.”

He followed her into what looked like an interrogation room. There was another folder on the desk and a laptop.

“Airwave radio, mobile phone and necessary cables. Reassure me that you know how to use them.”

“The radio to communicate instantly with the control room and other local offices. It has an emergency button that prioritises my mic if I’m in danger. It’s durable and secure even in rural areas. The phone’s primary function is one-to-one communication and digital access. So it’s good for sensitive conversations when I don’t want the public to overhear. I use it to call victims and witnesses directly. I’ll log incidents on it and access force systems and the intranet, take statements and do PNC checks.”

She nodded. “Good. Here’s your body armour and hi-vis uniform, including boots and cycling gear. We had your sizes sent from London.”

Drum saw the distinct blue-and-white striped PCSO cap and sank his teeth into his cheeks. All that talk about still holding the rank of a constable and he couldn’t even have the black-and-white band on his cap? Or the black epaulettes on his shirt?

“Slash-resistant gloves,” she continued. “Duty belt, basic first aid kit, flashlight.”

“No handcuffs, expandable baton, incapacitating spray or body-worn camera?” Drum didn’t know why he’d asked, not about the first three items anyway. But he’d hoped for a body-worn camera.

“No budget for BWV in the rural area you’ll be working in and you’re a PCSO not a PC. You don’t handle any confrontations.”

Drum opened his mouth to say she was wrong and changed his mind. Then unchanged it. “Superintendent Fischer said I was still a constable, ma’am. My cap band and epaulettes should reflect that.”