by JOHN STANLEY
Chapter twenty
Much later that night, a figure ducked beneath the barriers and walked noiselessly past the houses. He stood for several minutes, turning and looking one way then turning and looking the other, all the time listening, waiting for Alma Street to speak to him. And it did speak. Danny Radford knew he had taken too long to come here, knew he had allowed himself to be deflected from the job in hand by all the silliness surrounding his suspension, knew he had wasted precious time.
Now, his mind was clear and, as he stood and watched, an image played out in front of his mind, like a show-reel, that of a man walking down the street, shunned and ignored by those around him, a man feeling a deep hurt. Now, the man was scowling at the houses, his pursed lips revealing anger, a murderous anger that had finally come to the surface. Watching in silence, Radford let the scene play out as the man was swallowed up by the past.
But this was no idle vision, the man had been there at some time, the chief inspector was sure of it. All they needed was a name and as Radford stood, he felt a deepening sense of foreboding, a fear that time was running out. No murder for ten months then two in little more than a week; the man’s rage was running out of control. As the city hall clock struck one and a light drizzle started to fall on Alma Street, Danny Radford gave a final look, turned and walked towards the barriers. He was glad he had come. Alma Street had struggled to be heard for too long and finally Danny Radford had heard its words.
Chapter twenty one
As dawn arrived dark, dank and chill, Danny Radford could feel his heart beating. Standing at the end of Shaftesbury Street, he peered with mounting excitement through the orange street-lamp glow as armed officers edged their way into position. The chief inspector, leaning with his arms on the roof on a parked car, glanced along at the darkened upstairs windows, noting with satisfaction that the unsuspecting residents were slumbering peacefully as the drama prepared to unfold. At the briefing held at Read Street an hour before, there had been much debate about evacuating neighbouring houses in case any shooting occurred; the surveillance teams had confirmed that at least one of the men appeared to be carrying a firearm. In the end, the decision had been taken that evacuation was too risky and would have given the police presence away, increasing the odds of the shoot-out that nobody wanted.
Next to Radford stood Gaines, eyes bright and eager as he watched the armed team make their silent preparations. This was the moment the detectives had longed for ever since Heron was cancelled. Proving its potence was a top priority for Radford and his team, and not just because of the impact on the villains. They also saw the raid as a golden opportunity to remind the chief constable that policing happened on the street and not the balance sheet.
That was why the raid had to go smoothly, which had been the main theme of Radford’s briefing at the station. No cock-ups, no heroics, all played by the book, he had warned his officers sternly.
The chief inspector saw Connor walk round the street corner, coat collar turned up around his ears to protect him from the biting cold. Radford flapped a hand lazily at the superintendent and allowed himself a small smile; their friendship might have been repaired but wait until Connor saw the overtime bill, he thought. The chief inspector allowed himself a low laugh. Gaines glanced at him with a raised eyebrow but Radford said nothing. Instead, he returned his gaze to the target house, which still stood silent and in darkness as the firearms team moved in.
When it happened, it happened quickly. Two officers sprinted forward with the ram and smashed in the front door, the tearing timbers renting the still night air. Within seconds, half a dozen armed officers had barged into the house, yelling warnings and bursting into the downstairs rooms while others clattered up the stairs. Radford saw flashes of torch beams and heard a few shouts before one of the team emerged and gave the thumbs-up as bedroom lights went on all along the street.
Entering the house, Radford and Gaines heard raised voices upstairs and within moments, members of the firearms team were bringing four men down. Unshaven, rough-hewn men, three white, one Jamaican, they glared balefully at the chief inspector as he waited in the hallway. Glancing up to the top of the stairs, he saw an officer holding up a sawn-off shotgun for the chief inspector to see.
‘Been fired,’ said the officer.
‘I know how it feels,’ said the chief inspector and heard Gaines chuckling behind him.
Radford returned his gaze to the arrested men as Gaines slipped past him into the back of the house.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Radford sweetly, ‘I do hope we did not disturb your beauty sleep.’
One of the men gave a curse and struggled to reach him but the firearms officer retained his vice-like grip.
‘Take them away!’ snapped Radford.
‘Guv,’ came a voice, and the chief inspector turned to see Gaines emerge from the back room, a grim expression on his face. ‘I think you had better take a look at this.’
Radford walked into the room and glanced at the sofa where there lay a motionless figure that was difficult to make out in the pale light of the fading light bulb. He leaned over and peered at the face.
‘Ronny Gallagher?’ he said, looking at the sergeant.
‘Ronny Gallagher,’ nodded Gaines.
‘Is he dead?’
‘After what he’s done,’ said Gaines, surveying the lolling tongue and lifeless eyes and hearing more shouting as the gang was bundled into a waiting police van, ‘he might as well be.’
Chapter twenty two
It was 10am and Read Street Police Station was a hive of activity. Detectives and uniformed officers were everywhere, walking rapidly from office to office, pieces of paper in their hands, or gathering in corridors and squad rooms to excitedly discuss the events of a few hours before. There was nothing like a big operation, as Radford always said, to bring a police station to life and the raid on Shaftesbury Street had proved a major morale boost.
Interviews with the four men and an initial forensic examination of the house had already produced enough evidence to justify bringing charges against them and the duty lawyer from the CPS was deep in talks with Connor. Just as Ginch had said, the gang’s leader was a dealer called Manny. A call to Nottingham police had confirmed his identity as Manny Roberts, known on the streets of their city as Mad Manny. Roberts had served time for heroin dealing and offences of violence but, on his release, found himself continually targeted by officers from Nottingham’s drugs squad until he had disappeared a month previously. The Nottingham officers guessed he had moved somewhere else to try his luck but his big mistake was walking into Danny Radford’s division. Now, he was sitting in a Read Street cell, glowering at the wall, his brief reign of terror in Leyton having come to a humiliating end.
Once Manny Roberts and his team had been locked up, Read Street officers embarked on a series of further raids, smashing down doors, turfing protesting villains from their beds and ferrying them to Read Street in fleets of police vans. What soon emerged was that a number of Leyton criminal figures had been helping the newcomers to establish themselves. Mostly middle order dealers with ambitions to go further, they saw Manny Roberts as an ideal opportunity to oust some of the city’s big boys and make a name for themselves. It had been well on the way to becoming a full-blown turf war and Radford and his team had acted just in time to prevent an escalation.
The chief constable had already telephoned Connor to congratulate him, although the superintendent could not help feeling the voice sounded more than a little reluctant. Reluctant chief constable or not, Connor was enjoying the moment and had spent part of the morning debating with the press officer how best to play things. In the end, they settled for a brief press release which brought reporters, television crews and radio journalist flocking to the station. As Connor was briefing them in the canteen - Radford declined the opportunity to accompany him - the nearby CID room was also buzzing as officers were briefed on the vast amount of follow-up work to be done.
Among pri
soners released to make room for the new arrivals had been Ginch, placed on bail pending further inquiries into what had turned out to be a whole series of handbag snatches; for the moment, however, that inquiry would have to wait. Besides, everyone knew where Ginch was because the police officer guarding the hospital bed in which the comatose Ronny Gallagher lay had called to say that the teenager was conducting a vigil in the waiting room.
Ray Gerrard, however, was not released and away from all the activity, in the interview room at the other end of the station, all was quiet as he sat apprehensively and watched Radford reading a document. Gaines sat next to the chief inspector and, as he waited, his mind idled its way back to that first day on Corfu and the fatigue he had felt then. Only back at work a few days and he was feeling it again, he thought darkly. But this time, it was different. This time, he wanted to get the job done. Something had re-ignited his enthusiasm. No, not something, someone. Danny Radford. How things change, he thought.
‘Ray,’ said Radford, looking up from the piece of paper and staring hard at the security guard, ‘you are a man with big problems. Big, big problems and I hope you are more amenable about discussing them, having had time to consider your position.’
The security guard looked back at him, trying to appear calm but with the fear showing in his eyes. Gerrard could sense endgame about the detectives’ demeanour and he felt sick to the pit of his stomach.
‘Like I said before, I ain’t saying nuffink,’ said the security guard flatly, glancing at the smartly-dressed lawyer next to him. ‘Ain’t that right, Mr Holbert?’
‘I certainly feel that nothing has changed,’ nodded the solicitor. ‘At this stage of proceedings, Mr Gerrard does not need to make any statement appertaining to your inquiries and we would seek his immediate release. We feel that enough time in custody has elapsed.’
‘Yeah, I ain’t got no reason say owt.’
‘Your lawyer does express these things with so much more elegance,’ commented Radford, then glanced down again at the piece of paper. ‘Mind, I hate to disagree with a man of law but it does appear to me that your client has an awful lot he should be saying, Mr Holbert.’
Gerrard looked even more worried and the lawyer eyed the document uneasily.
‘Perhaps,’ said Holbert, ‘you had better explain that comment.’
‘Happy to. You see, we have been digging into your client’s background over the past couple of days. It seems that his employers at Panther Watch were somewhat lax when taking him on as a security guard.’
Gerrard looked anxious.
‘You see,’ said Radford, ’we were always under the impression that security guards were there to uphold law and order, allowing us to sleep safely in our beds at night and all that kind of thing. Naïve I know but we’re trusting souls. However, your client seems to have dedicated his time to breaking the law wherever he can.’
‘And what exactly does that comment mean?’ asked the lawyer, acutely aware that he was being outflanked.
‘I assume your client has told you that about his two convictions for drug dealing in Nottingham under his original name of Michael Horsfield?’ said Radford.
‘I am afraid he has not,’ said the lawyer unhappily, glancing sharply at the security guard.
‘That were ten years ago!’ exclaimed Gerrard. ‘And it ain’t against no law to use another name.’
‘It is if you are seeking to deceive an employer,’ said Radford. ‘I note here that they both involved heroin. What’s more, your client has a conviction for an assault on a drug dealer, no less. Left him with a smashed cheekbone. That was also in Nottingham, it says here.’
‘I was not aware of that either,’ said Holbert gloomily.
‘Always worth doing your homework before you come in here,’ said Radford helpfully.
Holbert said nothing but looked at the piece of paper in the chief inspector’s hand, wondering what other secrets it held. Gerrard was experiencing the same uneasiness.
‘Clearly Panther Watch’s vetting process rather slipped up on this one,’ said Radford. ’What do you think, Sergeant?’
‘Aye, sounds like a bit of an oversight.’
‘Hey,’ said Radford, as if the thought had just occurred to him, ‘surely you did not lie on your application, did you Ray? Not a law-abiding man like you?’
‘Listen here...’ began Gerrard.
‘Oh, hang on,’ said the chief inspector, producing another piece of paper from his pocket. ‘Here it is. Well, well, what do you know, it does not mention anything about convictions. Now why would that be?’
‘Perhaps because if they knew about his dodgy past, they would not have given him a job,’ hazarded Gaines.
‘That could well be it,’ nodded Radford. ‘Frankly, Ray, you are about as unsuitable a security guard as I could imagine.’
‘Hey, I’ve been good at my job! You ask anyone I have worked for. Ask the golf club. I was their security guard for four years.’
‘Which club was that?’ asked Gaines, trying not to appear to interested.
‘The Lake. Down by the river.’
Gaines filed away the information.
‘Besides,’ continued Gerrard defensively, ‘them offences was a few years ago. I ain’t been in trouble since then. Honest.’
‘Honest is not a word I would associate with you,’ said Radford, glancing down at the paper again. ‘Or your delightful little pal, for that matter.’
‘What you talking about?’ asked Gerrard anxiously.
‘Manny Roberts.’
‘Ain’t never heard of him.’
‘Is that so?’ said Radford thinly. ’I am sure he knows you. Sergeant, do we, by any chance, know where Mr Roberts is right now, so we could ask him?’
‘Let me think,’ said Gaines, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. ‘Why. I do believe he is sitting in a cell at the other end of the station.’
‘Really?’ said Radford. ‘Well, well, well, what a coincidence. You surely do not mean to suggest that Ray’s pal has retained his interest in criminal activity?’
‘It would seem so.’
‘That don’t mean nuffink,’ said Gerrard, clearly shocked by the news.
‘Actually,’ said Radford, ‘it means an awful lot. You see, according to the file here, the man jailed with you for attacking that drug dealer in Nottingham was none other than Manny Roberts. And now what do we learn? Roberts is the leader of the gang we have just lifted less than half a mile from the street where you are a security guard. How much of a coincidence is that, Ray?’
‘So?’ said Gerrard but his voice tailed off pathetically as he started to adopt the look of a hunted man.
‘So we believe Roberts and his gang were flogging the bad gear that has already killed two teenagers and may well yet claim the life of a third.’
‘What do you mean a third?’ asked Gerrard sharply.
‘Ronny Gallagher.’
Gerrard started again but moved too slowly in his attempts to conceal his alarm.
‘Yes, that Ronny Gallagher,’ nodded Radford. ‘One of your customers in Alma Street, I think. Perhaps you sold him the smack that put the poor bastard in a coma. Perhaps we are talking about manslaughter, here, Ray.’
‘Now hang on a minute,’ began Holbert.
‘Tell me, Sergeant,’ said the chief inspector, cutting him short. ‘How is Ronny?’
‘The doctors are not very optimistic.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ blustered Gerrard, looking desperately to his lawyer for help. ‘I already told you…’
‘Dammit!’ snapped Radford. ‘What do you take us for, Ray?’
Gerrard said nothing, the enormity of his plight becoming ever more clear with every word the chief inspector uttered.
‘Let me tell you how it looks from my side of the table,’ said Radford. ‘You were running a scam from Alma Street, flogging booze to the winos and drugs to the smack-heads and I reckon you were getting the smack from your
mate Manny Roberts. He knows a good thing when he sees it and, with things getting a bit too hot in Nottingham, he decides to muscle in on Leyton. It might even have been your suggestion. What’s more, I am beginning to wonder if you had something to do with the murders of Des Creeley and Robert Garnett.’
‘No!’ exclaimed Gerrard, eyes wide with terror. ‘No, no!’
‘What was it?’ said Radford, voice hardening all the time. ‘Did they complain about your prices? Did you lose your rag? Was it like that, Ray?’
‘No, it was nothing like that,’ said Gerrard weakly.
‘And what about Colin Jeavons’ death?’
‘That was nothing to do with me either.’
‘No? You see, according to his development company, Mr Jeavons found out about your little scam a few days ago. He even warned you about it, didn’t he? The day before he died, in fact. Had you into his office. Said if it happened again, you would be out on your ear. Anyway, surprise, surprise, next thing we knew he turns up dead. A lot of people seem to die around you.’
‘Then there’s Ronny Gallagher,’ said Gaines.
‘What’s that got to do with me?’ asked Gerrard.
‘We think Roberts suspected Ronny might be about to grass him up. We think Roberts lured him to Shaftesbury Street where he forced drugs down him. Our doctor says there are signs of injury on his throat.’
‘That was nothing to do with me.’
‘Sure?’ asked Gaines keenly. ‘Sure you did not tell Manny that Ronny might blow things wide open?’
‘I never…’
‘Cut the crap, Ray!’ snapped Radford. ‘We’ll find out the truth anyway so you might as well tell me now.’
Gerrard suddenly seemed to crumple.
‘OK,’ he nodded, defeat etched on his face and glancing at his lawyer, who nodded. ‘OK, I admit I was selling booze and drugs.’
‘Why, for Pete’s sake?’ asked Radford.
‘Do you know how much I get paid for being a security guard? Do you? £4.50 an hour, £4.50! How can a man keep a family on that?’