If I Should Die (Joseph Stark)

by Matthew Frank

  His time before the magistrate was short. Charged with murder, he entered a plea of not guilty and was remanded into custody, in this case marched back along the tunnel linking the courts building with Belmarsh Prison.

  ‘I thought they’d press for manslaughter, Guv,’ said Stark, afterwards.

  ‘CPS think they’ve got enough for murder.’

  ‘But it was one against eight, self-defence?’

  ‘Don’t you start. DS Millhaven’s banged that drum already. His military training and the fact that he stuck Gibbs in the back weaken self-defence. CPS think they can do better.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Ours is not to reason why, Constable. Ours is to finger the collar of suspects. What the CPS do afterwards is their jurisdiction. We suspect, they accuse. Judge and jury do the rest.’

  ‘Guv.’

  ‘Right. Let’s go and see if our suspect wants to change his story.’

  So there was another reason for this trip. Stark was led for the first time into the embrace of Her Majesty’s Pleasure. He looked about as they were led to the interview room. The prison was clean, austere, oppressive. In some distant fashion it reminded him of barracks, though only distant. He shivered. Life in a place like this would drive him mad. The men detained here must find some way to insulate themselves from that thought. As a policeman he supposed he should take some cold pleasure in knowing this fate awaited those whose misdeeds led them here, but he wasn’t sure he could. An eye for an eye, society exacting restitution … Did Maggs deserve this? It wasn’t as clear-cut as combat. Not for the first time Stark wondered if he was the right material for this job.

  After a wait Maggs was led in wearing prison-issue clothing once more. Even without the court suit he still looked a world apart from the man Stark had arrested. The eyes still had that intelligent, lupine wariness. ‘Thought we were done,’ he said, sitting with a grunt.

  ‘Your legal counsel knew I was coming,’ replied Groombridge. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I sent the poor sod away for a rest. I’m not sure his nerves are all they should be.’

  ‘You’d be advised to reconsider.’

  ‘Why? You about to get heavy? Perhaps you should ask the screw to step outside first.’

  ‘Dial it down, Maggs,’ warned the prison guard in the corner.

  ‘You’re on remand now, Maggs. Your lawyer should be here.’

  Maggs chuckled. ‘I think I’m more up to it than he is.’

  ‘You’ve been watching too many crap movies.’ Groombridge looked down at his paperwork. ‘Miller. He’s a decent enough man. You should take advantage. He might be the only thing between you and Life.’

  ‘I’ve blood on these, Detective Chief Inspector.’ He held up his large, thick-fingered hands, as if it were still clear to see. ‘Kyle Gibbs was young and dangerous and stupid enough to come at a stranger with a knife. Maybe he was unlucky that stranger was me but it doesn’t excuse him. I’m not sorry. I’ve no plan to throw myself on the mercy of the court, feign remorse, beg leniency, and I don’t need a limp lawyer to spell that out.’

  ‘Then why not plead guilty?’

  ‘I’m no murderer,’ said Maggs.

  ‘You stand a better chance of proving that with legal counsel.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances with twelve good men and true,’ replied Maggs. It was impossible to gauge if he was being sarcastic.

  Groombridge gave up, turned on the tape, did the spiel and slid Pinky’s picture across the table. ‘What can you tell me about this girl?’

  ‘Christ, you really have aching balls for this one. Does your wife know?’

  ‘Cut the crap, Maggs. We know she was there, that she was directly involved.’

  Maggs considered Groombridge for a moment. ‘Tell you that, did she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Maggs chuckled. ‘Now it’s your turn to cut the crap. It’s nice of you to drop by, but next time leave the tripwire bullshit outside.’

  Groombridge had misjudged but, as far as Stark could tell, it didn’t seem to unsettle him. ‘These are CCTV stills showing the girl entering the park. We have an eyewitness placing her at the bandstand just before midnight. Not elsewhere in the park, right where the attack took place.’

  ‘The “attack took place” maybe two hours later, Inspector. I can’t help noticing your little Lolita appears to be independently mobile.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Groombridge, sliding another page across. ‘I had Constable Stark here double-check. These are stills from the camera on Chesterfield Gate at one twenty-four. You can just see her climbing out and running away. We almost missed it – the street-light’s out and we were concentrating on the gang – but there she is, Maggs, running away.’

  Maggs didn’t respond.

  ‘And this is a transcript of our interview with one of your attackers in which she makes it clear that a “pink-haired bitch” was present.’

  ‘And you believe that shouty cow over me? I’m hurt, deeply hurt.’

  ‘It’s in your interest to tell us about her, Maggs. If she witnessed what happened she can corroborate your self-defence claims. Withholding simply incriminates you further, makes it appear as though you believe your claims won’t withstand scrutiny. Is that it?’

  Maggs looked at Stark but said nothing.

  Groombridge waited, and waited. ‘Have you anything to add?’ he asked finally. Maggs just stared, what was going on behind his eyes a mystery. ‘This will only harm your case, Maggs.’

  ‘I told you, I’m not making any case.’

  ‘We will find her.’

  ‘You don’t need me, then,’ growled Maggs.

  ‘And when we do, she’ll tell me everything,’ said Groombridge. Maggs glowered but said nothing. ‘So be it,’ said Groombridge. ‘Interview termina –’

  ‘Leave her alone,’ said Maggs. The remark was directed purely at Stark, with surprising ferocity. Groombridge’s finger hovered halfway to the stop button.

  ‘Why?’ asked Stark. Fran kicked him under the table for speaking out of turn.

  ‘Just leave her alone.’

  ‘You’ll have to do better than that, Alan,’ said Groombridge.

  Maggs ignored him, or appeared to, maintaining his fierce gaze on Stark. After what seemed an age he appeared to make up his mind. ‘They raped her. Or tried to. The dead lad, Gibbs, right? Egged on by the others, by the shouty bitch most of all, if you can believe it. Head case, that one, baying for him to hurt the poor girl. I heard the shouting, tried to ignore it, but then there was screaming too … so I had to go and look.’

  ‘Where were you?’ asked Groombridge.

  ‘Bandstand is a bit exposed for my liking. I’d bivvied up over in the Flower Garden. Plenty of cover. You should’ve guessed that much,’ he said, mocking Stark. ‘Anyway, I went over.’ He picked up the photo now and stared at it. ‘She was putting up a fight. She had guts. But she was getting a beating for it, so I stepped in.’

  ‘Go on,’ invited Groombridge.

  ‘I waded in, barged one of them to the ground, shoved Gibbs off her, and everything stopped. Everyone was shocked, not moving. Then the shouting cow started up again, calling them all names for standing off, and they were going for me. The rest is like I said.’

  ‘Why have you not mentioned this before?’

  ‘What difference does it make?’

  ‘It lends weight to your defence.’

  ‘At what cost?’

  Groombridge ignored that. ‘What happened to the girl?’

  ‘She ran off while they were busy with me.’

  ‘Did you know her?’

  ‘Like I said, it’s not a community. But I’d seen her around. Just another frightened runaway.’

  ‘Know her name or where she might have gone?’ asked Fran.

  ‘None of my business.’

  ‘It’s in your interest we find her,’ insisted Groombridge.

  Maggs shook his head. ‘No. It’s only in yours. Leave the poor gi
rl alone.’

  Something primal in Stark was deeply relieved to step out into the open air.

  ‘So, is he still lying, Trainee Investigator Stark?’

  ‘It wouldn’t seem so, Guv.’

  Fran rolled her eyes. ‘Well, the sun continues to shine from your arse, New Boy. Another crime revealed and solved in a blink of your all-seeing eye.’ Her voice was shot through with a thick vein of sarcasm. ‘You’re a walking stat-generator.’

  ‘We don’t have a crime until we have a victim, Detective Sergeant,’ cautioned Groombridge. ‘Until then we’ve only the word of a desperate man.’

  Stark wanted to say that the only thing Maggs appeared desperate about was his desire to prevent the world shining its harsh spotlight on a frightened girl, but he was learning to keep his mouth shut.

  Fran nodded. ‘Want to talk to Nikki and the others about it?’

  ‘I think tripwire bullshit has run its course with that lot too. With the magistrate looming, their legals will be keeping a tighter rein. No, the time for blundering about in the dark is over. I want to talk to this Pinky and get all the facts lined up. So let’s direct Constable Stark’s all-seeing eye to finding her.’

  Stark’s supernatural abilities did not manifest. Pinky’s face was up in every station in Britain but so were a hundred others and, with the crime apparently solved, the TV companies weren’t interested in finding an extra witness. The team were covering every base short of a directionless door-to-door. All Stark’s all-seeing eye could do was stare at Pinky’s face on the wall. Next to it was the traffic-camera shot of Nikki and the unknown BMW driver. Nikki’s confident sneer came back to mock him. She believed her threats carried weight, and she’d had help. So who was the man in the black cap? Who would know?

  ‘I’d better come in with you,’ Ptolemy told Stark.

  ‘I’m sure I’m safe from a teenage boy and his overbearing mum.’

  Ptolemy and Peters chuckled at his naïvety. ‘Maybe, but we don’t want the little scrote making up stories about police brutality later.’

  Naveen’s mother answered the door, looked at the two officers, sighed and led them wordlessly into the flat. Naveen was no happier to see them. Around his ankle he sported an electronic monitor, condition of his bail. ‘What d’you want?’ he demanded.

  ‘A bit less lip, for a start,’ said Ptolemy.

  Stark passed Naveen a picture of the faceless BMW driver. ‘Any idea who this might be?’

  The boy shrugged. His mother leant in. ‘You know who that is, Naveen Hussein. Don’t pretend you don’t.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Don’t you “Mum” me! Not after the shame you’ve brought!’

  ‘Who is it?’ interceded Stark, before the familial spat escalated.

  The mother tutted in displeasure at her son. ‘Seen her with a big man like that,’ she replied, shushing Naveen’s frantic attempts to interrupt. ‘Around the estate, that Cockcroft girl. Bad to the core, both of them. Big ugly brute. People are scared of him.’

  Naveen clearly was too. ‘Do you know his name?’ asked Stark. Naveen shook his head. ‘You told me it wasn’t the police you were scared of. I thought you meant Kyle and Nikki. Did you mean this man?’

  Naveen nodded. ‘Him too. Nikki knows him. He sorts her stuff.’

  ‘Drugs?’

  Naveen glanced anxiously at his despairing mother. ‘Don’t know his name. I ain’t even lyin’. Didn’t wanna know. He’s bad news, proper bad.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’

  ‘He lends money, collects rent. He used to be mates with Nikki’s brother. That’s all I know.’

  Ptolemy sat up. ‘Tall bloke? Fat and muscle, shaved head and a goatee beard, always wears a black bomber jacket?’

  Groombridge stared at the mugshot Stark handed him. ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘Sergeant Ptolemy recognized the description, Guv. And I remembered he was a suspect in your security-van heist.’

  Groombridge stared at the photo, comparing it to that of the BMW driver. ‘Liam Dawson?’ He shook his head incredulously. ‘I never even thought of him. He used to run with Gary Cockcroft … theft, drugs, intimidation, the usual spread, until they graduated to armed robbery and triple murder. But he moved away after the case against him collapsed. Last I heard he was working as a club bouncer in Dartford. Why would he be driving Nikki around?’

  ‘I had Dixon email Dawson’s mugshot to Ptolemy’s phone, Guv. Naveen and his mum both ID’d him. And I’ve seen him before too. He was in the Meridian pub the night I saw Nikki, Kyle and the rest kicking off – I took him for a doorman. And remember I told you someone in a black jacket ran from the off-licence when they saw me last week? I showed the proprietors Dawson’s mugshot. They all but soiled themselves – wouldn’t say a word. Same story with the dentist and the doctor. The pharmacist begged me to leave. We should have someone look into their inventory, make sure they’re not paying protection in pills.’

  Groombridge nodded, like a weary adult indulging an over-eager child.

  Stark glanced at Fran, who had not said a word so far. She had not reacted warmly to his initiative. He’d thought about waiting to tell her where he was going, but in all honesty it had been easier not to: he was still in her bad books for the funeral. If he’d thought it would lead to anything he’d have told her. Now he’d made things worse and she was leaving him to do the talking.

  ‘There’s more, Guv.’ He slid a sheaf of paper in front of Groombridge. ‘A list of known landlords – uniform have it to hand for disturbances and break-ins.’ He’d underlined the same name several times in red. ‘One company, Dawson Security Ltd, owns seventeen flats. We knocked on doors. The tenants all took one look at his photo and clammed up. I just called Companies House – Liam Dawson is listed as director.’

  He slid a printout from the company website on to the desk. ‘He offers agency door-staff, rent collection and bailiff service. Naveen Hussein suggested Dawson is also loan-sharking. We found one old couple who used to own their flat. Dawson lent them money to pay mortgage arrears at punitive interest rates. No matter how much they paid, the debt kept rising until they sold up to him, lock, stock and barrel. Now they pay rent to live in their own home.’

  ‘They’ll testify to this?’

  Stark shook his head. ‘Unlikely. It was all I could do to get them to speak to me.’

  Groombridge sat back, disappointed. ‘So he targets impoverished owners, traps them with loans and forces them to sell up. Meanwhile he targets tenants behind on rent, milks them with loans …’

  ‘Maybe he even forces them out too. The more empty flats, the lower property values fall, the easier it is to buy. And in the meantime he’s racketeering off what little life remains and peddling drugs to the rest.’

  ‘With the likes of Nikki as his loyal foot-soldier, and the Rats helping him drive property prices down even more,’ observed Groombridge.

  ‘He’s setting himself up as a slum landlord,’ said Fran.

  ‘It’s more than that,’ said Stark. ‘He’s playing the long game.’

  Groombridge was already nodding. ‘Property developers have been sniffing around the Ferrier for years now. The talk is that eventually one will buy the whole site, demolish and redevelop.’

  ‘Offering owners a price they couldn’t hope for at current market values,’ added Stark.

  Granite to begin with, Fran’s expression had been hardening throughout. ‘How do we not know about this?’

  Groombridge shook his head unhappily. ‘He’s kept things under the radar. It’s only seventeen flats out of hundreds, too small for Specialist Crime Directorate. And uniform don’t have the budget to target the estate. I think, knowing it might not be there five years from now, we might all be guilty of giving the place up as a lost cause.’ He puffed out his cheeks. ‘So, you and Ptolemy unearthed all this by yourselves?’

  ‘And Constable Peters, Guv.’

  ‘How did you drag them into
it?’

  ‘I needed a lift up to the estate, Guv. Everyone here was busy.’ Another glance at Fran showed what she thought of this explanation. ‘They were very interested to establish a link between Nikki and Dawson. They’ve been wanting to shine some light on the drugs problem up there.’

  Groombridge turned a wry gaze on Fran. ‘And you sanctioned all this?’

  Fran smiled thinly. ‘TI Stark was thoughtful enough to leave me a note.’

  Groombridge winced slightly. ‘Right. Well, let’s see what else the pair of you can find out collaboratively.’

  Stark hesitated. ‘The van heist, Guv?’ he asked, cautiously. ‘Why did Dawson walk?’

  Groombridge’s eyes bored into the mugshot. ‘He was one of the crew. I know he was. I just couldn’t prove it.’ He was clearly still angry about that. ‘Same with the getaway driver. They terrorized an office worker, threatened to hurt her family unless she supplied information on van routes and manifests. They hit a van when it was nice and full, shotgunned the tyres, then stuck a fake bomb to the windscreen – batteries, curly wire and grey Plasticine for Semtex. Threatened to blow up the cab if the drivers didn’t get out, then put guns to their heads till the guy in the back opened up. Bound them with cable ties while they cleared it out. Shot all three dead before they left.’ His jaw clenched.

  ‘We tied one of them, Ben Travers, to the purchase of two sawn-off shotguns. We never really had him for the robbery but he was scared enough to think we did. CPS offered leniency in return for the location of their lock-up. The cash was gone but we found enough evidence to nail Gary.’

  ‘Don’t suppose he liked that very much,’ said Fran.

  ‘No. There were threats. Travers had to be moved to HMP Maidstone.’

  ‘But the money, Guv?’ asked Stark. ‘Who got the money?’