by M. C. Dutton
As a second thought, Jazz asked Charlie if by chance he knew Mad Pete? Of course Charlie knew of him. Jazz wondered if he had seen him around lately. Charlie had and said he seemed to be hanging around the youth club in the Gascoigne Estate. It was pretty posh to call it a youth club; it had turned into a graffiti-ridden shack where youngsters hung out for drugs and anything else that was going down. Nice people didn’t frequent the area. Jazz thanked him and said he would go and look for Mad Pete. Charlie said he was always happy to help the police and he would be most grateful for any updates that he could pass on to his Neighbourhood Watch team. Jazz smiled and said he would do what he could.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Come into the parlour said the spider to the fly
Ash was deep in contemplation of CRIS papers and reports he had found. He knew Jazz was good at what he did but paperwork was not his forte. Ash was going to prove he was an asset to the team. He felt he had run behind Jazz, letting him take all the decisions, making the assumptions and getting things to happen. He felt a bit of a numpty. He wanted to find something that would help solve the murders, to make him look like someone worth having around.
He’d been kidding himself when he said that he wasn’t worried what others thought of him, and that the name-calling from the other CID teams didn’t get at him, and that the laughter at his expense didn’t make him so mad he was close to landing punches on the bastards. He felt like a spare part at a wedding and that was about to change. He wanted a win and he wanted the adulation it would bring him.
He had to admit that, although he was going through files with a fine-tooth comb to see if there were any links or ideas to help with the murders, it was a fluke that gave him that rich and elusive clue that might solve the cases. The regular updates from intelligence or departmental emails containing snippets and videos of unsolved cases or unidentified suspects sent in the hope that officers would recognize these elusive bits of information were his lucky break.
The tenuous link would never have been seen by anyone else. Ash was living with the paperwork of the two murders. He had all the names of associates, where they lived, and what they thought. Everything was in their statements and in the police documents, and he felt close to all the people associated with the murders. Yes, all the victims or their relatives had fantastic alibis but – and that was the but – the coincidence was that they were the victims, so who else would be interested in murdering the two men?
Ash always read all his emails. There were the video emails of some young and slightly obscure person robbing a late-night supermarket. The CCTV camera above the counter showed someone entering and pulling out a knife. In some cases the shop owner would fight back, and in others they would try and hide whilst they were being robbed. He never recognized any of the villains. Having seen quite a few of such videos of late-night robberies, he vowed he would never want to own a shop. Too many were seen as easy targets. Another police initiative would help put a stop to that. Police would target areas for such crimes and quite a few villains were caught in this way. He thought the operation was called something like Operation Vincent. Again, he wondered where they got the frigging names from.
Then there were the emails with information. One email caught his attention. There had been trouble at a pub in Longbridge Road. It was frequented by some members of a gang associated with Barking. The name was never mentioned in print but everyone knew it referred to The Bird Man of Barking. This made Ash sit up and take note. His brush with The Bird Man had been worrying and humiliating and, if he was honest, downright frightening. By the same token, he was interested in anything to do with him. No one had got anything on The Bird Man of Barking. It was ridiculous to think that he, Ash, a lowly Detective Constable, could do anything better than the experienced officers who watched and noted everything he did. He’d been warned by The Bird Man to behave himself and he understood that warning, but it did no harm to keep an eye on what was happening. He dreamed of being the superhero who got that bastard.
The Bird Man of Barking was never seen in pubs or talking to any of the various dubious men that worked for him. He was squeaky clean, which infuriated the team of officers watching him. But it was known that The Pig and Poke in Longbridge Road was the local haunt for his men. On this particular day there had been an almighty brawl outside The Pig and Poke: some Northern builders who were working in the area and who spent their evenings drinking and fighting. They were obviously strangers to the area. No one in their right mind would cause trouble at The Pig and Poke and bring the public house to the attention of the police. Because of the affray everyone who was in the pub was interviewed and had to give a statement. Some customers, including those men sitting quietly in the corner who were known as associates of The Bird Man, had slipped out the back door when the police arrived – but those not used to disappearing quickly were interviewed by the police. It made a nice change for Officers to be called to the notorious public house and to just take a look at who was there.
Because it concerned The Bird Man of Barking, Ash downloaded all the case papers and took a good look at who had been there. He may not be as quick on his feet as Jazz appeared to be when talking to victims or witnesses, but he was blindingly brilliant at sifting through paperwork. He actually loved the paperwork side of policing, finding it satisfying and neat. He trawled meticulously through all the MG papers and CRIS reports. Nothing very interesting. But then one of the names of someone in the pub that night leapt out at him: James Kent. He knew that name; he looked up the address and yes, it was Laura Kent’s father. For a moment he wondered why Kent would be at such a pub. Although he hadn’t been involved in the original case, Ash had made it his business to read everything about the case. Since John Carpenter had been murdered he was now involved and working with Jazz, so the Kent family was very important. He got out all the papers on the case and read them thoroughly.
From what Jazz had told him and from what he had read about him, James Kent seemed a quiet and reclusive man. Why would he go to such a pub? The paperwork told him that the members of the Kent family were good, honest citizens who had lived normal and honest lives. Such a pub wouldn’t be a place James Kent would go. Ash sat and pondered on this fact but couldn’t come up with any reason. He started to doubt himself. He wanted to find something, he knew that. Perhaps he was thinking too deeply and getting everything out of context, making more of it than he should.
He continued to look at the list of names, some of which he knew and some he didn’t. He trawled the list a few times. There was one name he knew but for the life of him he didn’t know where from. Working in the area you got to know as many names as you would find in a small local directory. It was the name of Peter Daly that made him stop and think. He put the name in the computer and looked through to see what the search brought up. There were a few Peter Dalys. It was a common name. The one that caught his eye and made him sit bolt upright was Peter Daly from the Gascoigne Estate Housing Association. He checked the address for Peter Daly on the CRIS report for the affray at The Pig and Poke. It was the same Peter Daly.
He grabbed the file for the Columbian Necktie murder and looked at the list of names and, sure enough, there was Peter Daly. Daly was the Chairman of the Gascoigne Estate Housing Association that had been raising money for a community centre to be built. This was a strange pub for both of him and Kent to frequent. It was also about fifteen minutes from Kent’s home by car, while Peter Daly, according to the reports, seemed dedicated to his area so it would be more appropriate for him to frequent a pub closer to the Gascoigne Estate. Okay, they might travel to a different pub if it had something they wanted in it. That they were both in the same pub seemed a huge coincidence. There was nothing in their lives to suggest they knew each other. Did they speak to each other? Why were they there? Was it a co-incidence? How exciting was this find? All these questions, and Ash would work to get the answers.
It was strange and actually rather exciting. He could feel t
he hairs on his arms rise as he wondered if maybe he had found some sort of chink in two murder investigations that were sitting in a dead-end cul de sac of no clues. He knew his forte was investigative paperwork. If he had the time to sit and work at it, he would find out what was going on. He had all night to do this.
His wife and children were at his mother’s for the next few days so he had the time he needed. It was half term and his mother liked to spoil the grandchildren every now and then. This had caused a few problems with his wife. He hoped the two women would get on. They had a dutiful relationship but it was full of tension. He would cross the road for a takeaway curry and come back and work on his notes until he came up with an answer worth looking into.
For the moment he was going to keep this information to himself. If he gave it to anyone else to run with, he would be pushed aside and he wanted to make his mark, to be a top dog Detective, and prove to everyone he was better and bigger than they were. He wanted Jazz to be proud of him. He knew Jazz thought he was a bit of a numpty but he would show him too.
He sat in the quiet almost empty office dreaming of fame, adulation, respect and the love of his wife and children as they watched him rise in the Metropolitan Police Force. With history about to be repeated, Jazz was yet again nowhere to be seen to protect his team member. His secret investigations would lead Ash Kumar on a certain route to hell.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Not so silent night
Next morning started not quite as bright and early as Jazz would have liked. He was getting used to the heavy muzzy head in the morning and the feeling of hopelessness when he saw how much he had drunk the night before. Vodka was such an easy drink to slip down his throat and make him feel good. He hardly noticed how much he was drinking.
He had decided that today was the day he would find Mad Pete and give him a slap. Pete had been missing for days and he wasn’t answering his phone or returning any of Jazz’s calls. Something was up and Jazz was going to find out what. Mad Pete should have known better than to fuck about with Jazz. Their relationship had rules. Mad Pete did what Jazz asked and Jazz kept an eye out for Mad Pete and protected him where he could. It was an uneasy symbiotic relationship but it worked.
Mad Pete wasn’t playing the game. He had a top of the range mobile phone so there was no possibility that he hadn’t got the messages. It was an all singing all dancing piece of equipment that the lads who hung around Mad Pete badly wanted. Those with the best mobiles were top dogs; there was competition over who had the best and latest mobile phone. Mobiles had taken over from the best trainers and the biggest diamond earring in the hierarchy of being top dog. Mad Pete always went one further; he had three top of the market mobile phones. Jazz was disgusted to sit in McDonald’s with this bastard talking on three different mobiles. He just did it to show off to anyone watching.
So, with three mobiles, there was no excuse for Mad Pete to avoid Jazz except, of course, unless he had something to hide. Jazz was going to find out what that was. He drank some Fanta to wake him up; the sugary orange drink seemed to help the fuzziness in his head. He couldn’t believe it was nearly 10 a.m. At another time he would have jumped up and rushed around but he just couldn’t hack it at the moment. There was a cold piece of pizza in the fridge and he chewed it distastefully, just for a bit of something in his stomach. He hoped that would stop him feeling so sick.
At 10.30 a.m. he left De Vere Gardens for Barking. He should have gone via Ilford Police Station but wasn’t up for it. He thought about Ash but he needed to find Mad Pete and sort him out himself. He didn’t want Ash hanging around. Besides, he told himself, Ash was busy doing his paperwork thing. Automatically, he checked his pocket for his hip flask. Old habits died hard. He was back into the habit of carrying vodka although he’d promised himself he wouldn’t go down that road again. He pushed this to the back of his mind and made his way to Barking.
At nearly noon, the Gascoigne Estate had some of its residents just waking up. Jazz went to Mad Pete’s flat. Normally at this time Mad Pete was just getting himself together for the day. His day lasted until the early hours of each morning. Jazz hoped to catch him before he scampered into some dark hole. He could smell rancid fat and the musty smell of neglect as he knocked at the dirt-stained door of Mad Pete’s flat. There was no answer. He continued banging on the door and shouting through the letterbox. This wasn’t right. Mad Pete was never out this early.
With bad grace and a few stinging words and threats through the letterbox, Jazz left, deciding to check McDonald’s down the road, and the hut on the Gascoigne Estate known as The Youth Centre. He picked up a Big Mac and chips but there was no sight of Mad Pete. The youth centre was nearly empty. A few lads had just turned up on their bikes and were milling around outside waiting. They were showing off out of boredom, and doing quite expert wheelies and pirouettes on pretty good-looking bikes. Jazz reckoned their skills had been honed by practicing in Barking Park on the skateboard ramps. He smiled ironically at the thought that they must also be able to pedal fast to get away from the kiddy gang members who hung around looking for opportunities. Barking Park was a favourite place for stealing bikes and mobile phones. Years ago it had been full of youngsters and families having fun but today it was quite deserted. Community police officers patrolled it regularly and it was hoped this would encourage people back into the park, which was a big and beautiful area in the middle of Barking.
Jazz knew a few smalltime drug dealers drove up at certain times with skunk, crack cocaine and E’s. If he saw them he would arrest them. He hated the scumbags who fed youngsters these drugs. He knew the game. Give them a bit free, let them enjoy it and when hooked make them pay the price they couldn’t afford. Crack cocaine was one of the worst. Instantly and totally addictive, once it was taken a user would do anything for the next fix. Jazz had arrested enough young people who had stolen from their parents, even their little old grans who adored them, to pay for their fix.
He’d been around long enough to see the effects of hard drugs. Keeley Webster was a lively, cheeky teenager when she first took crack cocaine. Now, at twenty-four, she looked as if she was forty and had had a rough life. She’d turned to prostitution to pay for the drugs but now she was in such a state that a blind man wouldn’t pay her. Her life had been ruined and she looked past the point of any return. It made him shudder with knowledge and rage at the scumbags who pedalled the stuff. Keeley always came to mind when he thought of drugs. He expected to hear soon that she had overdosed or taken some bad shit and had been found lying in a gutter somewhere. She didn’t want to be helped. He’d arrested her often enough and she had the opportunity to change using the prison and probation services available but she would have none of it.
He shrugged off the thoughts and, seeing that Mad Pete was not in the area, he decided to go back to his flat. The bastard was hiding from him and he’d had enough of the cat and mouse stuff. Enough was enough. Mad Pete would not have left Barking so early. He banged hard on the door, rang the bell, and shouted through the letterbox, but to no avail. This time he stepped back and with full force rushed the door and shouldered it. It didn’t give way, leaving Jazz holding his shoulder and cursing loudly. He kept banging on the door and ringing the bell. Mad Pete
After ten minutes, just as Jazz was about to give up, he heard bolts being drawn slowly; he counted at least six of them, and then the lock and the latch were being unbolted. After what seemed like another ten minutes the door opened a crack and Jazz caught sight of a miserable face surrounded by wild hair and stubble. Not waiting, Jazz pushed the door open with such force that Mad Pete stumbled backwards and fell on the floor. He looked a useless wreck lying there in a disgusting pair of boxer shorts, which Jazz presumed had once been somewhere near white. Mad Pete screwed his eyes at the light behind Jazz and floundered on the floor, not having the energy to get up and move around. He seemed shocked and tried to mouth the words what the fuck but it seemed he couldn’t think of the next bit of the s
entence.
Now high on adrenalin and mad as hell, Jazz leaned down, grabbed Mad Pete by his arm and pulled him up. Shakily and groggily Mad Pete went off to get his jeans and T-shirt. Jazz would have made a drink but looking at the kitchen and the sink full of mouldy mugs and plates, he didn’t bother. Mad Pete lived on McDonald’s and pizzas and chips and Jazz didn’t know what he needed plates for. Takeaway boxes were strewn around. Just as he was about to have a go at Mad Pete for all his takeaways, Jazz remembered that perhaps he wasn’t much different. He hadn’t cooked anything for years. Anyway he wasn’t Mad Pete’s fucking mother, so it was up to him how he lived. He needed to know what was going on.
Mad Pete, now dressed in the same T-shirt and jeans he always wore, came out of his bedroom moaning. ‘There was no need to ring on my door like that. I’ve had a bad night and I don’t deserve to be treated like shit, Mr Singh.’
Jazz told him in no uncertain terms that he was shit and he deserved everything he got. He handed Mad Pete a black coffee with five sugars. It was his wake up and get going drink. Mad Pete looked at the coffee, nodded his thanks and held the mug tightly in both hands. He got the shakes first thing but the coffee would help. He had taken his fix in the bedroom so he would be okay soon. Mr Singh knew he took it but no need for him to see him doing it. He knew he was in trouble and needed a caffeine and sugar fix to get him ready.