The Rule of Fear

by Luke Delaney

  Johnston drummed her painted fingernails on her desk before speaking. ‘I want to be absolutely accurate here,’ she warned him. ‘You’re saying they could actually somehow be involved in these attacks?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marino admitted. ‘That’s what I’m saying.’

  Johnston leaned forward in her chair. ‘These are very serious accusations.’

  ‘I understand,’ Marino agreed.

  ‘And not the first time you’ve inferred something untoward may be going on in the Unit.’

  ‘I appreciate that, but this is different.’

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘Different in that I know it was them who attacked Swinton.’

  ‘And how d’you know that, Frank?’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Can’t say or won’t say?’ Marino didn’t answer. ‘Are you sure there isn’t a personal problem between you and Sergeant King?’

  ‘That’s not the issue here,’ Marino insisted.

  ‘It’s just on the face of it these look like more unfounded allegations. King and his team have been on the estate for months and apart from your … suggestions there’ve been no allegations or complaints. Just first-class arrests and falling crime figures.’

  ‘If you want to protect King and the others that’s fine,’ Marino assured her. ‘They’re young and maybe they’ve been dumb. No one’s going to cry for Butler. Swinton’s unfortunate, but the fact is no one’s looking out for him. King and his people can still walk away from this.’

  ‘Ah, Swinton,’ Johnston changed tack. ‘The sex offender.’

  ‘Right now I don’t see how that’s relevant,’ Marino argued. ‘Even if it was him, there’s not a single piece of evidence against him.’

  ‘Well I suppose that’s the CID’s job, isn’t it?’ Johnston told him. ‘To find the evidence – instead of making unfounded allegations against other officers.’

  ‘I’m not making any allegations,’ Marino replied. ‘I just want this to stop, before it gets even worse.’

  ‘You do your job, Frank, and let me do mine.’

  ‘Meaning?’ Marino pushed.

  Johnston sat back in her chair and sighed. ‘Meaning you find evidence against Swinton and leave the Unit to me.’

  ‘So you’ll do something?’

  Johnston sighed again as if she was being forced to reveal a great secret. ‘If you must know, in the light of our previous conversation I decided it might be prudent to have someone I can trust implicitly inside the Unit. I’m not the sort of person who leaves things to chance, Frank.’

  ‘Oh?’ Marino questioned.

  ‘PC Mahajan’s replacement, PC Rana Knight, joined the Unit as of today. He’s a very competent and ambitious young officer. If there’s any sign of … inappropriate behaviour, he’ll report it to me immediately and if necessary the Unit will be disbanded. If I find something more serious then they’ll have to be reported to Professional Ethics and Standards, although I’m sure it won’t come to that.’

  ‘And this PC Knight’s up to the job?’ Marino asked.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Johnston assured him. ‘Handpicked by myself.’

  ‘That’s reassuring,’ Marino replied. ‘But you could just play safe and disband the Unit almost immediately. That way everyone walks away with their careers and reputations intact – no need for Knight to go sniffing around looking for evidence of misconduct or worse.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Johnston dismissed the idea. ‘To date you’re the only person who’s expressed any concerns about the Unit. I can’t just disband them on the basis of one man’s unsupported allegations. Officers do have rights, you know. And besides, their crime figures are the envy of the borough, probably of the whole Met. They can be held up as a model of what modern policing should be – community officers accepting long-term responsibility for policing specific areas of a borough, instead of anonymously speeding from one 999 call to another, never stopping to actually get to know the people they police or finding out what they want from the service. You need to understand the powers-that-be like what the Unit is doing and they like the results they’re getting. Don’t rock the boat too much, Frank.’

  ‘A model of modern policing?’ he questioned. ‘A model designed by you?’ Johnston just gave a little shrug of her slim shoulders. ‘And the serious assaults?’ Marino reminded her. ‘How do the powers-that-be like the fact there’ve been two serious and unsolved attacks on the Grove Wood? Can’t exactly be good for the crime figures.’

  ‘Then you’d better solve them,’ Johnston snapped back. ‘Last time I checked, serious assaults fall within the CID’s remit.’

  ‘And you want us to investigate them fully?’ Marino checked. ‘Regardless of where that may take us?’

  ‘Of course,’ Johnston replied. ‘Although I expect you to use your full discretion and judgement in this matter. And I wouldn’t be telling too many people about your … suspicions. We don’t want any negative publicity. God knows we’ve had enough of that lately. By all means investigate these assaults, Frank, but tread carefully. Tread very carefully indeed.’

  ‘Of course,’ Marino assured her, but remained seated to let her know he hadn’t finished.

  ‘Something else?’ Johnston asked, leaning back in her chair.

  ‘You heard about Peter Edwards appealing his conviction?’ Marino asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Johnston answered. ‘It was discussed at senior management level. An unfortunate occurrence.’

  ‘Tough on Jack,’ Marino suggested. ‘Can’t be helping his state of mind – his belief in the rule of law. In justice.’

  ‘I’m sure Sergeant King will handle it and if he can’t we’ll soon know, won’t we,’ Johnston reminded him before moving forward in her chair. ‘The rule of law is all very good, Frank, but every now and then, what a place like the Grove Wood Estate needs is the rule of fear. It’s what people like that understand best.’

  ‘That’s not what Jack needs to believe right now,’ Marino argued. ‘He needs to have faith in the justice system.’

  ‘Don’t we all, Frank.’ Johnston smiled. ‘Don’t we all.’

  King watched from his vantage point as Susie Ubana finally appeared from her fortified flat, her daughter locking the grid behind her as she lit a cigarette and leaned over the walkway wall to look out over the estate. King moved quickly and quietly down the stairwell and was next to Ubana before she could react. He noticed she looked afraid, but stood her ground anyway – as if she’d been expecting a visit from him.

  ‘Nice evening,’ he told her, joining her in leaning over the wall.

  ‘If there can be such a thing around here,’ she answered.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ King argued. ‘It’s not so bad – now things have calmed down.’

  ‘“Calmed down”?’ she repeated. ‘Is that what’s happened?’

  King said nothing for a while – examining her. ‘I take it you heard what happened to Micky Astill?’

  ‘I heard you paid him a visit.’

  ‘It was more than a visit,’ King reminded her. ‘Arrested. Charged. Remanded. All his gear and cash seized. He’s finished. He’ll be going away for a long time.’

  ‘Why you telling me this?’ she turned on him.

  ‘I hear your business is doing very well,’ he told her coldly.

  ‘You got something to say, just say it,’ she insisted.

  ‘All right,’ he said, straightening to his full height. ‘Nobody deals on the estate without my permission and everybody pays a commission.’

  ‘Don’t go too far,’ she warned him. ‘I have protection.’

  ‘Fuck your protection,’ he snarled at her. ‘The only protection round here worth shit is mine. You pay or you get shut down. Consider yourself lucky. I’m doing you a favour. I could replace you tomorrow as easy as that.’ He clicked his fingers for effect. ‘But I’m going to give you a chance to stay in business.’

  ‘You’re getting out of your depth,’
she tried to reason with him.

  ‘Why?’ he smiled. ‘Because you have police protection. I know you’re an informant. I even know who your handler is. But here’s the deal: you tell him anything about me and I’ll let the entire estate know you’re a grass. Wonder how long you’ll last once that gets out? Wonder how long your daughter will last?’

  ‘You’re a fucking lowlife,’ she told him through clenched teeth.

  ‘I’m the fucking law,’ he reminded her, ‘and I can do whatever I like.’

  ‘Yeah?’ she challenged him. ‘What if I don’t pay?’

  ‘Then I’ll have one of my boys standing outside your front door twenty-four-seven. Won’t get many punters knocking with Old Bill hanging around. You’ll be out of business within a week and replaced by someone else. Someone who’s glad of my protection.’

  She considered her options for a few seconds before realizing it was useless. ‘And if I pay?’ she asked. ‘How much?’

  ‘Fifty percent of your profits,’ he told her. ‘Not your gross, just your profits. I can’t say fairer than that.’

  ‘Why?’ she suddenly asked him. ‘Why d’you need the money?’

  ‘Money gives you options,’ he told her. ‘I like to keep my options open and I got bills to pay.’

  ‘And drugs to buy,’ she accused him. ‘Doesn’t matter how much money you have, those types of poison will take everything you’ve got.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he lied.

  ‘I’ve been living here too long not to recognize the signs,’ she reminded him. King said nothing. ‘What you really doing this for?’ she pressed. ‘So you got a few debts – so what? You’ll survive. What d’you really want the money for? Planning on running off into the sunset with someone? You’re dreaming, King. Dreaming. Or maybe you don’t even know why you’re doing it.’ She paused for a moment as he stood quietly watching her. ‘Get out,’ she warned him. ‘Get out and take what you’ve made. Pay your bills or whatever, but forget the rest. If you don’t this can only end one way for you – badly. Save yourself while you still can.’

  After a few seconds King seemed to blink and shiver his way from his trance. ‘Fifty percent,’ he told her coldly. ‘Starting now.’

  ‘Fine,’ she reluctantly agreed, flicking her cigarette away and heading for her front door. ‘Have it your own way.’

  ‘One more thing,’ he stopped her. ‘For now you can keep using whoever it is supplies you, but soon you’ll be supplied by me and only me. More profit for both of us.’

  ‘You’re going to piss off some serious people,’ she warned him.

  ‘Let me worry about that,’ he told. ‘First payment’s due at the end of the week. Don’t disappoint me. I don’t like it when people disappoint me. You understand what I mean, don’t you, Susie?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she answered, what happened to Butler and Swinton foremost in her mind. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Good,’ he told her. ‘The end of the week then. Don’t be late.’

  Inspector Johnston entered Superintendent Gerrard’s office when beckoned and stood in front of his desk. Gerrard sensed Johnston’s tension and instinctively knew something must be wrong.

  ‘Something you want to tell me, Joanne?’ he asked.

  ‘Something I thought I should bring to your attention, sir.’

  ‘Well, go on.’

  ‘I’ve been talking with DS Marino from our CID,’ Johnston explained.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’s voiced some serious concerns about the Grove Wood Estate Policing Unit.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Such as they could be behind the vigilante attacks on the estate,’ Johnston told him without a hint of concern herself.

  ‘What?’ Gerrard scoffed. ‘Ridiculous. Bloody CID. Probably just jealous of the success a uniform unit is having. You know what a bunch of glory hunters they can be.’ But the blank expression on Johnston’s face told him there was more to it than he’d hoped. ‘Or are you going to tell me I should be worried?’

  ‘No,’ Johnston answered unflinchingly, ‘but just in case I’ve placed someone I can trust in the Unit.’

  ‘And they know what they’re looking for?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And their … discretion can be trusted?’ Gerrard checked. ‘Nothing like a bit of police malpractice to bring everything crashing down around our ears.’

  ‘He can be trusted,’ Johnston assured him.

  ‘Good,’ Gerrard relaxed. ‘If any evidence arises that could damage the reputation of the borough I want to be told immediately. Although I’m sure it’s all nonsense – uniformed officers acting as vigilantes, for crying out loud. This isn’t the seventies or even the eighties. Things like that simply don’t happen any more.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right, sir,’ Johnston agreed. ‘Although there is another way – a way to be completely sure nothing can damage the reputation of the borough or the Met.’

  Gerrard looked over the top of his spectacles at her. ‘Which is?’

  Johnston moved a little closer. ‘Disband the Unit,’ she said quietly.

  ‘And raise everybody’s suspicions?’ Gerrard pointed out. ‘As good as confirm to the CID something’s wrong? I’m not sure that’s the best idea.’

  ‘Not immediately,’ Johnston explained. ‘We do it quietly, over the next two or three weeks. Let it all fizzle out and any … malpractices along with it. It’s probably the best way to be sure.’

  ‘I see,’ said Gerrard as he looked at Johnston. ‘And this is your idea?’

  ‘Largely,’ Johnston lied. ‘We phase it out over the next few weeks, keeping control of the situation – doing it our way, instead of anyone else’s.’

  Gerrard considered the situation for a few seconds. ‘Well,’ he finally said, ‘best to be sure I suppose. Leave your man in place on the Unit, just in case we have to expedite our intervention.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ Johnston nodded. ‘You can leave the matter in my hands. I’ll take care of everything and if it comes to the worst and my man finds evidence of serious wrongdoing, then it would be best for us to be seen to be taking the lead on the matter. Make it clear we share a zero tolerance on corruption and malpractices of any kind. At the very least it’ll ensure that our reputations are not damaged in any way.’

  ‘Good,’ Gerrard nodded slowly. ‘Very good, Joanne.’

  ‘No problem, sir,’ she told him with one of her infamous pixie smiles. ‘No problem at all.’

  PC Rana Knight reached the open door of the Unit’s office and warily looked inside, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw it was empty before entering and heading for his own desk. He shed his body armour and utility belt, dumping them on his chair before he checked the door to make sure no one had magically entered without him noticing.

  ‘Fuck,’ he cursed his own nerves, aware that if anyone ever found out he’d been snooping on other rank and file cops he’d never be able to work with them again. Worse – he’d forever have to watch his back and could never be sure again whether other cops would rush to his side if he ever needed assistance. But Johnston had made it clear that any information he provided would be treated as confidential and that if he was to accept the job she could pull strings and make sure he would soon be driving around in an Armed Response Vehicle with a Glock on his hip and a Heckler & Koch on his lap. It’s what he’d joined the police to do and he wasn’t about to pass up the chance to be fast-tracked to his dream job.

  He moved tentatively across the room, eyes always fixed on the door until he practically bumped into the pushed-together desks shared by Brown and Williams.

  ‘Shit,’ he cursed under his breath and rubbed his thigh. Without much enthusiasm he began to check the tops of the desks, but found nothing other than stationery and bits of kit. Stirred by his failing he started going through their stacked in and out trays, but again found nothing of interest, just CPS memos and half-completed paperwork.

 
After checking the door again he pulled at the drawers under Brown’s desk. The top two were open, but after a quick search he realized they were full of nothing but Brown’s day-to-day debris. When he pulled at the bottom drawer, though, he found it was locked – piquing his interest as he slipped the long, thin skeleton key Johnston had told him would open any locked desk in the Met from his pocket. He shook his head disbelievingly, but to his surprise when he slid it into the tiny keyhole and turned it he was able to smoothly slide it open.

  He wasted no time in diving into the contents of the drawer, but was soon disappointed to find nothing other than neatly organized files and folders containing case papers and an application to join the TSG. ‘Fuck it,’ he spat as he closed the drawer and re-locked it, just as a voice behind him almost made his heart stop.

  ‘Looking for something?’ King asked.

  ‘Jesus,’ Knight betrayed himself. ‘No. No. I was just …’

  ‘Just what?’ King asked, smiling – happy to play with his catch.

  ‘I needed … I needed an FPN,’ Knight managed to think and say.

  ‘Yeah?’ King toyed with him. ‘What for?’

  ‘Running a red light,’ Knight began to recover.

  ‘Running a red light?’ King laughed a little. ‘No traffic lights on the Grove Wood.’

  ‘On the way to it,’ Knight made it up as he went along. ‘The junction of Canning Town Road and Long Street. Saw some drivers really taking the piss today. Thought it couldn’t hurt to stick a few on. It’s all good figures for the Unit.’

  ‘You think?’ King told him, stripping himself of his body armour and other equipment. ‘This is the Grove Wood Estate Unit. We’re not really about sticking on hapless motorists. We exist to keep a foot firmly pressed on the throat of the local criminals. I would have thought Inspector Johnston would have made that clear to you?’

  ‘She did,’ Knight struggled, ‘but I just thought—’

  ‘In the trays,’ King interrupted him.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Knight asked.

  ‘The FPNs for running a red light,’ he explained. ‘In the trays over by the far wall. No need to look on anyone else’s desk. People might get the wrong idea. Know what I’m saying?’