by Matt Johnson
The small amount of background conversation that had started up as the film was showing died down as the significance of his words hit home.
A slide showing face-on pictures of two men appeared on the screen.
‘Some of you will know these two but, for those of you who don’t: the one on the left is Dominic McGlinty and the other is Declan Costello. MI5 and army intelligence confirm that they are missing from Belfast. There is every reason to believe that these, and maybe some others, are the active service unit currently at work in the capital.’
McGlinty and Costello’s pictures remained on the screen as the lights were switched on.
Grahamslaw continued. ‘I have it on very good authority that the ceasefire is intact. These are IRA men. But this is not the work of the official or provisional IRA.’
Grahamslaw paused for a moment, allowing the effect of his words to sink in.
‘You will be aware that McGlinty’s brother, Seamus, was shot dead by the crew of an armed response car last week. At the present time we have absolutely no idea where they are holed up. With the exception of the bomb near Selfridges, there have been no telephone warnings and no claims of responsibility. I now intend that all departments will brief everyone present on current developments within their sphere of operation.’
Grahamslaw paused again and stared hard at his audience. He looked from face to face ensuring every pair of eyes met his.
‘My aim is simple. I want no secrets kept today. If you know or even think something, let’s hear it. I want these bastards caught and I want them caught quickly.’
The Special Branch Chief Superintendent stepped forward as Grahamslaw sat down on a vacant chair at the front of the room.
From the SB officer, the meeting learned that all known sympathisers and haunts were under observation.
An MI5 officer stood up next. Resplendent in Saville Row suit and Guards regimental tie, he reported that internal Republican sources knew nothing about the current London attacks. So far as the intelligence services were concerned, the ceasefire was still intact and the recent attacks were either the work of an unknown splinter group or McGlinty and Costello were renegades, acting on their own.
The scientists reported that they had managed to obtain only one fingerprint. It was from the car outside Selfridges that had contained the primary device used to lure police to the area. Fingerprint records were currently being searched, as were all new sets taken from arrested persons. So far, the owner of the fingerprint had not been identified.
As the final speaker returned to his seat, Grahamslaw stood up once more.
‘From today people, all leave is cancelled. We will not rest until these men are detained.’
At the end of the meeting, Grahamslaw returned to his office. He kept a percolator on the go at all times and was pouring himself a drink when there was a knock at the door. It was his number two, Mick Parratt.
‘Come in, Mick,’ he called. ‘I hope you’ve got some news for me. The briefing didn’t produce anything fresh.’
Parratt had been Grahamslaw’s sidekick since they had worked together on the major investigation team covering North London. The Superintendent was a detective of the ‘old school’, exploiting informants, working every hour God sent and keeping his ear to the ground. The new breed of investigator used statistics, computers and technology to get answers. Parratt knew the best results were achieved by getting out there, on the streets. But he was also an ideas man, a thinker; and therefore formed a link between what was happening on the ground and the managerial levels at which Grahamslaw now operated. He was someone that the Commander had come to rely on. And he was also the only person who knew about Emma. Within a fortnight of his appointment as Commander, SO13, Grahamslaw had Mick Parratt installed in an office along the corridor.
‘That went all right, don’t you think?’ said Parratt.
‘As well as could be expected, I suppose. I had been hoping that somebody might come up with a gem that we hadn’t thought of. Still, it’s not often you get SB and MI5 actually turning up for a meeting.’
‘Not that they actually contributed much.’
‘No, but then I reckon these attacks caught them on the hop. They didn’t even know that Costello and the McGlinty brothers had left Ireland until we asked them to check.’
‘Did you get anything on the hoax call to Complaints?’
‘Nothing. It was recorded and we had a chance to listen to the voice, but it was heavily muffled and sounded like an assumed West Indian accent. The mobile number that the caller gave was false.’
Grahamslaw sighed as he slumped into his chair.
‘You ok, Bill?’ asked Parratt.
‘Yes, I’m fine. What makes you ask?’
‘Just a gut feeling. Things all right at home?’
Grahamslaw scowled. ‘Shut the door, Mick.’
Parratt did as requested.
‘What gave me away?’ Grahamslaw asked.
‘When we were at Stoke Newington nick you sneaked off a couple of times to take private calls. It was pretty clear something was rattling you.’
Grahamslaw took a deep breath. For a moment, he struggled to find the right words. He could feel his emotions wanting to surface. His voice quavered slightly as he answered. ‘It’s Emma,’ he said. ‘She wants to finish things. Her old man wants to start a family.’
‘Are you surprised? She’s at that age when she needs to decide before it’s too late.’
‘I know … it’s just … well, I’ve come to rely on her.’
‘What … as a regular shag, you mean?’
Grahamslaw smiled inwardly. It was a gentle ribbing that managed to defuse the emotion Parratt had clearly sensed in the room.
‘No … more than that. She’s the woman I should have met when I was younger.’
‘Maybe, but what if you weren’t right for her? She likes you cos you’re older and wiser.’
‘A father figure?’
‘That’s about it. When you were younger she wouldn’t have given you a look-in.’
‘I guess you’re right. I’m just not sure how I’ll be without her.’
‘Ha … don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll find you another hot young thing to wear out your old bones.’
‘Not like Emma, you won’t.’ Grahamslaw breathed deeply again. He was slightly cross with himself. His personal life was a distraction that shouldn’t be interfering with work.
‘So … what you got for me?’ he asked, sitting up.
Parratt did have news. He had sent his detectives to search through the files of the officers attacked within the previous few days. And they’d turned something up.
‘It could be something, it could be nothing,’ said Parratt.
‘That’s the type of statement that solves murders, Mick. Let’s hear it.’
‘Like you suggested, we started checking on the police officer victims to see if there was any connection. We tried previous postings, old schools, Irish connections … even freemasonry.’
‘Anything?’
‘Not at first. It was when we looked at their previous occupations that we came up with a possible connection.’
‘Go on.’
‘It’s a military one. We checked on the two PCs that were attacked when McGlinty the younger was killed. The PC that was killed was ex Royal Marines. After that it gets more interesting. Bridges and Skinner are also former soldiers.’
‘What about the other lad from Selfridges?’
‘So far, no. No military connections that we could find, not even family.’
‘What about the two blown up at Big Hill, Heathcote and Holbrook?’
‘Not for them, either.’ Parratt hesitated, as if savouring the moment. ‘But remember that you said you thought you recognised Finlay, the Inspector who should have been in the car with Holbrook?’
‘I did.’
‘Well, he’s a former soldier as well.’
‘So, three out of seven possible targets are ex-military.’<
br />
‘Four out of eight if you count Finlay.’
‘Did you find out what branch of the army Finlay was in?’
‘Royal Artillery. He was a commissioned officer.’
‘Really?’
‘Also of interest, he’s just finished a long tour with Royalty Protection.’
‘I think one of his Sergeants mentioned it. That’s probably where I know his face from.’
Grahamslaw swung round in his swivel armchair. As he always did when deep in thought, he scratched at his chin. His instinct to have Finlay checked out had paid off.
Parratt seemed pleased with himself. ‘Considering ex-servicemen make up only about five percent of our serving officers, I reckon this could be more than coincidence.’
‘What regiments did the other three serve with?’ asked Grahamslaw.
‘Bridges was a Sergeant in the Queens, Skinner a private in the Signals and, like I said, Evans was Royal Marines.’
‘Not much similarity there.’
‘Do you want me to leave it at that?’
‘No, find out if any of them ever worked together, in the army or in the police. The Bloody Sunday enquiry is still going on. Might be they were all attached to the Paras or something. Find out if they’re on the list of witnesses.’
The Commander kept scratching at his chin.
‘Tell you what, Mick,’ he stood up suddenly. ‘Get some people to speak to Bridges’ and Skinner’s wives. Don’t say anything to Finlay, we don’t want to alarm him if it is just coincidence. And if you can, have a chat to Holbrook and Heathcote. Don’t let on about our idea, just make it a friendly chat … see what you can pick up.’
Chapter 36
Monday arrived quickly.
The night-shift week was at an end and I was now on a late turn, two o’clock start. It was one of the busiest shifts and after a week of nights followed by not enough sleep, I didn’t really feel up to it.
And I still hadn’t told Jenny what had been going on. I found myself making excuses, finding reasons not to raise it, and in the back of my mind I still harboured the hope that I might not have to.
Working nights meant that I slept most of the day, only waking in time to have breakfast as Becky was having her afternoon tea. Eating and then playing with my daughter was a distraction that I revelled in. Then, by the time she was having her bath and getting ready for bed, I was preparing to leave for work. The short period between Becky falling asleep and my departure never seemed to be the right time to raise such a difficult subject.
Like I said, excuses.
I listened in while one of the Sergeants paraded the PCs and assigned them to their duties. With over twenty of them, the briefing took nearly fifteen minutes. Afterwards they headed off, some to their cars, some out onto the streets and a few into the canteen.
We’d had a busy week. Already I was growing to like the men and women I had been tasked with supervising. They were an interesting mix, from a retired air stewardess through to a qualified accountant, all with one thing in common: a desire to fight crime.
I left the briefing room and headed for my office. I had a mountain of paperwork building up, with several annual appraisals overdue. Writing them was proving to be particularly hard as I had only known the PCs for a short time. A check on the in-tray in my office revealed that I also had two complaints to deal with: minor allegations against policemen, one for swearing and another for reporting a motorist for going through a red light that the motorist claimed was green.
It was a lot of paperwork, all of it needing time that I didn’t seem to have. After staying on late during the preceding week to try and get it done, I’d been frustrated at the small inroads I had made. Today seemed like a good day to hide myself away and get it sorted. The added benefit was that inside the station I felt secure, I could relax and not worry about watching my back.
Monaghan hadn’t been in touch and, after three attacks in short succession, everything had gone quiet. Kevin Jones and I shared a mixed sense of reassurance and confusion at the apparent lull. Kevin had been in touch several times in the week. Calls to my mobile and text messages. He was careful not to call me at home. It got to the point where I had to turn the phone onto ‘silent’ mode so that Jenny wouldn’t realise I was getting so many calls. I didn’t want her to stumble across something I would have to explain before I was ready.
The newspapers had been full of stories about the attacks. Quotes from ‘informed sources’ had the ‘Real IRA’ as being behind it, with the motive being publicity for the cause. Photographs had appeared of the dead terrorist together with descriptions of two men that were wanted for questioning. ‘Wanted for questioning’ was a euphemism I understood all too well. The two men were the killers, no question about it.
Monaghan then changed tactic and had resorted to getting messages to me through Kevin. I was struggling to understand why he wouldn’t leave things to the Anti-Terrorist Squad. In his defence, Monaghan told Kevin that he knew more about what was going on than either the police or the newspaper reporters. My problem was that he wouldn’t say exactly what he knew and how he was privy to information of which the official enquiry had no knowledge.
Both of them wanted me to move Jenny and Becky out of the house. Neither seemed to understand just how much they were asking of me. Monaghan also told Kevin that Skinner had been followed home and that his murder hadn’t taken place as a result of the IRA having his address. To my mind, that meant I was only exposed while I was at work, and, as it looked like the Anti-Terrorist Squad were getting close to making arrests, I maintained my view that we shouldn’t get involved.
Just in case Monaghan was right, though, on every journey between work and home I would use the anti-surveillance techniques I had learned in the army in order to make it almost impossible to follow me.
But I also had another problem. An idea was going over and over in my mind like the drum of a demented washing machine. It was a connection between the dead lads and me that neither Monaghan nor Kevin seemed to have spotted.
The Iranian Embassy.
Chapter 37
The Anti-Terrorist Squad offices were buzzing with excitement. Away from the hustle of activity, Grahamslaw sat in his private office, on the telephone talking to the fingerprint branch.
‘You’re absolutely positive then?’ he asked, a smile forming on his face. ‘Brilliant, I’ll be in touch.’ As he put the phone down, his smile turned into an ear-to-ear grin. Mick Parratt and the two other men sitting across from him stopped their conversation and looked up.
‘Ok, listen up,’ said Grahamslaw. ‘That’s a confirmed match. The print lifted from the Selfridges car bomb was left by Michael Hewitson. Matt, run through the arrest for me again.’
‘I’d love to have the credit for it, sir,’ said one of the men, Detective Inspector Matt Miller, ‘but PC Ben Gunn here ran the operation. Perhaps I’d better let him go through it for you?’
Grahamslaw turned to the nervous-looking PC brought into the Yard from his station at Kentish Town. ‘Ok, Ben. Let’s hear it.’
Ben Gunn coughed to clear his throat.
‘Well, sir … we’ve been having some problems with a pervert. A bloke who was hiding in bushes and taking pictures of young girls as they come and go from school. We had a complaint phoned in by the headteacher after one of the girls thought she saw the man playing with himself.’
‘And Hewitson turned out to be our pervert?’ Grahamslaw asked.
‘Yes. We set up an OP to watch the school this morning and I spotted our man in a bit of rough ground next to the railway line.’
‘What did he do?’
‘There was an alleyway that led to the train station. He was watching the girls from the trees nearby. He had his dick out and was masturbating. It seems that he’d picked today to get a bit bolder. A girl came along the alleyway. He jumped over a fence, walked up behind her and squeezed her breasts. She screamed and he ran off. Luckily, we had a police dog ready.
The dog took him down as he ran along the side of the railway line.’
‘Was he hurt?’
‘Just some bites to his legs, not too bad.’
‘Hope it hurt the bastard,’ said Grahamslaw. He’d always had a dis-taste for investigating sex offenders and to hear that one of them had received some instant justice gave him a mild feeling of satisfaction. ‘What about the girl? How was she?’
‘Shaken up, but otherwise ok. We recovered Hewitson’s camera. She was one of the girls he had been taking pictures of.’
‘Excellent, Ben. Aside from the fact that he’s turned out to be a suspect for a bombing, that was still a damn good bit of police work.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So, when you printed him at the nick, it came up with a match?’
‘…and an instruction to contact SO13.’
‘Nice to know the system works. What you won’t know, as I only just learned it …’ Grahamslaw pointed to the telephone, ‘…is that the ignition key you found in his pocket fits the bomb car.’
Grahamslaw noted with pleasure the beaming smiles on his visitors’ faces. He turned to Parratt. ‘OK, Mick, we’ve got enough on our man to put some serious pressure on him to talk. Get him moved to the Green and we’ll get started on him.’
Matt Miller raised a hand.
‘Go on, Matt,’ said Grahamslaw. ‘We’re all friends here.’
‘Just an idea, sir. Rather than move Hewitson to a cell at Paddington Green nick, why not let him run?’
‘What – to lead us to the others?’
‘Exactly. We’ve no criminal record for Hewitson, either locally or nationally. Prior to today, he’s not even been subject of a stop in the street. My guess is he’s a sleeper that the others used to make the delivery.’
‘They were spreading the risk, you mean?’
‘Yes. And it sounds like he’s not that familiar with how we work. If, for example, we were to tell him that the girl doesn’t want to press charges, he might not be too surprised at being released … and I don’t think he’d be inclined to tell the other suspects that he’d been nicked as a nonce.’
