Wicked Game

by Matt Johnson

  ‘Like you suggested, we started checking on the police officer victims to see if there was any connection. We tried previous postings, old schools, Irish connections … even freemasonry.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Not at first. It was when we looked at their previous occupations that we came up with a possible connection.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It’s a military one. We checked on the two PCs that were attacked when McGlinty the younger was killed. The PC that was killed was ex Royal Marines. After that it gets more interesting. Bridges and Skinner are also former soldiers.’

  ‘What about the other lad from Selfridges?’

  ‘So far, no. No military connections that we could find, not even family.’

  ‘What about the two blown up at Big Hill, Heathcote and Holbrook?’

  ‘Not for them, either.’ Parratt hesitated, as if savouring the moment. ‘But remember that you said you thought you recognised Finlay, the Inspector who should have been in the car with Holbrook?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Well, he’s a former soldier as well.’

  ‘So, three out of seven possible targets are ex-military.’

  ‘Four out of eight if you count Finlay.’

  ‘Did you find out what branch of the army Finlay was in?’

  ‘Royal Artillery. He was a commissioned officer.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Also of interest, he’s just finished a long tour with Royalty Protection.’

  ‘I think one of his Sergeants mentioned it. That’s probably where I know his face from.’

  Grahamslaw swung round in his swivel armchair. As he always did when deep in thought, he scratched at his chin. His instinct to have Finlay checked out had paid off.

  Parratt seemed pleased with himself. ‘Considering ex-servicemen make up only about five percent of our serving officers, I reckon this could be more than coincidence.’

  ‘What regiments did the other three serve with?’ asked Grahamslaw.

  ‘Bridges was a Sergeant in the Queens, Skinner a private in the Signals and, like I said, Evans was Royal Marines.’

  ‘Not much similarity there.’

  ‘Do you want me to leave it at that?’

  ‘No, find out if any of them ever worked together, in the army or in the police. The Bloody Sunday enquiry is still going on. Might be they were all attached to the Paras or something. Find out if they’re on the list of witnesses.’

  The Commander kept scratching at his chin.

  ‘Tell you what, Mick,’ he stood up suddenly. ‘Get some people to speak to Bridges’ and Skinner’s wives. Don’t say anything to Finlay, we don’t want to alarm him if it is just coincidence. And if you can, have a chat to Holbrook and Heathcote. Don’t let on about our idea, just make it a friendly chat … see what you can pick up.’

  Chapter 36

  Monday arrived quickly.

  The night-shift week was at an end and I was now on a late turn, two o’clock start. It was one of the busiest shifts and after a week of nights followed by not enough sleep, I didn’t really feel up to it.

  And I still hadn’t told Jenny what had been going on. I found myself making excuses, finding reasons not to raise it, and in the back of my mind I still harboured the hope that I might not have to.

  Working nights meant that I slept most of the day, only waking in time to have breakfast as Becky was having her afternoon tea. Eating and then playing with my daughter was a distraction that I revelled in. Then, by the time she was having her bath and getting ready for bed, I was preparing to leave for work. The short period between Becky falling asleep and my departure never seemed to be the right time to raise such a difficult subject.

  Like I said, excuses.

  I listened in while one of the Sergeants paraded the PCs and assigned them to their duties. With over twenty of them, the briefing took nearly fifteen minutes. Afterwards they headed off, some to their cars, some out onto the streets and a few into the canteen.

  We’d had a busy week. Already I was growing to like the men and women I had been tasked with supervising. They were an interesting mix, from a retired air stewardess through to a qualified accountant, all with one thing in common: a desire to fight crime.

  I left the briefing room and headed for my office. I had a mountain of paperwork building up, with several annual appraisals overdue. Writing them was proving to be particularly hard as I had only known the PCs for a short time. A check on the in-tray in my office revealed that I also had two complaints to deal with: minor allegations against policemen, one for swearing and another for reporting a motorist for going through a red light that the motorist claimed was green.

  It was a lot of paperwork, all of it needing time that I didn’t seem to have. After staying on late during the preceding week to try and get it done, I’d been frustrated at the small inroads I had made. Today seemed like a good day to hide myself away and get it sorted. The added benefit was that inside the station I felt secure, I could relax and not worry about watching my back.

  Monaghan hadn’t been in touch and, after three attacks in short succession, everything had gone quiet. Kevin Jones and I shared a mixed sense of reassurance and confusion at the apparent lull. Kevin had been in touch several times in the week. Calls to my mobile and text messages. He was careful not to call me at home. It got to the point where I had to turn the phone onto ‘silent’ mode so that Jenny wouldn’t realise I was getting so many calls. I didn’t want her to stumble across something I would have to explain before I was ready.

  The newspapers had been full of stories about the attacks. Quotes from ‘informed sources’ had the ‘Real IRA’ as being behind it, with the motive being publicity for the cause. Photographs had appeared of the dead terrorist together with descriptions of two men that were wanted for questioning. ‘Wanted for questioning’ was a euphemism I understood all too well. The two men were the killers, no question about it.

  Monaghan then changed tactic and had resorted to getting messages to me through Kevin. I was struggling to understand why he wouldn’t leave things to the Anti-Terrorist Squad. In his defence, Monaghan told Kevin that he knew more about what was going on than either the police or the newspaper reporters. My problem was that he wouldn’t say exactly what he knew and how he was privy to information of which the official enquiry had no knowledge.

  Both of them wanted me to move Jenny and Becky out of the house. Neither seemed to understand just how much they were asking of me. Monaghan also told Kevin that Skinner had been followed home and that his murder hadn’t taken place as a result of the IRA having his address. To my mind, that meant I was only exposed while I was at work, and, as it looked like the Anti-Terrorist Squad were getting close to making arrests, I maintained my view that we shouldn’t get involved.

  Just in case Monaghan was right, though, on every journey between work and home I would use the anti-surveillance techniques I had learned in the army in order to make it almost impossible to follow me.

  But I also had another problem. An idea was going over and over in my mind like the drum of a demented washing machine. It was a connection between the dead lads and me that neither Monaghan nor Kevin seemed to have spotted.

  The Iranian Embassy.

  Chapter 37

  The Anti-Terrorist Squad offices were buzzing with excitement. Away from the hustle of activity, Grahamslaw sat in his private office, on the telephone talking to the fingerprint branch.

  ‘You’re absolutely positive then?’ he asked, a smile forming on his face. ‘Brilliant, I’ll be in touch.’ As he put the phone down, his smile turned into an ear-to-ear grin. Mick Parratt and the two other men sitting across from him stopped their conversation and looked up.

  ‘Ok, listen up,’ said Grahamslaw. ‘That’s a confirmed match. The print lifted from the Selfridges car bomb was left by Michael Hewitson. Matt, run through the arrest for me again.’

  ‘I’d love to have the credit for it, sir,’ said
one of the men, Detective Inspector Matt Miller, ‘but PC Ben Gunn here ran the operation. Perhaps I’d better let him go through it for you?’

  Grahamslaw turned to the nervous-looking PC brought into the Yard from his station at Kentish Town. ‘Ok, Ben. Let’s hear it.’

  Ben Gunn coughed to clear his throat.

  ‘Well, sir … we’ve been having some problems with a pervert. A bloke who was hiding in bushes and taking pictures of young girls as they come and go from school. We had a complaint phoned in by the headteacher after one of the girls thought she saw the man playing with himself.’

  ‘And Hewitson turned out to be our pervert?’ Grahamslaw asked.

  ‘Yes. We set up an OP to watch the school this morning and I spotted our man in a bit of rough ground next to the railway line.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘There was an alleyway that led to the train station. He was watching the girls from the trees nearby. He had his dick out and was masturbating. It seems that he’d picked today to get a bit bolder. A girl came along the alleyway. He jumped over a fence, walked up behind her and squeezed her breasts. She screamed and he ran off. Luckily, we had a police dog ready. The dog took him down as he ran along the side of the railway line.’

  ‘Was he hurt?’

  ‘Just some bites to his legs, not too bad.’

  ‘Hope it hurt the bastard,’ said Grahamslaw. He’d always had a dis-taste for investigating sex offenders and to hear that one of them had received some instant justice gave him a mild feeling of satisfaction. ‘What about the girl? How was she?’

  ‘Shaken up, but otherwise ok. We recovered Hewitson’s camera. She was one of the girls he had been taking pictures of.’

  ‘Excellent, Ben. Aside from the fact that he’s turned out to be a suspect for a bombing, that was still a damn good bit of police work.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So, when you printed him at the nick, it came up with a match?’

  ‘…and an instruction to contact SO13.’

  ‘Nice to know the system works. What you won’t know, as I only just learned it …’ Grahamslaw pointed to the telephone, ‘…is that the ignition key you found in his pocket fits the bomb car.’

  Grahamslaw noted with pleasure the beaming smiles on his visitors’ faces. He turned to Parratt. ‘OK, Mick, we’ve got enough on our man to put some serious pressure on him to talk. Get him moved to the Green and we’ll get started on him.’

  Matt Miller raised a hand.

  ‘Go on, Matt,’ said Grahamslaw. ‘We’re all friends here.’

  ‘Just an idea, sir. Rather than move Hewitson to a cell at Paddington Green nick, why not let him run?’

  ‘What – to lead us to the others?’

  ‘Exactly. We’ve no criminal record for Hewitson, either locally or nationally. Prior to today, he’s not even been subject of a stop in the street. My guess is he’s a sleeper that the others used to make the delivery.’

  ‘They were spreading the risk, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. And it sounds like he’s not that familiar with how we work. If, for example, we were to tell him that the girl doesn’t want to press charges, he might not be too surprised at being released … and I don’t think he’d be inclined to tell the other suspects that he’d been nicked as a nonce.’

  Grahamslaw noticed Parratt take a sharp intake of breath. There were serious risks involved in allowing a terror suspect to walk. If they were wrong and he escaped, careers could be ruined. But Miller was right in one way, there was no way that Hewitson would be telling the others he was a pervert.

  ‘So, how you going to explain us keeping that ignition key?’ Parratt asked.

  ‘I won’t,’ said Miller. ‘What I’ll do is get a similar one and put it in with the personal stuff we took from him at the time of arrest. I doubt he’ll notice.’

  ‘What do you think, Mick?’ The Commander leaned back in his chair, allowing time for his deputy to fully consider Matt Miller’s idea.

  After a few moments, Parratt replied. ‘It could work. Matt’s right, if we transfer him to the Green then he’ll know he’s nicked for the bombing. After that, there’s no way the other scroats involved are going to have any more contact with him. If we let him walk now, there might just be a chance he’ll lead us to them.’

  ‘And what if he does a runner, we lose him and we’ve lost our main lead?’

  ‘That’s why you get paid more than me, guv. To make decisions like that.’

  Grahamslaw laughed as he turned towards Ben Gunn. ‘What about you, Ben? You’ve more than earned the right to an opinion on this.’

  The PC looked wide-eyed, but then quickly collected himself. ‘I agree, sir. It’s a risk, but a worthwhile one in my opinion. It might be difficult justifying it to the family of the girl, but I’m sure we’ll think of something.’

  ‘OK … well, you know what they say: Fortune favours the brave. I’m gonna say yes. Matt, I’ll leave it to you to sort out the release. Mick, you get the Special Branch surveillance team jacked up in time to catch him leaving Kentish Town.’

  Grahamslaw stood up. ‘Gentlemen, thanks once again. If you could get on with things at your end, Mr Parratt and I have things to arrange.’

  As the two young detectives departed and the door closed behind them, Parratt opened his briefcase.

  Grahamslaw saw the movement. He hoped it was the news he had been waiting for. ‘Now Mick, what have you found out from the victims’ wives?’ he asked.

  Parratt pulled out a buff-coloured folder and spread it on his lap. ‘Not much from Mrs Skinner. Her and Rod married just before he left the army and she knew very little about that part of his life. I didn’t quite buy what she was saying, mind. I find it hard to believe that they never talked about such a big part of his life.’

  ‘She was hiding something?’

  ‘Maybe … I’m not sure. There were no pictures or army mementos in the house, either. Like it was a part of his life that never happened.’

  ‘So perhaps she was telling the truth? What about the others?’

  ‘The conversations I had with Mrs Bridges and Inspector Heathcote were much more productive.’

  Grahamslaw leaned forward onto his desk. ‘OK, Mick, you have my full attention. Let’s hear it.’

  ‘Well, Mrs Bridges was very reluctant until we explained our ideas regarding a military link to the attacks.’

  ‘You had to do that? What if she speaks to the press?’

  ‘Trust me, she won’t. She’s not that type. What I learned is that, far from being a simple infantryman, Bob Bridges was a Sergeant in the SAS. You remember the army types at the funeral, the ones with a uniformed colonel?’

  ‘I do. You know I thought they looked a bit old for soldiers.’

  ‘Oh they were. They were SAS, all of them. Some retired, some still in. The Colonel was their new boss.’

  ‘Well, bugger me.’

  ‘So, after that little revelation, I was prompted to have another look at Skinner. Once again, the army were no help. They would only say that from ’75 to ’83, when he left the army and joined the police, Private Skinner was away from his regiment on ‘special duties’. Now, you can draw whatever conclusion you like from that, but my gut feeling is that he was SAS as well.’

  ‘The plot thickens.’ Grahamslaw chuckled at the cliché.

  ‘It gets better.’ Grahamslaw could see Parratt was finding it hard to control his enthusiasm. ‘The army had never heard of Heathcote or Holbrook. The marines were helpful over John Evans, the shot PC, but there was no clear link to any of the others.’

  ‘He wasn’t SBS or something like that? They do a lot of exchange work between the two special forces groups.’

  ‘No, nothing. Anyway … to continue. We got the same “away from the regiment” story from the Royal Artillery regarding Finlay. But … and this is the good bit … when one of the boys spoke to Heathcote in hospital he mentioned that he saw Finlay at the funeral and that he shook
hands with all of the soldiers ….’

  ‘…who we now think are SAS.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Finlay was at the funeral? I don’t remember seeing him.’

  ‘According to Heathcote, he was late. Snuck in at the back just as the service was starting.’

  ‘Any more?’

  ‘More?’ Parratt roared with laughter. ‘What do you want, Bill, blood?’

  ‘OK, OK, let’s go back to the start,’ replied Grahamslaw. ‘First, we have an area car stopping a bomb lorry and one of the PCs is killed, the other shot. The ARV crew get one of the McGlinty brothers. We know they mostly operate together, so it’s fair to assume that the gunman that got away was probably the brother, right?’

  ‘And the RUC Special Branch say that Dominic McGlinty and Declan Costello are both absent from Belfast.’

  ‘Next we have the car and motorcycle bombs that kill Bridges and the young PC. Bridges we now know for certain is ex-SAS.’

  Parratt checked his notes. ‘Then the shooting of Skinner, who we now think might also have been in the SAS. And finally, the attempt on the Stoke Newington Duty Officer and Sergeant, where another man who is again ex-SAS is supposed to have been in the target car.’

  Grahamslaw stood upright. He’d made his mind up. ‘I’m going with this, Mick. I wouldn’t ever call myself a conspiracy theorist but that bomb in Stoke Newington has been bothering me. Who the hell would want to plant a bomb in a side street like that to try and kill a couple of uniformed lads doing their daily job? It didn’t make sense. Your theory does. Let’s get Finlay up here and talk to him.’

  ‘I think he’s nights. That might not be too easy to arrange.’

  ‘Well, in that case we can go see him at Stoke Newington. I want to know what he knows. The man is no fool, so I’ll bet he has also spotted the link. And as a matter of utmost priority, get some people working on where the killers got their information. If they’re targeting former SAS soldiers there has to be some way they got hold of their details. It could be from within the job, or maybe within the army. Wherever it is, I want it found.’