I arrived for the interview five minutes late (problems on the Victoria Line), and Patel, who I suspected worked to office hours, was keen to get started. However, if I thought that this would make him keep it short, I was very much mistaken. A bookish young man you’d probably avoid going to the pub with, he was a real stickler for detail and made me go over, step by excruciating step, what I’d seen, when I’d seen it and whether or not any of it could have been avoided. Were adequate warnings given to the suspects? Was it a life-threatening situation? I know he was only doing his job but I felt like grabbing him by the collar and telling him that when criminals are brandishing guns — particularly when they’re already in the process of using them, as they had been on that day — then it’s always a life-threatening situation; and if you’re the copper who’s unlucky enough to have your finger on the trigger then maybe you might pull it a couple more times than regulations insist. It’s easy to stand back at a safe distance and raise doubts about whether the SO19 officers had acted beyond their remit; it’s a lot harder to decide when you’re on the spot. And that’s the problem we have as coppers. Not only are we up against the criminals, we’re also up against the establishment as well. They might be trying to be fair and impartial, but, ultimately, the only people who end up benefiting from their actions are the ones who least deserve it. You know what they say. The road to hell and all that. .
As it was, I stated categorically at every available opportunity that I hadn’t seen a single officer do anything wrong. ‘It was a botched operation,’ I concluded, ‘in so far as unforseen elements compromised it and caused the shooting to start, but it was ended as professionally as possible by the people on the ground.’ I’d practised that phrase on the way over there and it came out just right.
‘And do you have any idea what caused the arrival of these unforseen elements?’ Patel asked in slow, careful tones tinged with natural distrust, as if he half expected my reply to be a lie. ‘How they could have known this alleged drug deal was happening?’
‘At the moment,’ I said, ‘none whatsoever.’
His nod of acknowledgement had something of the sceptical about it. ‘Thank you,’ he said, after a supremely long pause, switching off the tape recorder. ‘I may need to speak with you again.’
It was six o’clock by the time I left and a wet, and unseasonably cold, drizzle was falling over the cacophony of central London’s dirt-fumed rush hour. Even Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, those grand bastions of the city’s tourist trade, looked forlorn. Definitely a good night to be getting home.
When I got back to the nick to collect my car, it was half-six and the murder squad meeting had broken up. Apparently, they were round the Roving Wolf with members of the station’s CID, enjoying a few end-of-week drinks — a loose tradition not harmed by the fact that the start of the weekend usually heralded another two days’ work for most of us. On another night I would have stopped by and joined them for a couple, but tonight tiredness got the better of me and I drove straight home.
It was five to seven when I shut the front door of my flat behind me for the last time that night. The first thing I did was try Tina’s mobile, but she wasn’t answering. When I’d spoken to Flanagan earlier, he’d told me that she’d called to say that she wasn’t going to make the meeting either, and I wondered whether she’d picked up a lead. If so, I’d find out soon enough. I was expecting her round later, as I did most nights these days.
I pulled a beer from the fridge, then sat down in front of the TV, trying to push the thoughts of the day out of my head. A copper can work too hard, and sometimes I felt I was almost living my cases and that, aside from Tina, and perhaps my daughter, they were the only things governing my existence. I needed a holiday. We both did. I hadn’t had a trip abroad for two and a half years, when I’d spent two weeks in Barbados with my ex-wife and daughter. It had been a good time — good food, good weather, a little bit of scuba diving — but it also felt like a long time ago. I wondered how to broach the subject of going away together to Tina. Something like that would make our relationship official at the station since there was no way we could both take time off at the same time without it being commented upon, particularly when we’d be coming back with suntans. But I didn’t much fancy going on my own, so something was going to have to give.
Tina came back at seven-thirty, looking tired, but still as gorgeous as ever. The drizzle outside had turned into a downpour and her hair was tousled and wet, curling up around the smooth, pale skin of her face. I immediately got a surge of lust that knocked the cobwebs off my exhaustion straight away. She came over and gave me a kiss on the lips. I could smell the scent of her skin, and the lust went into overdrive. A tubful of Viagra wouldn’t have had a more positive effect.
‘Let me just get out of these clothes,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll talk.’ An invitation, if ever I’d heard one.
‘Talking wasn’t what I had in mind,’ I said as I followed her into the bedroom.
I wasn’t sure whether she was up for it or not, but it was either that or she was feeling sorry for me, because she took me in her arms and nature took its all-too-swift course. I’m not the world’s greatest lover, nor does the mood take me every waking hour like it does some men, but when I put my mind to the task I can be pretty successful, if I say so myself. Dogged rather than devastating, but Tina seemed to enjoy it which, as she would tell you, was the main thing.
‘Well, that wasn’t exactly romantic,’ she said after we’d finished and were lying naked on the bed, she smoking the obligatory cigarette, ‘but it did the trick.’
‘We aim to please,’ I told her, thinking that there weren’t many things better than sex with someone you care about. ‘Do you fancy something to eat?’ Though good food was probably a close second.
‘Are you cooking?’
‘I’ve even bought the wine.’
She smiled, ruffling my hair. ‘I could get used to this.’
‘Fine by me. I’m hoping you do.’
We looked at each other for a moment and I suddenly felt awkward, as if I’d just been caught putting pressure on her. These last few weeks I’d been finding it harder to keep the pace of our relationship casual, but I was also keen not to scare her away, knowing that she wanted to take things one step at a time.
‘I’ll go and rustle something up for us.’ I kissed her on the cheek, threw on my dressing gown and headed into the kitchen to attempt to produce some home-made chicken fried rice.
While the rice boiled and the chicken browned in the wok, I cracked open the bottle of white wine and poured half the contents into two large glasses. A few minutes later, Tina followed me in, dressed in a white dressing gown and slippers, her hair wet from the shower, and it occurred to me, not for the first time since we’d got together, that I was a very lucky man.
‘Smells nice,’ she said, coming over and giving me a kiss on the cheek.
‘So do you.’
She stepped away, picked up her wine, then asked me what I’d found out that afternoon. Whatever she said about leaving the Force and doing something a bit more in line with her background and education, she lived the job just as much as me. I was sure she wouldn’t last five minutes in an office, dealing with customer enquiries or adding numbers to balance sheets. Our job was a bad one, whatever the recruitment ads might say. Underpaid and under-supported, over-stressed and increasingly over-dangerous. But it was still addictive to the right sort of person, and Tina, like me, was the right sort of person. Maybe it was one of the reasons I liked her so much. Because she knew the pressures, and unlike a lot of the wives and girlfriends of coppers, she could tolerate them.
I gave her a brief rundown of my interview with Clay, and she raised her eyebrows when I told her about Stegs’s previous run-in with Flanagan.
‘That’s an interesting one,’ she said, lighting another cigarette and taking a decent-sized gulp of the wine. ‘I thought there was some tension between them on Wednesday. I found out something as well.’
‘What?’
‘Stegs used to partner up with a guy called Jeff Benson at SO10, before he worked with Vokes. I spoke to Benson today. He left the Force three years ago, very suddenly. Just before he slung his hook, he got inside the Holtzes, posing as a doorman who was also a drug dealer and enforcer. He was well inside too, not just on the periphery. It took him months, but he got to the point where they trusted him, and he even got introduced to the big boss, Stefan Holtz.’
I chucked some Chinese vegetables in with the chicken and gave the whole lot a good stir. ‘Go on.’
‘It was a top-secret op. Only his controller was meant to know about it, but Benson made a mistake. He let slip what he was doing to Stegs one night when they were out drinking, against all the rules. He told me it was because the pressure was getting to him and he wanted to talk to someone about it. Since he couldn’t say a word to his family, he chose someone he felt he could confide in. Three weeks later his wife and child got a visit from a
