The Badge & the Pen Thrillers

by Roger A Price

  They were both at her back before she reached the rear door, and before the echo of the bin lid closing had left the yard. She wouldn’t have known what hit her.

  *

  Vinnie and Harry walked out of the crown court building’s front doors and down the grand steps, towards the road. The new courts at Preston were a modern build but still held some grandeur of design in keeping with the reverence that the building deserved. This grandeur was typified by the numerous slopping short steps that swept majestically around the frontage in a large crescent. That said, Vinnie still missed the old crown courts which had originally been the assizes, where the quarterly sessions were held long before the transition to crown courts. He had especially admired court number one, with its hand crafted dark wood adornments and life-sized paintings of former judges which hung on the walls. The very last one being of a well-respected judge who had been brutally murdered at his home in the early eighties by some embittered ex-con he had previously dealt with. An atrocity, which had shocked the nation at the time. The old place was still in use, but as a high court.

  They had walked to court from their office in the new central police station, which was just around the corner. Once they’d cleared the building and were on their own, Harry spoke.

  ‘Well, what did you make of him?’

  ‘Time will tell, but he seemed genuinely frightened as he started to open up.’

  ‘You’re the one with the experience of handling informants.’

  ‘Bit rusty now, but I’m cautiously optimistic. Are we on safe ground talking to him, or do you think we should hand him over to trained handlers?’ Vinnie asked himself as much as Harry.

  ‘I could run it past the local authorising officer at the registry?’

  ‘Might be wise, but on reflection, as we are not tasking him to do anything, we should be OK. We are simply debriefing him. We could always register him as a confidential contact,’ Vinnie added.

  ‘In your hands, that one,’ Harry said.

  Vinnie knew that under the strict rules that revolved around using informants, or CHIS as they were officially known, covert human intelligence sources, they could not task Sadiq to do anything proactive. Even a phone call that could be construed as having being made on behalf of the police and which amounted to an intrusion into someone’s personal life, could not be carried out without all the appropriate authorities. And even though, technically, Vinnie was still a trained handler, the local dedicated source unit would be the relevant authority. For now, they were just listening to Sadiq, so listing him as a confidential contact would hopefully suffice.

  The idea behind confidential contacts was to ensure some level of confidentiality for members of the public who wanted to pass information on the QT. Otherwise, everyone passing info who didn’t want to be a witness, would have to be fully registered as CHIS; the system would collapse.

  ‘It might be easier if you ring the authorising officer — you talk the same language. I’ve never handled informants, well, not officially by today’s rules that is, and I’ll seek a further adjournment of Sadiq’s sentencing hearing and request an urgent “in chambers” audience before the judge.

  Vinnie nodded and both men picked up their pace. Ten minutes later, both came off their desk phones at the same time.

  ‘The AO is happy for me to register Sadiq on the source unit’s system as a confidential contact, but if a Piggott text is needed, she says that the registry will generate it and deliver it in order to provide scrutiny and objectivity,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘Sounds fair enough,’ Harry replied.

  ‘But we’ve got to make sure that Sadiq knows the limitations going forward. How have you got on?’

  ‘Don’t get comfy; we’ve got an audience in camera before HM Judge Wilkins in 30 minutes. The listing officer had a quick chat with him and he said he wanted to know more before agreeing a further adjournment.’

  ‘Is Judge Wilkins the same judge that was due to sentence Sadiq initially?’

  ‘Not sure,’ Harry said. ‘The listing officer didn’t say.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘You’ve done what?’ Susan said, as she peered out behind the dirty net window covers.

  Babik wasn’t quite sure what she expected to see, but he’d noticed her do it before, especially when she was tense.

  ‘We needed insurance, that’s all. She’ll not be harmed,’ he said, though he wasn’t sure whether he could keep that promise. Things were starting to get intense. ‘Why don’t you just sit down and we can go through things,’ Babik added as he pulled a chair from under the formica table for her. She huffed and then took the chair. Babik took one opposite.

  ‘Where is she now?’ Susan asked.

  ‘In the next room,’ Babik started, and before Susan could say anything he quickly continued. ‘So keep your voice down. She’s fine, gagged and tied up, but fine. Or should I say, gagged, tied up and with Bonehead for company, but otherwise fine.’

  ‘It’s not funny, Cornel.’

  ‘You’ve got that right. I thought it was your job to give me the heads up if any of your piglet friends started to have a look at me.’

  ‘I know, but they obviously kept it very quiet.’

  ‘I thought you were right up the local DI’s arse.’

  ‘I am, was, but at the last minute he got involved in something else, so handed the management of the “secret raid” onto another DI whom I don’t know. That’s why I couldn’t find out the specifics until it was too late.’

  Babik could see moisture in Susan’s eyes, so decided to back off. He knew she was just one cop and couldn’t access everything. ‘It’ll be fine, a bloody inconvenience, but fine,’ he said.

  ‘How long do you intend to keep the woman?’ Susan asked him.

  ‘Like I say, she’s of no interest to me, just insurance.’

  ‘Insurance against what?’ she asked.

  ‘Best you don’t know, but worry not. You need to start thinking about how we can get you back into the pig sty.’

  ‘What? Are you mad? Don’t you think I’m just a little bit blown?’ she said.

  ‘Not exactly. I’ve got an idea to run past you.’

  *

  Introductions over, Judge Wilkins invited Vinnie and Harry to sit down. They were in the judge’s private office which was located behind court number 10. The judge, a grey-haired man in his late sixties, was seated behind a huge mahogany desk covered in files, each tied in the middle with pink ribbon. The two stand-up chairs in front of the desk were as ornate as the desk itself, but the cushion on Vinnie’s was very firm, not comfortable, probably stuffed full of straw or old horse hair, he thought. He let Harry do the speaking, as the ranking officer and the judge listened intently until he had told the story.

  ‘I had a quick peek at Mr Sadiq’s file as you walked over, and I have to say, he is looking at a substantial term of imprisonment.’

  Harry was up front with the judge as to their earlier views on Sadiq’s request, which seemed to go down well. Vinnie noticed an almost imperceptible nod of agreement from the judge, probably involuntary. He knew many times judges would listen to representations made by police handlers, who could come across as being too greatly in favour of their informants. The fact that they had knocked Sadiq back at the start should buy them some currency with this one.

  Harry went on to explain the ill-fated raid and murder, and how they hoped Sadiq could help. After all, it wasn’t as if they were pleading with the judge for a lighter sentence at this stage, just the opportunity to progress things.

  ‘And his counsel’s view? the judge asked.

  ‘He doesn’t know,’ Harry replied.

  Vinnie had known this bit would be trickier. Judges and barristers were very much of similar ilk; after all, the former grew from the latter. But Harry did a fine job of explaining, especially when he said that Sadiq’s doubts were over his solicitor and not the barrister. He suggested that defence counsel could be briefed in general term
s, but be ordered by the learned judge not to disclosure or discuss it with his instructing solicitor, if His Honour ‘so desired,’ Harry added.

  ‘And why on earth should I so desire?’ the judge replied.

  Harry didn’t answer, so Vinnie jumped in. ‘Because of certain sensitivities, Your Honour.’

  ‘Go on, inspector.’

  ‘Because of a corrupt detective sergeant.’ Vinnie then told him about the missing DS Susan Grady, whom they suspected of having tipped off whoever attacked them.

  ‘Understood: but relevance to the accused?’ the judge asked.

  Vinnie told him how Sadiq had mentioned that the man he wanted to tell them about was in a corrupt and personal relationship with a serving detective.

  ‘And you think this Babik is also the man behind Sadiq’s offending?’

  ‘Both related to brothels, which used trafficked and vulnerable women,’ Vinnie said. ‘We don’t usually believe in coincidences, Your Honour.’ He saw Harry’s eyes widen as he said that, but he wasn’t going to be so flippant as to add the ‘or fairies’ bit to his saying.

  ‘OK gentlemen, I’ll go along with this, I’ll order listings to leave the case with me from here on in, and I’ll grant an indefinite adjournment sine die, but will expect to see it listed back before me as soon as is feasible. I will summon both counsel before me here in chambers, and say that I am satisfied that the potential and quality of the information Sadiq may be able to provide is in the public’s interest to explore,’ as he spoke, the judge wrote down his own words on a legal note pad.

  Vinnie leaned back into his chair as did Harry, and as soon as the judge had finished his notation, Harry spoke.

  ‘Thank you, Your Honour, but what about instructing defence counsel not to give their instructing solicitor the reasons for the adjournment?’

  ‘That, I will not so order. Officers, you are asking me to effectively order counsel to hoodwink their own solicitor, and that is something I will not do, not without extremely good cause.’

  Vinnie opened his mouth to reply, and shocked himself at what he said next.

  *

  Ten minutes later, Vinnie and Harry had left the premises and were making their way back to the police station. As soon as they were away from the court buildings and out of earshot, Harry turned to face Vinnie and spoke.

  ‘“Because we believe the solicitor is also in cahoots with the corrupt officer and Babik, Your Honour.” I think I’ve got that word perfect, Vinnie?’

  ‘I guess, Harry.’

  ‘So you have just lied to one of Her Majesty’s crown court judges?’

  ‘It might be true, and it was the turning point for Wilkins to grant everything we were after,’ Vinnie said.

  ‘Christ, Vinnie! I should put you on paper as soon as we get back to the office. You had better hope that what you’ve told the judge actually turns out to be correct.’

  Vinnie didn’t answer; he could see that Harry was angry with him, so chose a contrite silence. He knew he’d taken a huge risk, one he hadn’t actually planned to take. The words had just come out. But he also knew he was on safer ground now, with Harry at least; as Harry hadn’t actually corrected him in front of Judge Wilkins. Something that Vinnie decided he didn’t need to point out. There was no point in pushing his luck too far.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Pick up the damn phone, Vinnie,’ Christine said, as she listened to the ring tone. It seemed to run on for ages and she was expecting it to go to answerphone, when he answered.

  ‘I’ve just seen the news feed, my God Vinnie, are you OK? You should have rung me.’

  ‘So sorry, I’d every intention of ringing you before the press conference but events have been constant all day, but yes, I’m fine thanks, a bit shocked at first, but OK now,’ Vinnie answered.

  ‘It says the attack was targeting a witness and is not believed to have been aimed at the officers; is that true?’ she asked.

  ‘Absolutely, so there’s no need to worry further, there’s no madman after me this time.’

  After their joint experiences with Moxley in the past, she was relieved to hear it. It was during that manhunt she first met Vinnie. She felt relieved to hear him confirm he was OK, and could tell by his voice that he wasn’t hiding anything to spare her concern. In fact, just hearing his voice was calming in itself. ‘Is this what it’s going to be like, dating a detective?’ she asked with a smile in her voice.

  ‘I bloody hope not!’

  She said she’d let him get on as he was obviously busy, and would keep an open hope that they could meet up later, but understood if he couldn’t.

  She was about to ring off when Vinnie brought up her earlier request. ‘Don’t bother with that now, you’ve had enough on the go,’ she said.

  ‘Too late, I’ve just put the phone down from the OIC in the Manchester case, and was literally about to call you.’

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve given him the heads up re Debroski, so he’ll get nowhere near the women, but having vouched for you and your intentions, he’s put a call into social services, who are still looking after the women.’

  ‘That’s brilliant! When do you expect to hear back from him?’

  ‘Hang on, I’ll just put you on hold,’ Vinnie said, and then the line went dead. Two minutes later, he was back on the line. ‘I guess tonight’s drink was never going to happen…’ he started.

  ‘More work?’

  ‘For you, yes, that was the Manchester OIC ringing back, the women have agreed to meet you, but it will have to be tonight. Grab a pen and I’ll give you the details.’

  Christine thanked Vinnie and ended the call before re-reading her notes. Liverpool in two hours. She’d just have time to grab a sandwich and change, before heading for the M62.

  Having eaten and changed into a T-shirt and jeans, Christine put her hair in a ponytail before grabbing her pad and dictaphone. She wanted to look casual, and hopefully disarming, anything to help put these two poor women at ease. She also read the full story online, something she should have done before she met Debroski; she’d have seen the sensationalistic nature of his article if she had, and would have been forewarned.

  But taking the sleaze out of the narrative, it was obvious that the two women, only referred to as A and B, had been through hell. Both were in their late twenties and had come to the UK on the false premise of being hired by a well-to-do family who ran a successful media business from home.

  It had been said that the family had claimed to want two women to act as housekeepers, but with the opportunity to do some photo shoots, as well. They claimed to have seen their profile photos and were keen to explore with them the chance to use their images within their media business. That was the hook. It was also the red flag, or should have been. And according to their evidence, that was pretty much all they had known.

  Iqbal Mamood and his wife Sabera had kept the women in a virtual state of captivity for the ensuing months, making them work all hours for as little as £1 a day. Their lodging and keep were free, but it would be hard to put any value on them. They were confined to a locked garage with the use of an outside toilet and fed on whatever food was left over once they had catered for the Mamoods. They had Sundays off, and were permitted to use the main house’s downstairs shower room as a treat.

  The farmhouse where they were kept was in the middle of nowhere and they were only allowed into the nearest village once a month, when they had to endure the lecherous advances of their chaperone, who was the Mamoods’ nineteen-year-old son, also called Iqbal.

  It was hard to imagine such things went on in modern Britain.

  By eight o’clock, Christine had parked her car around the corner from the address on Queens Drive in Walton, in the northern area of Liverpool. Queens Drive was a major thoroughfare that functioned as a ring road around the eastern side of the city. The house was a post-war semi-detached at the end of a section. The light was almost gone now, and Christine saw the fla
sh of an interior light from behind the front room curtains, which twitched as she walked down the front garden path towards the front door.

  Before she could knock, the door was opened by a woman in her forties, who identified herself as Mrs Brown from social services. She presumed who Christine was, and asked to see her press ID before allowing her inside. Mrs Brown spoke with a Manchester accent and seemed pleasant, but business-like. She stopped Christine in the hall and spelt out the rules.

  ‘You come highly recommended, and the ladies have only agreed to meet you as they understand you are keen to report what has happened to them in order to warn others.’

  ‘Absolutely, though I was hoping to include a beginning with a snapshot of what life was like for them in Romania, followed on by what they found once they arrived. Irrespective of the fact that they were obviously duped, it would be interesting to understand their expectations.’

  ‘I’m sure that will be fine, and I believe I have you to thank for protecting them from one of your colleagues, whose intentions were more salacious.’

  ‘Trust me, it’s a pleasure, and Debroski is no colleague of mine.’

  Mrs Brown smiled, then she walked into the front room and Christine followed.

  Inside, she took one armchair as Mrs Brown took the other. In between them was a three-seater settee with two women on it. Both were stunningly attractive, with slim builds and raven black hair; one cut short in a bob, the other shoulder length. Mrs Brown introduced Christine to the women, and then the women to Christine. Bob haircut was to be A, and shoulder length hair was B.

  Christine couldn’t ask, but wondered if the women were related, from appearances they could have been twins. Mrs Brown said that both understood English quite well, but were not as good at speaking it. Christine promised to speak slowly and keep her questions short and simple.

  An hour later, Christine had all she needed. As scary as their experiences had been in this foreign land, she was just relived that the women had not been forced into a more depraved level of servitude. She was even surprised a little, as both women were truly beautiful, although their eyes hid darkness within that was nothing to do with their deep brown colour.