by Matt Johnson
‘They don’t know how close we came, how close I came to going the same way as those two lads.’
‘Last night, you mean.’
‘No, no, no … not then! I mean back in Ireland. Now listen…’
I listened. I listened while another soldier-turned-cop explained how he had faced death at the hands of a mob. He explained how, just three days after the Andersonstown murders he had been called with his mates from the Royal Scots as back-up to support some lads who were under attack by rioters in the Enniskillen area. About a hundred youths were throwing rocks and petrol bombs and had managed to set an RUC Land Rover ablaze. The soldiers had been well armed – all carrying the SLR – the .762 calibre self-loading rifle – but their rules of engagement prevented them from opening fire. None of them wanted to be facing a murder charge for shooting a petrol bomber.
With the smoke from the burning Land Rover and numerous other small fires blocking their vision, Doug and five other young squaddies had become separated from their main force. The rioters had spotted the opportunity, upped the volume of missiles and had eventually driven the small group of soldiers into a cul-de-sac, a blocked off street with no escape route other than straight through the missile throwers.
The soldiers were isolated and frightened. They faced being burned, hit by a rock, or worse, if a gunman should target them. They pointed their weapons at the youths but were met by jeers and an increasing level of missiles as the crowd drew closer. Doug then described what had happened next.
‘We panicked. I don’t mind telling you, I was fuckin’ bricking it. They were kids, just like us. We were scared of them and scared of opening up on them. I kept thinking, this isn’t happening; it’s some kind of crazy nightmare. One of the lads got burning petrol on his legs. Just as we’re trying to put it out one of the scum tried to grab his SLR. Fuck me, it all kicked off then. I had my safety off and was gonna shoot the fucker when, out of nowhere, an armoured RUC truck came up behind the rioters. They legged it.’
‘Nick of time.’
‘Exactly. But we were kids, Mr Finlay. We’d all heard stories about what the IRA did to people they captured, and we’d all seen what happened to the two signallers. We thought we were goners. My mouth was dry as sandpaper; I couldn’t even talk about it for ages after.’
‘What happened to the lad that was on fire?’
‘Ah, he was OK. The flames didn’t touch his skin. He got pissed up like the rest of us, but that was no cure. Now it seems that every time I get crowded in, memories of that day just blot everything else out. I lose it … just lose it, and woe betide anyone close to me.’
‘So, why did you need me to hear you out?’
‘Like I said. McNeil says you are a top bloke and that you were someone the lads knew they could turn to if they were in the shit.’
‘But that was twenty-odd years ago?’
‘I know, I’m sorry. I should have explained. I heard what happened to you last year when the Real IRA tried to blow you up. Rumour was that a copper who’d been SAS had been the target. I asked McNeil, he made a call to Hereford and in no time, we knew it was you. I’m kinda hoping that you’ll put in a good word for me. I’m finished in the job, I know that, but I’ve still got a family and responsibilities. If I go down for this, if they stick me in prison, they’ll be the ones that suffer.’
‘It would help if you came out now, surrendered straight away.’ That would give me two minutes, I thought. Enough time to ask him where I could find McNeil.
‘Only if you promise to speak up for me, to explain. It’s only people like you and me understand, boss.’
Giving such an undertaking wasn’t going to be too difficult. The bigger question was whether it would have any effect. I was mulling things over in my mind when an object slid across the floor from beneath the cubicle door. It came to a stop right between my feet. I looked down. It was a small knife, maybe a four-inch blade, stainless steel and with a black handle. There was a dark stain on the blade that looked like blood.
‘Doug,’ I said. ‘Your knife ended up right between my feet. Can I assume this means that you’re coming out?’
I spoke clearly, aware that my words were being intently listened to. The control room would now know that the weapon was secure and that a peaceful resolution was within my grasp.
‘Entry team stand down.’ The words in my earpiece were clear. The door behind me wasn’t about to burst open. I might just get the chance I needed.
I leaned down, deftly picked up the knife by the tip of the handle and, with my free hand, opened the door behind me. Sue was on the other side. She held out a clear-plastic weapons tube. I dropped the knife in and turned back towards the room.
‘Doug, I’ve just given the knife to someone in the corridor and I can confirm that it’s safe for you to come out.’
The cubicle door creaked further opened. A figure emerged.
Doug Powell looked dead beat. He was in shirt sleeves, his clip-on tie tucked through an epaulette over his left shoulder. His white shirt was splattered with blood and bore all the tell-tale creases and dirt marks of the scuffle that had caused his violent reaction. He half smiled and then did something that caught me completely by surprise. He held out his right hand.
I held back for a moment, unsure whether I was being tricked or whether the greeting was genuine. I nodded and winked at him. As I held out my own hand, I trusted that my message was clear.
Whatever I could do to help, I would.
Chapter 10
Doug walked out in front of me. I had one opportunity. The small area between the inner and outer doors to the toilets might give me the seconds I needed.
But, no sooner had we reached the narrow corridor than Doug was jumped by two PCs from the firearms response team. They bundled him into the corridor and threw him against the far wall where they spread his arms and legs before searching him thoroughly. I cursed under my breath. One of the firearms officers handed what looked like a wallet and some car keys to a figure standing just out of my line of sight.
I couldn’t see who it was, but as soon as I heard the man speak, I knew. It was Jim Mellor.
The Superintendent was intent on telling Doug who he was, as if he expected the stunned and now-silent PC to have heard of him. Doug kept quiet, remaining passive as he allowed the two firearms lads to finish their search.
‘He’s clear, guv,’ said the officer nearest to me, who I could now see from the rank insignia on his chest was a Sergeant.
Mellor ordered the group to follow him. The firearms PC took Doug’s arm. I followed behind with the Sergeant in the hope I may yet have a final chance. There was no sign of Sue Corfield or any of the divisional senior officers.
We passed the room that the negotiating team had taken over. The door was closed, the only evidence of its use being the wire that trailed along the floor from the toilet. They would be waiting to debrief me, I expected. Every negotiation team followed the same procedure, together with an analysis and a report. Lessons learned, that kind of thing.
As Mellor started to tell Doug that he was under arrest and to caution him, I seized the opportunity to lean into the Sergeant and whisper into his ear.
‘Go easy on him,’ I said.
The Sergeant turned to me and winked. ‘No worries, guv. Our Inspector heard everything that happened in there and relayed it to us. One of our lads was also in Ireland at the time and knew all about it.’ He nodded towards where Superintendent Mellor was opening the door into the station yard and then lowered his voice as he whispered in my ear. ‘He’s the one you want to worry about. He ordered the rapid entry. There’s been an almighty bust-up upstairs between him and the local Chief.’
Mellor stopped outside the door, preventing us from continuing the conversation without being overheard. After a few seconds, two more men in suits appeared. They placed themselves either side of Doug and, as the firearms officer stood to one side, took hold of his arms.
‘With us, PC
Powell,’ one said.
With that, they walked briskly out into the sunlight that now filled the yard. I made to follow them when a hand was placed firmly on my chest.
It was Mellor. ‘My prisoner I believe, Inspector Finlay.’
I stopped, taken aback by the forcefulness of Mellor’s manner. He clearly didn’t want me anywhere near Doug Powell. And then, as my fists tensed and I experienced a surge of heat flush upwards from my chest, I felt the red-mist of temper rising.
Mellor saw it. He leaned in close to me. ‘I fuckin’ dare you, Inspector,’ he said, his tone threatening, taunting.
I stepped back. And, before I could react further, the yard door was closed firmly in my face. I turned to the SO19 Sergeant. ‘I think I see what you mean. He doesn’t do discussion, does he?’
‘Legend in his own mind, guv, and a bad man to cross.’
‘I’ll remember that.’
‘If that had been me, I’d have clocked him, Superintendent or no.’
I nodded, took a slow breath and turned back into the corridor. Mike Rogers was emerging from the negotiation control room. He saw me.
‘Debrief in ten, Finlay. You OK? The Chief Super wants us upstairs.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘All of us?’ I pointed to the lads from the firearms team who were just behind me.
‘No, just you and me. Full debrief will be in the parade room afterwards.’
I was still shaking. And although the surge of uncontrolled anger was easing, I was shocked at how close I had come to losing control. It wasn’t like me. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt that desire to really batter another human being. I shrugged and followed Mike to the stairs. John Southern was waiting for us in his office, alone. Mike walked straight in, indicated for me to sit and closed the door behind us.
Southern must have read the confused look on my face. ‘Bit unusual I know, Finlay, but I wanted to have a quick word before we head across to the parade room.’
‘About what, specifically?’ I asked.
‘Well, first things first, you did a great job. We heard everything. You handled it well, kept PC Powell calm and achieved an outcome as good as we could have hoped for.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Mike tells me that you’ve not been involved in any live negotiation since we were on our course back in 1980?’
‘Not really, no. The course was useful, mind. Made me think about how to handle things and came in very handy over the years.’
‘In the army?’
‘Mostly, and a couple of times since.’
‘That’s good … but that’s not really why I wanted to speak to you now.’
Southern stood up from behind his desk, and walked to the window of his office. It looked out onto Holmes Road, a narrow street off the main drag through Kentish Town. Hands shoved hard into his trouser pockets, he faced away from me as he continued. ‘There’s been a few problems,’ he began.
I turned to where Mike was sitting beside me and scowled. He didn’t comment, just raised his eyebrows.
‘What kind of problems?’ I asked.
‘Nothing you did or didn’t do, Finlay. But I thought it only right that you should know.’ Southern turned around to face us. ‘Do you mind if I ask if you’ve ever met Superintendent Mellor before?’
‘I haven’t.’
‘That’s interesting … because he clearly seems to know you, or know of you. Did you hear the rapid entry plan on your earpiece?’
‘I did. And I hope you don’t mind me saying, I thought the timing wasn’t good. Did you catch my reaction? I stood against the door and made sure you knew I was there. That was supposed to tell you to back off.’
‘We heard it … we all heard it. What you need to know was that it was Mellor’s decision to go in hard to effect arrest, it wasn’t mine, and it didn’t come from the negotiation team.’
‘So who was in charge then, who got to make the final decision?’
‘Mellor did. As Powell is subject of a criminal investigation now, complaints branch were effectively in charge.’
‘Even though he’s one of yours?’
‘Yes, even then. Mellor was extremely angry when he heard your reaction to the command to prepare for a forced entry.’ Southern turned to face Mike Rogers. ‘I might even use the word livid, wouldn’t you, Mike?’
The Negotiation Coordinator nodded, his hands clasped firmly together on his lap. ‘Livid, yes,’ he said. ‘So much so, he let slip something he probably shouldn’t have.’
‘Like what?’ I asked.
As Southern continued, I turned back to face him. ‘Look, Finlay, it’s common knowledge these days that you were once in the SAS Regiment. Any idea you had of keeping it quiet is long gone. What Mellor said shows he is clearly someone who thought you should have been either prosecuted or disciplined for something that happened last year during the IRA attacks.’
‘Did he say that?’ I asked, as I thought about what had just happened in the ground-floor corridor and the way Mellor had pushed his hand into my chest, almost as if he had intended to goad me.
‘Not in as many words, but it was clear that’s what he meant,’ Southern replied.
‘And you think I should know I’m on his radar?’
‘Mellor is the kind of man who won’t just leave it at that. He’ll be gunning for you.’
‘And you think that influenced his decision to go in hard today, before I’d had a chance to resolve things peacefully?’
‘I do. He wanted to deny you the chance to do well.’
‘Nice man,’ I said.
‘He’s not. I’ve known Jim Mellor for years. In fact, we go back a long way to a time when he was an Inspector here at this very nick and I was one of his PCs.’
‘You have some history, then?’
‘You could say that. One night shift we had a disagreement over something petty. For the life of me, I can’t recall what it was, but the upshot was that he offered me outside. He wanted to resolve the argument in a fist fight.’
I was stunned for a moment. It wasn’t uncommon for disputes to be settled by soldiers in such a way, but I’d never heard of it in police circles. And for an Inspector – the equivalent of a commissioned officer – to square up to a PC was virtually unthinkable.
‘What happened?’ I enquired.
‘I walked off, but it really affected me. And I don’t mind telling you, he scared me as well. I put in for a transfer the very next day.’
‘And now he’s junior to you?’
‘He is, but men like Mellor don’t let little things like rank bother them.’
‘No,’ I said, as I recalled the proximity of the Superintendent’s face to mine, the heat of his breath on my face, the way he’d dared me to react to him. ‘No, I guess they don’t.’
Chapter 11
An hour later, with the formal debrief concluded, I headed back to the negotiation control room. No further mention was made of Superintendent Mellor’s decision to use a rapid entry while negotiation was still ongoing. The advice from John Southern was timely and went some way to making me feel better about what had happened.
I was hoping to find Peter Hesp from the Technical Support Unit before he finished packing up ready to head back to Scotland Yard. I was in luck. He was sealing the last of his kit into plastic crates as I walked through the door.
‘Cometh the man, cometh the hour eh, Finlay?’ Peter teased.
I glanced around. We were alone. ‘At least we got a result and nobody was hurt,’ I said.
‘Not much of a result for that poor PC though. And I reckon the girl he was holding will have a few nightmares after today.’
‘You were listening in then?’
‘Always. In case there’s a comms issue, that kind of thing.’ He started stacking the crates, ready for loading into his van, I assumed.
‘So, how did I do?’ I asked.
‘Pretty good, I reckon, especially as it was your first call-out. And from the thum
bs-up and looks that went around the office, I reckon the old hands approved.’
‘Did you hear the argument between the divisional lads and the CIB Superintendent?’ I was curious, and it was useful small talk as I worked out if Peter was likely to be receptive to my real reason for seeking him out.
‘Nah,’ he said. ‘That happened offline, in an upstairs office. Got pretty heated from what I heard.’
‘That’s what I was told too.’ I reached in my pocket and gently took hold of the device from Kevin’s house. ‘Peter,’ I asked. ‘I wonder if I could beg a favour?’
He peered towards me, a look of curiosity on his face which was soon replaced by a smile. ‘If you want me to put a bug in that Superintendent’s office, forget it,’ he said, grinning from ear to ear.
‘Nothing like that. But I do need you to give me some private advice, something I’d prefer was just between us.’
The smile turned to a frown. ‘I work in a world of secrecy, Mr Finlay. You’d probably be surprised, maybe horrified, to know the kind of things that I keep shtum about.’
I held out my hand, the tiny device and attached wire now clear for him to see.
He stepped forwards, reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a grubby pair of spectacles. After wiping them clean on a handkerchief that looked like it doubled in function as a rag used to check the oil on his car, he slipped them over his nose and leaned over my open hand.
‘May I?’ he held out his hand, indicating that I should pass the device to him. I placed it carefully on his palm.
He studied it for a moment, turning it over, seemingly looking for an identifying mark. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked, finally.
I rubbed at the stubble on my chin. Peter then raised a hand, his smile enigmatic. He was effectively calling a halt to any need for me to lie. ‘No worries,’ he said. ‘I should know better than to ask. But, I would be interested to know. It’s a device of the kind that our budget normally doesn’t run to. State of the art, great range and uses the power of the mains system so it can last almost indefinitely.’
