by Tony Bassett
‘I gather this is going to be over fairly quickly this morning. Is that right?’ said the judge, who appeared to be in a hurry to get away. Perhaps he had lined up a round of golf, I thought.
‘Your Honour, yes.’
‘Good.’
The clerk of the court ordered Yusuf to stand up.
‘Yusuf Osman, you’re charged with the offence of murder. The particulars of the offence are, on November the fifth, 2015 in Chivingden in the county of Kent, you did murder Lucas Arnold Sharp, contrary to common law. How d’you plead?’
Mrs Carslake, who was sitting on a bench close to Mr Pennycook, mouthed the words ‘Not guilty’ to him, which Yusuf repeated out loud.
‘You may sit down,’ said the clerk.
‘I understand this is a pre-trial hearing to set out the prosecution’s reasons for wanting to bring this defendant, Mr Osman, to trial; to discuss the serving of evidence; and to arrange various dates,’ said the judge.
‘Your Honour, yes,’ said Mr Pennycook. ‘I represent the Crown in this case. My learned friend Mr Gideon Fanstone’s here on behalf of the defence. Your Honour, I’ve to inform you the Crown will be offering no evidence against Mr Osman. The prosecution takes the view there’s no merit in continuing the action against this defendant. Another man’s made a confession and it’s anticipated, in time, he’ll be brought to trial. However, I’ve to inform the court Mr Osman’s understood to be an illegal immigrant with no status in this country. We’ve been asked by the Home Office that he should be referred to them while inquiries continue.’
The judge asked: ‘Is that right, Mr Fanstone?’
‘Your Honour, yes. As I understand it, Mr Osman somehow arrived in Kent earlier this year and inquiries are being made as to his status. However, I’ve several testimonials I can submit to the court as to his excellent character.’
‘Mr Fanstone, as you know, this is not the time nor the place to discuss these matters,’ said the judge. ‘My hands are tied. He must be handed over to the proper authorities. Mr Fanstone, I imagine you’ll be making an application for travel costs?’
‘Yes, Your Honour.’
After a discussion with the clerk, the judge agreed the costs should be reimbursed from central funds.
‘Mr Osman!’ said the judge. His deep voice echoed round the courtroom. Mrs Carslake gestured Yusuf should stand in the dock.
‘Mr Osman, it’s not in the public interest this case against you regarding the alleged offence of murder should be continued. However, you’ll remain in custody and be placed under the authority of the Home Office. Is that understood? Yes?’ Yusuf nodded in agreement before the judge added: ‘That’s all.’
The usher’s voice bellowed out: ‘Court rise!’
Everyone stood as the judge left the court. Yusuf was led back to the cells. Then the lawyers and court officials began to depart.
We encountered Mrs Carslake in the corridor outside. Anne was in tears.
‘Come, come, Mrs Shaw,’ the lawyer said, putting her arm round Anne’s shoulders. ‘You’ve done so well in getting that ridiculous murder charge dropped.’
‘I just can’t bear to think…’ were the only words Anne managed to mumble. I helped out for her.
‘She’s upset he’s still locked up,’ I explained.
‘I know,’ said the lawyer. ‘But I’m making progress on that score. We’ve made a proper asylum application and I don’t believe he should be subject to what we lawyers call “administrative removal.” I’ve been discussing the case with Sergeant Kirwan. We think he may be at high risk from Tedros’s gang if he’s returned to Eritrea. They pose a threat to his safety. There are also concerns about his human rights, were he to return. On top of that, his mother’s believed to be in this country and that’ll no doubt help his case.’ She added : ‘He’ll be able to stay in England in detention while his asylum claim’s processed.’
‘Is there any chance at all he might be set free?’ Anne asked.
‘There’s a small chance. While his application to remain is being considered, we might argue he should be allowed to remain with yourselves at your cottage - provided he keeps in regular touch with an immigration reporting centre.’
‘That’d be wonderful!’ said Anne.
‘It’s early days. But I’ll do my best to see if we can achieve that,’ Mrs Carslake added.
At daybreak the following morning the atmosphere was so cold I was reluctant to haul myself out of our soft, warm bed. But I had a great deal of school work to do after taking so many days off - exercise books to mark and lessons to plan.
I glanced through the partly-frosted window over the fields that lay on the other side of the lane. The barren ground appeared to have been covered with a light sprinkling of glistening white frost. The dark trees swayed gently in the distance, starkly pointing up into a grey, misty sky.
My sombre mood was interrupted at around ten am when we received an unexpected phone call from Prunella Ball. She had some encouraging news for us. She had discovered the two thugs who had been plaguing Yusuf’s life for several weeks had been arrested in the city at the end of a successful police undercover operation.
‘Graham Kirwan asked me to pass on his best wishes to you and to inform you his colleague, Detective Constable Alex Kovacs, has managed to con his way into Sam Tedros’s gang,’ she told me.
‘They employed him at a car wash in Herne Bay and he managed to record on his mobile phone Tedros talking about blackmailing Yusuf and his girlfriend into handing them five hundred pounds as part of their cash demands.
‘The secret recording picked up the African’s voice clearly - including the gang master’s chilling words: “You’d not believe the efforts we’ve gone to so as to make him see sense. We even had to set fire to his prison bed.’
I interrupted to say: ‘So it was definitely Sam Tedros’s gang behind that prison arson attack?’
‘Yes,’ said Prunella. ‘The officer pretended he had collected some money from Kristina which he was going to give to Tedros and his henchman Jaefer Beraki. Then he got the two men to agree to meet him at their Canterbury car wash on the western side of the city at just after six pm. He switched his mobile phone to record mode underneath his clothing. Then he approached the two men. You’ve got to remember Kovacs is only five feet nine inches tall and Tedros towers over him.
‘Well, Kovacs handed over a brown envelope containing money and Beraki began to open it. For a brief moment, it looked as if the whole operation might go wrong because suddenly the Goliath-like man grabbed Kovacs’ shoulders and slammed him against the railings. He revealed they had been watching Kristina’s caravan and he knew Kovacs had not visited her at the time he specified. They accused him of being connected with the police. Beraki then opened the packet and found it filled with folded pieces of plain, white paper.
‘As Tedros released his grip upon Kovacs, the officer threw his hands in the air in a gesture of amazement as if to say: “I don’t understand - the money should be there.” This was the signal his police colleagues had been waiting for. Within seconds, a team of ten uniformed officers in peaked caps - including four firearms officers with Heckler and Koch submachine guns - ran from nearby hiding places.
‘Beraki was quickly overpowered and handcuffed. But arresting Tedros proved a different matter. He had been taken wholly by surprise, but he was averse to the prospect of spending the rest of his evening in a police station cell.
‘Two officers were punched by him before a sergeant authorised use of a Taser. A constable fired the 50,000-volt stun gun towards the eighteen-stone bodybuilder and Tedros merely winced. He was obliged to strike him with two more bursts of the Taser -- as well as pepper spray in the face -- before he and the sergeant were finally able to slap handcuffs on him.’
‘Yusuf will be so relieved to know they’ve been
caught,’ I remarked. ‘I’d think that detective constable must have been over the moon to see them arrested.’
‘Yes, he’s done well since he switched to Kent Police from the Met. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s promoted soon,’ said Prunella. ‘Old Tedros is in big trouble. He was cautioned on the spot and faces a whole string of charges -- human trafficking, assault, supplying drugs, conspiracy to commit arson and demanding money with menaces.
‘As he was about to be led away, he told Kovacs: “I’ll make you pay for this. You see if I don’t.” Kovacs at once responded: “Thanks for that. We’ll add threatening behaviour to the list.”
39
A few days passed. Then, on the evening of Wednesday the second of December, as Anne and I sat watching television in our front room, we noticed Sergeant Kirwan’s light-blue Volkswagen Golf pull up in the lane outside.
I went to open the door to the sergeant, who was wearing his customary brown suit and yellow tie. He was carrying a black briefcase.
‘I thought I’d just bring you up to date with events,’ he said, as I invited him into the living-room. Anne greeted him and turned the television down.
‘Well, quite a lot’s been happening,’ he said, making himself comfortable on the settee. ‘D’you know Catterick camp at all?’
When we both shook our heads, he said : ‘It’s a major Army base three miles south of Richmond in North Yorkshire. The place is like a concrete housing estate, vast and impersonal. Anyway, that’s as maybe. I went up there on Friday to grab a word with our Mr Draxfield.’
‘Did you arrest him? Has he admitted anything?’ asked Anne, who was ebullient and eager to hear of any police progress on the case.
‘Well, it was all very bizarre,’ the sergeant admitted. ‘I displayed my warrant card at the gates and my three constables and I were directed to the single storey guardroom. There we were kept waiting for fifteen minutes.
‘Eventually, a major from the Royal Engineers came to see us - and we were in for a shock. He told us : “I’m awfully sorry, gentlemen. We don’t seem to be able to locate Lance Corporal Draxfield. He may be off the base.” I was furious. I had travelled nigh on three hundred miles.
‘This major went on: “He was required to return to barracks last night. Someone here’s seen him, but it’s just we can’t locate him at present.” We went off to have a meal and came back three hours later, but there was still no sign of our Mr Draxfield.’
‘D’you think the Army are trying to foil the investigation and are hiding him?’ asked Anne.
‘I doubt it. The Army are usually very helpful and want any possible criminal matters involving their squaddies sorted out quickly,’ said the sergeant. ‘But you can imagine how annoyed I was. So I called DI Woods in CID. He was even angrier than me, and he’d been stuck in the office. He said something like: “They’ve got a bloody cheek, those barrack-room boneheads!” Hang on! Perhaps I’d better not tell you the rest of what he said! I don’t want to get myself into any bother.
‘Anyway, he promised to have a word with the chief super and get back to me. It ended up with me and my three constables having a relaxing evening in Richmond and the next day I got called back to Canterbury. DI Woods said we should leave it to the local boys. He said something like: “I’m sure Draxfield will turn up in a day or two. When he does, the officers at Richmond are perfectly capable of making the arrest and you can travel back as soon as that happens.”’
But Draxfield did not reappear at the barracks, the sergeant revealed. Richmond police made continual approaches concerning him, but all their inquiries were in vain.
‘Then something really strange happened,’ said the sergeant. ‘The next morning, DI Woods received an email from Chief Superintendent Packham. He’d received a phone call from some civil servant in Whitehall about Lance Corporal Draxfield. The civil servant wanted to hold a meeting with the inspector and the chief super at the Ministry of Defence building up in town. He claimed he wanted to give them some background information about Draxfield but refused to go into any further details over the phone. Well, the DI immediately phoned Mr Packham and asked: “Why can’t he travel down to Canterbury? I could meet him at the station.” But this was out of the question, according to the chief super. He told the inspector: “Whatever he’s got for us is hush-hush.”
‘Well, the meeting was held on Monday.’ The sergeant rummaged around in his briefcase for a few seconds before producing a twelve-page typed document.
‘This, Bob and Anne, is a print-out of an email the chief super sent to our Assistant Chief Constable following the meeting.’
‘It looks very detailed,’ I said. ‘It’s nearly half a book.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I’d better explain. The chief super was a court liaison officer early in his career and he’s got excellent Pitman’s shorthand - you know, the speed-writing system. Well, he took notes and this is a transcript of the entire meeting.’
As he handed the A4 document to Anne, who was sitting on a dining chair near the television, I asked: ‘Sorry, Graham. I’m a bit confused. This is a transcript of a conversation your inspector and chief superintendent held while on a visit to the Ministry of Defence earlier this week, is it?’
‘That’s right, Bob,’ he confirmed. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t let you keep a copy. They’re in short supply. It’s been sent to the Assistant Chief Constable and he hasn’t responded yet, so we don’t know quite yet what is going to happen with this report. But the inspector thought it was only fair, in view of Anne’s contribution to this case, you should both be allowed to glance at it.
‘We may also be letting Gemma Sharp have sight of it eventually. No decision’s been taken yet. Anyway, I can certainly give you a few minutes to have a quick look at it. Some of the wording’s had to be redacted because of the Official Secrets Act.’ The pair of us sat down together at the dining table to read through the report:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: MOD meeting re Lance Corporal Chad Draxfield.
Monday, November 30 11.00 GMT. Confidential.
Present at meeting : Chief Superintendent John Packham, Kent Constabulary; Detective Inspector Russell Woods, Kent Constabulary; Mr Wilberforce, Joint Corps Research Branch.
As chief superintendent (East Kent Division), I received a call from a verified MOD office phone number in Whitehall late on Friday, the twenty-seventh of November, in relation to a murder case. Officers from one of our murder investigation teams had expressed a wish to interview a Lance Corporal Chad Draxfield, who’s part of a unit of the Royal Engineers based at Catterick Barracks in North Yorkshire. In this phone call, I was invited along with the senior officer in the case, Detective Inspector Russell Woods, to attend a meeting with a Mr Wilberforce at the MOD offices. I was given a code number to recite at the reception desk to facilitate our visit.
We arrived at the appointed time. After entering the eight-storey Ministry of Defence building, we showed our warrant cards and were searched before being invited to a large reception area. I approached the front desk and read out the code number I had been given in Friday’s phone call.
Five minutes later, a girl whom I assumed came from the counter approached us and announced: ‘If you’d like to take the lift to Minus Four, your host will be there to greet you.’
We travelled in the lift until we were four floors down. The door opened. There to meet us was a charming, elderly man, aged about seventy, in a grey suit and waistcoat. His hair was silvery grey. He had the chain from a pocket watch protruding from his waistcoat pocket. He had shiny black shoes and was holding a black walking stick with a carved handle. He declared: ‘Gentlemen, I’m so glad you could come. My name’s Wilberforce.’
He reached out to shake both our hands and we introduced ourselves.
‘Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘If you follow me, we can go somewhere comfortable and have a quiet chat. My secretary’s making tea and coffee. Which would you prefer?’ We both opted for coffee. Mr Wilberforce called out: ‘Three coffees!’ as he proceeded down the darkened corridor.
Finally, we came to a sumptuous meeting room on the left. The spacious room had high ceilings, false sash windows with long, beige curtains. It was lavishly furnished with a three-seater brown leather settee and two matching armchairs on a thick, light-green patterned carpet.
Mr Wilberforce put down his walking cane and took a seat behind a huge antique Victorian writing desk. A portrait of the Queen hung from the wall behind him alongside a colour photograph of Royal Marines raising the Union Jack at San Carlos in the Falklands on May, the twenty-first 1982.
As he invited us to sit on the settee, the inspector asked: ‘May we ask who you are, sir?’
‘My identity’s immaterial,’ he said rather sharply. ‘Now gentlemen, I understand colleagues of yours have been making inquiries about a member of our special team, a certain lance corporal.’
The inspector said at once: ‘Lance Corporal Chad Draxfield’s wanted for the murder of a man in the Kent hamlet of Chivingden on November the fifth.’
There was a hint of indignation in his voice as he had had to make a journey to London and speak to a mysterious intermediary in order to progress his investigation.
‘We don’t call him by that name,’ said our host. ‘To us, he’s known by the codename Rocksnake. Let me explain, gentlemen. I’m one of the founders of an intelligence branch of the British Army that’s known as the Joint Corps Research Branch. This is a covert military intelligence unit of the Army, part of the Intelligence Corps.
‘It was established two years ago to collect intelligence regarding the jihadist groups ISIS and Al Qaeda. We recruit and run agents and informants. In addition, we operate within the realms of covert reconnaissance and counter-terrorism.’
