Rough Justice Part 36

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' said Simmons.

'I told you, don't kiss me on the mouth and it'll be fine,' said Kelly. 'Veal ca.s.serole,' he said to the waiter. 'Chorizo al vino and mushrooms in garlic oil.' and mushrooms in garlic oil.'

'Good choice,' said Castle. 'And I want b.a.l.l.s.'

'Of course you do, Pelican,' said c.o.ker. 'That's why you joined the storm-troopers.'

'Meatb.a.l.l.s,' she said to the waiter. She smiled sweetly. 'Two orders.'

'Fabada,' said Simmons.

'What's fabada fabada?' asked Shepherd.

'Bean stew,' said Simmons.

'Yeah, I know it's been stew but what is it now?' asked Kelly. Simmons groaned but everyone else laughed. The waiter patiently wrote down the rest of the order, most of which came from Kelly. Then he shuffled off.

Shepherd looked at c.o.ker. 'You said we were storm-troopers, which I can't help thinking is a bit of a dangerous a.n.a.logy.'

'Sieg Heil!' said Kelly.

c.o.ker grinned. 'Okay, crack troops, then. When you've got a problem, send in the police. When the police have got a problem, who do they send in?'

'The Ghostbusters?' asked Castle.

c.o.ker ignored her. 'The b.l.o.o.d.y TSG, that's who,' he said. 'Who go into the places the borough are scared to go, and we deal with the sc.u.m that they're too frightened to go near.'

'You've got a pretty low opinion of the rank-and-file cops, then?' asked Shepherd. Everyone at the table laughed.

'Let me tell you a story,' said Kelly, leaning forward. 'A few years ago I had a run-in with a very heavy drug-dealer. Nasty piece of work, East End boy made bad, was big into crack cocaine and heroin, selling it into some of the bigger housing estates. Got very heavy with late-payers, had no qualms about shooting his rivals, and killed at least three people to my knowledge. Ricky Wilkes, his name was.'

'Yeah, good old Wilkesy,' laughed c.o.ker. 'He's in Florida, right, doing life?'

'Yeah, he went over there to meet some Colombians and one of them was a DEA agent,' said Kelly. 'He was never the sharpest knife in the drawer. Anyway, when he was in London he was pretty much untouchable. Whenever the Drugs Squad got close he'd just buy off a few witnesses or pay someone to take the fall. He must have been responsible for twenty per cent of the drugs and half the a.s.saults on our patch. Anyway, I decided to get him. I couldn't get him on drugs but I did pull him over once and got him fined a grand for driving without insurance. I used to do a stop-and-search whenever I saw him must have given him a couple of dozen fifty-nineties. Then finally I got him on a biggie. Found a young druggie Wilkes had knifed, nearly killed him. Had him charged with a.s.sault and almost got him but he paid off the victim, gave him five grand to forget what had happened. Anyway, that's when it starts to get a bit anti-woodentop because Wilkes found out who I was and got an address. My old address, as it happened, because I'd split from the missus and moved out. He got the old address and that means he got it from the book.' He nodded enthusiastically. 'And the only way he could have got my address from the book was if a b.l.o.o.d.y copper had given it to him. Some bent b.a.s.t.a.r.d taking a backhander.'

Shepherd knew that every police station had a staff book: it listed all the officers, their next of kin, addresses and contact numbers. It was supposed to be highly confidential and only used in emergencies.

'Wilkes sends someone to cut the brake pipe of my car except of course it's not my car it's my missus's and she almost crashes,' continued Kelly. 'Luckily my kids weren't in it.'

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' said Shepherd.

'It gets worse,' said Kelly. 'About a week later I take the kids shopping and we're in the Bluewater shopping centre. Wilkes had managed to track me there, don't ask me how, but he comes up to me bold as bra.s.s and right there and then threatens me and says he's going to put me in the ground. My kids started crying and, I tell you, if they hadn't been there I'd have done for him. Thing is I was off-duty so I couldn't do much even if the kids weren't there. Anyway, he says that he was sorry I wasn't in the car with the kids when it crashed but next time I wouldn't be so lucky. He went off with two of his mates. Just then a copper walks by, one of Kent's finest. So I tell him who I am and what happened and that I want to make a complaint and I want to get copies of any CCTV footage. You know what the woodentop does? He points and says there's a station outside the shopping centre and that I should report it there.'

'Moron,' said c.o.ker.

The waiter returned with their wine and water. Kelly waited until he had placed the bottles on the table and left before continuing his story.

'I thought maybe he didn't get what I was saying, so I took out my warrant card and said I was in the job, that I was with my kids and that I'd just been threatened by a big-time drug-dealer.' He picked up one of the bottles of Rioja and sloshed wine into Shepherd's gla.s.s. 'He couldn't have cared less, told me to go to the station and walked off like Dixon of f.u.c.king Dock Green. That's why I hate the woodentops, mate. Worse than useless.'

'And what happened with Wilkes?' asked Shepherd. 'Before he went t.i.ts up in Florida?'

Kelly carried on pouring wine for the rest of the team. 'Why do you think something happened?'

Shepherd shrugged. 'Because you don't look like the sort who'd let something like that drop,' he said.

Kelly nodded. 'd.a.m.n right,' he said.

'You should have given the guy a good kicking,' said Shepherd.

Kelly pulled a face. 'Do that with a s.h.i.+t like Wilkes and he'd come back at you with a gun. Or petrol-bomb your house. Once he knew where my wife lived I was screwed. I backed off but tried to get him flagged with Intelligence. That's when I was told that SOCA were on to him and SOCA took precedence, so that was that.'

'What did SOCA want him for?' asked Shepherd.

'They wouldn't say, but nothing ever came of it. Two years ago he went over to Florida and, by all accounts, he'll be inside for twenty years or so.'

'So all's well that ends well,' said Shepherd.

'I think you were right the first time,' c.o.ker told him. 'Someone should have taken Wilkes down a dark alley and shown him the error of his ways. And screw SOCA for stopping you flagging him. Bigger waste of time than the woodentops, SOCA.'

'I hear they're going to wind it up,' said Kelly.

'SOCA? Where did you hear that?' asked Shepherd.

'Grapevine,' said Kelly. 'It's a waste of money. Too many highly paid cooks and not enough Indians.' He grinned. 'Spot the mixed metaphor.'

'Yeah, it was supposed to be a British FBI but it's turned into as big a flop as the Child Support Agency,' said Kelly. 'Name me one major success they've had, one big bust. You can't, can you? We go into battle every day for no thanks, they get big salaries and company cars and do f.u.c.k-all.'

Shepherd smiled and nodded. Kelly had a point, but he couldn't tell him so. The waiter came back with a tray of dishes and began placing them on the table. A waitress appeared with two baskets of French bread. c.o.ker took a chunk before she had even put them on the table.

Shepherd stabbed his fork into a piece of chorizo and listened to the banter of the cops around him. They were totally relaxed with each other, friends as well as colleagues, and when they teased each other it was with affection and mutual respect. Yet again the bond between them reminded him of the relations.h.i.+p between the men in the SAS. They knew they could rely on each other, that there would always be someone there to watch their back, someone they could trust. Shepherd knew that he was well on his way to being part of that trust, that they liked Terry Halligan and respected him, but Terry Halligan didn't exist and the only reason he was trying to earn their trust was so that he could betray them. It wasn't the first time that Shepherd felt disgust at the job he was doing, and he was sure that it wouldn't be the last. It went with the turf.

Shepherd's alarm woke him at seven thirty and he groaned as he fumbled for the snooze b.u.t.ton. He'd drunk six gla.s.ses of wine in the restaurant, which was well within his capacity but his body definitely needed more sleep. He waited until his alarm beeped again, then rolled out of bed, showered and shaved, then made himself a mug of coffee, still in his bathrobe.

Kelly had dropped Shepherd outside his house a little after midnight so he had to take the Tube to work. It was no great hards.h.i.+p but meant an extra fifteen minutes' travelling time. He sat down on the sofa, swung his feet up onto the coffee-table and phoned Charlotte b.u.t.ton.

'Good morning, you're up bright and early,' she said. 'How's it going?'

'All good,' he said. 'Had a night out with the boys and we're all getting on well. No one's asked me to castrate a rapist yet, but it's early days. Something I wanted to bounce off you. I had an interesting chat with a CSO at Paddington Green yesterday. Just chit-chat about making the transition from the army to the cops. He wants to be in CO19 but the best they would do is let him on litter patrol.'

'And?'

'And I explained that I'd joined West Mercia Police and he jumped immediately to Hereford.'

'Ah,' said b.u.t.ton.

'Either he's very good at joining the dots, or he'd been sniffing around. And he knew about my nickname, which means he must be on friendly terms with someone on my team.'

'You have a nickname? That's so sweet.'

'Please don't do this,' said Shepherd. 'It's far too early in the morning for sarcasm.'

'Come on, you have to tell me.'

'No, I don't,' said Shepherd.

'Pretty please?'

Shepherd sighed. 'Three-amp.'

'Three-amp? I don't get it.'

'Good,' said Shepherd. 'Now, can we talk about this CSO?'

'I'll run a check on him,' said b.u.t.ton. 'What's his name?'

'Ross Mayhew. He was in Iraq, two tours.' He decided not to mention that Mayhew had served with the Second Battalion, The Rifles. b.u.t.ton had never discussed the Real IRA attack on the Chinese restaurant but she must have known that Major Gannon's G.o.dson was one of the men killed, and he didn't want her going along that train of thought.

'Anything else?' she asked.

'All quiet,' he said. 'How's Razor getting along?'

'Ticking over,' said b.u.t.ton. 'One thing for sure, Gary Dawson's going to be out of a job when this is all over.'

'For his political beliefs?' asked Shepherd.

'For being a member of a racist organisation,' said b.u.t.ton.

'From what I've seen, Dawson's more concerned about upholding the law than he is about race.'

'We'll let the CPS sort that out,' said b.u.t.ton.

'Any news of your successor?' asked Shepherd.

'Not yet,' said b.u.t.ton. 'Soon as I know, you'll know. I promise.' She ended the call. Shepherd went upstairs to get dressed.

Working on the Commissioner's Reserve was more varied than being attached to the borough. The team could be sent anywhere in the capital and generally they went in larger groups, with up to fifteen vans turning up to some of the bigger incidents. On Wednesday they were on duty at Chelsea's Stamford Bridge stadium in west London, keeping the visiting Liverpool fans out of trouble. Despite football intelligence to the effect that a major fight between the rival fans was on the cards, the match went ahead peacefully and Shepherd and the team spent the best part of three hours sitting in the van in full riot gear, waiting for a call that never came. Not that anyone seemed upset at not seeing action they were all happy enough to take the overtime. Shepherd's mobile rang three times while he was in the van. It was Katra, but he couldn't risk taking the call while surrounded by his colleagues so he switched off the mobile and didn't call her back until just after eleven o'clock at night.

She answered immediately and he could tell she had been crying. She sniffed and told him that someone had just thrown a brick through the sitting-room window. 'Are yo-'

'We're both fine but there was a mess and I didn't know what to do,' she said.

'A brick, you said?'

'Half a brick. Dan, do you think it was that man? The man who punctured the tyre?'

'I don't know, Katra. Did you see or hear anybody?'

'Liam and I were in the kitchen. He was doing his homework and I was ironing and helping him.'

'Did you call the police?'

'I wanted to talk to you first. I called you but you didn't answer. I didn't know what to do, Dan I'm sorry.' She started crying again.

'No, I'm sorry, Katra, I was working, I couldn't answer the phone. Is Liam okay?'

She didn't answer and Shepherd pleaded with her to stop crying.

'He's asleep,' she said eventually.

'Okay. What have you done about the window? It's not raining, is it?'

'No, the weather's fine. I picked up the gla.s.s and I've put a piece of cardboard over the hole.'

'How big is the hole?'

'It went through the window that opens, on the left, and it's all smashed.'

'Okay, here's what you do,' he said. 'In the left-hand drawer in the kitchen, where I keep all the receipts and handbooks and stuff, there's the business card of a glazier. They have a twenty-four-hour service so they'll come out tonight. If there's any problem call me.'

'Do you want me to phone the police?'

'I don't think it's worth it, Katra. It's only vandalism so it'll be pretty low down their list of priorities.'

'But it must be that man again,' said Katra.

'We don't know that for sure,' said Shepherd. 'Did you see him?'

'No,' she said.

'Then you're just guessing,' said Shepherd. 'The punctured tyre could have been kids messing around and so could the brick.'

'I don't think so, Dan,' she said.

Shepherd rubbed his face. Katra was almost certainly right: one act of vandalism might have been an unlucky break but two was almost certainly personal and Shepherd didn't have any enemies in Hereford other than Talovic. And if it was someone he'd crossed in his undercover work they wouldn't be slas.h.i.+ng tyres or throwing bricks through windows. But he didn't want Katra any more worried than she already was, and even if they did tell the police he doubted they would do much. 'Let me deal with it when I come home, okay?'

'Okay,' she said quietly.

'Katra, I'll take care of it, don't worry. Just get the window fixed tonight so that the house is secure.'

'I will, Dan,' she said, and ended the call.

Shepherd hadn't eaten since lunchtime but his stomach was churning and he didn't feel hungry. He made himself a cup of coffee, added a slug of Jameson's and sat in front of the television half watching Sky News until he fell asleep.

Shepherd's team spent Thursday providing extra security for the state visit of the President of France. The van was one of six that shadowed the presidential motorcade from Stansted airport, in Ess.e.x, to Downing Street and Buckingham Palace, then to the French Emba.s.sy in Knightsbridge. They had no time to stop anywhere for lunch but Fogg arranged for sandwiches to be delivered to them when they were parked at the rear of the emba.s.sy.

As Shepherd bit into a beef sandwich his phone rang. The caller had blocked the number but he climbed out of the van and took the call. 'Have you told the police yet?' The caller was male, the voice gruff and aggressive.