Regan refused to give his details when asked by the custody sergeant on arrival in the custody suite. He said, “I am unable to give you my details as to my identity. I am requesting I be permitted to speak to the most senior officer on duty today.”
The burly and surly desk sergeant had seen and heard a lot of things in his day but this was new.
“I’ll ask the Commissioner of the Met to come, shall I?”
“He will do, but a Chief Super, preferably a Detective Chief Super, will do just as well. In fact, make it a uniform boss not a DCS.”
There was something in Regan’s tone and demeanour made the world-weary sergeant take notice. It wasn’t what Regan had said, rather it was the way he said it.
“Put them in separate cells. I’m going upstairs to speak to the guvnor.”
The overweight sergeant was out of breath by the time he climbed four flights of stairs to the boss’s office. He paused before knocking at the door to compose himself. The Chief Super called out, “Enter,” and looked up to see who was at the door.
“What is it, sergeant ? Thought you would have stayed away from here seeing you have only got three months before your pension. You’d better get a bit fitter, too. You know so many coppers drop dead after retiring.”
“That’s it, guv. I don’t want to fuck up now so close to retiring from the job. I got a feeling about this prisoner downstairs. Kind of a sixth sense if you will.”
The sergeant told his boss about the incident at the court house and about the two prisoners.
“The thing is, he’s refusing to give his name or any details and said he must speak to a senior officer. I got this feeling about it all.”
The Chief Super sat back in his sumptuous fake leather chair, then scratched his chin before speaking.
“I’ll tell you what. Arrange for an interview room, the one with the listening device. We should record what he has to say. I’ll listen to his story... it’ll make a change from all this paperwork.”
The Chief Superintendent introduced himself before sitting down on one of the metal chairs bolted to the floor of the sparsely decorated interview room. Regan was seated opposite him.
Regan got straight to the point after the introduction. “I’m an undercover cop. Before I tell you the full story let me tell you this. There is a Customs boss by the name of Marks trussed up in the boot of his car. It’s a maroon Rover saloon parked in Randall Road. Please arrange to have him released.”
The Chief Superintendent weighed up Regan again, displaying the nervous tic of scratching his chin when faced with making a decision.
“No need to tell me the full story, I believe you but you will have to stay here. You know the score. Someone will have to interview you and take a full statement from you.”
“I suppose that has to be right. Okay, please arrange that and let me out of here. One other thing, tell them to leave John alone. He can add nothing.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
THE DETECTIVES FINISHED quizzing Regan and released him and John. They insisted on first driving him to St. Thomas’s Hospital for a check-up where he was given a clean bill of health. While waiting for the various test results, the Chief Superintendent approached Regan and said, “I have some news for you. The judge wants to see you.”
Regan said, “What judge?”
“Don’t tell me you have amnesia. ‘What judge,’ my arse. She wants to thank you personally for what you did.”
Regan and John got a personal escort from two uniformed officers in an unmarked area car. First, they dropped off John at a small hotel near London Bridge so he could get some sleep. Then they drove on to Inner London Sessions Courthouse, the scene of the crime. But this time, Regan did not have to act in a clandestine manner. Instead he was escorted to the judge’s side door. The slimmer of the two officers pressed the intercom buzzer and the door opened without delay. A black-robed court official greeted Regan and said, “Step inside, Mr. Regan, and follow me.” The officers remained outside.
Dutifully, Regan followed the official up four flights of steps, two at right angles to the others, until they reached the first floor of the building. Regan noticed the stone steps were worn with the passage of time and the feet of lawyers. He noticed they were only worn away in the middle and at the edge of the tread resulting in a dip of about one inch from extremity to the middle. Regan looked up from the top step and took in the corridor. The passage was wide and the ceiling high. A number of large heavy wooden doors were symmetrically stationed along the length of the corridor. The official stopped and knocked at one door bang in the middle of all the others. He opened it with caution and about an inch so he could peer inside the room.
“Come in,” said a female voice, “I was expecting you. Thank you, Frank, you may leave Mr. Regan alone with me.”
“Tea or coffee?” the judge inquired.
“Tea, please. What do I call you, Ma’am, judge or what?”
“Caroline. Call me Caroline, please.”
“If you insist, but I feel a bit uncomfortable about that.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Regan. You saved my life and I want to personally thank you.”
“I suppose you are right. What about this? I call you Caroline and you call me Steve.”
Caroline Sewell threw back her long blonde hair which she had untied in readiness for Regan’s visit. It had the desired effect. That, and her sensuous laugh made Regan think of her naked.
“Steve, I do need to thank you but I have little time to do that properly today. I am in the middle of a trial and during a break I arranged to see you. I am delighted you accepted my invitation.”
“Well, the way it was put to me was more of a demand than an invitation,” smiled Regan.
Caroline found his smile and demeanour attractive. She smiled back.
“Right. I can assure you it wasn’t a demand or a command, merely a request. Will you meet me for dinner Friday evening? My treat, of course.”
“How can I resist? It’s not every day an attractive woman and a judge to boot asks me out for dinner.”
Caroline beamed once more and found Regan’s charm irresistible.
“I am only a part time judge. I hope to be a Circuit Judge soon.”
“Part time? You make it sound like a supermarket checkout job. What’s a Circuit Judge?”
“Allow me to explain all to you over dinner. Hear that bell? That is summoning me back in to court. Stay here and finish your tea and Frank will show you out when you are done.”
“Right, but where and when do we meet Friday?”
“Do you know the Savoy Grill in the Strand?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, 8 pm in there Friday. Don’t be late.”
Caroline Sewell rose from her chair with the lithe ease of a woman in splendid shape. Regan watched her tie up her hair, gather her lawyer’s wig and stride to the door with purpose, poise and dignity. My God, she is sexy, thought Regan.
THE TIME BETWEEN MEETING Caroline at the court and the dinner date enabled Regan to have a long chat with his boss, Rick Green. They met for lunch in a pleasant and typical English country pub just outside Alton in Hampshire. Green was visiting family nearby and took the opportunity of catching up with Regan.
Green ordered the steak and kidney pie. Regan chose fish and chips with the mushy peas. Over a Guinness for Regan and a pint of bitter for Green, both men dissected recent events.
Green said, “What on earth were you thinking of, kidnapping Marks?”
“Thought you would ask me that. Let’s just say it seemed a good idea at the time,” said Regan.
“I see nothing has changed. You’re still a cheeky bugger. Good job you saved the judge’s life or else you could be in jail right now.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Regan replied, reluctant to be drawn on the episode.
“You are unusually quiet, Steve. Is all okay with you?”
“Fine. Look I don’t mean to be rude but I went through everything with the Met. I d
on’t intend repeating it all. Surely you have read the reports?”
“Okay, I’ll change tack. You need a few months away from work. Recharge the batteries, so to speak.”
“No argument from me on that. How long do you have in mind?”
“No rush at all. You need time to get over the gunshot wound and the trauma over the shooting. Come back when you’re good and ready.”
Once again Regan played his cards close to his chest when dealing with his boss, Rick Green. He had no intention of telling him he was determined to bed Caroline Sewell.
Dinner at the Savoy Grill between Regan and Caroline was more about mutual attraction than the food. They both played ‘the mating game.’ It became the springboard for a whirlwind relationship. Regan had been accommodated in a plush Mayfair hotel courtesy of Rick Green and a sympathetic Home Office. After a few weeks of daily contact with Caroline, he moved into her flat.
Chapter Twenty-Six
MONTHS WENT BY AND it was clear to Caroline that Regan had replaced Bill as her lover with one big difference. Regan was her first live-in, unlike Bill who only stayed when invited. She relished their animal-like love making and appreciated Regan’s superior technique compared to her former lover. Regan started to sense part of his goals were fulfilled. He now had a wealthy girlfriend, a Jaguar that Caroline had gifted to him and no money worries because Caroline insisted on picking up the tab for everything. He was in no rush to return to work just like Green had urged upon him. Nevertheless, he felt something. Something not right about Caroline and he also sensed she was dangerous. That was part of the bond between them. It was the same thing that attracted him to undercover work - a sense of danger and adventure.
Regan’s sense she was dangerous was reinforced one evening in a bar. A barrister approached Caroline in familiar tones but from a bygone era, “Hi Cee! Got any of that Colombian army marching powder?”
Regan watched from his table as Caroline reacted. She pushed the woman back to the wall, pinning her there with one arm to her throat. She fished in her shoulder bag and found what she was looking for - her manicure scissors. In one swift move she pressed the scissor blades under the woman’s eyes and hissed, “What the fuck is your problem? I have no idea what you are talking about. If you don’t shut the fuck up you will lose an eye. Got it?” The woman flung her hand up to her cheek to wipe the trickle of blood away. Caroline had pierced the skin under her left eye.
“I got it. You’re a fucking lunatic. Let go of me!”
Caroline released the frightened victim who scurried out of the bar exit doors into the street. Regan watched bemused as Caroline strode to the ladies powder room like nothing had happened.
Caroline locked the cubicle door behind her. Her thoughts were scrambled but there was a theme - no one will ruin my career. She idled the time away sitting inside the cubicle, staring at the plain white door with its stainless steel bolt. Her mind went back to better times with Bill. She recalled deep intimate moments with him and secrets shared between lovers. Bill had told her about his work and Regan’s plan to go rogue. He told her all about the cocaine deal and what happened in Miami.
Caroline’s thoughts returned to the present and Regan. She calculated the information about her new lover may in the future be useful so decided to keep it to herself. She also knew that could be difficult. Caroline Sewell knew herself well, her strengths and foibles. She knew she was a gossip. She could not resist telling her lovers all about her professional and private life. She suffered from verbal diarrhoea, a useful trait given her profession.
AS TIME WENT BY REGAN and Caroline were still as hot as ever. They became even closer. Caroline was so relaxed in Regan’s company her guard had disappeared. She was no longer circumspect about her drug habit or past dealing. Regan was wary but overcome by carnal lust. He loved the intimacy of the new relationship. While the sex was as good as this he had no inclination to analyse things. He wanted her and she wanted him. It really was as simple as that.
Regan and Caroline had dined earlier after Caroline finished her day in court. Indian curry was the joint decision washed down with cold beer. The couple arrived at Caroline’s flat soon after 11:30 on the Friday evening. Following routine, she asked Regan to open a bottle of red wine while she showered and changed. Regan poured two large glasses of Caroline’s favourite wine, a classic Barolo. He had taken a third sip and stretched out his long legs on the sofa listening to Chopin playing on the hi-fi. He was in for a treat. Regan let out a low whistle on seeing Caroline stroll in to the living room wearing nothing save for a G-string panty. Her long blonde hair was trailing down her back as she pirouetted so he could get a better view.
“You are amazing. Such a sexy woman,” Regan said.
“I know,” Caroline replied as she lay down next to Regan on the sofa. She quaffed a mouthful of wine then unbuckled the belt on his jeans. Caroline pulled on the zipper and tugged at the waist of the jeans. They were down at his knees when she ordered him to remove his underpants.
“You are the boss, Milady.”
“I know and you love it.”
Caroline’s head and long hair disappeared between Regan’s thighs. She stopped talking as her mouth was busy. A few minutes of oral massage forced Regan to stop his low moan and speak, “You’re going to make me cum.”
Caroline came up for air and said, “That’s fine. Just get ready to fuck me later in bed,” before she continued with her oral massage. Regan ejaculated letting out a loud moan. “That was fucking great. You are a porn star, not a fucking judge.”
“And now I’m going to get as drunk as a judge,” she said taking a gulp of red wine to wash down the part of Regan he had deposited in her mouth.
“I love it when you swallow.”
“Is there any other way?” Caroline smiled, licking her red lips.
She removed his jeans and underwear then lay her head in Regan’s lap.
“Let’s lie here a while, Steve.”
“Fine by me. We have music, wine and each other. Sounds good to me.”
“Steve, things are good between us. Agree?”
“Agree.”
“So do you mind if I tell you something?”
“As long as it is nothing to do with love or marriage, I am all ears.”
“I trust you. I want you to know everything there is to know about me. I mean everything.”
“Well, I can’t think what that could be because I already know you don’t change into a pumpkin at the stroke of midnight.”
“No! I’m serious, Steve.”
“Right. You’d better spill all then,” Regan said with a smile. That smile was soon wiped from his face as he listened to Caroline.
“Okay, but let me finish. Don’t interrupt me, okay?”
“Okay, you got me intrigued now. What the fuck is it?”
Caroline used the remote control to mute the music.
“The thing is I have something to confess. It’s something that if it ever comes out I can wave goodbye to my career, becoming a judge and probably end up serving at least seven years in prison.” Caroline shuddered, sighed and continued, “I have been using and dealing in cocaine for some time now. I knew it had to finish so I handed over the dealer and the business to another barrister, another coke head. But I am scared the truth will come out and I can’t afford to let that happen.”
Regan sat upright at one end of the sofa, taking in the scale of Caroline’s confession, but remained silent. He studied Caroline’s face while she spoke.
Over the next ten minutes Caroline unloaded her secrets while Regan sat and stared, showing no emotion. Monologue finished, Caroline said, “I needed to tell you. I hope you understand. I just can’t keep all of this in. It’s eating me away with worry.”
There was a silence, not an awkward silence, just silence.
The quiet was broken by Caroline, “Well?”
“Well what?” Regan snapped.
“Why are you being aggressive?”
&nb
sp; “I’m not. I just want to know what ‘well’ means.”
“It means I want to hear what you think.”
“I am shocked. I’m furious. It’s bad enough you have a habit but dealing to barristers is pretty bad. For fuck’s sake, you are supposed to be respected professionals; a part of society expected to uphold the rule of law. You are no better than the scum on the streets. There’s no difference because you are all smart and use fancy words.”
Regan heard his own words inside his mind. How could he ever think of going rogue? He was a law enforcement officer. He knew drugs and violence went hand in hand; they were inseparable like Siamese twins. Drugs ruined people’s lives. In a flash, he knew who he was. More to the point, he knew drug dealing was not the solution to all the problems in his life. He had seen the precipice, experienced the temptation, and pulled back in time. Regan felt an inner relief.
“Caroline, you shouldn’t have told me. I can’t just forget it. I’m sorry.”
“What! You going to inform on me? You can’t do that! I got news earlier in the week my full-time appointment to Circuit Judge will come through any day now. I have worked so hard for this and I won’t let anyone stand in my way.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
CAROLINE SEWELL’S FACE had lost all trace of a smile. Regan saw she had aged in front of his eyes when angered. He recalled the confrontation between Caroline and the barrister in the bar. Now he realised what the confrontation had been about and why she had threatened the other woman barrister. Regan was becoming angrier but held his counsel. They were supposed to be professionals but they flouted the law. He felt a compulsion to stay right where he was to weather the storm, take stock, and do what he was good at - infiltrating drug cartels. A cartel is a cartel no matter who they are, Regan thought. Besides, she was great in the sack. But no more foreplay or animal sex this night, mused Regan. He picked up his underpants from where Caroline had left them on the floor before he slipped them back on.
Who the F*ck Am I? Page 11