by Matt Johnson
‘Anyone who was connected to this seems to have ended up dead.’
‘It looks that way doesn’t it?’ said Toni.
‘Killed to keep them from talking…’ said Nell, ‘…presumably by those who wanted knowledge of Al Anfal kept secret.’
‘Which puts us in a very difficult position, doesn’t it?’
‘Only if it comes out that we know. What if it were no longer secret? We could leak it ourselves?’
For a moment, Toni thought her researcher was serious. ‘To the newspapers?’ she asked. ‘Are you serious?’
Nell shrugged in response. ‘It would solve a problem. At the moment, anyone who knows about this is a target to be silenced. Does this have anything to do with the checks I’m doing on Howard Green?’
‘Possibly. Have you found anything juicy?’
‘Not so far. But Al Anfal isn’t such a secret now, after what
happened?’
‘Everyone at the Long Room meeting heard about it.’
‘But none of them have any idea as to its content. If they knew that…’
‘Miles Chadbourne had an idea, and now he’s disappeared.’
Nell didn’t reply. She didn’t need to. They both understood the possibilities. As the telephone on the desk in front of Toni began ringing, she picked it up. It was Stuart.
‘Can you speak?’ he asked.
‘Yes. There’s only me and Nell here.’
‘OK, I’ll be quick. First thing, I bumped into a mate of mine from the lab who works on firearms forensics. We got chatting about the PC who’s escaped custody.’
‘Learn anything useful?’ said Toni.
‘Not about the escape, no. But I thought you said they’d tied a gun found in the PC’s car to another murder?’
‘No, I said they were hoping to. Finlay’s claim is that Jones is being stitched up and that if the gun found in the boot of his car is the murder weapon used to kill the drug dealer then that would prove it. And he reckoned that to think Jones would put the gun back there rather than using it to shoot himself was just plain daft – I tend to agree with him.’
‘OK, well, I guess I got the wrong end of the stick. Anyway, I thought you’d like to know that the Glock they found hasn’t been tested yet. The lab has such a backlog of work that it’s not likely to be looked at for a week or so.’
Mellor was bluffing, Toni mused; he didn’t yet have any evidence. ‘How did you get on with the vice squad?’ she asked.
‘I’m there now. I thought you’d want to know straight away. No arrests or cautions recorded for Martina Proctor since that day we saw her performing on the roof with Howard Green.’
Toni ended the call with a warning to Stuart not to mention what he had learned to anyone. As she replaced the receiver, Nell interrupted her thoughts.
‘You think Green’s prostitute was another victim?’
Toni allowed herself a smile. Nell was always ahead of everyone else.
‘I’m not sure, Nell,’ she replied. ‘Like I said, I’m just checking.’
‘It’s just like I said: anybody connected with this ends up dead.’
Chapter 46
New Scotland Yard
‘He’s back. They’re bringing him up the stairs.’
Grahamslaw scowled. There were aspects to this job that he hated and this was one of them. As Mellor returned his mobile phone to his jacket pocket, the Commander caught a momentary look of satisfaction on the Superintendent’s face.
Bastard’s enjoying this, Grahamslaw thought.
With command comes responsibility. With responsibility comes duty, a duty to do what’s right, no matter how distasteful or how uncomfortable you may consider that to be. He remembered those words from his Senior Command Course at Bramshill Police College and he recalled the young man who had spoken them. They were delivered in the context of a lecture on leadership, and the young man who spoke them had been an army officer, a veteran of the Iraq War, who had been recounting his experiences of sending young soldiers into situations where they might be killed. Not that Finlay was going to suffer such a fate, but the next few minutes might easily decide his future in the police, and possibly even his liberty.
Mellor wanted to interview Finlay about the escape of his mate from custody, and he wanted to catch him off guard. It went against many of the safeguards that rank-and-file cops expected to be allowed when they were to be interviewed about their suspected involvement in a crime. But he understood Mellor’s reasoning, even if he didn’t necessarily agree with his methods.
Two men, both masked and wearing identical grey boiler suits, had entered the court room as Jones had been produced from the underground cells to appear before a District Judge. The men had thrown several smoke canisters around the building and, in the resulting confusion, had overpowered several guards, together with a number of uniform and plain-clothes officers who had been in the court room and in nearby corridors. As the escaping group had exited the building, any potential pursuit had been effectively prevented when the officers giving chase had been threatened with handguns.
Grahamslaw had grown to like Finlay, and he trusted him, but only in so far as he knew the Inspector to be honest. The former soldier’s predisposition to bend the rules and occasionally act outside the law in pursuit of justice was something that had made him difficult to predict. Mellor claimed to have circumstantial evidence Finlay was involved in the breakout and, the Commander had to accept, the slick operation was exactly the kind of thing the former soldier would have been capable of organising.
The escape was already the subject of an official press release and was all over the news channels. One intrepid member of the public had even managed to record the fleeing men on her mobile telephone, although the detail was poor. What hadn’t been mentioned to the press was what had happened afterwards, when the resources of the Met should have been utilised in its effort to apprehend the escapees. Local radio traffic and telephones had, inexplicably, gone down. For several vital minutes people in the court, the next-door police station and officers in radio contact nearby had been frustrated in their attempts to alert others as to what had happened. By the time communication came back online, the van used by the gang had disappeared.
And all this had happened just forty-eight hours after Robert Finlay had been logged as a visitor to the court cells before Jones had been produced before the Judge for an authority to extend his detention. Finlay had disobeyed an order from a senior officer – Mellor – that Grahamslaw had heard himself. Stay away from the enquiry, Mellor had said. He couldn’t have made it clearer. And Finlay had fully understood, of that there was no doubt.
So, yes, Mellor was right when he said there was circumstantial evidence and some questions that needed asking.
Finlay was in the shit, the only unanswered question was how deep.
‘I’ll answer your bloody questions when you tell me what you’re going to do about Doug Powell.’
Grahamslaw saw Finlay’s hands clench into tight fists and, for a second, he thought the Inspector was about to hit his interrogator. ‘OK, OK,’ he said, trying to ease the tension. ‘I think we should all take a moment to calm down.’
The moment Finlay had appeared in the doorway with Mellor’s Sergeant close behind, Grahamslaw sensed the Inspector was spoiling for an argument. Mellor had requested the interview but it was soon apparent that Finlay was as keen to speak to his accuser as the Superintendent was to him. All that differed was their agenda.
Mellor got in first. But what followed was more akin to a verbal jousting match than an interview. And then, when Mellor laughed in response to Finlay revealing his promise to speak to the Superintendent about Doug Powell’s mental health, any hope of an effective interrogation about the court breakout went swiftly out of the window. Mellor asked his questions – ‘Why visit the cells? Why disobey my order? What did you know about the escape plan?’ – but Finlay was not at all interested in that topic and refused to engage.
> But Mellor hadn’t finished. ‘The trouble with all you ex-squaddies is you think the world owes you a favour…’
‘Enough!’ It was time to call a halt to this debacle, Grahamslaw decided. The room fell silent. The Commander waited for a moment, until he was certain that order was restored, then spoke again.
‘Thank you,’ he continued. ‘Now let’s all remember who and where we are. Everyone here, regardless of their role in this interview is entitled to be treated with respect, is that clear?’
Finlay nodded and then stared hard at the scowling face of Jim Mellor.
‘Very well,’ said the Superintendent.
Mellor’s Sergeant looked up from where he had been making notes on a pad. ‘You OK, Mr Finlay?’ he asked.
Good cop, bad cop, the Commander mused. Sergeant shows sympathy for the apparent overzealousness of his senior officer. Different tack, both equally deadly.
‘Can I just say something?’ said Finlay, his voice now calm.
Mellor raised his open hands, as if in defeat and frustration at the impossibility of his task. Grahamslaw simply nodded in response.
‘See that paper on the desk there?’ the Inspector continued, pointing to the evening newspaper sitting on the Commander’s desk. ‘See the headlines? It’s about troop deployments and weapons of mass destruction that the Iraqis apparently have access to.’
‘What’s that got to do with here and now?’ Mellor demanded.
‘It’s about cause and effect, sir.’ Finlay seemed to have regained his composure, although Grahamslaw could still sense an underlying anger.
The Commander picked up the newspaper. There was a report from the Defence Intelligence Committee headlined as Finlay described. ‘Do go on, Finlay,’ he added, calmly.
‘When I read headlines like that I see things between my eyes and the page that you could never imagine. Smells return to my nostrils, of dusty heat, the fresh blood of my fellow men and of burning cordite, and I hear as clear as if I were there, the rattle of gunfire and the crash of explosions. I hear the curses of men who are in fear for their lives and of others, who scream through injury or as they struggle to take command. This suburban life that we live here and now … it bears no comparison.’
‘I repeat … what has that to do with us?’ said Mellor.
‘As you damn well know,’ Finlay continued, ‘I’ve just come back from talking Doug Powell out of throwing himself to his death. I’m not the best negotiator the Met will ever have, but the team called me because they understand, unlike you, that Powell has seen similar things to me. They asked me to talk to him because they knew he would relate to me and that I would understand where he was coming from.’
‘And you did a great job, of that there’s no doubt. But set that aside, we need to talk about some very serious crimes and the evidence that links you to them.’
Finlay didn’t register Mellor’s comment and, if he did, he didn’t waver from the point he appeared determined to make. ‘You might want to try living Powell’s life, Superintendent Mellor,’ he continued. ‘When you try to sleep you can’t. You have nightmares, repeated dreams, waking you up every night in a cold sweat. Just try it. Lack of sleep makes you irritable, angry. You get flashbacks. What that man saw in Northern Ireland is beyond the comprehension of everyday people. Then, in the light of that experience, just ask yourself how you would have reacted to having your uniform torn off so a group of people who you thought to be your friends could station-stamp the cheeks of your arse. I’ll tell you how Powell felt … humiliated, in danger, under attack. He needs help, not prosecution.’
‘It was a wind-up. If he couldn’t take it, he should never have joined.’
‘I think you’re missing Mr Finlay’s point, Jim,’ said Grahamslaw. ‘He’s suggesting PC Powell needs help, not dragging through the courts.’
‘And I think we need to get back to why I’m here – to ask Mr Finlay about his involvement in the escape of PC Kevin Jones from lawful custody.’
‘It had nothing to do with me,’ spat Finlay.
Mellor took an exaggerated deep breath. ‘Finally, the Inspector answers. So, what were you doing disobeying a lawful order not to visit Jones?’
‘With respect, sir. You ordered me not to get involved in your enquiry. I went to see a friend to offer to arrange for him to get good legal help.’
Grahamslaw replayed the conversation through in his mind, as he imagined that at the very same moment, Mellor was doing the same.
‘Don’t get clever with me, Finlay,’ Mellor replied. ‘You knew very well what I meant when I gave you that order.’
‘If you meant something other than the words you used—’
‘Bollocks. And if you continue to take the piss then, mark my words, you’ll bloody regret it. Now, let’s move on to what you said.’
The sergeant taking notes coughed, as if wanting to say something. Mellor turned toward him and glared. He was silent for several seconds before saying quietly, ‘Maybe time for a formal caution, sir. If we’re to ask further questions about—’
‘Fuck that,’ said Mellor. ‘I just want answers.’ He turned to face Finlay again. ‘If you want a brief and we have to put this to you again then so be it. Just tell me what you and Jones talked about.’
Finlay shrugged. ‘Like I said, we talked about him needing a good lawyer. He told me it was all in place and there was a solicitor with him when I arrived.’
‘What did he tell you about the plan to escape?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Did you arrange it?’
‘No, it came as a complete surprise to me. And, for what it’s worth, I think he is crazy to have gone on the run.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Because of what happened. Your case is that he killed Sandi either deliberately or accidentally and then tried to kill himself using ketamine.’
‘And you’ve got a different theory?’
‘You found a gun in Kevin’s car…’
‘Who the hell told you that?’
Finlay ignored the question. ‘So why take a drug that would lead to a slow death rather than use the pistol?’ he demanded. ‘If he knew it was there then he’d surely have used it on himself. I’ve been in that dark place myself and, believe me, us blokes don’t take pills, we’re too impulsive. Taking pills requires planning and thought. Kevin didn’t have a lot of that, especially as he knew Sandi’s two sons would be home from school that afternoon.’
‘That’s more bollocks. If he was expecting them home why was he having sex with his girlfriend in the bedroom? He knew the gun was there and he took enough ketamine to send himself to sleep very quickly. Maybe he wanted to avoid making a mess?’
‘It still doesn’t make sense.’
‘It does to me. Jones and his girlfriend meet up for a little fun which involved using the ketamine. She was a nurse and according to enquiries I’ve made at the hospital where she worked, she could have got hold of it there. Anyway, something goes wrong during their afternoon session. Maybe an accident, maybe Jones lost his temper over something, I don’t know. But what I do think is he killed her and then tried to kill himself.’
‘He told me somebody jumped him when he arrived at the house and that he never made it to the bedroom.’
‘He spun us that load of pony as well,’ Mellor replied, dismissively. ‘But we found forensics that questions that version. And, come on now, how many juries do you think would swallow a story like that? Somebody breaks in to the house, kills the girlfriend and then pours drugs down the boyfriend’s throat. Bloody fantasy…’
‘Unless it was true?’ said Finlay.
Mellor didn’t respond. The Sergeant had now stopped making notes and was fidgeting awkwardly in his seat.
And Grahamslaw remembered Toni, that mind map, and the man whose name lay at its hub. And he wondered.
Chapter 47
A considerable time passed before I noticed the rain on my face.
I felt
numb as I stared up at the faceless windows of New Scotland Yard and, as I stood silently, I reflected on what I feared might be the last time I would walk the corridors of the best-known police headquarters in the world. To my left, the familiar revolving sign that had been in place for more years than I cared to recall now taunted me. One face had been changed to show the words ‘Working together for a safer London’. What had just happened to me didn’t feel much like togetherness.
The meeting with Mellor had started just as I’d hoped for and, in many ways, exactly as I had rehearsed on the walk back into central London. But then, as things had become increasingly heated, the Superintendent had abruptly ended the interview by demanding I hand over my warrant card. He had then pushed a form that I had no opportunity to read into the top pocket of my jacket and ordered his Sergeant to escort me from the building. That I hadn’t expected. I had been allowed just one concession – to return to the trafficking office and collect some personal things from my desk. That proved to be something of a poisoned chalice as I’d suffered the shame of bumping into Nina Brasov, who was heading to the gym. Nina had started to chat to me only for the Complaints Unit Sergeant to cut her dead by telling her I’d been suspended from duty and was in the process of being ejected from the building.
Nina was embarrassed, and I felt humiliated, like a naughty schoolboy about to be expelled from class, his friends watching on with a sense of both disbelief and amazement at what they were witnessing. I also felt a growing sense of injustice and anger at Mellor and his bigoted view on Kevin Jones’s guilt. Despite my pointing out aspects of the case that should have made any detective doubtful, this particular investigator seemed far more interested in building a case than getting to the truth.
I touched the breast pocket of my jacket and, alongside Mellor’s scrunched-up form, I felt the reassuring presence of the burner phone. I pulled it out, checked the screen and saw that the record voice application was still running. I was lucky Mellor hadn’t spotted it as he pushed what I now saw was a formal notice of my suspension, into my pocket. I glanced around, fearful of being watched and then, carefully, I switched the device off. Slipping the phone back into my side pocket, I smiled and then gave it a warm pat. Sometimes, I thought, even the simplest things can bring you comfort. Now secure, I just hoped what the phone contained might soon help Kevin’s case.