“If you’re sitting comfortably, I’ll begin,” said the woman.
As Colin studied the screen, a collection of fragmented images flashed before him.
“These are bits and pieces from before the incident occurred,” she said. “I’ll fast-forward through them.”
She froze the footage such that the screen showed a view of the rear of a dark coloured Toyota car.
“This is the start of the important stuff. As you can see, this is when he first initiated the camera, just as he got out of his car to speak with the driver in front. Sorry, but there’s no sound on this section,” she said.
As she pressed play, Colin could clearly see a dark Toyota Avensis parked in front of PC Griffiths’ car, the blue flashing lights illuminating its number plate. It read ST18 AFP.
“That confirms that he stopped our suspect vehicle,” Colin said.
As the footage continued, it showed Nick approaching the Toyota. Colin noticed that one of its rear lights was broken. That must be why he stopped it, he surmised. The driver’s door opened and a large man got out. To Colin’s trained eye, having watched CCTV footage of Malachi Maclean in the rental offices and at the service station, it was clearly the same person. At that point, the images broke up and vanished entirely. When they returned, the camera was pointing at what appeared to be the open boot of the Avensis. Colin could clearly see a holdall, like a gym bag, in the boot space, and Nick’s arms came into shot as he unzipped it. There was a glimpse of something inside, something metallic, but dark, catching the light. Colin instantly recognised it as the barrel of a handgun.
“Can you enhance that bit at all?” he asked.
“We’ll give it a go afterwards,” replied the lab technician.
The images began to break up again, but it was clear that the camera (and PC Griffiths) had been forced rapidly downwards into the boot. After that, it appeared to be shaken around, pushed deeper into the recesses of the boot area, before finally cutting out entirely.
“What do you make of that?” asked Colin. “To me, it looks like he found a gun in the boot of the car, and was then attacked.”
“Yeah, I’d agree,” replied the technician.
After a few random fragments of images and a screech of static, the footage continued. However, in this section, the screen was totally black. Sound had returned, and Colin could make out the strains of someone breathing heavily, and a background noise that sounded like rubber tyres passing over a rough road.
“We’ve analysed this part of the film. It seems as if the laboured breathing is PC Griffiths, and he’s trapped in the car boot being taken somewhere,” said the technician.
“At least he was still alive at that point,” added Colin.
The final sequence of images started in darkness as before, but then light flooded in. Colin assumed somebody had opened the car boot to check on Nick. There followed some movement as PC Griffiths was pushed and rolled around in the boot space, the camera finally coming to rest pointing out through the boot opening, angled towards the night sky. An image of a person’s face came into view. There was no mistaking Malachi’s features; Colin could even see the scar on his eyebrow. But the soundtrack suggested that other people were present. Muffled voices could be heard arguing in the distance. Malachi’s face went out of shot, only to be replaced by that of another. It was a gaunt man in his thirties, with dark straggly hair pulled into a ponytail, stubble, or a rough beard, and with piercing evil eyes.
“We’re not sure who he is...” said the technician, but Colin was not listening. He felt as if his heart had skipped a beat. The blood had drained from his face, and he had slumped into his chair, still staring at the screen, his jaw having dropped, and his mouth open. When he did not reply, the technician turned to look at him.
“Are you alright? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“I...I think maybe I just have...” he said in a shaky voice.
Colin was in shock. The last time that he had seen that face, it had been staring down the barrel of a gun at him. It belonged to the leader of the drug gang that Matt Carmine had infiltrated down in London. He had not seen that face since the ill-fated operation many years ago, but he would have recognised him anywhere, his image was burnt into his memory.
Having now recognised him, Colin was confused. Questions screamed out at him. Who was he, what was his name (he never had known his real identity)? Why was he in Manchester? What was his connection to Malachi? What was Malachi’s connection to the London syndicates? Was it just coincidental that this person should show up on Colin’s patch? Or was there a connection to him too? So many unanswered questions, but NO logical explanations.
Colin sat quietly as the camera footage faded to black. The last image was the unknown man’s hand grabbing the camera, throwing it on the ground, before complete darkness enveloped the screen. Through the static, Colin could clearly hear the hauntingly familiar Russian accent of the man from his past, before deafening silence filled the room.
“We’re assuming he smashed the camera at that point,” said the technician, her words breaking through the silence.
“Sorry,” Colin said as he shook himself free of his memories, “I don’t even know your name.”
“I’m Carol.”
“Thanks for working on this for us, Carol. Can you get a copy of the critical sections over to us ASAP? And if you can enhance any of the facial images, and the one of the gun too, could you send the still photos to us?”
Carol nodded, and set to work immediately, adjusting settings, attempting to improve the quality of the footage. Colin stood and started to leave the lab. As he did so, Carol called out to him, “Oh, sorry DI Peterson, I just remembered... SOCO had the remains of the camera before us, and they asked if you could give them a call when you got a minute?”
Colin nodded, pulling his phone from his pocket. When the call was picked up, he said, “Doug, it’s Colin. What you got for me?”
“Are you over at Techie Services? Have you seen the camera footage?”
“Yeah, I’m just on my way out from there.”
“Pretty impressive, eh? Anyway... We checked for prints on the camera’s case (what was left of it). We got relatively fresh prints matching to Malachi Maclean. As they are the newest, I’d assume he was the one who dumped the camera in the bins at Jackson House.”
“Seems likely, especially as he lives there,” added Colin.
“We also got a few partials. Not enough to put before a court, but we got a match on our system. Comes back as a Russian national by the name of Petrov, Sergei Petrov, a London-based criminal.” Colin did not know the name, but he instantly matched it to the image from his past, they were one and the same.
“Thanks for that, Doug,” he said.
“I did a quick check on his record. There’s nothing recent, seems like he vanished about 6 years ago, hasn’t been heard of since. Oh, another update for you – those bloodstained clothes you sent over from Jackson House? They were a DNA match to Maclean. It was his blood. Looks like someone gave him a good hiding.”
“Thanks again, Doug.”
As Colin walked out of the laboratory, he phoned Matt Carmine’s home number. He did not answer, but he left an answer-phone message.
“Matt, it’s Colin. I need to speak to you urgently. Something’s come up, developments in the case. Speak soon.”
Chapter 24
“Hello, Guv, how’s the retirement going? Keeping you busy?” asked Colin.
“Colin Peterson, no less? God, I haven’t heard from you in...what...how many years?” replied ex-DCI Malcolm Stern.
Colin had returned to the MIR to hastily arrange an impromptu briefing about the latest developments in the investigation. While he was waiting for his team to make their way back to the station from their various enquiries scattered around the city, he had decided to phone his former boss from the Met’s Drug Squad. Locating a number for him had not been an easy task as he had retired and moved o
ut to the capital’s suburbs for a quieter life.
“Are you still in the job?” asked Malcolm.
“Yes, Guv. I’m a DI up in Manchester now.”
“Less of the Guv, Colin, I’m a civvie nowadays.” Colin laughed.
“You’ll always be the Guv, Guv,” he said.
“Now, nice as it is to hear from you, I get the feeling you had a purpose to your call,” Stern continued.
“I wanted to pick your brains. You remember that Op, the one where Matt was nearly killed?”
“How could I forget it, Colin?”
“The gang leader – was his name Petrov?”
Malcolm thought about it for a second. “I believe it was. Why do you ask?”
“He’s turned up, up here, involved in the murder of a police officer.”
“Bloody hell. He’s a nasty bit of work.”
“I was just wondering what you could tell me about him. In particular, what happened to him after I left?”
Colin spent the following 20 minutes listening to his former commanding officer as he told him everything that he could remember.
...
Colin was eager to get the team briefing underway. He stood at the head of the MIR, impatiently fidgeting with items on the desk in front of him. Most of his team were already present, even Superintendent Mitchelson had decided to make an appearance (which saved Colin having to update him separately). As the last of the stragglers took their seats, he began.
“Ladies and gentlemen, let’s quieten down shall we?” There was a hush in the room, everybody focused on the DI. “As you know, investigations of this nature tend to move at a pace. Things change rapidly, and the direction that they follow can alter in a split-second. We’ve had something of a breakthrough, you might say, so the purpose of this briefing is to update you with what’s happened, and to refocus our efforts.” The detectives looked at one another, nobody having heard what this new evidence might be.
Colin continued, “Firstly, preliminary results from forensics link our suspect, Malachi Maclean, to the newly discovered murder scene at 53 Maygrove Road. There was a lot of blood and brain tissue at the site, all of which matches to PC Griffiths. There was a pool of vomit which DNA matches to Maclean. And, as the same vomit was found on Griff’s body, it suggests that he was present at the time of his death. We might not be able to connect him directly to the murder itself (yet), but he was there, and at the very least, was involved in the movement and subsequent disposal of the body.” The detectives nodded in agreement.
“The new evidence, our breakthrough, if you like, is that PC Griffiths’ bodycam was discovered hidden in bins at Jackson House.” There were murmurings of unrest as if this new evidence was actually old news. “Shush!” Colin said, calming his team. “Yeah, I know, it doesn’t sound like much, but the interesting part is that the Techies have managed to obtain fragmented footage from it.”
“I thought it had been smashed to pieces, sir,” someone said.
“It was, but the memory chip was useable. Anyway, fingerprints on its case match to Maclean, so it appears that he disposed of the device in his own bin.”
“That was clever of him,” one of the detectives said, sarcastically.
“Indeed, but that’s to our benefit,” Colin added. “You can all view the camera footage after the meeting, but to summarise, what it shows confirms that PC Griffiths stopped our suspect car, the Toyota, and that Maclean was the driver. It implicates him in the assault and subsequent kidnap of PC Griffiths, as he was stuffed in the car’s boot. A brief glimpse inside the boot showed a holdall containing what looks like a handgun.”
There were sharp intakes of breath from the crowd, everybody surprised at this new revelation. Colin continued, “Towards the latter stages of the film, the boot is opened and the camera points up, and out of the boot space. Maclean’s face is clearly shown again, implicating him further. But...” Colin paused for effect, just as the lab technician had done earlier. “...there were others present. One was clearly identified on camera.”
Colin walked towards the whiteboard and pinned a photo of Sergei Petrov to it. As he returned to his position by the desk, he made eye contact with Mitchelson at the back of the room. He appeared to be in shock, just like Colin had been on first seeing the image. He sat down, and his complexion turned almost white.
“Do we know who he is?” asked DS French.
“Yeah, Gary, he’s Sergei Petrov, a Russian national.” Colin stopped to catch his breath as he looked at the eager faces waiting to hear more. “He’s a London-based criminal. He’s heavily into drug supply, or at least he was when I first met him...”
“Sounds like you’ve got a tale to tell, Guv,” Gary said.
“Not really, Gary. The ‘Super’ and I had dealings with him down in the smoke when we were on the Drug Squad. Anything you want to add, sir?” he asked Mitchelson.
The Superintendent was still shaken from his encounter with the past. “Err, no, not really. I remember his face from intelligence reports back then, but I was only a junior detective at the time. You had a much closer encounter with him than I did, didn’t you, Colin?” DI Peterson then gave a brief account of his final operation in the Drug Squad.
“So, as you can see, he was pretty ruthless, armed and dangerous, and not someone to be taken lightly,” Colin concluded.
“Do we know his connection to Maclean?” Gary asked.
“Why is he up here if he’s a Londoner?” someone else asked.
“Maybe he was the murderer, given his previous...” yet another detective suggested.
“All good points,” Colin replied. “Look, we don’t have many answers at the moment. We don’t know his connection, but there is definitely one there, somewhere. His prints were on the camera, and the impression I got from the footage was that he was the leader, the one calling the shots.”
“Literally!” one of the detectives mumbled.
“I’ve spoken to my former boss on the squad, DCI Stern. He filled in a few of the blanks for me. Petrov came over to the UK from Vladivostok when the borders were opened. He settled in London and established a gang around himself, a mix of locals and Russians. They were big into drug supply, hence our involvement, but they were linked to human trafficking, prostitution, and protection rackets too. He built a mini-empire, and had a trusted gang of followers that he ruled with a rod of iron. That was who we infiltrated before the operation went wrong.”
“Just out of interest, why did it go wrong, sir?” asked Gary.
“Unknown... We couldn’t work out whether we did something to blow our cover, or whether there was another reason. There were rumours of a leak within the department, but nobody was ever found. It was filed away as a mystery,” said Colin.
Gary nodded. The Superintendent appeared conspicuous by his silence; he had contributed nothing to the discussion despite having been a part of the unit back then.
Colin continued, “Intel from DCI Stern suggested that following that operation, Petrov and his gang went underground. They were never caught, never linked to organised crime in the area, nothing, they just vanished off the face of the earth. This was...what...six years ago now. The Met assumed that he had escaped back to Europe, or a rival gang had taken him out, although no body was ever recovered. However, it seems that he moved up north to our patch.”
“Have we got any intel on him up here?” asked Gary.
“I had a word with the force LIO. There’s nothing concrete, only rumours. Apparently, shortly after he disappeared down south, there were stories that one of our drugs gangs had its leader deposed. The new arrival was reportedly of Russian descent.”
“Aren’t most of the gangs run by Russians nowadays?” Gary asked.
“Yeah, that’s true. That’s probably why it went unnoticed. It seems that this unknown Russian was something of an orchestrator. He’d organise a number of different gangs, appoint leaders, and get them all working alongside each other to his benefit.”
“Clever...”
“He never came to notice himself, never got his hands dirty, and nobody would talk about him for fear of reprisals. He was like a ghost. Of course, the way in which police forces tend not to share intelligence meant that the connection was never made, and Petrov’s name never put forward as the Russian’s true identity.” Colin raised his eyebrows.
“Sounds like he learnt from his experiences down south, the clever bastard,” said Gary.
“Certainly does. But don’t underestimate him. He’s clever, but he’s ruthless too. He’ll be armed, and he’s got no respect for the police, as my partner found out to his cost.”
Colin picked up a folder from the desk. Showing the detectives, he said, “I’ve been putting together an information folder, trying to connect Malachi Maclean to Petrov and the local gangs.” Everyone opened their own files to see what was contained within.
“Maclean has five known associates which could tie in with the Russian connection,” continued the DI. “Two of them stand out to me, the Karpov Brothers. Some of you may have had dealings with them in the past. Roman and Ivan are twins and right nasty bastards. They live on the Havering, and Maclean appears to work alongside them. But, knowing Petrov like I do, these two are prime candidates to be his right-hand-men, the face of the gang. Petrov will be pulling the strings, they’ll be his puppets.”
All eyes were focused on the mug shots and the information contained within the folders. “As you can see, we’ve got current addresses for all five, so I want warrants sworn out for them all. Can you organise that, Gary?”
“Sir.” He nodded.
“We’ve got firearms support for the Karpov’s addresses, but only uniform assistance for the other ones.” Colin looked at Mitchelson as if to say, this is your fault as the budget won’t cover firearms units for all locations. “After the mini-riot we had at Jackson House, I want PSU and riot-trained officers on standby again, just in case.” He looked across at Mitchelson, and could almost see the daggers flying through the air in his direction as the Superintendent stared at him angrily. “DS French will allocate teams, but I want to aim to hit all of the addresses at 03:00 hours tonight.”
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