The Godfathers of London

by M. C. Dutton

  Jazz squirmed as he listened to Mad Pete slurped loudly at the coffee. He would give him a few minutes. He didn’t want Mad Pete to go into one of his druggy fits or fall asleep on him. Something was up and he wanted to know what it was. After five minutes of listening to the infuriating slurping noise, Jazz told Mad Pete to tell him what was going on. If he didn’t tell him, he warned, he would get him arrested and he could sit in a cell for the whole of the 24 hours of PACE without access to any drugs. He told Mad Pete that he would take great pleasure watching him climb the walls when he was going mad for his fix. Mad Pete smiled; he had taken his fix and would be fine for quite a while. Jazz, knowing this, added quietly, ‘Don’t think I would arrest you now. I’d walk you around for hours on end with no access to drugs and then I would arrest you. Your twenty-four hours in custody would start then and I can also get that extended. Wouldn’t be difficult to find something worth investigating to detain you longer.’ The smile was wiped off Mad Pete’s face and was instantly replaced with panic. Jazz told him soothingly not to worry, that wasn’t going to be necessary because Mad Pete was going to talk, wasn’t he? Mad Pete nodded, hoping Mr Singh wasn’t going to ask him about anything to do with the murders.

  What should Jazz ask? He knew something was being hidden and he knew how wily Mad Pete was. It was a game of cat and mouse. One wrong question and Mad Pete would know he knew nothing and would tell him nothing. They looked intently at each other. The tension could almost be tasted. In the silence Mad Pete licked his lips pensively. Jazz leaned forward and said, ‘So, where do we start?’

  Mad Pete looked at him, cleared his throat and finally said, ‘Can I have another coffee, Mr Singh?’

  Jazz grabbed the mug and went off to make him another coffee, cursing him with every step. Both men used the few minutes to think what they would do next. Mad Pete had much to keep silent about.

  This time Jazz cleaned a mug for himself. He sensed there was a lot going on here and he needed to sit and do this right. They both sat with their black coffees in hand and waited. ‘Why are you avoiding me, Pete?’ was Jazz’s opening question.

  Pete murmured something unrepeatable and mildly disgusting into his mug, which got him a slap from Jazz. ‘Where are you hiding it?’ was the next question. After Mad Pete told him he didn’t know what he was talking about, and that he knew nothing, Jazz slapped him again and said enough was enough. ‘I know you have the information I want, and I want it now.’ He said he’d spoken to someone who you just wouldn’t mess with, and Mad Pete’s name had been mentioned. This was a lie and although Mad Pete was wiley, he wasn’t the brainiest of men. He sat up at this. The shakes had started again and he wasn’t happy. Jazz noted this with interest. He didn’t know what big man was scaring Mad Pete but he knew how he did little jobs for various gangs in the East End so it could be one of many.

  Jazz smiled and calmly reminded Mad Pete that he always looked after him. He should be more scared of Jazz than anyone else. Mad Pete hesitated, and then, with a rueful smile, quietly said, ‘Not necessarily true.’ He reminded Jazz that Bam Bam had nearly got both him and Jazz killed last time, and he didn’t want to go through that again.

  This polite conversation had to stop. Jazz got up and pushed Mad Pete hard enough for his cup to go in one direction and his head in the other. ‘Listen here, you little shit! I could land you in so much trouble with everyone in the area that you’d never be able to scuttle out of your hellhole again without someone wanting to kill you. Just remember torture comes before murder in their alphabet. Now, do you want to put it to the test?’ He paced back and forth in front of Mad Pete; with every turn he told him what he could do to him and what others, mad enough to kill him, would do to a traitor in the area.

  Scared now and knowing what Jazz had said was true, Mad Pete made Jazz promise to protect him and to never tell anyone what he was about to tell him. Jazz nodded seriously but inside he was jumping up and down saying Yes! Yes! Now the whining started. ‘I didn’t want to know this, Mr Singh. He made me run errands and I saw a copy and I sort of borrowed it. By accident I overheard a conversation and no one knows I know.’ Jazz nodded understandingly but he knew Mad Pete would have earwigged any conversation, always looking for information he could use, sell, or make something on. He was also nosey as hell and always loved having the inside story. ‘So what do you know?’ Jazz asked gently. Mad Pete got up, went to his TV and picked up a DVD. ‘It’s all on here, Mr Singh. It’s pretty awful so you will need a strong stomach to look at it.’

  Jazz sat back to watch the DVD with interest and anticipation. He knew if Mad Pete had been avoiding him there had to be something worth having on it. The footage was very dark at first and then something was turned on to light it up. It was an amateurish copy with wobbling pictures but the light showed someone standing in mud. He was tied up and he had tape across his mouth. He was struggling at first but stopped as he sank deeper into the mud. Jazz didn’t recognize him. The film started and stopped. Every time it started the water had risen a bit. The man was in mud up to his thighs and then the water was getting higher. He was mumbling through the tape, sounding pathetic and imploring. After ten minutes the picture showed the man with water up to his mouth. He had stopped mumbling and was very still. He had stretched his neck and leaned his head back as far as he could to keep the water from his nose. All you could see was his eyes, full of terror. Jazz found himself raising his head high and breathing through his nose in solidarity with the man on the film.

  The film had been turned off and when it was turned on again the man’s tape had been pulled off his face and he was rejoicing and thanking God. The water was now just below his chin and was obviously ebbing. Jazz sat back, relieved, and the tension that had built in his jaw relaxed. It had been the most horrific thing he had seen.

  But the horror of what was about to happen was unbelievable. The camera picked up a loud sound and the man in the water looked up. His rejoicing changed into stark terror. He became manic; looking at the camera, he was begging, screaming, praying and pleading. Jazz couldn’t see what he was so terrified of but the engine sounded meaty and loud. Now the man was struggling, not caring if he sank further into the mud; he was struggling with more energy than Jazz thought possible. In seconds Jazz saw the horror of what was about to happen as the dark silhouette of a barge moved slowly and purposely towards the man. Jazz jumped up out of his chair in horror, shouting ‘FUUUCK!!! Oh my God!’ as, in a split second, the barge smashed into the man’s head, glided over him and stopped. Now silent the barge sat down onto the mud below the swirling red water. In seconds there had been a murder and a burial. In the silence of the night, everything carried on as if nothing had happened, the owls hooting, the moon shimmering off the now ebbing water. The film stopped and, in the silence of shocking nothingness, Jazz held his breath. He stood there for seconds on end. With his fists clenched so hard his nails bit into his hand he could feel nothing but shock and horror. He looked at Mad Pete and shook his head, asking incredulously, ‘What the fuck was that. What sick bastard would do that?’ For a few moments he was unable to say anything else.

  Mad Pete was scared. He realized Jazz didn’t know anything at all. He sure as hell didn’t know about the man who had organized this. Now Jazz had seen the film, he was going to make sure he got every detail out of Mad Pete.

  Mouth open and head shaking, Jazz stared at Mad Pete and with shaking hand pointed a finger at the screen and asked was this real? Mad Pete nodded his head almost afraid to speak, not sure what Jazz would do. Jazz sucked air in through his teeth noisily and said he had to look at the video again. This time he was watching and looking for something that might be familiar. He didn’t recognize the man about to be killed. He didn’t know where the place was; there was nothing to identify it except it was obviously on the water. It could have been anywhere along the Thames. The man shouting in the mud had an East London accent so presumably it was somewhere around London. He wondered if it could be
somewhere on Barking Creek. It seemed to be quite a preferred choice for murders these days, he thought ruefully.

  Deciding he could gather nothing more from the DVD, he turned to Mad Pete. ‘Okay, you fucking bastard, where did you get this from? And no messing around. I haven’t got the time, patience, energy or manners to fanny around.’ Mad Pete knew he was in trouble. He said he had to go to the toilet because he was busting and then he would tell Jazz everything from the beginning. He made his exit to the hall. Jazz, deep in thought, didn’t hear the door click quietly shut. After about five minutes he went to find Mad Pete, only to discover he had legged it out of the flat. Spitting nails in anger, Jazz kicked over Mad Pete’s only decent piece of equipment, his X Box, and trod on it for good measure. He vowed to do the same with Mad Pete’s head when he found him.

  Time was of the essence and he needed to do something fast. Identification of the victim was Number One. He took the DVD out of the machine and made his way to Ilford Police Station to see Ash and DI Tom Black. He wanted this looked at pronto. He didn’t know how old the murder was but from the way Mad Pete was acting, he reckoned it was quite new.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Déjà vu

  Ash read everything about The Pig and Poke Public House. The more he thought about James Kent and Peter Daly, the more bloody obvious it was that they shouldn’t and wouldn’t have been there under normal circumstances. It was a rough pub by their standards and they just wouldn’t go there. The question was what were the abnormal circumstances that took them both to The Pig and Poke. The answer was so close he felt it but it eluded him until dawn. He had fallen asleep in his chair and woke with a start. It was like a dream when the truth came to him. Although he should have been tired having had only a couple of uncomfortable hours sleep at his desk, he was energized by new knowledge. Jumping up, he gathered his papers and went to the canteen for a hearty breakfast; he sure as hell deserved it.

  He ordered a 999 Mega Police breakfast. All canteens had 999 breakfasts on the menu. It was the largest breakfast on the planet and had everything from chips, eggs, black pudding, bacon, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms, and much more. Again, Ash thought he should tell Jazz what he had found out and again he decided that first he wanted to get all the evidence necessary for an arrest. This would teach the CID lot to behave themselves in future and treat him with more respect. Then DI Tom Black would want him on his team, Ash mused, and this felt good. He sat back and sipped his tea, unaware of the hole he was digging for himself. The hole was beginning to look more like a grave and he hadn’t a clue.

  Before he did anything else he called his wife and listened for what felt like an hour to her barbed comments on his mother. It had been his wife’s decision to take the children there and she should have known what to expect. Two strong women in the same house bickering over how to do things and how to bring up children. He wished he hadn’t rung her, but she was his wife and he loved her. It was best just to listen and after she ran out of breath he told her he loved her and had to go. He would talk to his mother later and expected to hear something similar from her. His mother wasn’t an easy woman to please and for some reason Ashiv’s wife never pleased his mother. For now he was grateful to be away from all the atmosphere and arguments. He would save his call to his mother for later when, hopefully, he had something to tell her that would make her even more proud of him.

  The breakfast went down a treat and he finished it with another cup of tea. Anyone watching him would see the self-satisfied look on his face; he was cooking with gas!

  He was off to see James Kent first. As usual, James Kent was in his shed in the back garden. Ash knocked politely on the shed door. When the door opened, James looked quizzically at Ash and then behind him and to the side. Where was DS Jazz Singh? He only liked talking to Jazz. None too pleased, James invited Ash into his shed and made his way to the TV. He turned it off, muttering how it helped pass the time. Ashiv acknowledged this gem of information with a nod. The uncomfortable silence was eased with the offer of a cup of tea. Ash, still full from breakfast, said he would love a cup. Whilst it was being made and with James Kent’s back to him, Ash asked conversationally why he had been in The Pig and Poke. James stopped stirring the mugs of tea for a second; his back tensed up and his head fell forward towards the cups. Ash watched in interest.

  After a few seconds James turned to look at Ash, smiled, and shook his head. He said he believed he’d never been in such a pub: where was it? When Ash told him, James pondered for a moment and shook his head again. He really didn’t think he had ever been there.

  Now the fun would begin, Ash thought wryly. He told James about the police being called to the pub because of an affray happening outside, and about the statements taken and people’s names noted – and surprise, surprise, James Kent had been one of the names. To prevent any question of stolen identity, Ash added that CCTV could confirm if it was James or not. He asked James to reconsider whether he’d been to The Pig and Poke just over a month ago. James, fidgety by now, tapped his chin and thought, his eyes darting between the floor and Ash. Hesitantly, he said he might have stopped there to go to the toilet. He told a story of being in Barking shopping and getting caught short on the way home. He had stopped at the pub, popped in just to use the toilet, and then left. Smiling, he said that was what happened; he had forgotten. Ash felt disappointed. He’d hoped he would catch James out. He thanked James for his time and left.

  James waited ten minutes in case Ash did a Detective Columbo on him (Columbo always returned after talking to a witness; just as they were feeling relaxed and confident he would say, Oh, just one more thing and would throw the cat amongst the pigeons). He picked up his mobile and dialed the number. All he said was that he needed to talk and he nodded as a time and venue were given to him. Picking up his coat, he locked his shed door and left through the garden gate to his car parked outside.

  Ash made his way to meet with Peter Daly. He hoped he would get more out of this visit; his investigation wasn’t going as he had hoped. But Peter Daly had been pre-warned, Ash could tell by his responses. Yes, he drank at that pub, he told Ash, and asked what business it was of his. Daly was being a little edgy and facetious and Ash didn’t like it at all. He made a point of telling Ash that the police had done diddly squat! The courts should all be abolished because they did nothing except pay fat salaries to out-of-date and out-of-touch judges. He was getting pretty aggressive now and Ash subconsciously stepped backwards; it occurred to him he should leave before he got a slap. But instead of stopping there he pushed his luck that bit further and, not quite realising how hard he was pushing Daly, he asked if he knew any of the men who frequented the pub, like Mickey Span or Freddie Link, two of the local henchmen well known in the area and to the police.

  Peter Daly went ballistic at such a question. In a temper that resembled the Incredible Hulk, he told Ash to clear off before he did something he would regret. If Ash had had a bit more experience he might have handled it better, but at an absolute loss as to what to say, he left with recriminations ringing in his ears: just because I live in Barking doesn’t mean I am a fucking gangster! How dare you check up on me to see where I drink! This isn’t a fucking communist country, I can do what I fucking like. I am ringing your fucking boss and complaining about you.

  No, he hadn’t handled it well and he left with his tail between his legs. It was getting late now and he was in Barking, not a part of town he wanted to be in.

  Peter Daly watched out of his window as Ash got into his car, sat for a few minutes in silence and then gunned the car and left the area. Daly made a phone call, confirming that Ash had been and gone. When and where should they meet?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The rats are leaving the ship

  Jazz found DS Tom Black. He was never hard to find, you just had to follow the sound of shouting and swearing. Tom Black was tearing a strip off one of his Detectives. Jazz couldn’t tell what he had done but whatever it was it in
cluded fucking his mother and doing something pretty dodgy with the pet dog. When Boomer saw Jazz, he dismissed the detective in front of him. He got up from his chair hoping that Jazz had something interesting for him to work on.

  Jazz showed Boomer the DVD and said it had to be viewed in private. Although in the police station most offices had their own DVD players, until he knew what he was dealing with, Jazz wanted to keep it between himself and Boomer.

  The Chief Superintendent was out for the day doing something official up in London. Boomer had seen him leave in his ceremonial uniform, all spruced up, dressed to catch the attention of the press. He was well known on the Police Guard circuit for his enthusiastic but authoritarian assistance to the press and paparazzi. His room was off bounds to everyone, but it had a DVD player and TV. Boomer and Jazz knew they wouldn’t be disturbed by anyone, and a key was found that fitted his room. As they watched the DVD, both were mesmerized by the horror of such a murder. Neither knew at that moment who the victim was. Tom Black exhaled, cursing everything religious and astronomical. They watched it twice through just to be sure they hadn’t missed a clue. At one point Jazz thought he saw a ring on a finger. They rewound and looked again; whoever was holding the camera had put their fingers in front of it for a few seconds. Tom got out his phone and took a picture of the freeze-framed victim’s face. The face looked familiar but neither could put a name to him. Whoever was filming this wanted to see his terror and hear the fear and screams and pleading. It was pretty sick. Boomer set off to put the picture on his computer and send it out to all his cronies to see if the victim would be recognized.

  The identity took minutes. ‘Modern technology is a fucking wonderful thing,’ Boomer shouted to Jazz, who was preoccupied trying to get a bag of crisps out of a vending machine in the hallway. A response email had already come through. The man in the DVD was Johnny Peters, the paedophile. ‘Bloody hell!’ was all Jazz could say at that moment. He knew of Johnny Peters, and he had seen pictures of him, but no way did he recognize the manically terrified man in the DVD. He thought for a split second about how extreme terror and fear can alter someone, making them unrecognizable. He read the email for himself, just to check, and now he saw the Johnny Peters identity picture, he could see he was the same man.