by Matt Johnson
Grahamslaw noticed Parratt take a sharp intake of breath. There were serious risks involved in allowing a terror suspect to walk. If they were wrong and he escaped, careers could be ruined. But Miller was right in one way, there was no way that Hewitson would be telling the others he was a pervert.
‘So, how you going to explain us keeping that ignition key?’ Parratt asked.
‘I won’t,’ said Miller. ‘What I’ll do is get a similar one and put it in with the personal stuff we took from him at the time of arrest. I doubt he’ll notice.’
‘What do you think, Mick?’ The Commander leaned back in his chair, allowing time for his deputy to fully consider Matt Miller’s idea.
After a few moments, Parratt replied. ‘It could work. Matt’s right, if we transfer him to the Green then he’ll know he’s nicked for the bombing. After that, there’s no way the other scroats involved are going to have any more contact with him. If we let him walk now, there might just be a chance he’ll lead us to them.’
‘And what if he does a runner, we lose him and we’ve lost our main lead?’
‘That’s why you get paid more than me, guv. To make decisions like that.’
Grahamslaw laughed as he turned towards Ben Gunn. ‘What about you, Ben? You’ve more than earned the right to an opinion on this.’
The PC looked wide-eyed, but then quickly collected himself. ‘I agree, sir. It’s a risk, but a worthwhile one in my opinion. It might be difficult justifying it to the family of the girl, but I’m sure we’ll think of something.’
‘OK … well, you know what they say: Fortune favours the brave. I’m gonna say yes. Matt, I’ll leave it to you to sort out the release. Mick, you get the Special Branch surveillance team jacked up in time to catch him leaving Kentish Town.’
Grahamslaw stood up. ‘Gentlemen, thanks once again. If you could get on with things at your end, Mr Parratt and I have things to arrange.’
As the two young detectives departed and the door closed behind them, Parratt opened his briefcase.
Grahamslaw saw the movement. He hoped it was the news he had been waiting for. ‘Now Mick, what have you found out from the victims’ wives?’ he asked.
Parratt pulled out a buff-coloured folder and spread it on his lap. ‘Not much from Mrs Skinner. Her and Rod married just before he left the army and she knew very little about that part of his life. I didn’t quite buy what she was saying, mind. I find it hard to believe that they never talked about such a big part of his life.’
‘She was hiding something?’
‘Maybe … I’m not sure. There were no pictures or army mementos in the house, either. Like it was a part of his life that never happened.’
‘So perhaps she was telling the truth? What about the others?’
‘The conversations I had with Mrs Bridges and Inspector Heathcote were much more productive.’
Grahamslaw leaned forward onto his desk. ‘OK, Mick, you have my full attention. Let’s hear it.’
‘Well, Mrs Bridges was very reluctant until we explained our ideas regarding a military link to the attacks.’
‘You had to do that? What if she speaks to the press?’
‘Trust me, she won’t. She’s not that type. What I learned is that, far from being a simple infantryman, Bob Bridges was a Sergeant in the SAS. You remember the army types at the funeral, the ones with a uniformed colonel?’
‘I do. You know I thought they looked a bit old for soldiers.’
‘Oh they were. They were SAS, all of them. Some retired, some still in. The Colonel was their new boss.’
‘Well, bugger me.’
‘So, after that little revelation, I was prompted to have another look at Skinner. Once again, the army were no help. They would only say that from ’75 to ’83, when he left the army and joined the police, Private Skinner was away from his regiment on ‘special duties’. Now, you can draw whatever conclusion you like from that, but my gut feeling is that he was SAS as well.’
‘The plot thickens.’ Grahamslaw chuckled at the cliché.
‘It gets better.’ Grahamslaw could see Parratt was finding it hard to control his enthusiasm. ‘The army had never heard of Heathcote or Holbrook. The marines were helpful over John Evans, the shot PC, but there was no clear link to any of the others.’
‘He wasn’t SBS or something like that? They do a lot of exchange work between the two special forces groups.’
‘No, nothing. Anyway … to continue. We got the same “away from the regiment” story from the Royal Artillery regarding Finlay. But … and this is the good bit … when one of the boys spoke to Heathcote in hospital he mentioned that he saw Finlay at the funeral and that he shook hands with all of the soldiers ….’
‘…who we now think are SAS.’
‘Correct.’
‘Finlay was at the funeral? I don’t remember seeing him.’
‘According to Heathcote, he was late. Snuck in at the back just as the service was starting.’
‘Any more?’
‘More?’ Parratt roared with laughter. ‘What do you want, Bill, blood?’
‘OK, OK, let’s go back to the start,’ replied Grahamslaw. ‘First, we have an area car stopping a bomb lorry and one of the PCs is killed, the other shot. The ARV crew get one of the McGlinty brothers. We know they mostly operate together, so it’s fair to assume that the gunman that got away was probably the brother, right?’
‘And the RUC Special Branch say that Dominic McGlinty and Declan Costello are both absent from Belfast.’
‘Next we have the car and motorcycle bombs that kill Bridges and the young PC. Bridges we now know for certain is ex-SAS.’
Parratt checked his notes. ‘Then the shooting of Skinner, who we now think might also have been in the SAS. And finally, the attempt on the Stoke Newington Duty Officer and Sergeant, where another man who is again ex-SAS is supposed to have been in the target car.’
Grahamslaw stood upright. He’d made his mind up. ‘I’m going with this, Mick. I wouldn’t ever call myself a conspiracy theorist but that bomb in Stoke Newington has been bothering me. Who the hell would want to plant a bomb in a side street like that to try and kill a couple of uniformed lads doing their daily job? It didn’t make sense. Your theory does. Let’s get Finlay up here and talk to him.’
‘I think he’s nights. That might not be too easy to arrange.’
‘Well, in that case we can go see him at Stoke Newington. I want to know what he knows. The man is no fool, so I’ll bet he has also spotted the link. And as a matter of utmost priority, get some people working on where the killers got their information. If they’re targeting former SAS soldiers there has to be some way they got hold of their details. It could be from within the job, or maybe within the army. Wherever it is, I want it found.’
Chapter 38
Grahamslaw was not expecting rapid results. Although Special Branch were used to mounting surveillance operations at short notice, it was rare that they produced news particularly quickly.
Heading home to the flat, he wondered if Emma might be there, waiting. Text messages he’d sent had gone unanswered. It was as if she was letting him down gently.
When his phone rang, he picked up without checking the caller, hoping it was her. It wasn’t, it was Parratt.
Grahamslaw’s initial disappointment was dispelled by the urgency of his friend’s voice. ‘Guv, I think you’d better turn the radio set to channel nine. There’s something you need to hear.’
Grahamslaw sat forward. ‘Pull the car over, John,’ he said to his driver.
As the car slowed to a halt, the Commander held his telephone to his left ear and listened to the radio speaker with his right.
‘What’s happening, Mick?’
‘It’s one of the Special Branch detectives, Stuart Anderson. He’s in a covert van outside the Hewitson place. He’s reported a man acting suspiciously.’
‘What exactly does he mean by “suspiciously”, Mick?’
‘He�
��s walked up and down the street three times, seems to be checking the windows of houses and looking in cars. Anderson reckons he’s looking to see if there’s any surveillance OP.’
Grahamslaw felt a twinge of jealousy at the excitement the Special Branch Detective must be experiencing. He would be sitting in the back of the van with just the tiniest of peep holes to look through, observing the surrounding street. It wasn’t the easiest of jobs. Long hours of boredom would challenge even the most dedicated. The vans weren’t exactly equipped for comfort. Any food or drink had to be taken with you and when it came to a call of nature, well that was where you hoped not to be sharing the van with a member of the opposite sex. But when the surveillance paid off, it made up for all that discomfort.
Hewitson could only have been home a short while. It wasn’t that long since his release.
Grahamslaw found channel nine. As he did so, a voice came over the radio.
‘Control, OP One.’
‘That’s Anderson,’ Mick Parratt said on the telephone.
The Special Branch Detective would be using a specially encrypted radio that had its micro-chipped frequency changed every few minutes. It prevented transmissions being picked up by scanners. Grahamslaw was familiar with the technology, having authorised the purchase of the radio sets himself. It was a necessary precaution in a world where scanners could be easily purchased at electrical shops.
‘Control, OP One. Eyeball target two, repeat, eyeball target two.’
Grahamslaw spoke into the telephone. ‘Who is target two, Mick?’
‘Costello, guv … it’s fuckin’ Declan Costello.’
Chapter 39
During the night-shift week, I’d found a little-used staircase that would take me up to my office without going past the Chief Superintendent’s door. Like an idiot, this day I forgot to use it. As I walked past, a familiar voice called out to me.
There was no way I could pretend I hadn’t heard him. I did my best to force a smile as I walked through to his office.
My smile faded instantly when I saw that beside Ian Sinclair sat the SO13 Commander, Bill Grahamslaw. It looked like they had been waiting for me.
Without greeting me, Grahamslaw turned to Sinclair and politely asked him to leave the office so he could talk to me privately. I experienced an immediate and now familiar sense of foreboding. The only time I had previously known a senior officer asked to leave his own office was when the Complaints Investigation Branch needed to use it to interview and then suspend someone from duty.
As Sinclair shut the door behind him, I felt very lonely. Grahamslaw told me to sit. It wasn’t a request.
‘Right, Mr Finlay. I want to remind you that you are an Inspector and I’m a Commander. Understood?’
‘Yes.’ I spoke slowly and nodded my head. Grahamslaw was building up to something, I just didn’t know what. Even though I was forty-eight years old, I felt like a schoolboy in front of his headmaster.
‘And as a direct result of that rank differential, you’re gonna tell me the truth, OK?’
‘OK,’ I said.
Grahamslaw’s approach was unusual and clever. I was on the back foot, and he knew it.
‘Did you know Bob Bridges and Rod Skinner, not in the police, but from when you were in the army?’ Grahamslaw demanded.
I hesitated. It was a straight question. If the Anti-Terrorist Squad had been digging into my past, it was quite possible they had made the connection. My heart had begun to pound. I had to say something. I figured that a degree of honesty was going to be best in the long run. And Grahamslaw probably knew the answer to his question already.
The Commander ran out of patience. ‘Answer the fuckin’ question, Finlay. Did you know them or not?’ There was menace in his voice.
‘I knew them, yes.’
‘You were in the SAS with them?’
I wavered again, now doubly uncertain how to answer. Was this a clever bluff or did he know and was testing my honesty? Long forgotten lessons in resistance to interrogation started to come back to me. Empathise, I recalled. That’s what they’d taught us. Talk, but don’t reveal too easily. Make the interrogator work for it. The theory I knew. But this was real. I thought about Monaghan. Should I say? I had no doubt that Grahamslaw was one of the Met’s best detectives. He would be able to tell if I lied. How did he know, I wondered? How had he found out?
‘Don’t bullshit me, Finlay. I’ve not long come from a meeting with MI5. If you’ve heard of the ROSE department, you’ll know that before the day is out, I’ll know everything about you. You might as well start with the truth.’
The mention of the ROSE office clinched it. ‘I was a B-Squadron Troop Commander. Rank of Captain.’
‘That’s a good start. Now, cut out the name and number crap. What’s your connection with the other two?’
‘Bridges was an NCO on the same squadron, Skinner was a trooper.’
‘Same troop as you?’
‘No … not the same troop as me.’
‘Good. Well, at least we’re off to an honest start. So, as I know you’re capable of telling me the truth, tell me this, were you the target of last week’s bomb?’
I paused yet again. This wasn’t going well. ‘I guess so. After Bridges and Skinner, the coincidence was inescapable.’
‘So who’s behind it? Why did someone target you, specifically?’
‘I was hoping you’d know that. From what I read in the papers you seem close to making arrests.’
‘Don’t get smart, Finlay. Anyone with half a brain could work out that coppers are being targeted. What I want to know is if it’s random or if there’s a connection. So, I ask you again, why are you a target?’
‘I don’t know. Seriously, I don’t. I thought I might have been the target, but after the initial attacks, it’s all gone quiet. Like it’s all over.’
‘OK. Let’s assume you really don’t know why someone would be trying to kill you. Do you know if there are other targets?’
‘Again, I’m not sure. Do you know how they managed to find Bridges and Skinner?’ I was having to think on my feet. This could be an unlooked-for opportunity to make myself, Jenny and Becky safe. I needed to know what the squad knew. If they were close to the terrorists, there would definitely be no need for me to get involved with Monaghan.
‘I thought you might have been working on that yourself…’ Grahamslaw remarked, looking down at the table, then up again.
‘I’m not in touch with anyone, so I’m in the dark.’
‘That’s bollocks, Finlay, and you know it. Someone has been feeding you information about what’s been going on. If your lads are being targeted then someone told the terrorists how to find them. If that leak came from my department I will find it.’ Grahamslaw stared hard at me. There was clear threat in his voice as he asked his next question. ‘Have you been approached by anyone, MI5 or similar? Anyone who has also noticed the link between the attacks?’ he said, slowly.
For a moment I thought about what to say, whether to maintain Monaghan’s wish to keep things between us or to seek the aid of the man who might be most likely to help. Common sense prevailed.
‘One of our old bosses,’ I said. ‘He’s now MI5, he said something to us about some files going missing from a police station in Northern Ireland.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘I can’t say. I really can’t,’ I said. Revealing Monaghan’s identity was a step too far.
‘OK. But trust me, Finlay. I will find out. What kind of files are we talking about?’
‘Army files. Files with our names on them, what job we do now, that kind of thing.’
‘I’ve never heard of files like that.’
‘But you know about ROSE?’
‘Of course.’
‘Well, according to my old boss, it’s ROSE files that were stolen.’
‘So, he thinks that’s how the terrorists have caught up with you?’
‘I guess so, yes.’
It
was now Grahamslaw’s turn to pause for a moment. He seemed to be thinking about something. It wasn’t good news. ‘I heard about a break-in at an Irish police station,’ he said. ‘It was at Castlederg a few months ago. The official report said nothing of note was taken.’
‘You know about it?’ The surprise in my voice must have shown. It meant that Monaghan had been telling Kevin and me the truth.
‘The Special Branch office was turned over.’
‘So, it’s true. Files were taken?’
‘Like I said, the report that came through to me said nothing was taken. But if your old boss knows better?’
‘Yes … perhaps he does. Is it right what’s being said in the papers, that the IRA are behind the attacks? I thought they’d declared a ceasefire.’
‘Don’t assume anything, Finlay. What I will tell you is that we are close to nailing them. They are Irish but it seems to be more complicated than that.’
‘What do you mean, more complicated?’
‘I have sources I trust that tell me these two buggers are not operating to an agenda set by any branch of the IRA.’
I blinked. Then realised my mouth was hanging open, so I closed it. I shifted in my seat. Another chance like this might not come up again. I had to take advantage.
I took a leaf out of Grahamslaw’s book and pinned him with a stare. ‘Mind if I ask you about an alternative theory that was going through my mind – something that has nothing to do with the IRA?’
‘What theory is that?’
‘A different connection between me and the two dead lads.’
Grahamslaw leaned forward on the desk. I thought he was going to stand up. ‘What kind of connection?’
‘We were all on Operation Nimrod.’
‘The Iranian Embassy?’
‘That’s the one.’
Grahamslaw slammed his fist on the desk. ‘I bloody knew it. I knew I recognised you, Finlay.’
‘You were one of the detectives that gave us a briefing, the day before we went in. I looked a bit different in those days.’
‘We’ve all aged, Finlay. So what you’re thinking is that some of you, maybe all of you, are on a hit list as a result of your part on the embassy raid?’