by Dai Henley
“OK,” I said. “Come on, let me walk you home. We can talk more next week.” As we got closer to her apartment, she laid her head on my shoulder. I found it strangely comforting. No words passed between us until we got to the door to her apartment. She opened it and turned as I gave her a peck on the cheek. She returned the kiss, but softly on my lips before saying, “Goodnight, James. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She closed the door gently behind her.
I’d not experienced such an intimate moment since Lynne’s death over a year before. I tried to understand her motive. Maybe she was practising her ability to flirt.
Maybe it meant something more …
*
The next morning, whilst sorting out my laundry, my phone rang.
“Hi, James. It’s Alisha. Thanks for supper last night.”
“No problem. Did you think about what we discussed?”
“I’ve thought of nothing else. I’ve gone over and over it in my mind. Lynne and I were like sisters, you know. I’m like you… I couldn’t live with myself if I did nothing. I’ll do whatever it takes. I just hope I can live up to your faith in my skill as a femme fatale.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
“That’s great. I’ll arrange a meeting, the three of us. We can go through the plan in detail.”
I called RP with the news. He sounded delighted and we arranged to meet at his office in the next few days. He said this would give him time to carry out surveillance on Johnson, get an idea on where he lived, the people he mixed with, which pubs he frequented.
A week later, we met up at RP’s office. Alisha had already arrived. I barely recognised her.
She’d had her hair dyed bottle-blonde and cropped in an elfin style, highlighting her high, dark cheekbones. She wore glossy pink lipstick and thick mascara, emphasising her brown eyes. Black high heel boots and a black leather coat completed the effect.
Unbuttoning the coat, she revealed a figure-hugging cherry-red short dress, just the respectable side of tarty.
She gave me a twirl saying, “Well, what d’ya think? Do I pass the test?”
“Wow! Definitely gets my vote.”
“Mine too,” RP said, as he appeared at his office door and invited us in.
Alisha, clearly enjoying the attention, said, “Of course, I’ll only dress like this once I come into contact with Johnson. I don’t want to be arrested for being a hooker before we get going.”
RP emphasised the fact that she could extricate herself at any time she thought she’d be in danger. I concurred.
He waved a folder in front of her and said, “You’ll see from this dossier I’ve produced, Johnson’s a piece of work, well-known by the gangs in south London. You’ll need to be careful.”
“I’m quite capable of sorting out any problems myself,” she replied. “I’ve thought it through. If you think this is the only way we can get justice for Lynne and the kids, count me in.”
Her feistiness resulted from the circumstances surrounding her deep distrust and loathing of men. She’d once told me about the bitter separation from her second husband, five years earlier. She’d already been through an acrimonious divorce from her first husband two years before that.
“This bastard sold our house and convinced me that he’d bought another property I’d set my heart on. Instead, he disappeared with the proceeds after paying off the mortgage and left me homeless. He actually called me on the supposed day of completion and told me it was over between us. He said he’d found someone new, poor bitch. I’ve never seen or spoken to him since.”
“What sort of guy would do that? Did you try to find him?”
“Of course, but I couldn’t afford to throw a lot of money at it, I was skint. It took me ages to get back on my feet. Lynne helped me out, not just emotionally but practically too, like giving me money for a deposit on my flat. I’ll never forget her kindness.”
“You both appear to have been unlucky with your choice of men. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, James. Lynne always said you were the exception.” She stroked my arm.
“Stop it! You’ll make me blush.”
*
RP suggested a number of scenarios. Getting Johnson to admit to the arson attack wouldn’t help much, since he couldn’t be tried again.
Her sole focus would be to discover hard evidence implicating Nick Burrows – something Flood had missed. Once she’d achieved that, she could leave the matter of dealing with Johnson and Burrows to RP and me.
He handed Alisha a copy of Johnson’s dossier. He’d added a schedule of his main haunts, many well-known for drug dealing. He asked her to study the document more thoroughly when she had time.
As Alisha flipped through the papers he said, “This’ll help you understand Johnson better. But a warning; think about what you say to him. You don’t want to appear to have anything on him or it’ll give the game away.”
Alisha stopped flipping on a particular page. She looked at RP and said, “One of these reports says he’s uncontrollable and possesses a violent temper. Nice.”
RP replied, “No one said this is going to be easy. As I’ve said before, if you want to pull out of the arrangement at any time that would be perfectly understandable. Right, James?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” I couldn’t keep my eyes off Alisha, trying to assimilate the change in her appearance.
Looking at both of us in turn, she said, “No, my mind’s made up. Let’s get on with it.”
“OK. Well, I think the first thing to deal with is this.” RP handed her a new lightweight digital mobile phone – a far cry from the ‘bricks’ we were used to.
These latest mobiles had taken the country by storm – I’d read that over half the population now had one.
“Only use this to keep in regular contact with me and I can update James. It would be too dangerous if Johnson found out you had James on your contact list. You can give the number to Johnson, too. That way, you’ll know the only calls you get will be from him or me. OK?”
We both nodded. He continued, “It would be great to have access to his flat. You’d be able to plant a listening device in his home and possibly an intercept on his mobile.” I tried to gauge Alisha’s reaction. She looked excited and nodded in agreement.
“Oh, and I placed a tracer on it. We’ll know where you are at any time. Make sure you always have it with you.”
RP warmed to the task.
“Once in the flat, you’ll be able to access his emails and maybe ‘borrow’ the SIM card in Johnson’s mobile. A list of his contacts would prove useful.”
“Wouldn’t the police have done that?” I asked.
“Almost certainly. But there’s no harm in me and my team checking out who he’s been in touch with since his acquittal is there? Do you have any questions?”
“Actually, I have two,” Alisha said. “What about Johnson’s drug dealing activities? I assume he’s still at it. I don’t want to be caught up in that. If I get arrested, it’s the end.”
“Good point,” RP sounded impressed. “Actually, you could pretend to be a user. Be a great way to get to know him. Just make sure you don’t have stacks of the stuff hidden away at your apartment. And your second question?”
“What about this bugging? Is it legal?”
“I’ve got a top-notch solicitor on my team who tells me it depends; the more critical the issue to proving the case against the defendant, the less likely it is that the court will deem it inadmissible. However, it’s not black and white. I wouldn’t want to rely on it a hundred percent. But we’ve been here before, haven’t we? The legal system’s botched this case once already.”
“You’re right,” Alisha said. “I needed to know where I stood. I suppose there is one other problem.”
“Oh, what’s that?” said RP, frowning. “I thought I’d covered everything.”
“Suppose Johnson doesn’t fancy me?”
“Not a chance,” I said loo
king her up and down. RP shook his head furiously in agreement.
*
Within the week, Alisha visited the pubs and clubs listed in the dossier RP had produced. Sometimes she took her friend from work with her. She told her she needed to research locations for the criminal elements of a novel she wanted to write.
She told me that, although nervous at first, she enjoyed acting out this fantasy life. I suspected this would change when faced with Johnson’s actual presence. I offered to be around in the background. I wanted to be on hand if anything nasty took place.
“Rather defeats the object doesn’t it? Suppose Johnson recognises you? That would make it bad for both of us.” I reluctantly agreed.
She told me she received and rejected advances from several men in the pubs they visited. I thought that once she opened her mouth to speak, many would think her too classy for them, out of their league. But then a number would like the idea of pulling a black, middle-class, sexy, well-spoken, attractive thirty-five-year-old.
I expressed my fear on more than one occasion that this might be too dangerous, but she responded in typical fashion.
“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself. My contempt for men knows no bounds. I’ve a good idea how a man’s mind works. If it got a bit heavy, I’ve learnt that a knee in the bollocks can render a man completely useless.”
I winced at the thought and said, “You should carry Mace, or whatever it’s called, in your handbag. I’d be a lot happier if you did.” She agreed, I think, just to please me.
*
Meeting Johnson for the first time proved a revelation. It happened in a pub, one of those noted in the dossier, appropriately called, The Rat’s Castle in Kennington Park Road, near the tube station and frequented by the local lowlife, villains and gangs.
Alisha told us they used the pub as somewhere to network and do business in drugs, contraband cigarettes and counterfeit designer goods.
Surprisingly, the pub had a room they used as a singles club every Tuesday night. Given the name of the pub, I didn’t think it would be successful. But Alisha said several men and women attended regularly. She felt comfortable there and went alone. The arrangements were casual; no membership forms or special introductions and you could drop in at any time. She met Johnson there. He unromantically told her later that he often picked up girls at the club.
“Well, how did it go?” I couldn’t wait to hear about her first encounter. I’d gone to her flat in Canary Wharf and we were sharing a Chinese takeaway.
She shook her head in contempt and said, “God, this is going to be difficult. He has no conversation except when he’s talking about himself. And he’s the biggest bullshitter I’ve ever met. And believe me, I’ve met a few.” She flicked her head up in derision.
“But do you think he fancied you?”
“I think so. He asked for my number. I gave him the one for the mobile RP gave me. We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”
She didn’t have to wait long. The next day Johnson had texted and arranged to meet her for a drink in one of the other pubs on RP’s list of his regular haunts the following night.
Now the honey trap had been sprung, I felt nervous. I had every faith in Alisha but she’d entered a different league.
She and Johnson started dating regularly. Access to his flat became the next focus. He lived in Bermondsey, close to Jamaica Road. She told me he’d asked her back a few times, presumably for sex, but Alisha had played hard to get.
RP had told her, “You only need to go as far as you’re comfortable with. In fact, the greater the tease, the more likely you are to get the info.”
I asked her, “What do you feel about this, Alisha, the sex thing with Johnson?”
She shuddered. “I like sex… with the right man, of course. I really don’t think I can do it with him. But if that’s the only way we can get the information we want… I’ve only got to think of those white coffins at the funeral.” She closed her eyes at the memory.
She continued, “He just can’t be allowed to get away with what he’s done.”
“But you’re the one taking the risks. I feel so useless.”
“Yes, but you’ll have enough on your plate once we know the score.”
I reiterated, for the umpteenth time, that if she didn’t want to go through with the plan she could walk away and we’d think of another way forward.
I asked whether Johnson had offered her any drugs. She said he had – ecstasy tablets and amphetamines. She told him she occasionally used them at weekends and parties. Eventually, she’d have to negotiate that situation too.
She’d followed our plan by not appearing to be too inquisitive for the first few weeks, needing to gain his confidence.
She said he loved showing her off to his cronies, acting and bragging cockily. One of Johnson’s gang had told her they’d never known him have a relationship lasting more than a one-night-stand before and most of those were with, in their words, ‘dogs’.
She got the impression his mates regarded her as his ‘posh totty’ adding considerably to his status among the rest of the south London gangs.
She said he wore a permanent, supercilious smile. And his jaunty gait drove Alisha mad.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
September 1999
Although pleased we were now getting somewhere with our plan, it was far too slow a process for my liking. It would be another few weeks or possibly months before we could get a fix on the Johnson/Burrows relationship.
My frustration festered like a virulent disease and wasn’t helped by the thought of Alisha getting up close and personal with that jerk. I couldn’t wait until we had firm evidence, one way or the other, and then she could back off and leave RP and me to deal with the murderers of my family.
*
I found it difficult to move onto the ‘acceptance phase’ of my grief.
I did silly things like leaving the radio on when I left for the office each day. When I returned, often with a take-away, I needed to hear sounds in the house. I always had it tuned to either the classical music channel or Radio 4 – I couldn’t bear to hear the lyrics of romantic songs.
I swear I heard Lynne call out my name at least once a day. Or, I’d catch a glimpse of her disappearing upstairs or into the kitchen. Occasionally, I could smell her evocative perfume.
With Alisha’s help, I faced up, finally, to clearing out Lynne’s wardrobe. It had been just over a year since the murder of my family.
Alisha and I tearfully bagged up her clothes, shoes and dressing table contents. A week later we dealt with the toys and other paraphernalia the kids had collected. I stripped Georgie’s room of his posters and got a man in to redecorate. But I kept the replica Dennis Berkamp Number 10 Arsenal football shirt I’d given him when we first got together. I felt his change of allegiance from Queen’s Park Rangers to my team, Arsenal, marked a significant turning point in our relationship.
Despite clearing the decks, the rawness remained, especially regarding my lovely Emily.
I remembered having her room decorated with pink wallpaper, pink paintwork and pink hanging mobiles over three years ago, before Lynne brought her home from hospital. I left it as a memorial to a remarkable little girl who deserved better than to be callously murdered by that monster, Johnson.
*
Three weeks into the honey trap, Alisha told me Johnson got increasingly frustrated at not having sex with her. It signalled a step up in the relationship.
She visited his flat a few times. I imagined it to be dirty and squalid, but Alisha told me the opposite. She said Johnson suffered from borderline OCD. It manifested itself into an obsession with cleanliness, both personally and in his flat. He washed his hands frequently and everything had to be immaculately clean and in place.
“I can’t go on refusing him. I’m running out of excuses.”
The thought of her having sex with Johnson abhorred me too.
I told her, “If you feel that you’re gettin
g in over your head, then you’re out. You need to get the info soon.”
She told him her job as a sales rep meant her travelling all over the country. This gave her the excuse of having to work odd hours from time to time and gave her some respite.
His chaotic lifestyle helped. He made enough money dealing in drugs and doing an occasional ‘job’ to get by. Some weeks he appeared to be flusher with cash than others.
I needed to know whether he knew Nick and asked Alisha several times whether she’d asked him yet.
“That’s a big issue. I need a reason. It can’t come out of the blue. If he does know him he’ll want to know why I ask.”
“I’ll think of something,” I said.
Silent and thoughtful for a moment, finally, she said, “Well… Johnson drinks a lot… and I mean a lot. He takes amphetamines too. That’s the best time to talk to him. He’s bragged about a few of the deals that he’s done when he’s like that and he often passes out. I’ll have to choose my timing carefully.”
*
We mentioned the sex thing to RP at one of our meetings. He understood our concern.
“There is a way we can speed up results from the honey trap, Alisha.” He pulled open a drawer to his desk and produced a small torch.
“Here,” he said. “Keep this in your handbag. It’s not unusual for women to carry torches. No one will suspect it has a tape recorder inside. When you push the light switch, the tape starts. Be good to record your conversations.”
“Bit James Bond, isn’t it?” she said, picking it up.
RP smiled and replied, “It’s got a powerful microphone. You can leave it switched on inside your handbag. Remember to always keep it charged.”
Alisha pressed the switch. Silently the tape started and ten seconds later, she pulled the switch back and we heard RP’s voice.
He said, “I picked up a few of these prototypes in the USA. Clever, eh?”
He reiterated that he also wanted Alisha to ‘borrow’ Johnson’s mobile for a few hours.