by M. C. Dutton
The journey took just over an hour and they made their way along the A127 towards Southend, Essex. When they got to the Tesco roundabout they took the Rochford turning and arrived at Paglesham Village at midnight. The boatyard just past the village was secluded and dark. They were on a tight timescale because the full tide was expected in at 2 a.m. They tied him up and put gaffer tape across his mouth. His feet were tied and a large concrete slab was tied to his feet. They had a lot of work to do and they tried to keep as quiet as they could. There was no one around the boatyard but just in case one of them kept a watch. They all had tracksuits on and now they donned boots. The quayside was all mud but it filled full of water when the tide turned and came in. The water from the estuary, lit by the moon, was still a long way out. Johnny was coming round and they wanted to get him in the mud quickly. It was soft mud and when they lowered him down the weight of his body and the concrete slab sunk him up to the tops of his legs. His eyes widened in fear and they could hear the muffled shouts of fear and pleading. As he struggled he got a little deeper into the mud so he stopped still; the only part of him moving was his eyes, darting in terror towards them and his situation. One of the men had an infrared camera and was filming him.
Five cigarettes later the tide was lapping around Johnny who was by now so scared and cold his body trembled. He felt the water rise slowly but relentlessly. The men watched and wondered how high it would get. They had been told that tides vary in height. After about an hour of utter fear and terror the water had reached Johnny’s lips and he could only breathe through his nose. He kept his head as high as he could and his neck was aching like mad. After what seemed a lifetime, he realized the water was very slightly receding. Praise be to God! he thought euphorically. The tide had turned. His chest was pounding, his breathing was laboured, and his head was giddy with fear and now with relief. He swooned slightly but was held fast in the mud and water. The elation was short-lived. He looked up at the sound. A huge Deutz engine had been gunned and was now throbbing heavily in anticipation. A Dutch barge can move in three feet of water. The size and width of the barge began to blot out the moon. It was at this point that one of the men, on all fours on the quayside, leaned out to Johnny and ripped off the gaffer tape across his mouth. The screams and pleas, and the shaking to release himself were all filmed. The look in Johnny’s eyes of unspeakable and unstinting terror was captured on film.
The high-pitched scream of terror rang through the air as the barge glided towards Johnny and hit his face full force, pushing his unyielding body under the water. The majestic barge continued its journey over his head and stopped a few feet after Johnny disappeared into the black abyss that would now be his place to rot in hell. As the tide went out the barge settled on the mud and the huge weight of two hundred tons of a thirty-metre metal barge sank heavily into the mud. Johnny would be buried forever. It had been a strange few hours and the four men thankfully left the boatyard that had now resumed its peaceful tranquillity that ramblers loved to visit.
In the morning, when the curlews resumed their search for food in the mud and the local fisherman came to check their nets in the estuary, there was no sign of the trauma of the night before and the Dutch barge sat quietly hiding the murder of a paedophile that would cause the rejoicing of many in the East End of London.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Confusion and clarity
The rest of the week was shit. Jazz had told everyone within sight and sound that nothing made sense. He and Ash had visited Charlie the next day for updates on the gossip and Charlie had nothing to add except his ladies and himself were tirelessly investigating every avenue. Jazz could almost hear him purring again. This had made Charlie’s year and he would milk it for as long as he could. This was good news for Jazz. As soon as Charlie had any information he would contact Jazz.
Again, Mad Pete was out and Jazz was seriously pissed off with him. He wasn’t answering his phone either. They needed to get back to the police station for a meeting with Boomer on the latest updates on the John Carpenter case and anything new on Barry Jessop. Jazz would sort out Mad Pete later. He and Ash had been officially seconded to Tom Black’s team. The two murders were causing problems for DCI Radley. The press were having a field day and something needed to be settled soon, otherwise the big boys would descend on Ilford Police Station from Scotland Yard and take over. No one wanted that.
As usual, any meeting with Tom Boomer Black and his team was sprinkled heavily with Boomerisms. He started his motivating talk to his team with Jazz and Ash in attendance. ‘Someone is fucking about and taking the piss out of us.’ Everyone looked up at that statement. He was referring not to the usual stabbings or blunt instrument murders of which they had enough to deal with, but the two murders that bore no resemblance to any others so far in the East End. He reminded them all that they had had their fair share of strange murders such as bodies being fed to pigs, or found in pillars to hold up flyovers, or minced up, but none compared to the creativity of the Columbian Necktie murder and the Babes in the Wood murder, as the John Carpenter murder was being called. He asked all present to look closely at the facts. What had been done to the two men seemed to be a message but to whom? Who was doing this and why? Were the two murders connected or were they just random creative murders? No one thought that was the case. The whole East End was quiet with no whispers. House to house investigations were going to happen again, he told his team. The forensic details were going to be looked at by someone else in the team. A fresh set of eyes and thoughts were needed.
It was clear to everyone, and all felt the frustration, that it was as if they were being taunted by someone. Each case smacked of vigilante killings but there was no sight at all of a vigilante gang working out there. Each man had done something that would piss off people and cause vengeance, but those involved had clear and watertight alibis. Boomer asked officers to swap their notes and get a new officer to check the alibis. He finished by adding, ‘The sodding press are hot on the heels of John Carpenter’s murder and we are going to get a fucking bollocking from everyone if we don’t stop pratting about and solve these fucking murders. So go off and sodding well come back with something, you bastards.’ No motivating quote like hey, lets be careful out there, from DI Tom Black. They all left smiling, knowing what he was like; his men were very loyal to him.
Jazz and Ash were given a free hand to look into the cases. Boomer sincerely hoped that as comparative outsiders to the two murders they might come up with something useful. Jazz felt a bit depressed at Boomer’s optimism. He hadn’t a clue where to look. Up to now all roads had come to a dead end.
They set off to find Mad Pete. In times of need Mad Pete could often provide information that was helpful. He never told freely but Jazz had a way with him. Their relationship was based on fear and favour. It would amaze both of them to say they needed each other and that they were quite symbiotic. Jazz sorted out any problems with the police for Mad Pete. He still fenced mobile phones and there were plenty of them being offered to him by his kiddy gangs who had robbed another scrot for their mobile phone. The same mobile phones were recycled in the district by Mad Pete. Then there was his drugs which he needed and Jazz protected him from the police.
Mad Pete furnished Jazz with lots of information about what was going on in the area. He seemed to have his finger in every pie and knew what was going on with whom and where. It amazed Jazz just what Mad Pete was into and how he never seemed to get into the real trouble. He ran errands and did little bits and pieces for some very hefty gang members. They were known to mete out some serious slaps to anyone who crossed them. Jazz presumed that, although Mad Pete was a hero to the kiddy gangs, to the big gangs in the East End he was just a snivelling scrot who ran errands for them. They should have taken note that he listened to everything and wasn’t as stupid as they thought. A consummate coward, Mad Pete always looked frightened and was scared of his own shadow. He scuttled around the East End like a rat, gathering a bit of money
here and there. Jazz was going to find him and sort him out. He had left so many messages on his mobile, and Mad Pete always had his mobile with him, but there was no reply as yet.
It was going to be another day of no Mad Pete. He was nowhere to be found on the Gascoigne Estate. Ash went back to the station to look through CRIS reports to see if he could find anything of interest. It all sounded incredibly boring to Jazz who wanted to do something more interesting. It was Friday night and he decided to go home. Monday was another start and he had a fucking wedding to get ready for. His suit, hardly ever used, was in good condition but he needed another white shirt. He took himself to Marks and Spencer down the road and bought himself a stunning white evening shirt. He had a bowtie somewhere and he was going to look fabulous. A bottle of vodka was also bought in Sainsbury’s, as well as a Sainsbury’s Finest shepherds pie that he could whack in the microwave. He was going to sleep in on Saturday and think. There was something he was missing and it felt close but not close enough to touch yet. There was something similar to the murders; there had to be a link somewhere. It had to be something like a vigilante group. He was to hear from Charlie on Monday and that would be the catalyst to send Jazz on his way to hell.
Sunday came and at 4 p.m. Jazz went downstairs suited and booted, and suitable enough for Mrs Chodda to be proud of him. He was fond of her and her funny ways and he liked the fact she wanted to show him off to her family and friends. A wedding is an opportunity to wear your best and show off your riches, family and potentially marriageable children. Everyone was in some way related to the other. It was a good time to be seen and to seek out others.
When you married into an Asian family you took the family on as your own and they would all be invited to occasions and weddings and birthdays. An Asian event was always a huge event with anything from two hundred people or more to cater for. Jazz knew of one family who had a thousand guests at their daughter’s wedding. Of course they were a rich family and guests came from as far away as the Punjab, Africa and Canada. That had been a wedding and a half. Most weddings last days with the bride’s family wedding reception; the groom’s parents will also have a wedding reception, and then there’s the pre-wedding party. This family had parties that went on for weeks with other important members of the family hosting wedding parties for guests. Jazz’s mother had been alive then and he remembered escorting her, and just how tiring it was but also great. Those were the days, he reminisced.
Mrs Chodda gave him the once-over in a glance. He looked good and she smiled. He would do nicely. She’d told all her friends how Jazz lodged with her and what a wonderful man he was and how important in the police force. She was quite the envy of her friends to have such an important and handsome young man lodging with her.
City Limits was originally just a bowling alley but the upstairs had been transformed into many rooms that constituted banqueting suites. It was owned by a Sikh family, and the food was exquisitely Indian, of course. The chandeliers were stunning and changed colour during the evening. The bar was well stocked and buried under Sikh men who frequented the bar and stayed there. The food was wonderful and the bride sat in a special place looking demurely at the floor. She was fed sweetmeats by various members of the family. She looked stunning in her red gown, with plenty of bling around her neck, on her ears and from her nose, not to mention long arms full of gold bangles that nearly made Jazz reach for his sunglasses. She had sat all day in this position and now she was released into the family custody and to her new husband. By 10 p.m. the men were quite drunk and Jazz was merry too. The Bangra music started and most of the men, especially the younger ones, took to the floor to show off their Bangra moves. Jazz watched in awe. Sikhs really knew how to rock. He was pulled onto the dance floor by a young man, and he danced competitively. As each man danced fast and more intricately, others would mimic him and better him. By the end of the evening the dance floor was quite frenzied with young Sikhs dancing for their honour. The older Sikhs had long given up and returned to the bar. The young women danced around the men with their eyes on those they quite fancied. Parents looked on and watched the young people enjoying themselves. Jazz knew some would be making notes of suitable prospective wives or husbands for their children. Of course, the family itself would need investigating first. It had to be suitable. You married the family as well. Both sides of the family become as one. Sikh marriages were far more complicated than western marriages and he was glad not to be part of it.
He had had quite a few drinks and was merrier than he should have been. He spotted that girl sitting in a corner talking to someone old. It was the one he had seen in Mrs Chodda’s kitchen, the one who didn’t give her name when she brought him some food. He shouldn’t have gone over to her, he was far too tipsy to be sensible, but what the heck, he wanted to say hello. She watched as he sashayed over to her. She wasn’t going to bother talking to him in his state. Before he got close enough she had got up and walked off to the ladies. He was confused when she got up and walked away but he was getting tired now and just wanted to go home to sleep. Mrs Chodda got him a taxi so he could go before her. She was busy talking to one of the bride’s relatives from India. Jazz got home and fell up the stairs into his room. His bed was the only thing he wanted. He had a lot to do Monday morning and needed his sleep.
Charlie had Jazz’s mobile telephone number just in case. Jazz should never give out his private mobile number but he trusted Charlie and wanted any information he might have. The sound of a phone ringing woke Jazz. He must have slept with his mouth open because his tongue felt huge and his mouth very dry. He felt around for his mobile with his eyes shut. Having no luck he tried to open his eyes slowly but there was a stabbing pain in his head. He found his mobile under his pillow and before he could ask himself why it was there he pressed the answer button and heard Charlie’s voice. Charlie asked with concern if Jazz was all right. It was, after all, 9 a.m. and Jazz sounded as if Charlie had called in the middle of the night. Jazz pulled himself together and said it had been a long night and he was catching up with sleep.
Charlie commiserated that Jazz’s work was very time-consuming and he deserved time off. These cooing words of consideration gave Jazz time enough to grab some Fanta from the fridge and take a swig. Now he felt a bit better. Charlie was still talking about police working hard and that crime rates were high etc. Jazz asked how he could help him and Charlie understood he had to talk straight. Charlie had heard about Johnny Peters, the paedophile who had been given a place on the Gascoigne Estate. He told Jazz that everyone was up in arms with him being there. He whispered that he had heard of many men who were looking to cut him into little pieces. ‘Well,’ he added breathlessly, ‘I have just heard that he hasn’t been in his flat for a few days now. His door was left open and his lights were on.’ He didn’t know who had found this out but it was true. He asked if Mr Singh knew what had happened to him. Jazz didn’t but said he would make enquiries. ‘Why are you so worried about him, Charlie?’
‘Oh, I’m not, Mr Singh. We would just like to know where he is. We don’t want him on our streets talking to our children.’
Jazz realized this was what Charlie’s women friends had been saying to him and they were concerned. He said again that he would make enquiries and he reminded Charlie about the vigilante groups and to call him with any information he might get. Charlie said he would and asked if Jazz could ring him with an update by lunchtime. Jazz smiled at this. He knew Charlie would be seeing his lady friends for tea in the afternoon and he wanted any information he could get to pass on to them.
He moved as quickly as he could. How the fuck had he managed to sleep until 9 a.m.? He needed to get to the police station. He had a quick shower to wake himself up; another drink of Fanta helped. The sweetness of the drink seemed to calm him down and in a short while he was walking to work, thinking about Johnny Peters. What a fucking lucky paedophile he was. He should have been put away but he got off on a technicality. There were times when Jazz
wished he could take all the judges and make them live on the streets to see how life really was. They lived in fancy ivory towers and didn’t speak to, see or live anywhere near the types of miscreants the police dealt with. He had heard that Johnny was being watched and there was talk of him befriending a little boy but nothing much had happened about that so far. He would ask when he got into the station.
The station seemed deserted. Already everyone was out making enquiries. Ash couldn’t be found either. Jazz knew he was late, it was 10.30 a.m. by now, but still, where was everyone? He tried Mad Pete again but still no reply. He was seriously pissed off with him now.
For the moment he went and found someone in SCD5, Child Protection, to ask about Johnny Peters. He found Paula working on something. Paula was a no-nonsense tough cookie. Over the years she’d seen and heard more than anyone in their early thirties should. She had convicted men you wouldn’t want within a mile of you and she had to sit in a small room and interview them and talk about sexual acts performed on children and look at pictures of children being compromised that would send a normal person mad, hysterical, deeply sad and depressed. Jazz could see it all in her eyes; she looked haunted.
He asked about Johnny Peters and she looked up and sighed. She was busy and he was not her case. Having said that, she said he was under investigation and added that the bastard wasn’t going to be so lucky next time. They would get him. Jazz told her about his door being open and the lights on, and that he wasn’t there. She looked mildly surprised, thought for a second, and rang her boss, DI Richard Cunningham. He didn’t know what had happened but said he would go to the flat and see what had happened. He thanked Jazz for the tip-off. Jazz then rang Charlie and told him the police were not aware of Johnny Peters moving anywhere and they were sending officers round to his flat to take a look. Charlie was very grateful to Jazz and thanked him profusely.