The Follow

by Paul Grzegorzek

  The brick-paved pedestrian area known as the South Lanes is a lovely part of Brighton, with interesting shops and cafés that sell all manner of items and old buildings that tower overhead, making you feel as if you’re walking through a man-made ravine. They also act as a confusing warren of twisting paths and are ideal for criminals trying to make an escape, so the jewellers here were hit every couple of months or so, often without us ever finding the culprit.

  I stopped outside a shop offering bongs and pipes, pointing out to Eddie the huge cannabis leaf stencilled on the window. ‘Subtle. I bet they do a roaring trade with all the students.’

  ‘Yeah, can you hear that buzzing?’ he asked, indicating his hidden earpiece.

  I shook my head. ‘No mate, clear as a bell here. Hang on: Eddie from Ding, test call?’ I said, pressing the button hidden in my pocket.

  ‘Yeah, Lima Charlie,’ he replied via the radio, giving the loud and clear signal.

  On the private channel we used for surveillance jobs, we tended to use nicknames and first names rather than the call signs that were reserved for use on the main divisional channels. It took too long to use a call sign every time you wanted to get hold of someone and there was a much more relaxed feel to the communication. Often we would use a mobile phone as cover, having a made up conversation and pressing the pressel only during certain parts, imparting information to the rest of the team. I had used this technique a few months ago on a job when I had been sitting on a park bench and our target, a small time dealer, decided that he would sit next to me and enjoy the sunshine. Before he could engage me in a conversation I had pulled out my phone and pretended to answer a call, giving Kev answers to the questions he was asking via the radio while the target hadn’t even twitched.

  This morning, however, it was far easier for me and Eddie to stick together. It seemed more rational to have two of us wandering around together than two apparently unrelated people window shopping at this hour of the day. I felt a little bulky and obvious with the ‘stabbie’ on under my short-sleeved shirt, but hoped that the jacket I’d thrown over the top would stop anyone from noticing. We stopped at a nearby café and I bought us a couple of takeaway coffees, then we strolled around The Lanes enjoying the sounds of the city waking up.

  The traffic noise was muted here, thanks to the tall buildings that threw the sound around in odd ways and there was a warmth to the air that promised to build into a scorching day. I was just beginning to relax and enjoy myself when the radio crackled to life in my ear, Ralphy’s voice coming through loudly enough to make me start.

  ‘Contact, contact, dark green Mercedes, index November 367, Delta Yankee Tango. Four up, three males and one female, all eastern European-looking, well dressed. One of the males is driving and they’re parked up right at the end of the street.’

  I checked my watch and guessed that this would indeed be the target vehicle as it was five minutes to nine. Ralphy spoke again, hushing his voice despite the fact that they wouldn’t be able to hear him. ‘Three out, two males and the female, and heading into Union Street. The driver remains in the vehicle and the other three are away from my view eastbound.’

  Kev’s voice came over the radio the instant Ralphy stopped talking, like the well-oiled machine that our team was. ‘Kev has control and they are towards Wester’s, to the door, and the female is knocking while the males stay out of sight to either side. Tommo did you receive my last?’ Three clicks came over the radio, which was the signal we used for yes when we couldn’t talk, two clicks being for no.

  Kev picked it up and resumed the commentary. ‘Three clicks for yes. Standby, the door is open and one of the males is in with the female, the other male stands on the door facing out. All units wait for Tommo’s call.’

  I glanced at Eddie and saw that he was as rigid with the tension as I was. This part of a job is the worst, wanting to get into the shop and stop them before anyone gets hurt but after they have done something criminal. It’s a fine line and it’s easy for something to go wrong.

  Tommo’s voice came over the radio in a frantic whisper, and before the words, ‘Go, go, go!’ were fully out of his mouth, Eddie and I were racing around the corner towards the startled-looking brute that stood on the step of the jeweller’s. He was wearing a smart-looking suit, dark grey with a black shirt, and had shoulders that looked twice as wide as I was tall. He had slicked back black hair and a swarthy complexion and he turned as we ran down the street towards him.

  Both Eddie and I automatically made it look as if we were running past, and I looked ostentatiously at my watch as we approached. ‘Three minutes,’ I called to Eddie, and saw the guard relax slightly as he dismissed us from his mind. We swung back sharply into his focus as I veered suddenly to the left, directly towards him, and his right hand shot inside his jacket.

  Just as I went for the grab, Eddie leapt into the air towards him with his knee up, aiming for his solar plexus. Unfortunately, owing to the fact that the man was on a step, Eddie’s knee caught the guy in the groin with his full weight behind it and he collapsed with a scream.

  I leapt over his writhing form and slammed into the door hard enough to rattle the shop front, tumbling through as the lock burst under my weight. Eddie followed me through and I saw a young man, obviously the shopworker, being held up against the wall by another man in a suit with the same slicked back hair as the lookout. A blonde woman in grey slacks and a white blouse pulled jewellery from a display and shoved it into her large bag as her colleague subdued the young man.

  As I came through the door, Eddie hot on my heels, I yelled, ‘POLICE!’ at the top of my lungs in case there was any misunderstanding. At my yell, Tommo appeared from a door in the corner and pounced on the man holding the terrified worker up against the wall. I ran to help him as the man turned and threw a punch at Tommo. The punch connected with his jaw but Tommo shook it off and grabbed the offending arm, twisting it into a lock so hard that I thought it would snap.

  I grabbed the other arm and we put the guy into an armlock known as the ‘flying angel’, with both his arms outstretched behind him and his wrists bent sharply upwards. He tried to struggle but we both increased the pressure at the same time and he yelled in pain. The struggles stopped and I glanced over my shoulder to see Eddie scrapping with the woman, who was trying to rake his face with her nails and make it to the door at the same time. I didn’t dare let go of my prisoner to help, but Rudd came through the door and solved the problem by grabbing the woman from behind and pinning her arms.

  Kev then came in, and I could hear from what he was saying that he had switched radio channels. ‘Yes, Charlie Papa 163, we need an ambulance to Wester’s on Union Street. We have a male, about thirty years old, who has what looks to be a serious groin injury, but I’m not going to check it myself.’

  I looked over at Eddie who was now wiping the blood from the scratches on his face, and he shrugged at me as if to say, ‘Oh well.’

  I shook my head then concentrated on my prisoner again as he tried to wriggle free. So here I was on my first day back and one of the team had managed to hospitalise a prisoner already. This wasn’t turning out to be the best week I’d ever had.

  12

  HAVING DISPOSED of our prisoners to LST, we trooped back to the Nick to debrief. The job had gone well apart from a suspected ruptured testicle, and the driver had also been caught trying to make off. I was worried about the injury Eddie had caused, not because the guy didn’t deserve it – they deserved everything they got in my book – but because it’s hard to make a case claiming reasonable force when you’ve effectively GBH’d someone.

  My mind skipped back to the other day when I’d broken Billy Budd’s arm and I forced it away quickly, determined not to even think about my secret activities in a room full of police.

  Eddie’s saving grace with this one was that apparently the man had a nasty-looking combat knife and a taser hidden under his jacket, so his instincts had been right, but I was sure that PSD wo
uld remind him that he hadn’t known that when he struck the guy. Maybe if they spent a few days a month on the streets of fear, as we affectionately called them, they’d remember what it was like to have to make decisions on the spur of the moment that could affect whether you lived or died. Though I’d like to see the powers that be try and enforce that rule on them – there’d be a mass walkout!

  The debrief was quick and to the point and all the bases were covered within ten minutes. We all checked and signed the log, and then everyone else went up to the bar on the fourth floor for tea while I stayed behind to chat to Kev.

  ‘Nice work,’ he said, putting his feet up on the desk and massaging the knee that had bothered him for years.

  ‘Yeah, thanks. How much shit do you think Eddie’s going to be in for hurting testicle boy?’

  He shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. He was armed with a taser, which as you know is classed as a firearm, so he should be okay. Although we’re not exactly the PSD poster-boys at the moment.’

  I grunted, having been concerned about that already. ‘What do you reckon, statement under caution?’

  Kev nodded and I felt a little more relieved. A statement under caution means that you write a normal statement, but spend a little more time justifying exactly why you did what you did – after you wrote out a version of the police caution at the top which says that you are aware that if you don’t get it right then you’re deep in the shit. It was the easiest way for PSD to deal with something, and then it was touch and go as to whether the IPCC (the Independent Police Complaints Commission) would get involved. Nowadays it seemed that there were more people watching the watchers than ever and, if it carried on, there’d be one poor sod in a uniform with thirty thousand evaluating his performance, and then the government would wonder why the crime rate was rocketing!

  And while I’m ranting, did you know that almost all government crime statistics are a lie? They basically add and remove groups from the statistics depending on what they want to push through parliament. If they want the public to think knife crime is down, they ignore all incidents that are committed by people under sixteen, which is a hell of a lot. If they want to scare the public into accepting some draconian measure, they simply add in the twelve to sixteen year olds, keeping the ten to twelves in reserve, just in case they need to add more weight at a later time. If you don’t believe me, ask any copper if he thinks violent crime is getting worse and whether the statistics truly reflect it.

  Kev brought me out of my musing by throwing a balled-up piece of paper at me, hitting me in the chest. ‘If you’re going to be that much use all day, can I recommend that you get your statement done and go and visit Jimmy?’ he asked, which I thought was a sterling idea.

  I went back to my desk and cracked on with the statement. I don’t know if it’s the half-finished English degree or just my sense of the dramatic, but I’ve always enjoyed writing statements and I like to get as much detail into them as possible. Any idiot can write, ‘I saw X punch Y in the face, and Y fell over,’ but to put the reader, often months later in court, at the time and place of the incident, you need to get a little more creative: ‘I saw X draw back his right fist and swing it with full force at Y’s head. The fist connected with a crack and I saw Y’s head snap backwards as the blow landed. The punch was so powerful, in fact, that Y flew backwards and I heard a dull “thwack” as his head bounced on the pavement when he landed.’

  Which do you think is more likely to get someone convicted? I know which one gets my vote.

  So an hour later I was just finishing my statement, paying special attention to how I was in fear of our target reaching for a weapon, and that in my experience his body language told me that he was armed and ready to fight, when the others came back from their extended coffee break. They all sat down and began their statements. I left mine out on the desk after I had printed it so that it could be collected by whoever was collating the file.

  An officer should never read someone else’s statement before they have written theirs, as that means they have colluded on the evidence. If it was on the desk and I wasn’t there, however, I couldn’t be blamed if someone took a sneaky peek to make sure that our versions of events weren’t wildly different.

  I grabbed some keys off the board that hung behind the sergeant’s desk and drove up to the hospital to see Jimmy. I’d totally forgotten about the fat nurse until Jimmy saw me and immediately put on an aggrieved expression. ‘You fucking arsehole!’ he greeted me, looking as if he wanted to get out of bed and thump me. ‘I’d arranged to get that Filipino nurse and you ask Frankie bloody Howard to wash me instead! Do you know how bad he smells?’

  I tried my best to look innocent. ‘Me? I don’t know what you’re talking about mate. I just asked on the way out that he made sure to take good care of you. It’s hardly my fault if he wants to scrub your privates, you shouldn’t be such a good-looking boy!’

  I reached over to pinch his cheek and he batted my hand away, trying to stop the grin from spoiling his annoyed expression. ‘Yeah, whatever. So no problems with PSD now, all cleared up huh?’

  I’d told him the whole story last night, the moment my suspension was over; I’d been expressly forbidden any contact with him while I was off. Why, I’m not sure. You’d have to ask PSD. ‘Yeah, although we may have got ourselves in a little trouble again this morning.’

  I related the whole job to Jimmy and by the end of it he was shaking his head. ‘I can’t believe it. Your first day back and the team is hurting people. You know they’ll probably find a way to make it your fault. Do you think he’s going to be okay?’

  I nodded, hoping that I was right. ‘Yeah, I’m sure it’s not that serious. If it was, Eddie would be under arrest by now, wouldn’t he?’

  He shrugged and the conversation tailed off as I tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t reinforce Jimmy’s inability to heal properly and get back to work.

  ‘So…’ I began, and then stopped as a familiar figure walked past the end of the ward holding a bunch of flowers that still had the price tag on them. What the hell was Dave Budd doing here?

  ‘So?’ Jimmy prompted.

  ‘Hang on, I’ll be right back. I’ve just seen something.’

  Jimmy nodded, understanding, and I walked out of the ward and in the direction that Dave had taken. The next ward over gave me the answer to my question. In the bed nearest the door was Billy Budd, his right arm in plaster and a drip in his left. The arm above the cast was dark red and purple and looked infected. Dave was sitting on the end of the bed chatting to him and next to him stood a man in a brown leather jacket with black elbow patches.

  The previous day’s burglary jumped back into my mind and I realised that the intruders must indeed have worked for Davey. From the description Coucher had given me, one of them was chatting with the guys I’d fought and stolen the drugs from. Shit.

  The first thing that occurred to me was that Jimmy, or they, needed to be moved, but how the hell could I go about that without alerting anyone’s suspicions? An idea came to me and I approached the desk that sat at the junction between the two wards, catching the eye of the ward sister by flashing my badge. ‘Uh, excuse me; can I have a quick word in private?’ I asked.

  The sister, a stressed-looking woman in her late forties, was small enough that she looked almost lost in her shapeless blue uniform but the look she gave me showed exactly what she thought of unsolicited visits by the police. ‘As long as it’s quick,’ she said, leading me into a cramped office that held at least two more desks than could comfortably fit in the room.

  ‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ I said, needing her goodwill. ‘There’s a chap called Billy Budd in the bed at the end of Catherine James ward. He’s a drug dealer and he works for the guy who stabbed Jimmy Holdsworth, who is currently in bed four over there. Is there any chance that one of them could be moved? I don’t think that it’s safe to have them so close, not with the sort of visitors that Billy is getting.’r />
  I looked at her hopefully but the frown on her face just deepened.

  ‘I’m sorry, but we just don’t have the beds here. Also, we need them to be in the wards they’re in or they would be elsewhere already. Sorry.’

  Her sharp tone annoyed me, although I think she realised that I only had my friend’s best interests at heart as she added, ‘But we can put a member of security behind the desk if that would help?’

  I shook my head. ‘Sorry, Sister but unless they’re armed, they won’t stop these people if they decide to have another pop at him; I’ll have to find another way.’

  I left the office before she could reply, not wanting to overplay my hand. I walked back to Jimmy, trying to work out what to tell him that would make him take any warning I gave him seriously. As I reached the bed he looked up at me enquiringly. ‘Well?’

  I sat on the bed again, taking my time as I decided how much to tell him. Jimmy was the closest thing I’d had to a brother since Jake had disappeared. If I could trust anyone it would be Jimmy, but I was afraid of what he would think of me if I told him the whole truth. Finally I settled for something halfway between truth and fiction. ‘Look, Jimmy, do you remember the Budds?’

  He nodded, clearly unsure where this was going.

  ‘Well, they work for Davey and one of them is in the next ward with his arm in plaster. I’ve got no idea what happened to him but he’s being visited by some pretty unsavoury types. I just want you to watch yourself, okay? The last thing I want is them seeing you like this and deciding that you’re an easy target to vent their frustrations.’

  I felt terrible as I saw the implications of what I was saying hit him. Jimmy had always been the first into a scrap and had always prided himself on being able to take on all comers. To suddenly be faced with a very real threat that proved just how weak he was must have been horrible for him. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt quite so bad if it hadn’t all been my fault.