The Singhing Detective

by M. C. Dutton

  I told you so was going around the station. An old PC who was now the Case Progression Officer had a reputation as a right old woman but they now listened intently to what he was saying. He was proclaiming loudly and often that he knew this would happen, that Jazz was nothing but trouble. He told everyone that Jazz never listened to advice and always went off and did his own thing and now look what has happened again! It had to be said that PC Iain Blain was having a very self-righteous time and enjoying every minute of the attention he was getting. The young PCs, fired up by PC Iain Blain, were up for sorting Jazz out there and then. It wasn’t going to be long before there would be calls for Jazz to be banged up, sacked or just taken off the case and sent home out of harm’s way. Rumours about Jazz, his past and the present spread like wildfire around the police station and became wildly exaggerated. Tony was missing after all, he had not been found yet, and he certainly hadn’t been confirmed dead, but all levels of staff, from police officers to cleaners, had started to use the word murderer when mentioning Jazz’s name. The murmurings had escalated from lousy skipper to murderer and once the rumour started, his name became synonymous with Jack the Ripper.

  DCI Radley had calmed down. Jazz was struck dumb by the torrent of abuse and truth he listened to. He had been far too cocky, and yes he had flouted rules and regulations. He had promised to keep in touch and he hadn’t. Everything that was being said was true and it felt like with each statement he was being hammered further into the ground. He had no excuse or ability to stand up for himself. Tony was missing and it was his fault. What he did want more than anything else was to stay on the case. He wanted to find Tony. He owed it to him.

  The self-confident DS that had strode into his office under one week ago was now a humbled man who just wanted to do the right thing and bring whoever had done this to justice. John Radley found this aspect of Jazz quite difficult to handle. He admired Jazz. He had a job to do and that was to keep him in check, to make him accountable, but he had seen how hard he worked and how he motivated his very small team to work hard and to work smart. He didn’t think for one moment that it was Jazz’s fault that Tony was in this predicament. No one would have guessed that Tony, a mummy’s boy, would have gone off on his own and got into trouble. No one would have thought he had the balls to do it. He also knew Jazz would pay dearly for this. Already the murmuring had started and soon no one would work with him.

  DCI John Radley had a lot to contend with. Seven gang murders and one missing DC, a station full of officers baying for Jazz’s blood and the press waiting for a statement from him. He sat back and thought, Yea Gods! What have I done to deserve such a shambles? Jazz interpreted this look of resignation as quite promising for him. A bit of him perked up and he tentatively asked if he could work with DS Tom Black. He went on to explain that Tom was happy with this arrangement and added that one of Tom Black’s team was working with him this morning.

  He explained there were many leads being worked on to find Tony. His mobile phone was being tracked and it was hoped this would lead them to him. Sharon was working on the CCTV and trying to follow the journey of the Land Rover that was seen outside Carlton Road by a witness. He now had DCI Radley’s full attention and continued, “I have Mad Pete downstairs and he was the last person to see Tony. I’m going to interview him again. Flora, the neighbour, is making a statement as we speak; she has described the men leaving the house in Carlton Road and one fits the description of Tony. I’ve been working with a gangland contact who is assisting me with any information that comes to light. I have the name of the top Vietnamese gang leader, Tran tan Giap, and I expect to find him shortly. I got the names of the men who killed Alice Watson and they were found dead from electrocution and the first two of the seven men killed over the past 48 hours. My contact is close to all of what is going on and he owes me big time. I will pursue this today for more leads.” Jazz sat back, took a deep breath and looked hopefully at his DCI.

  DCI Radley smiled, a touch ruefully, but a smile none the less. Jazz was surprised at this reaction but took it as a good sign. It made him sit up and lean forward. “I know I have said it before, Sir, but I promise to keep in touch. I feel so close to getting this solved. I will find Tony. I have found the killers of Alice Watson. I will find out what the hell is going on in Ilford to cause all these murders. This is my town, Sir, and it has gone mad. I want the chance to help put things right.”

  DCI Radley leaned back in his chair and surveyed the DS in front of him, who was still fired up. The humble person didn’t last long, he thought. He had to admit that he was getting results and though he was going to have a rough time with his colleagues, he was a good officer. He worried, however, that he wouldn’t get the support necessary to get the job done. But there again, Tom Black would ensure that happened. In fact, Jazz and Tom seemed a good team. There would be an enquiry when Tony was found and he was well aware that as DCI for Ilford Police Station, he might not come out of it very well. To hell with it, he thought, perhaps some of Jazz is rubbing off on me too. He shifted in his seat and broke the silence. “One more chance, Jaswinder Singh, but only if you work with DS Tom Black.” With a dismissive wave of his hand, he added, “Back here, the pair of you, at 4 p.m. for an update.”

  Jazz left the room, quickly stuttering his thanks. He couldn’t believe his luck. Perhaps DCI Radley wasn’t such a bad sort after all. In fact, he reckoned he was fucking brilliant. He went to find DS Tom Black to tell him they were partners. The euphoric feeling left him quite quickly as he passed a group of officers standing to one side of the corridor just staring at him in silence. He was about to say hi as he passed when one hissed, “Murderer” at him. Unprepared and beaten by such a name, Jazz reflected for a second on what to do and decided now was not the time to retaliate. He put his head down and moved quickly on to find DS Black. Shocked and sickened by what had happened, Jazz found him and just sat still for a moment. Tom Black prodded his shoulder and asked what the hell was up with him. Internally Jazz was reciting the mantra of keep calm, not now, keep calm, not now. He couldn’t and wouldn’t let this get to him. He had to find Tony and help find the gangland murderers. If he was going to have a breakdown, it would have to wait.

  Jazz gave Tom the potted version of the meeting with DCI Radley. They both set their lines of enquiries out and said they would meet up at 3 p.m. with an update. It was 2 p.m. now so not much time today for results. Jazz went off to the gents for a long, long swig from his hip flask. He needed it badly.

  He got on the phone to contact Bam Bam. He reckoned he had time for a quick meeting with him if there were any updates. Bam Bam said he might have something in the morning, but nothing today. It was back to Sharon to see where she had got to with the CCTV. Sharon was moving at a snail’s pace. The CCTV was controlled by different areas. It was difficult enough just coordinating the CCTV footage in the same area but now they were into the Wanstead area, they had even more managers to contact. She sounded tired but resolute and said she would stay all night to collate it. Jazz thanked her.

  The officer dealing with the phone, whose name turned out to be Miles Sweeney, said it would take a while and he had been promised a result by some time tonight if they were lucky. Patience was not a virtue Jazz had much of and his was being sorely tested. In the meantime, he could at least interview Mad Pete.

  Someone was kicking the cell door and shouting to be let out. Jazz knew those dulcet tones. Mad Pete was having a massive panic attack. Of course he needed a fix. How on earth was he going to square it so that he could shoot heroin in a police station? He took him out of the cell and told him urgently and quietly through clenched teeth to “shut the fuck up. I am taking you somewhere so you can get your fix, OK?” Mad Pete nodded continuously and Jazz could see him shaking. He hated fucking heroin addicts, they were so needy and useless until they had their fix and then they went all sleepy and relaxed until it had kicked in fully. Mad Pete was not going to be any use for an hour or so.

  J
azz took Mad Pete into a police car, telling the Custody Officer he wanted to drive him around so he could point out relevant places he had been to with the Vietnamese men. He wasn’t going to bring anything new to the meeting at 3 p.m. or 4 p.m. but hopefully by tomorrow morning there might be something new. He was going to get some fish and chips to eat while Mad Pete got his fix. He would need sustenance to get him through the night. Soon he would be closer to the truth. It would take a miracle for Tony to still be alive in the morning.

  For now, he had to let Mad Pete have his fix. He was in the back of the police car without a care in the world as Jazz drove around. He took the car back to the station in time for his 3 p.m. meeting with Tom. Nothing much had come forward in such a short time. They both knew it wasn’t realistic to expect anything else but DCI Radley had to be kept sweet. Their meeting at 4 p.m. was short and sweet and it was agreed a meeting the following day at 4 p.m. should have more updates. Of course, in the meantime, if there were any major developments, DCI Radley would be the first to be told.

  The raids on gang members was organised for 5 a.m. the next morning. Tom would be in on that. Jazz would go and help Sharon with the CCTV after his interview with Mad Pete. Jazz took a police car and went to Sainsbury’s for a bottle of vodka. He wasn’t going to get home until late tonight and he could do with a top up. He told himself he hadn’t had much today. A hip flask doesn’t hold much, just a few decent swigs and he was going to need something to keep him going.

  On his return, he went and found Mad Pete, who was quietly sitting in a cell. He was told he wasn’t a prisoner, but he said he felt safer in the cell. He was still spooked by everything and kept saying that they were going to get him too. He took a bit of convincing but Jazz wanted to go out in an unmarked car and travel around the area to see the places Mad Pete went with the Viets. After 10 minutes of hysteria, with Mad Pete saying he was never going anywhere near where they were, he calmed down. As Jazz told him, an unmarked police car it might be but it had the police siren if needed, as well as the police radio. He added quietly that the one he was borrowing had toughened glass windows which couldn’t be smashed in. That was a lie but Mad Pete didn’t have to know that.

  It was getting on for 7 p.m. before they left in the unmarked car. Jazz had to speak to Sharon first and see how she was getting on. She said the car was now travelling towards Charlie Brown’s roundabout near Woodford so they were making progress. She said she was getting stills of some of the pictures because a few showed the driver quite clearly and so if blown up, might show who was in the back of the car. He said well done and when this was over, he would take her and Tony out for a celebratory meal. Both thought this sounded a bit too optimistic but, nevertheless, a bit of optimism and faith that Tony would be found alive perked them both up.

  “So where shall we go?” was the question Jazz put to Mad Pete.

  It took a few minutes for Mad Pete to gather his thoughts; he looked nonplussed. Then something turned on in his brain and his face lit up. “I know Mr Singh. They had a place in Barking they took me to. I don’t know the address but I know the way there.” Jazz nodded and drove down the one-way system behind the library to Ilford Lane, which would take them to Barking.

  Ilford Lane was still the same as he remembered. The Bangladeshi families had moved there many years ago. The shops were full of brightly-coloured saris and lots of Indian restaurants. The butchers were, of course, all Halal. The specialist food shops, which supplied wholesale sacks of rice, onions and chick peas together with all the other necessary ingredients required by a good Indian household, were still open. It was quite late now so the pavements, which were usually bustling with mainly Indian men and women, were quieter. Jazz remembered the time he came here with his mother to buy food. As was the Indian way, she bought in bulk. There was only two of them but rice was always bought by the sack. As she would say, it keeps and is cheaper that way.

  Indian people were very proud and received guests with platefuls of food. He remembered when he lived in Manchester and visited his relatives. Sometimes he just arrived without notice and before he knew it, the women of the house had wafted into the kitchen and before he could say chicken tikka with rice, little titbits would be brought to him freshly cooked. The samosas were a favourite of his along with pakoras and poppadoms, then a steaming meal with an assortment of meats and fish together with rice would be put in front of him. He would eat like a king though he only popped in to say hello.

  When he was married, his family would visit him and his new wife would get in such a state trying to cook a huge meal for his family. He noted she had never helped in the kitchen in Pakistan; her parents had servants to do this. He arranged with her that they would cook curries together and freeze them down so when visitors came she could just defrost the curry and serve it as fresh. He had enjoyed cooking with her. In the early part of their marriage they had tried to make it work but, he sighed in memory, they had nothing to keep them together. She wanted her life back and he wanted something else, what that was he didn’t know and he still wasn’t sure.

  His core was Sikh but his life was as a cockney East Ender. He didn’t know who he was but at the moment he just wanted to be left alone to get on with his job. He needed to find Tony very badly. It was getting on for 24 hours since he was last seen and there was no word from anyone about him or his whereabouts. It was like he had vanished off the face of the earth. That was not good and Jazz went cold at the thought.

  “So come on, Pete, where abouts in Barking am I heading?”

  Mad Pete shifted in his seat, he didn’t like this at all. “Gascoigne Estate, Mr Singh, I’ll show you where when we get closer.”

  Of course it would be the Gascoigne Estate, Jazz thought, it was often the place where the trouble happened. Old timers had told him that years ago the Gascoigne Estate was a nice place to live but over the years it had got shabby and trouble makers were moved on from area to area and eventually ended up living on the Gascoigne Estate. It was true to say that if you had a persistent offender, especially the ones under 21 years old, they usually came from the Gascoigne Estate. Mad Pete lived on the Gascoigne Estate so he should have known the name of the road.

  “What are you playing at, Pete? You know this area very well.” Mad Pete shifted nervously, not wanting to say anything.

  Jazz stopped the car by the side of the road and turned to Mad Pete. “OK, what’s going on? There is something very strange happening in this area and your playing silly buggers isn’t helping one bit.” Mad Pete shifted uncomfortably and tried to look away. Jazz was losing his temper. He had no time for this fucking stupid coyness. He had very little time to play with and he needed answers now. “What is going on in my town and why?” he shouted at Mad Pete. This was followed by a few moments of threats and promises of keeping him safe; we have known each other for years and you know I will look after you. Jazz added quietly, “Without me you are dead meat and you know it, Pete.”

  Jazz could see that the nice treatment wasn’t working; Mad Pete was still hesitating. Enough was enough and Jazz told him that they were going on a trip. He knew the place the Triads hung out. He was going to drive up to the front of the restaurant they used for meetings and screech to a halt; that should get their attention he reckoned and then he would throw Mad Pete out of the car and make off to Ilford Police Station. He had Mad Pete’s attention now. “I don’t care what they do to you, they can have you for fish bait.” That thought turned Mad Pete chalk white with fear. He spluttered and stuttered and whined that they would kill him slowly if they got him. Jazz promised to protect him which caused a yeah right look from Mad Pete. He knew Tony was dead and didn’t think much of Jazz as a protector. “Well you’re dead if you don’t help me that’s for sure and I don’t know if I care anymore. You want my help then you help me.” Jazz was losing patience with this dirtbag, he needed the information now.

  Mad Pete knew he had no choice now; he had to trust Jazz. With a resigned sigh and
shrug, he gave in and said he would tell him everything he knew. Before he started, he made Jazz promise to take him wherever he was going. He didn’t want to be alone. He could feel the drug-induced madness creeping up ready to engulf him. He wished things were different. All he wanted was to be left somewhere safe and warm and with a stash of heroin to keep him going, but that wasn’t going to happen. He wanted to shoot up again, to feel that warm and comfortable feeling that made him float and smile, but Jazz wouldn’t have that until he knew everything. He promised Mad Pete he could have what he needed afterwards.

  REALITY CHECK

  It transpired that not long after Jazz left Ilford, the Viets moved in. Mad Pete always had his nose to the ground and knew when things were afoot. He explained he had to be careful and one step ahead of the Holy Trinity. “They could get pretty nasty, Mr Singh, if you put a foot wrong. I have had a few beatings to put me in my place when I stepped out of line. I hated the lot of them. The bastards didn’t let anyone else work their area. I had to make a living, Mr Singh, and they weren’t having it.”

  “When the Viets arrived, they came in small and quiet like. I saw them set up a place on Gascoigne and I said nuffink. I ain’t grassing on no one. They had a nice little cocaine factory set up and I got talking to one of their keepers. I used to do a bit of running for him, nothing big. First of all it was just getting him some milk or whatever he needed cos he couldn’t leave the house. He got to trust me and I’d do other little jobs like taking just a bit of spliff to Edmonton. He looked after me and they treated me right. Over the time I got to speak to one of the bosses, who gave me some heroin. I missed the stuff. I did odd little jobs for them. It was very hush hush so as the Holy Trinity never found out.” Jazz was speechless, who would employ this pathetic excuse of a man to run drugs for them? The Vietnamese, obviously, but were they that desperate? Mad Pete saw the look and added defiantly, “I am honest, Mr Singh, and trustworthy. They looked after me and I was valuable to them.”