by Luke Delaney
‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked.
A stab of resentment twisted in his belly, but he managed to hide it. ‘Why not?’ he answered.
Marino took a seat and began with a smile. ‘I heard you nicked Everton Watson.’
‘No big deal,’ King answered, trying to kill the conversation before it started. ‘Just a bit of possession.’
‘Of heroin?’ Marino checked.
‘Yeah, so?’
‘Just I’ve known Everton a long time,’ Marino told him. ‘He’s a slag and a burglar, but I’ve never known him take smack. Always seemed too switched on for that – in a street-smart sort of way.’
‘Something must have changed then,’ King said, sounding disinterested.
‘He says not,’ Marino ambushed him.
‘You’ve spoken to him?’ King asked, still trying to feign casualness.
‘Yeah,’ Marino replied, giving his words a couple of seconds to affect King before continuing. ‘When he was being bailed out last night. Said the drugs weren’t his – that he still never touches anything more than a bit of puff.’
‘Did he say anything else?’ King pried, looking into his coffee and avoiding eye contact with Marino.
‘No,’ Marino answered, ‘except something about he’d get even. I figured he was probably holding the smack for someone else when you pulled him. I guess he thinks he owes them one.’
‘Or he had it to sell it,’ King recovered his poise.
‘Maybe,’ Marino shrugged, ‘but I doubt it. Everton knows he could do some serious time for residential burglary, but if you get caught dealing smack they throw away the key. He works alone for a reason – so no one can grass on him. But the world of dealers is a world of informants and treachery. Not Everton’s style.’
‘Things change,’ King told him.
‘That they do,’ Marino seemed to agree. ‘Speaking of change,’ he suddenly continued, ‘I was wondering if you might have had a change of heart.’
‘About what?’ King asked suspiciously.
‘About accelerated promotion,’ Marino explained. ‘You’re turning into one hell of a thief-taker. You always were pretty good at it. Maybe endless meetings and pushing a pen around’s not for you after all?’
‘Not sure about that,’ King answered, relieved the subject had changed. ‘Feel like … feel like a lot of people are depending on me following through with it. Other people have made plans – you know.’
‘Take my advice, son,’ Marino insisted. ‘Don’t worry about other people. Do what your heart tells you, or face the rest of your career being a boring disappointment. Maybe you should think about the CID. You’re a good fit for it. I could have a word with the DCI if you like.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ King told him and started to get up before Marino stopped him.
‘But while you’re still out there,’ he warned him, ‘just remember this isn’t the eighties any more. It’s not even the nineties. Every little slag out there’s got a smartphone stuffed in their pocket just waiting for some unsuspecting copper to screw up and do or say something stupid. You don’t want to end up on the News at Ten. Media likes nothing more than a dodgy cop story and don’t expect the powers-that-be to come to your rescue – not in this day and age. Know what I’m saying, Jack?’
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ King replied, getting to his feet. ‘Maybe if the CID had acted a little more like it was the eighties or nineties this child abuser wouldn’t still be running around. Know what I mean? I’ll see you round, Frank,’ he told him and headed for the canteen exit – watched all the way by Marino.
‘Be careful out there, son,’ Marino whispered. ‘Be very careful.’
King was back on the estate with Williams, hidden away at the top of the stairwell O’Neil had told him Tyrone Mooney used to deal crack cocaine from. They’d have a bird’s eye view of Mooney’s activities – if he turned up. While King was dressed in full uniform, Williams was dressed in civilian clothing – doing his best to look like he belonged on the estate – but still he needed to stay concealed until the last moment.
King felt good being back on the estate, free from officialdom and the boring pressures of normal life. While he was on the estate anything was possible. He could end up arresting a dealer or a thief. He could end up being first on scene at a murder or serious assault. He could have a chance meeting with Kelly Royston. Again he shook her from his mind.
‘Jesus,’ Williams complained. ‘We’ve been here for ages.’
‘Patience,’ King told him.
‘Yeah but how do we even know this kid’s going to turn up?’
‘Because O’Neil said he would,’ he reminded him.
‘You trust O’Neil?’
‘No, but I trust him to do as he’s told,’ King assured him. ‘He doesn’t really have a choice, does he?’
‘Yeah but we’ve been here for ages,’ Williams whinged again. ‘Maybe O’Neil got it wrong?’
‘What’s to get wrong?’ King asked, keeping his voice low. ‘Mooney called him and said he’d be dealing within the next few hours so I reckon that’ll be what he does.’
‘Anything could have happened,’ Williams tried to persuade him. ‘He could have been nicked by someone else or mugged or maybe he just changed his mind – decided to stay indoors and watch The Jeremy Kyle Show.’
‘Perhaps.’ The sound of shuffling feet coming from the bottom of the staircase made King freeze. He sensed Williams was about to say something and quickly placed a finger across his own lips to let him know to keep quiet. They stared at each other for a while, not daring to move as they listened to the sounds from below, partly terrified that if it was Mooney he might climb higher and see them. He would run and, at eighteen and knowing the estate well, there was a decent chance he’d escape them or at least get a good enough head start to toss his crack. But to their relief the noises stayed below them.
King tiptoed to the bannister and carefully peered over, his flat cap held in his hand to prevent it falling. He watched as the slim black youth began to move around his immediate vicinity, repeating the same action over and over as he pulled something too small to see from his pocket and then bent down to place it beneath whatever he could find: a tossed drinks can, a crisp bag, a loose piece of paving – constantly looking around himself and pointing to where he’d just been, committing each spot to memory. O’Neil was dead right, King thought to himself. Mooney was hiding his rocks close by so he couldn’t be caught in possession if the police stumbled across him. Clever, but not clever enough.
‘Is it him?’ Williams whispered in his ear.
‘Has to be,’ King told him.
‘Shall I go now?’
‘No,’ King stopped him. ‘Let’s wait until he’s served at least one punter. Just to be sure he’s dealing.’
‘OK,’ Williams agreed as they both moved back from the edge – relying on their ears alone now to warn them of any approach. They didn’t have to wait long as first the sound of footsteps and then voices drew them back to the railing overlooking the stairwell. They strained hard as Mooney spoke with a wreck of a white man who looked sixty, but who King guessed was really probably only in his twenties.
He couldn’t make out what the crack addict had said, but Mooney was clear enough as he told him, ‘There might be something under the crisp packet you can use. Just make sure you leave the cash there when you’re done.’ King watched as the punter retrieved something from under the packet, examining it closely, as if it was a jewel, before he eventually tipped a small pile of change from his hand and covered it with the packet, then headed off without another word being said.
‘All right,’ King whispered to Williams. ‘You know what to do.’ Williams just nodded and headed off down the stairwell like a man without a care in the world. When he heard someone coming, Mooney bent his head around the corner to see if it was danger approaching – relaxing when he saw a casually dressed young black guy skipping down the stairs not even
making eye contact with him. But as soon as they were level Williams changed tack and without warning grabbed him by both arms.
‘Police!’ he shouted, despite their close proximity. ‘Turn around and keep your hands up,’ he demanded, spinning the stunned Mooney around and pushing him against the wall. ‘Don’t move.’ A few seconds later they were joined by King.
‘Nice one, Danny,’ he congratulated his colleague before turning his attention to Mooney. ‘You’re in a whole heap of shit, Tyrone,’ he told him. ‘It is Tyrone, isn’t it?’
The shaking dealer looked over his shoulder at King and seemed to shrink further at what he saw. ‘Shit,’ he cursed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. ‘Not you.’
‘You know me?’ King asked – surprised, but delighted at his notoriety.
‘I heard of you,’ Mooney admitted. ‘Sergeant 42, right?’
‘Sergeant King to you. Now, I’ll ask you again, you are Tyrone Mooney, right?’
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ Mooney sighed.
‘Well then,’ King smiled, ‘it appears we both already know each other. And by the way, you’re in a lot of fucking trouble, my friend. A lot of trouble.’
‘You got nothing on me, man,’ Mooney insisted. ‘I was just sitting here minding my own business, innit. I weren’t doing nothing.’
‘You know, Tyrone,’ King mocked him, ‘I’ve been hearing a lot of that lately. What you think this is?’ he snarled into Mooney’s face. ‘Some reality cop show on the telly? D’you see any cameras? This is real life, son.’
‘What you talking about?’ Mooney asked – confused and concerned – looking over his shoulder as King moved from Coke can to crisp packet to loose plaster, collecting the rocks he’d seen Mooney hide and holding them in his open palm so all could see.
‘I’m talking about these,’ King explained. ‘You’ve been a very naughty boy, Tyrone. Dealing this shit gets you some serious prison time. Serious time.’
‘I ain’t dealing nothing,’ Mooney lied. ‘You didn’t find nothing on me. I was just passing through, innit. So somebody left their gear here. Ain’t me.’
‘Wrong,’ King told him, shaking his head in fake disappointment at Mooney’s answer. ‘You’re getting … you’re getting confused, Tyrone. You see, we did find these rocks in your possession,’ he spelt it out, ‘all …’ he quickly counted the tiny waxy stones in his palm ‘… all twelve. Enough for possession with intent to supply. And then there was the one we saw you sell to the punter …’
‘What you talking about?’ Mooney began to panic.
‘Which was right before you sold a rock to PC Williams here,’ King continued, now drawing confused looks from them both, ‘who was acting undercover.’
‘I didn’t sell nothing to nobody,’ Mooney desperately complained. ‘Come on, man. Don’t stitch me up.’
‘No one’s stitching you up,’ King insisted. ‘You’re a crack cocaine dealer. You peddle death and misery.’
‘Please,’ Mooney begged. ‘Give me a break. I swear I’ll never do it again.’
‘Doubt you’re going to last very long banged up in Feltham,’ King ignored him. ‘There’s a lot of very violent young men inside there – most in gangs, which makes them untouchable, specially to an outsider like you.’
‘Please,’ Mooney pleaded again. ‘I’ll do anything.’
‘Well,’ King asked the increasingly worried-looking Williams, ‘what d’you think we should do, PC Williams? Should we give this drug-dealing shit a break or not?’
‘Sarge?’ Williams questioned.
‘Should we give him a break?’
Mooney’s eyes stared wide and frightened at Williams who gave his answer. ‘I think we should nick him and get back to the station where we can have a chat about our evidence – that’s what I think.’
King pulled a face as if considering his options, but he’d already made his mind up. ‘I don’t think so,’ he finally said. ‘Everyone deserves a second chance, eh, Tyrone?’
‘Oh God, thank you,’ Mooney exclaimed, his legs almost giving out from under him with relief. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’
‘Sarge?’ Williams tried to intervene. ‘What we doing?’
‘We’re doing what has to be done,’ King snapped at him a bit. ‘Tyrone here’s not my problem. He’s just a fool – aren’t you, Tyrone?’ Mooney just nodded, prepared to do anything to avoid arrest. ‘Where d’you get your drugs from anyway?’ King asked.
‘Some kid at college,’ Mooney offered without resistance. ‘He makes me do it. He gives me the gear and makes me sell it. The money goes back to him.’
‘Does he live on the estate?’ King asked, his interest piqued.
‘No,’ Mooney answered, instantly finishing King’s enthusiasm. ‘He lives over in Leyton somewhere.’
‘What would he do to you if you refused?’ King continued.
‘Stab me,’ Mooney told him, ‘or worse. He’s in one of them gangs you talked about.’
‘Sarge,’ Williams protested. ‘This is bullshit. Let’s nick him and get out of here.’ King ignored him and started to search through Mooney’s pockets, pulling a small wad of cash and some cannabis resin from one trouser pocket and a mobile phone from the other. He spun Mooney around so he was no longer facing the wall.
‘This kid you’re talking about,’ King continued, ‘he’s going to want either his drugs or his money back, right?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Mooney hastily agreed.
‘But you won’t have either,’ King smiled.
‘Keep the drugs,’ Mooney negotiated, ‘and let me give him the money.’
‘Can’t do that,’ King shook his head. ‘I need both. Means to an end and all that. What you do is this: you tell this drug-dealing slag you were nicked, but not by just any copper – you make sure he knows you were nicked by me, and now I’m coming after him. He’ll make some calls to scum he knows on the estate and they’ll be sure to tell him all about me. After that he’ll be too busy keeping his head down to bother you, but if he does – you come tell me and I’ll pay him and his friends a little visit. Fair enough?’
‘Fine,’ Mooney hurriedly agreed. ‘Can I have my phone back now?’
‘Of course,’ King agreed with a snake-like friendliness and handed it to Mooney as he pushed the wad of cash and cannabis into his own trouser pocket – catching the look of contempt that flashed on Mooney’s face as he eyed the money. ‘You think I’m going to keep this for myself?’ King asked. ‘You think I’m some sort of bent copper lining my own pockets?’ Mooney just shrugged.
‘Easy, Sarge,’ Williams tried to warn him.
‘This isn’t for me, Tyrone,’ King explained. ‘I’m not scum like you. I’m going to use this to take down someone who’s had it coming for a long time. Someone who thinks he can’t be touched. Someone who needs to learn we own this estate now and we’ll do what we have to do to clear it of all the filth. They can’t hide behind rules and laws designed to protect the guilty. Only rules round here – only laws round here – are my rules and laws. Understand?’ Mooney nodded, his eyes blazing with mistrust and fear. ‘Now get the fuck out of my sight.’ Mooney didn’t wait to be told twice and sprang away, only to be grabbed around the arm by King. ‘But remember – I did you a fucking huge favour here. One day I may need you to return that favour. Know what I’m saying?’ Mooney just nodded once. ‘Good,’ King told him, releasing his grip and allowing the disorientated and fearful Mooney to jog away.
Williams waited until he was out of sight. ‘What the fuck are you doing, Sarge? We had a quality arrest for supplying crack right in our hands. Why the hell did we let him go?’
‘He’s small fry,’ King answered. ‘Just a scared kid.’
‘Yeah but it was a good arrest,’ Williams persisted. ‘We could have squeezed him back at the nick – turned him into our informant.’
‘He’s already told us everything he knows,’ King dismissed it, ‘and it had nothing to do with the Grove Wood, so it�
��s got nothing to do with us.’
‘All the same – it was a decent collar,’ Williams complained. ‘Only reason I go along with this shit is to get some quality crime arrests. I don’t mind working on the edge so long as it gets me the arrests I need to get me into the CID. If we’re going to start letting everyone go, what’s the point?’
‘Think about it,’ King almost whispered. ‘What evidence did we really have? We saw him moving a few bits and pieces around and later found drugs hidden there. So what? You’d be prepared to stand in the box at Crown Court and swear he sold you a rock, would you?’
‘That was your idea – not mine.’
‘There you go then,’ King finished it. ‘We had nothing. I just said all that bollocks to scare the shit out the little prick. Make him nice and compliant. Make sure he keeps his mouth shut.’
‘And d’you think he will?’ Williams asked.
‘Well he won’t be making a complaint, will he?’ King assured him. ‘If he tells anyone it’ll just be the local slags, which will only help make them even more afraid of us and that’s fine by me.’
‘Fair enough,’ Williams reluctantly agreed, despite fearing he was sinking deeper and deeper into King’s potentially bottomless pit.
‘Now forget him,’ King insisted. ‘We’ve got bigger fish to fry.’
As he headed for the main staircase inside Canning Town Police Station with Williams, King was concerned to see Johnston standing halfway up grilling another uniformed sergeant about something that had clearly displeased her – although he couldn’t help but feel she was really just waiting for him. He let Williams go in front as he tried to skip past her without being noticed, only to be frozen by the sound of her voice.
‘Sergeant King. A word if I may,’ she told him, before turning to the berated sergeant. ‘We’ll finish this later.’ She turned back to King and saw that Williams had also stopped. ‘Alone.’ Williams looked at King first who gave him a quick nod to let him know he should go. Williams just shrugged before walking away. ‘I need to be back at Newham in a few minutes,’ she told him, ‘so you’ll have to walk with me.’ She immediately headed off back down the stairs with King trying to keep up.