by Olly Jarvis
‘He didn’t. Not until after Carl Marpit was arrested. He found out about her during another enquiry – the murder of Acer Spears. He was stabbed by a customer apparently, who was refused entry to the club.’
‘When?’ asked Jack.
‘Last weekend. Friday night, I think. No one has been charged with the murder, as yet, but during that murder enquiry, whilst trawling through names and phone numbers of present and past employees, the police spotted Melanie as an ex-employee, and then realized she was the daughter of Carl Marpit. This was disclosed to the NCA who were also involved in the investigation, obviously, since it was their CHIS who was murdered. I should add that Melanie was not working at Milo’s during the time that Acer Spears was providing information to the NCA. She had already left.’
Jack immediately understood how this got Finch out of trouble. ‘So that gap in time between Maisie working there and Spears providing the info shows there was no link between the NCA and Marpit?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But they must have known each other?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe?’ Jack wasn’t going to let it go without knowing more. ‘Why didn’t Finch tell you any of this?’
‘He did. He told me about Spears being the CHIS, but not about Melanie. He didn’t consider it relevant.’ Otterwood saw the incredulous look on Jack’s face and continued, before he had time to protest, ‘I accept Finch should have told me about Melanie. I’m very angry with him. Even though it was a coincidence that she worked there, and irrelevant, you were entitled to be told, in my view. That’s why I am disclosing it to you now.’
Lara interrupted, totally unconvinced. ‘Why disclose Acer Spears to us now and not earlier?’
‘It was PII’d. The judge was told about it months ago on an ex parte application, then again on Monday, when your defence was known. But he accepted that it didn’t assist anyone’s defence. In fact it contradicts Marpit’s defence that he, Marpit, was the CHIS. The judge was also told there was an ongoing murder investigation that might be compromised with his status entering the public domain. It’s only the fact that he worked for a time with Melanie – which I’m sure you will say establishes a very tenuous link between Marpit and NCA via a CHIS – that at least makes the information disclosable. Jack, I make it quite plain that I could have gone back in to see the judge and tried to argue for all of this to remain the subject of PII, but because of the way this has come out I have decided to disclose.’
‘And the judge would have ordered disclosure anyway,’ added Jack cynically.
Otterwood held Jack’s gaze and said earnestly, ‘I really don’t want to fall out with you over this Jack, but that’s everything. There is now no information which the prosecution holds that is the subject of PII.’
Jack still wasn’t happy. ‘I don’t pretend to have any experience of these things,’ he said, ‘but to me this stinks. It’s a very convenient escape for Finch. Who knows what else he hasn’t told you about?’
Otterwood gave a conciliatory smile. ‘I’ve done hundreds of cases like this and defence counsel tend to see non-existent conspiracies everywhere. Anyway, I will leave you with the RIPA forms for Spears. And just for the sake of completeness, here is the actual printout of the computer check for Marpit. Negative. Nothing in the records to show him ever being registered as a CHIS. Let me know when you’re ready. Oh, and obviously the other teams have now got this disclosure.’
On his way out of the conference room Otterwood stopped, then asked Lara, ‘Miss Panassai, I heard your name in court. It’s such an unusual name. No relation to Michael, I suppose?’
‘He was my father. Did you know him?’
Otterwood’s face lost a little of its colour. ‘Yes, very well. We were at Bar School together and then pupils in Manchester at the same time. Me, Lionel Katterman, and Jack’s Head of Chambers, Sarah Dale.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I remember the last time I visited him in hospital. Tragic.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
Once Otterwood had left, Lara collected herself.
‘All right?’ checked Jack.
She nodded.
They devoured the few meagre sheets of disclosure they had been given: computer printouts of forms that showed when Acer Spears had been registered as a CHIS, the name of his handler – Officer Finch – and then a log of all contact with him, any payment, plus the nature of the information provided. Acer had been giving NCA intelligence about an organized crime group in west London known as The District, due to the proximity of their operations to the District line route on the London Underground. All the information Spears had given related to details of the importation and distribution of controlled drugs, leading up to and including arrangements for the unloading of the aeroplane in Manchester. In short, all the information that Marpit had claimed he was providing to the NCA.
Attached to the paperwork was Acer’s photograph. A large, scarred, frightening-looking individual, with tattoos covering most of his arms and neck.
The penny dropped with Lara first. ‘This evidence is going to destroy our case. Otterwood will argue that the NCA didn’t need Carl Marpit as an informer; they were getting all the intelligence they needed from Acer Spears.’
Jack had to agree, but they were still better off than they had been. They had a new line of enquiry ‒ a reason to ask for more time – to investigate Spears as well as the whole Milo’s connection.
They were still in the game.
The court reassembled in the absence of the jury. Otterwood sought to defuse the situation by informing the judge of the disclosure that had just been made and asserting that it had no relevance to the case. Although Bingham and Katterman were clearly relieved, there was a sense of unease that Jack had hit on something that might start to unravel.
Although he wanted to, the judge could not reasonably resist Jack’s application to adjourn until the following day, allowing them to make further enquiries in the light of the disclosure.
Lara was still on a high as they left court, enthused by the disclosure. Jack was deep in thought, considering the latest revelations.
‘Cheer up, Jack,’ she said.
He stood still. ‘There’s another horrible coincidence in this case.’
‘What do you mean?’ replied Lara.
‘Only a few hours after we went public with Marpit’s defence at the bail app, a CHIS was murdered.’
Lara nodded, a sobering thought.
‘Did somebody have to sever a link to Spears?’ asked Jack rhetorically. ‘Because of the defence we are running?’
‘You mean someone murdered Spears because he knew something about Marpit?’
‘Maybe, or who he was getting his information from – about Lion’s Paw. Everything we do in court has a consequence,’ said Jack, looking to Lara for reassurance. ‘Did my little show cost Acer Spears his life?’
She had no answer.
Chapter 46
Jim Smith was waiting for them outside the courtroom. ‘Well done, Mr Kowalski. This trial is hotting up. I think I’ll stick around.’
Both Lara and Jack acknowledged Jim but gave nothing away.
Lara took a deep breath. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Let’s go and see Maisie Harris in Moss Side,’ replied Jack. ‘She might know something about Acer Spears.’
She approved.
Lara drove while Jack googled ‘Acer Spears’, in the hope of seeing something of his history. He gleaned little information, only a few minor press releases about his apparent murder at Milo’s while working on the door. Some references in local papers to convictions for football-related violence in the 90s at Manchester City’s old ground.
An internet search of Milo’s and related links gave an impression of a seedy lap-dancing bar where criminal activity was commonplace. There were constant licensing issues, though with so few shop-front businesses prepared to operate from that dilapidated part of Salford, the council seemed to have been remarka
bly tolerant of its activities.
A company registration search revealed that the director was a woman, Lisa Gant, about whom they could find absolutely nothing.
They were no closer to answering the fundamental question – how was a Manchester City supporter able to provide the NCA with information about the operations of a highly secretive west London organized crime group?
‘Who was that man last night?’
‘Who?’ replied Lara, caught off guard.
‘Waiting for you at your flat.’
She didn’t answer.
He pressed her. ‘You kissed him.’
Eventually, ‘A friend.’
‘What kind of friend?’ demanded Jack, forgetting himself.
‘None of your business.’
She regretted her words immediately, but it was too late.
An uncomfortable silence was ended by their arrival in Moss Side.
Jack remembered Maisie’s mother’s address from the sentencing hearing. The heart of Moss Side was a sprawling estate with countless narrow ginnels and snickets. Jack wondered why the architect who designed this housing hadn’t envisaged that these cut-throughs would become favoured escape routes and hangouts for armed teenaged hoodies on BMX bicycles, who spent their days and nights literally pedalling drugs.
They parked on the outskirts and walked in. Dusk had turned to dark, revealing sparse street lighting. They felt conspicuous, still dressed in their work suits.
Only young people were on the streets, dark figures darting around on bikes. Two lads appeared from nowhere, suddenly walking on either side of Lara and Jack. Wearing hoodies. Jack couldn’t see their faces. He noticed both wore brand new trainers. They were ogling Lara.
‘Me likes your bitch, blud,’ said one of the youths, which served as an indicator of the start of trouble. He then placed his hand on Lara’s bottom, ‘Mmm. Me likey.’
In one swoop Lara twisted round and grabbed the boy’s neck; with the other hand, she pushed him up against the wall of the ginnel. She pulled down his hood revealing a pale, undernourished puny-looking boy of no more than fifteen.
She shouted in his face. ‘You’ve got two choices. You either come with me to the police station, where I charge you with indecent assault, or you tell me where Alexandra Close is. Which will it be?’
‘Chill out, girl. It’s down there on the right.’ He pointed towards a row of two-storey maisonettes.
She released her grip and she and Jack went on their way, leaving the two youths cackling like hyenas.
Jack was impressed. ‘What if he had asked for your warrant card?
‘Ah, but he didn’t.’
They followed a sign indicating that the odd numbers were on the second-floor landing. It was accessed by an outdoor concrete stairwell. As they climbed the steps they could hear the youths howling below. One of them shouted, ‘Don’t worry, babe. I like me bitches with attitude.’
They walked along the long concrete balcony checking the numbers. When they got to Maisie’s flat, a flimsy plywood door was hanging off its hinges and banging in the wind against the frame. Dents in the bottom of the door showed where it had been kicked in.
On entering they were overcome with the stench. The tiny living room was piled high with rubbish: old take-away cartons, empty beer cans, ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts. The few items of broken furniture would have been more at home furnishing a skip. Maisie’s mum was sprawled out on the sofa in a dressing gown, semi-conscious. An almost empty bottle of supermarket-brand cider rested in one hand. Her face was bleeding, one eye badly swollen.
Jack waded through the trash to get to the sofa and tried to rouse her. ‘Hello, Mrs Harris. Do you remember me? Jack Kowalski, Maisie’s barrister. Are you OK? What happened?’
She gazed up at Jack, an emptiness in her expression. It was her eyes, vacant, as if she had given up. ‘Pete were ’ere, weren’t he. He’d heard Maisie were back.’
Jack started to lift her. ‘Come on. Let’s get you to a doctor.’
‘No, I’m not goin’ nowhere. I’m OK.’ She shook him off and took a swig of cider.
Jack let her go gently. He had a lump in his throat at the misery of it all.
‘Do you want me to call the police for you? You can make a statement about what happened.’
‘No! No police.’ Drunk and battered as she was, she knew her own mind.
‘What about the door, shall we try and get the council to come out and see to it?’
Maisie’s mum gave a sardonic laugh. ‘They won’t come to Moss Side at this time. At any time. Not for the likes of us.’ Her voice petered out.
‘Where’s Maisie?’ asked Jack.
With a limp hand, she gestured vaguely to another room. Her face hardened. ‘She did it with my Pete, didn’t she,’ she moaned helplessly. ‘For the brown. I knew she would.’
‘What? She slept with him for heroin?’
She closed her eyes and started to wail.
Jack pushed open the bedroom door and walked in. Lara followed and stood in the doorway.
Maisie was lying naked on a mattress. No covers. A belt was still tied round one arm where she had injected. Her eyes were half closed. Her movements were slow but she recognized Jack and gave a smile from a faraway place, oblivious to the fact that she had nothing on. ‘It’s me barrister. What you doin’ ’ere?’
Jack picked up a filthy bed sheet from the floor and covered her with it. She didn’t notice.
‘Maisie, this is my friend Lara. We’re going to try and get your front door sorted out, OK?’
No response. She lay back and closed her eyes.
‘Maisie, I thought you were going to stay off the gear?’
‘I were rattlin’,’ she mumbled.
Lara went back outside to the communal balcony for some air. Jack followed. He took out his phone and made a call. After a long argument in Polish, he ended it.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Lara.
‘It was my cousin, Radek. He’s a joiner. He’s coming out to mend the door. I’ve told him to reinforce it with an iron gate.’
Lara held his gaze to indicate the explanation had not sufficed. Jack explained, ‘He took a lot of persuading to come out here this time of night.’
‘Who’s going to pay for it?’ she said accusingly. ‘Not you?’
Jack didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Whilst they waited for Radek to arrive, Jack busied himself putting rubbish into refuse sacks. He’d found an unopened roll of council-issue sacks. Beyond that it was difficult to do much, with no cleaning products of any kind in the flat. Lara did her best to wipe the blood from Angela’s face. She had at least managed to get her name.
‘Who the fuck are you?’
They both jumped.
A wiry rat-like man was swaying in the doorway holding a bottle of whisky.
Jack watched him for a moment. He was in no mood for introductions. ‘More to the point, who the fuck are you? I hope you’re not Pete.’
Pete, Maisie’s stepfather, was unsure of himself and lowered his voice. ‘Are you Five-0?’
Anger giving Jack courage, he threw down the rubbish and squared up to him. ‘Why don’t you come in and find out?’
Pete thought about it, then quiet as a mouse turned round and shuffled off into the night.
It was late by the time Radek arrived. He was surprised at the chaos in the flat, but set about the door, making quick work of the repairs. He fitted a simple metal gate to the frame behind the external door, which could then be padlocked.
Angela had sobered up slightly and was beginning to recover from her ordeal. She was able to express some gratitude for the door, though she didn’t have the presence of mind to realize that Jack was paying for the work.
Jack went into the bedroom to say goodbye to Maisie, who was a little more lucid than before. He’d almost forgotten why they had come in the first place. He asked her, ‘Do you know anything about Acer Spears?’
> She slurred an answer. ‘He’s dead.’
‘I know. Who killed him, Maisie?’
‘Dunno. Not me,’ she added with a chuckle. She was totally out of it.
‘Who did he work for?’
‘Same as everyone else. Sauvignon.’
At first he was puzzled by the answer, then it clicked. ‘Sauvignon? Do you mean the Sauvignon Don? Elvis Boyle?’
‘Yeah. Milo’s is his gaff.’
Jack was shocked. Elvis Boyle was one of the biggest crime bosses in the UK. He had pretty much total control of the whole of Manchester. A monstrously overweight skinhead who had been given the nickname the Sauvignon Don by the press because of his penchant for guzzling large quantities of red wine, and for the way he held himself out as a wine trader and connoisseur – a cloak for his more illicit dealings. He had long since outgrown the warfare on the estates. A multi-millionaire criminal, with property and vast numbers of personnel at his disposal, he made The District look distinctly small-time.
Jack couldn’t solve the puzzle. It seemed unlikely that Elvis Boyle would go into partnership with The District. Why involve an outside organization to do a job his own people could do? More importantly, why would Acer Spears risk becoming an informant when his boss had a reputation for the most sadistic forms of torture? Anyone in his organization who so much as breathed a word to the authorities could expect to have their nose cut short, if not their life.
Before setting off, Jack swapped numbers with Angela and told her if Pete showed up again to call him, or better still, the police.
Chapter 47
Jack shared the new information with Lara as they drove back into town. Both agreed to scour the Internet for anything on Elvis Boyle that might turn up a new line of cross-examination for Finch the following day. Right now, they weren’t in the right frame of mind for any further work.
Throughout the short drive back Lara had been constantly checking her rear-view mirror. ‘What is it?’ Jack asked.
‘I’m probably being paranoid, but I keep getting this feeling that we’re being followed. I’ve had it since we left chambers to go to Milo’s. As if someone is keeping tabs on us.’