The Body in the River

by T J Walter

  ‘That’s what I was thinking; won’t he make a fool of you, arresting him for such a small thing?’

  ‘That depends on how I give the evidence. The magistrate at Thames Magistrates’ Court is a stipendiary and won’t stand for any nonsense.’

  Lynne frowned. ‘What do you mean, a stipendiary?’

  ‘Well, there’s two kinds of magistrate. A lot of courts have a bench of lay magistrates; that means they are people from the community who do it voluntarily. They have a clerk to advise them on the law. But in some of the busier courts they have a qualified lawyer who does it full time; these tend to be hard-line as they operate in areas where the courts are busier and see some of the worst kind of criminals; that’s what this one is.’

  Lynne had a coffee with him and they chatted about other things for ten minutes. Then he kissed her and left to wait for his lift. Brigid arrived to pick him up just as he stepped onto the pavement outside.

  *

  At 8am, his team were assembled in the incident room at Leman Street Police Station. There was a buzz in the room as word of Silver’s arrest circulated among the detectives. When Brookes called them to order, he got several approving glances. It wasn’t often someone of his rank got involved in a violent confrontation and even rarer that they handled themselves so professionally. It didn’t do his reputation any harm at all.

  He called them to order, ‘Let’s get started. First, who spoke to the collator?’

  Liz Foreman waved her notebook.

  He nodded. ‘OK, Liz. Tell us what he had to say about Silver.’

  ‘He’s got plenty of form, sir. Starting as a juvenile. He was arrested four times for taking and driving away, twice for shoplifting, three times for burglary, then finally for GBH, which put him in an approved school. All before his eighteenth birthday. Then he did a year for another GBH and two more for robbery. Since then he’s been arrested several times but never been convicted; either the witnesses have chickened out or some clever lawyer has got him off on some technicality.’ She looked at Brookes.

  ‘Go on, Liz.’

  She nodded. ‘But everyone knows he’s a villain and well at it. Collator says he has a Rolls which he keeps in a garage near the club. Doesn’t use it much but his personal bodyguard always wears a chauffer’s hat when he does take him out for a run. It’s a standing joke among the locals, Silver thinks he’s Lord Muck. Not that they laugh in his face, mind you. He’d punch their teeth down their throats if they did, or worse. I’ve got a list of his gang members the collator gave me; there are some real hard-cases on the list.’

  ‘Good, well done, Liz. Give the list to DI Short, he’ll make us all copies. Now what about the make-up of his gang, who was looking into that?’

  Stumpy Gerrard put his hand up. ‘Me, boss.’

  ‘OK, tell us about it; who’s who?’

  ‘Right, boss, I’ll start with his bodyguard, Charlie Pearce. Mid-forties, ex-heavyweight boxer. Had his fighting licence taken away for a conviction for GBH; punched a bloke in a pub half to death. Did three years. He lives in Silver’s flat above the club, goes everywhere with him.’

  Brookes frowned. ‘I wonder why he didn’t come downstairs with Silver last night?’

  Gerrard shook his head. ‘Maybe his night off, boss, as Silver wasn’t going out.’

  Brookes nodded. ‘You’re probably right. Go on.’

  ‘His new enforcer is a hard-case named Albert While, street name ‘Mauler’. He’s got previous for armed robbery and of course GBH. Then there’s four ‘soldiers’. They’re all youngsters. Not much form but its early days for them. They apparently do the cash collections between them. But there’s not a lot known about that.’

  Brookes turned back to Gill Foreman. ‘What does the City Road collator say about that, Liz?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing, sir. If I’m brutally honest, I got the impression the uniform there steer well clear of Silver and his business.’

  Brookes nodded and shared a look with Middlemiss. ‘Go on, Stumpy.’

  ‘That’s about it, boss; the two bouncers both have form for violence but just small stuff.’

  Brookes sat for a moment, thinking. There was an awful lot missing from what Gerrard had said. But he knew this would not have been the DC’s fault; Brookes trusted the man implicitly.

  He phrased his next question carefully. ‘On a scale of one to ten, Stumpy, how good was the co-operation you got from the City Road police?’

  Gerrard looked uncomfortable; clearly he was not happy criticising fellow police officers.

  Brookes encouraged him, ‘You can be totally honest, Stumpy, you’re among friends here.’

  Gerrard glanced at him. ‘Probably a five, boss.’

  Brookes nodded. ‘OK, let’s move on. What about his brothels, who was looking into them?’

  DI Eric Brown said, ‘That was my team, boss. We’ve found two, both on Bethnal Green’s patch. Neither of the premises are in Silver’s name. Both are above shops and draw very little attention. In fact, The Green have had no complaints at all about either place. He’s also got a sex shop in Roman Road. They run pretty close to the line but so far there have been no convictions.’

  Brookes frowned. ‘Is that it?’

  Brown looked embarrassed. ‘That’s all we’ve found so far, boss. But we’ll keep looking.’

  Brookes was thoughtful for a long moment. Finally, he spoke. ‘We know that Silver has made millions out of his enterprises because he bought all those properties abroad. From what we’ve uncovered he couldn’t possibly have accumulated that sort of money; we’re missing something here. Keep looking. One other thing; no one has mentioned his accountant. Any ideas?’

  A few of his detectives shook their heads.

  Brookes looked towards DI Short. ‘Get onto Richard Mann of the Fraud Squad, he might know something about that. One last question, people: you’ve reported what you’ve found out. What’s the word on the street, what are the rumours about this man?’

  Gerrard cleared his throat. ‘He likes young women, sir, and he likes to hurt them.’

  ‘How reliable is your source, Stumpy?’

  Gerrard shook his head back and forth. ‘On a scale of one to ten, boss, I’d say five or six.’

  Brookes asked if there were any questions; there were none. He finished by saying, ‘OK, keep searching, there’s still a lot we don’t know about this man and knowledge is power. We’ll meet again same time tomorrow.’

  *

  Chapter 22 – The Magistrate’s Court

  ‘Good, but not religious good.’

  Thomas Hardy

  Thames Magistrates’ Court dated back to 1860. Since then, it had dispensed justice to petty criminals of all descriptions, as well as committing those charged with more serious offences to the Crown Court. The old stone-faced building dating from that time was finally replaced in 1990. Brookes’ early police career started in the East End, and he cut his teeth on cases heard here and courts like it.

  Arriving at the front desk and reporting to a clerk, he smelled the same smells as he had as a young constable. The smell of fear, nervousness, and anxiety were as they had always been and even modern disinfectants couldn’t fully disguise them. The courtroom was modern but had lost none of its air of tension. Even though the case he was appearing in was of a minor nature, Brookes still felt the excitement he always had before giving evidence.

  He and Middlemiss made contact with the young solicitor from the Crown Prosecutor’s office who was to present their case, Brian Curry. In his late twenties, tall and slim, Curry seemed unusually nervous. During a five minute conversation, Brookes found out why; Silver was represented by a QC, a full blown barrister from a well-known firm, one Simon Brough-Hughes.

  Learning this, Brookes smiled. He smelled the scent of battle and, no matter how minor the matter, the adrenalin would help his performance.

  There were just the four prosecution witnesses: he, Middlemiss, and the two DC’s. Curry said h
e would call them in that order.

  Brookes said, ‘Do you have his list of previous convictions?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Curry replied, ‘and copies for the court and defence.’ He stood up a bit taller, trying hard to appear more experienced than he was. ‘You can leave that to me.’

  Brookes nodded, careful not to make the man more nervous than he was. ‘Do we know the order in which the cases will be called?’

  ‘Yes, we are on first.’

  ‘Good. As soon as the beak arrives, we’ll pop outside until you call us.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I was going to suggest.’

  Brookes exchanged glances with his DS; this lad was raw. They took seats behind the prosecutor’s desk and watched as Silver was brought up from the cells below. He gave Brookes a filthy look. He was wearing a smart suit and tie and a large bandage on his right index finger. Brookes couldn’t suppress a smile.

  The usher called the court to order and the magistrate walked in. Brookes recognised him and heaved a sigh of relief. The stipendiary, Cyril Blaketon, had been doing the job for over twenty years and would stand no nonsense. Brookes was not enamoured of the whole legal system but there were one or two people in it he trusted; Blaketon was one of them. Silver would get a fair trial, but so would the public. Brookes and his DS left the courtroom and joined the crowd in the corridor outside.

  In fact, Brookes was there no more than two minutes. A bailiff appeared and called his name. He walked through the doorway and made his way to the witness box on the left of the magistrate. Taking the bible in his right hand, he read the oath.

  Curry was on his feet; he said, ‘Please state your name and occupation.’

  ‘John Brookes, Detective Superintendent.’

  ‘Were you at The Venus Club in Shoreditch High Street last night?’

  ‘Yes, your worship.’

  ‘And why were you there?’

  ‘In the course of my duty. I went there to interview Mr Raymond Frederick Silver regarding a case I was investigating.’

  ‘Please tell the court what happened.’

  Shit! thought Brookes. Curry should have asked why he went there to meet him; it wasn’t the place he would usually question a suspect. He knew he would have to improvise and get it in somehow or the defence would make something of it. But first, he must get permission to refer to his notes. A formality, but one that had to be gone through.

  He said, ‘May I refer to my notes, your worship? They were made within an hour of the incident at City Road Police Station.’

  The magistrate nodded. But Brough-Hughes was already on his feet.

  ‘If it please your worship, may I see the officer’s notebook?’

  Blaketon frowned. ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘To see there are no erasures or crossings out. There are police who will do this, your worship.’

  Brookes smiled inwardly as he saw Blaketon bristle; the QC was doing himself no favours. They all knew this was simply a tactic to put Brookes on the back foot. The usher took Brookes’ notebook and passed it to Brough-Hughes. He made a cursory examination of it and handed it back.

  At a nod from the magistrate, Brookes commenced his evidence. He said, ‘At approximately 9.50pm last evening, accompanied by DS Frederick Middlemiss, I went to The Venus Night Club in Shoreditch High Street. I needed to interview Mr Raymond Frederick Silver.’ Brookes nodded to where Silver sat. ‘The accused. His address was shown as the club and there was no private access that I could find to his actual home.’ He waited for comment, but there was none. He continued, ‘I handed a business card to a waitress and asked that she give it to Mr Silver. There being nowhere else to wait, my DS and I stood at the bar.’

  Curry said, ‘And how long did you wait there?’

  ‘Approximately half an hour.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘A large group of men arrived and headed for the bar.’ Brookes smiled. ‘Judging from the size of some of them and the number of cauliflower ears, it looked like a rugby team out on the town.’ Brookes noticed a half-smile from Blaketon. He continued, ‘To make room for them, my colleague and I moved away from the bar and sat at an empty table. A few seconds later I felt a hand on my right shoulder. But this was by no means a gentle gesture, your worship. It leant heavily on me and the fingers gripped my shoulder muscles. Looking up, I saw it was one of the floor-walkers, or bouncers.’

  Brough-Hughes was on his feet in a flash. ‘Objection, your worship, the term ‘bouncers’ infers that they were roughnecks.’

  Blaketon looked at the QC over his glasses. ‘How would you describe them, Mr Brough-Hughes?’

  ‘Waiters, your worship, they were waiters.’

  Blaketon smiled ironically. ‘Waiters who behave like roughnecks then. Go on, Superintendent.’

  Brookes nodded. ‘Thank you, your worship. I told him to remove his hand.’

  Again Brough-Hughes was on his feet. ‘What were your actual words? Tell the court how you provoked him.’

  Blaketon banged his gavel. ‘Order, order. I’m surprised at you, Mr Brough-Hughes. You will get your chance to cross-examine the witness later. Until then I suggest you keep your mouth shut and listen.’ Turning to Brookes, he said, ‘Please carry on, Superintendent. But I too would like to hear what you actually said and why.’

  Brookes nodded. ‘The man was trying to bully me, your worship. What I actually said was, ‘you have ten seconds to take your hand away.’

  Blaketon nodded. ‘Good for you, Superintendent, good for you. Had you simply been a member of the public I’m sure you might well have been intimidated. Please continue.’

  ‘In the meantime, two of my detective constables who I’d brought along but who were simply on a watching brief, seeing the rough behaviour of the, er ... “waiter”, decided to intervene. They grabbed the “waiter” and pulled him away from me. A moment after that, the accused, Mr Silver, arrived. He march up to the table and put his face six inches from mine. He said, “What the fuck do you want?” I said, “I thought it was time we met.”

  ‘Silver then leaned forward and poked me hard in the chest with his right forefinger, pushing me back. He added, “Don’t you come in here mouthing off at me, you prick. I eat cunts like you for breakfast.”’

  Brookes paused for a moment then continued, ‘He then tried to poke me again but I grabbed his finger and forced him to the ground. I then told him I was arresting him for assaulting a police officer in the execution of his duty and cautioned him. His reply was unintelligible. He was taken to City Road Police Station where he was charged and again cautioned. He made no reply.’

  Curry was on his feet. He said, ‘Is that your evidence, Superintendent?’

  Brookes said to the magistrate, ‘Yes, your worship.’

  Blaketon said, ‘Thank you, Mr Brookes. Please remain where you are.’ Then to Silver’s barrister he said, ‘Now you may cross-examine, Mr Brough-Hughes.’

  The barrister rose to his feet and nodded at the magistrate. ‘Thank you, your worship.’ He was wearing a business suit with the regulation blue stripes, starched collar, and tie as the formality of the wig and gown were reserved for the Crown Court. He made his way round the defence counsel’s table and towards the witness box, his thumbs behind the lapels of his jacket as if he were wearing a gown.

  Blaketon frowned. ‘Where are you going, Mr Brough-Hughes?’

  ‘To question the witness, your worship.’

  ‘You can do that from your place at the defence table; we’re not on television you know, and I won’t have dramas in my court.’ There were a few titters from the public gallery as Brough-Hughes returned to his desk, his face bright red.

  He paused for a long moment then fired a question at Brookes. ‘So, you went to the club looking for trouble, did you, Superintendent?’

  Brookes deliberately turned and directed his answer at the magistrate. ‘No, your worship.’

  ‘Then why did you go mob-handed?’

  Again
Brookes turned to the magistrate. ‘I didn’t, your worship.’

  ‘Yes you did, you had three officers with you. Why did you take that many?’

  Brookes turned to Blaketon and frowned. ‘My answer to that question might be to the detriment of the defendant, your worship.’

  Blaketon said to Bourne-Hughes, ‘Do you want to withdraw the question?’

  ‘No, your worship, I want him to answer it.’

  At a nod from the magistrate, Brookes said, ‘The defendant has previous convictions for causing grievous bodily harm and other offences involving violence.’

  ‘So you did go there mob-handed.’

  ‘No, your worship, the two detectives I took with me were there to gather evidence of any irregularities that might take place at the club. They were instructed not to intervene in my business unless things got out of hand. The behaviour of first the …’ he paused deliberately, then said, ‘er … “waiter” and then the accused certainly amounted to that. It was very lucky they were there or someone could have got hurt.’

  ‘Someone did get hurt, didn’t they? You do realise you nearly broke my client’s finger?’

  Brookes turned to the magistrate. ‘Yes, your worship.’

  ‘So in fact it was you that assaulted my client.’

  ‘Yes, your worship.’

  Brough-Hughes gave him a strange look. ‘So you admit assaulting my client?’

  ‘Yes of course. But in self-defence. He didn’t leave me a great deal of choice; had I not stopped him he would have hurt me.’

  ‘You had the choice of not going there in the first place, didn’t you?’

  ‘You mean I should not investigate the crimes where the suspect may become violent? I don’t think that’s a choice a police officer should make, your worship.’

  Brookes could see that Brough-Hughes was beginning to lose it. He had expected a face to face confrontation, one which he could control. But Brookes was not playing that game, addressing all his answers to the magistrate after a moment’s pause; just long enough to show his answers were not given in anger and to take the wind out of Brough-Hughes’ sails. And the magistrate would not support his bullying tactics.