by Gary Tulley
“Mike, good morning to you. Listen, I need to get you up to speed. Basically, we are rescheduling your position within the agency due to imposed pressure from upstairs. Yesterday I was summoned to an extraordinary meeting held at Downing Street relating to crucial talks with the PM about tomorrow’s trial.” From then on, Eastern could only listen in as a robot spectator whilst Rogon droned on avidly, stipulating his instructions with the protocol associated with his new role.
Rogon explained: “Ideally we are looking to get a new body in on the inside to be in a position to be able to mingle freely amongst the ‘silks’, plus of course the gallery. The fact that you’re presently alienated from the agency by arrangement means of course that you will be subjected to an ID crisis at some point. Nevertheless, it goes without saying that certain internal steps have been put in place to ensure that your cover doesn’t get blown.”
From the minute that Rogon had asserted his one man verbal assault, it had left Eastern struggling to play catch up. The mere thought of 10.30am on a Sunday morning combined with a no nonsense directive issued by a figure bearing a statistical name had about as much future as an underwater wax candle! In summing up, Eastern left his counterpart under no illusions as to his proposed new post.
“Hold it right there Rogon, when I decide to come on board, it suited me by doing the establishment a favour. Not as a flaming career, my pension lies elsewhere. Do I make myself clear?”
It soon became apparent that the main difference between a spook and a lack of communication is that there is no difference, mainly due to the overriding lack of interpretation. Unfortunately Rogon was a past master when it came to ‘mind games’. “That’s what I like about you Mike; you always say what you are thinking. It’s the one remaining trait that certain people are gifted with. Me? I’m just a by product of brainwashed Government fodder. But that was my decision, so regrets do not exist in my vocabulary. You, on the other hand are a born natural, and I admire your tenacity in the role that we share. Like it or not, there’s a job to be done, meaning that I would rather work with you, than against you good man. Now that we have an understanding going, here’s what I intend.”
He then blissfully went on talking shop, leaving a somewhat disillusioned and bemused Eastern dangling on the end of a line while waiting to catch his breath. Before concluding, Rogon stamped his call by declaring that ‘B’ would be contacting him at his flat around midday for a short briefing regarding the importance of his presence when officiating at Crown Court. Long before his coffee had become dregs, Eastern had decided to throw in the towel by granting Rogon a hollow victory on the basis that it is better the devil you know.
He then concluded that “At the very least I owe it to Joan to finish what we had both started.”
The word ‘frustration’ was fast becoming an epidemic when it applied to parking a car. Leading up to that point, Eastern’s preparation had been flawless. Unfortunately, a huge police presence within Lewes and the periphery of the court house had ideas of their own, notably, “Would you mind moving along sir? I suggest that you use the station car park.” A short while later a seriously pissed off Eastern cursed Rogon and the world at large. With every step he made his censored way back up the steep hill leading to the high street and salvation. “Fuck you Rogon! And your definition of a low profile, I’m nearly on my poxy knees.”
The idea that life could only get better was once again put to the test by the trauma arising from an identity crisis when attempting to gain admission to the main court room. Thankfully the stairs leading up to the public gallery offered little resistance. For the first time since he’d vacated the flat that morning, he finally felt that he had arrived. Heaving with relief and the use of his warrant card, he managed to secure a front row seat overlooking counsel’s ‘chicken run’. Glancing downwards, a sudden surge of warm air carried on a vibrant wave of mixed emotional voices and intermingled bodies rose up from ground zero and by doing so systematically consumed his body. The atmosphere, in contrast, became electric and he felt that he could almost reach out and touch it.
Striving to adjust his vision, he desperately attempted to scan a sea of faces, hoping to locate a pocket of recognition that would possibly tie him in with the ongoing investigation. Disappointment was no substitute for initiative, and concluding by reminding himself that ‘it’s still early days as yet and the best is yet to come. Sooner or later something will give and when it does, I’ll be raising my game…that’s a promise.” It wasn’t long before the public and the press media alike became distanced from their own singular version of events towards the case by being drawn into a sense of reality as the Sessions got under way. Flanked and handcuffed by two burly officers, DCI Conway then became the first prisoner to make an appearance in the dock, closely followed by two other co-defendants both of whom were linked to the forthcoming alleged charges per se.
From his strategic position, Eastern felt riveted to the lowly figure of Conway, who in spite of his self induced status, still managed to display a show of facial arrogance when acknowledging his counsel. Switching his gaze, Eastern endeavoured to catch Conway’s eye with his own as they bored deep inside his frame while inciting his mind to release associate thoughts of his own. “Make the most of it you mindless loser, and while you are at it think of Andy Dowling and remember this, what goes around comes around and long before this trial is over, ‘karma’ will surface and be available to bite your arse!”
The distinctive overtones from the melodic voice of the chief clerk requesting the court to all rise, cut short any prophetic views Eastern may have held. Just then, the presiding Judge entered the room and took his seat, leaving the accused to remain still standing in the dock. Moments later, their identities were confirmed and noted, allowing the clerk to submit the charges that were laid against them. In reply, a plea of ‘not guilty’ was entered by Conway, as opposed to a decisive ‘guilty’ from the other two defendants.
For his part , Eastern was stunned into silence as an unexpected gasp of disbelief rippled around the court room at Conway’s audacious defence plea. Further proceedings were observed but not before opposing counsels were summoned to the bench for a spontaneous reminder on ethics, bearing in mind the severity of the case. And then it became ‘theatre time’ as the opening speech curtain went up. Eastern closed his eyes and allowed his mind to obtain Carte Blanche to a private beach, anywhere, in a vain attempt to escape the predictable verbal lines of action as the prosecuting counsel carved out a case against Conway in an intimidating manner, as he addressed the jury.
Meanwhile Eastern had discovered utopia. The inviting jug of iced cool sangria lapping between a cocktail of fruit suddenly faded into obscurity along with the miles of sun kissed sandy beaches. A sense of feeling that he wasn’t on his own, flooded his mind and washed over his befuddled sub conscious causing him to start. Grimacing he rubbed his eyes cursing as he did so in the knowledge that reality was more than a state of one’s mind and right now could be found alive and kicking under duress inside his body. “…and so I say to you, do not be taken in by the fact…” the pleading voice emerging from the prosecutor then came back to haunt him, as he continued to brainwash the jury on an overdose of unbiased facts.
“God Almighty! Doesn’t the guy know when to stop? He must have been gabbling on for the last 30 minutes or so.”
“Actually, it’s been almost an hour, and you’re right. Personally, I get the impression that the man thinks he’s on a film set.” Without realising it, Eastern’s comments had been picked up on by a stranger sitting alongside him. Instinctively, he whiled round to face him.
“I’m sorry, I…”
“Don’t be.” The stranger intervened and continued: “I get the distinct impression that you don’t want to be here any more than I do. Quite honestly, I think the verdict when it comes will be a foregone conclusion.” Eastern’s interest in his chosen remark became aroused by seducing him into thinking that there was
more going on behind his comment than suggested. His intention to pursue their spontaneous conversation at arm’s length became appropriately well timed, as the defence counsel called for a short recess to deliberate on a specific statement. Initially the plea was heavily rebuked by the judge, who then went on to hand out a lesson in preparation to counsel, before finally agreeing.
Fired up, and acting like a cat on a hot tin roof, Eastern decided to make the first move by making his intentions known. “I think that if the truth is known, the judge is as bored as you and me. Anyway, I think I’ll stretch my legs and grab a coffee at the same time, how about you?” His remark broke the ice and caused the stranger to laugh.
“Guilty as charged your Lordship, by the way my name’s Granger…Paul Granger that is.” He then proffered his hand for Eastern to shake. Without hesitation, Eastern shook it warmly.
“Mike Eastern, I’m pleased to know you.” At least their resumed conversation had more going for it than the so called coffee. Eastern lowered his cup and quipped “I can’t see that getting past the local fraud squad without a good brief.” Once again Granger laughed and went on to probe.
“So, what’s your interest in this case then Mike, personal or professional?” Simple enough question, providing of course that your name isn’t Mike Eastern. He was forced to hesitate, as a mental picture of Rogan took up residence in his subconscious, waving a banner of security.
“That’s a good question Paul.” Hedging to gain some thinking time was coming at a price. The importance of security had entered the equation. Fortunately, Granger inadvertently put him out of his misery.
“I’m not surprised by the amount of press media on show when you consider the gravity of the case, myself included. It was beginning to look like a reporters’ seminar in the foyer at one point.” Eastern’s ears instantly pricked up at Granger’s free omission as to his line of business.
“I had a feeling that your genre lay in that direction.” It then became a ploy on his part to draw Granger in. “I notice that you’re not displaying your ID tag, any reason why?” A quizzical look began to form on his face before replying.
“If I didn’t know you better Mike, I’d have marked you down as a copper.” He chuckled.
“So you are attached to the press then?” Eastern elected to go for bust.
“Yes! In a manner of speaking. I’m a freelance journalist, mainly local stuff. After 20 odd years working in Fleet Street, this is a bloody holiday. Having said that, any personal interest I hold is with Conway.” Stopping short, he continued in a dismissive manner with a negative shake of the head. “But that’s another story, so there you have it.”
“Please…please go on Paul, I’m more than interested in what you have to say.”
“Yeah, well, as I say, I still retain my press card hence my admission, although I leave the headlines to the big boys. Mind you, I still manage to thieve a living in spite of that, but like it or not my game is about connections. So you see,” he added, “the bottom line for me means that from a passport to a pension, if you know what I mean?” His demeanour then went off at a tangent. “By the way, you never did state your business.” Regrettably Eastern now found himself caught flatfooted in midstream. Going with the tide he swiftly decided would be his best option, rather than reveal his legitimate persona.
“Let us just say that I have a legal addiction where crime is concerned, and leave it at that if you don’t mind?” Seemingly satisfied, Granger was then left to draw his own conclusions. And from then on, their conversation drifted back onto the relevance of the case. For his part Eastern was eager to digress on a personal point of view previously raised. “’My interest is with the accused namely Conway.’ Yes I’m sure that’s how you put it, I’m intrigued by the fact that you went into denial when I raised the subject previously.”
Momentarily, Granger appeared to be taken aback by the suddenness of the enquiry, although he had no qualms in discussing his past revelation. The reaction on Granger’s part when it came was almost one of total relief.
“No shit! I had a gut feeling that you were about to bring Conway back into the equation. He’s been hovering in the back of my mind for some time now.” There extempore conversation as then curtailed by the voice of the court usher alerting them to the fact that the trial would shortly be in session. A fired up Eastern had alternative ideas, by wanting more from their discussion.
“Look! Just a suggestion Paul. How do you feel about grabbing an early lunch? Quite honestly, I don’t think we are going to miss much, it being the opening day. I’d appreciate your time if we could continue where we both left off…what do you say?”
Granger didn’t hesitate and nodded his approval. “And a decent coffee to go with it. I know a place we can use, it’s only a few minutes away, just off the high street.” Five minutes later, they made the café their own.
“Ah, this is more like it.” Eastern made himself comfortable and caught the waitress’s attention. In no time at all, they picked up where they had previously left off. “So, what alerted you to forming an opinion in the first place Paul?”
“Let’s see now. Yeah it was something I came across some years ago, when iw as reporting for what was then the Oxford Mail. In addition to the field work, I was obliged to maintain and keep certain files up to scratch…proofing headlines…media arts…advertising, that sort of thing.”
“Blimey, you make it sound like a labour of love.” Eastern suggested.
“On the contrary Mike, my role became more of a learning curve, bearing in mind that I had access to headlines prior to publishing.”
“And your point being?”
“Intrigue, one article in particular that caught my attention, concerned a report engulfing a local protection racket operating at that time. It was eventually solved by the police, and get this, the arresting officer was DS Conway would you believe?”
“No kidding? I can see where this is heading.” Chimed in Eastern.
“Anyway, you can imagine. At that time, it was quite a coup for a small paper, especially knowing that the tabloids would have paid good money for the same exposure. Anyway, a couple of hours prior to running with the story, it was conveniently removed from print and substituted with a down grade on a washing line thief! Would you believe? I obviously questioned the editor’s decision, and consequently wound up being severely reprimanded in the process. Eastern meanwhile, had trouble to contain himself.
“Why do I get the feeling that there’s a good end to this story?”
“You’re not wrong mate, and it only gets better. A week or so later and purely by chance I came across a defunct company paying in book, abandoned in a waste bin. The last stub I noticed had no banker’s recognition stamp on it, and somebody had made a bad job of erasing the amount of money entered on it.”
“Hug, the story stinks already, so what amount of money are we talking about here?” Granger was now on a roll and singing like a proverbial canary.
“After much scrutiny, I arrived at a figure in excess of £2,000, which at that time was a lot of dough. And it didn’t come from selling newspapers, that’s for sure. My first instinct linked the money with the cancellation of the late headline, due to a nasty smell being circulated at the time concerning local corruption. Nothing was proved, I hasten to add, but I still stand by my convictions regarding the rumours aimed at the police. Incidentally, it’s important to remember that I didn’t have a clue who DS Conway was at the time, except to say that his father was also serving in the same branch as a senior officer. Now years later, the past has come back to haunt me, by reminding me that his son is now in spitting distance of me.”
Eastern continued to press for more. “So, when you saw his name appear once again on this latest bung charge, you just put two and two together? That’s unbelievable, I’m struggling to take your story in Paul. I’m lost for words, it doesn’t come any better than this.”
Granger’s eyes lit up as he murmure
d quietly, ‘Oh but it does Mike!” Granger stressed, “I managed to hang on to that delinquent cheque stub and I reckon someone would pay an awful lot of dough just to get their hands on something as high profile as that! Don’t you think?”
“Think?” Granger’s open revelation climaxed inside Eastern’s brain causing him to explode. “I’ll tell you what I think. Do you realise the enormity of what we are dealing with here? As evidence goes, that stub book has to be on a par with ‘Pandora’s Box’. Opening it up could finally expose the vital link between Conway and ‘Mr Big’ himself. As evidence goes, it has to be gilt edged.”
“You’ve lost me Mike, I’m a bit out of my depth here.”
“On the contrary Paul, you nailed the problem yourself, when you stated that Conway was joined to his father’s hip. Working on the assumption that we’re both right, their charismatic association all those years ago had to be the start of a conspired double act, culminating into this latest expose.”
“Hell! In retrospect, I wanted to say that myself, but I didn’t have the bollocks. What really concerns me is how in God’s name has his father managed to stay undetected all this time? From where I’m sitting his attachment damn well stinks.” Rapt in their own discrete conclusions, Eastern momentarily allowed his direction to go off at a tangent.
“How indeed? Even Rogon would be out on a limb deducing an answer to that one.”
“Rogon?” Instantaneously Granger found himself temporarily isolated, and somewhat baffled. “I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with the name. Should I be?” Aware of his sudden faux pas caused Eastern to quietly chuckle to himself.
“Forget it Paul…it was a lousy mistake, and please God you never get involved with this man.” Taking note was the easy part, Granger’s body language registered the effects deriving from a roller coaster bound on a cocaine trip.
“So, where the hell do I go from here? I mean, this changes everything. With the right make up I could be looking at the ‘scoop’ of the year. And as for the money side…”