Undercover

by Joe Carter

  I didn’t recognise the face in the picture, but wanted to ensure it was ingrained in my mind. I knew it would only be a matter of time before the two of us met face to face.

  Dave was really concerned about the predicament we were in. He told me in confidence that he knew this guy well, that he’d worked with him. As with so many corrupt officers, he’d sailed close to the wind. He’d been a good thief-taker and people had liked him. He’d had good informants, and was often used by the bosses to get good ‘clear up’ figures. These were the ‘write offs’ that burglars would admit to – under no danger of further sentence – and they resulted in favourable crime figures. The bosses didn’t want to know how they were obtained, but were grateful when they were. ‘Noble cause corruption’, as it was called.

  Dave said it was much deeper than that; this guy was a criminal who had carried a warrant card for many years. He was aware of all the tactics available to the police, and had experience in undercover operations. He was bent from head to toe, a ‘proper wrong’un’.

  I got up from my seat at the table, opened the top of the stable door and looked out to the open fields in the distance. I sucked in the air; it smelt of the countryside, of fresh sheets, of holidays as a kid camping in a farmer’s field in Cornwall. It was so tranquil, a million miles away from guns and drugs, corrupt policemen and villains – a world apart.

  I turned to Dave. ‘We are where we are, Dave. I see it as a bonus that I know this now. I’ve got his “boat” in my mind and I’ll be on my toes from this moment on. I want to do this trade this afternoon. It may settle Ray down. I’m gonna go back, get the money for the coke, and fill Emma in as to what’s happening.’

  Dave said he’d already had Emma on the phone as I was driving over. He’d brought her up to speed and he thought she was worried for me. I told him I’d settle her down. I put my mug in the Belfast sink and turned back to him. ‘No more secrets, Dave. Tell your bosses that. And keep the surveillance team away from me.’ I shook his hand. ‘If anything ever happens to me, bury me under that cherry blossom.’ I pointed to a beautiful mature tree that sat to the side of his cottage; it had an old-fashioned wooden swing on it that was blowing gently in the wind.

  Twenty-three

  As I drove up I expected to see Emma’s car, but it was gone. I walked round the back of the house and over the raised decking area, and opened the patio doors into the kitchen. A note was attached to a fresh bunch of lilies that had been carefully arranged in an old cream-enamel jug. The note read: He’s told me everything, don’t do anything stupid. Emma xxx

  I looked at the flowers and remembered my granny telling me that they signify the purity of the soul and the return of innocence after death. At that moment, I saw myself standing in Dave’s garden, watching the wooden swing blowing gently under the old cherry tree. I wasn’t the sentimental type, and hadn’t given my granny a thought for many years. She had died when I was young, before we’d had sufficient time to build a close bond, but I remembered those words.

  Today had been a whirlwind of revelations and bad news, of information and situations that made my job so much harder to do. I now knew that I couldn’t have totally convinced Ray I was OK, especially if he had his ex-policeman friend filling his head with information. I knew I had to stay calm, to focus on what was in front of me.

  My phone vibrated on the worktop and danced across the marble surface. It was a text from Ray: 230 at back of Asda superstore by recycling. That gave me an hour until we were due to meet, and it was about a twenty-five-minute drive away. I rang Dave and told him the arrangements before I replied to the text: Done.

  Then I removed two tubes of Pringles from the cupboard above the sink. I popped the tops and removed £5,000 from one tube and £2,500 from the other. I counted out the money, and rewrapped it into seven £1,000 bundles and one £500. I placed them in a pair of Loake shoes, put the shoes into their dust bags and into their dark-blue shoebox. Then I wrote on the back of Emma’s note: Lilies, thanks!!! See you tonight. xxx.

  I walked to my car and placed the shoebox inside my sports bag in the boot. I pulled out of the driveway and felt a tad excited about what the afternoon was to hold for me. All I knew at this moment was that Ray was taking me somewhere to meet someone and buy some cocaine.

  I don’t know why but I wasn’t worried, I wasn’t nervous, I wasn’t even apprehensive. I’m sure my psychologist had warned me in the past that these were alarm signals for someone that’s on self-destruct or out of control. But I couldn’t help how I was feeling.

  I pulled into the car park, which was busy with Friday-afternoon customers doing their weekly shop to fill their ordinary fridges in their normal houses, where their normal families would be sharing a special meal together at home. I parked my car close to the recycling and watched a lovely couple in their seventies lock the door of their pristine 1956 Rover 75. They were holding hands, and he stopped for a moment to turn the collar of her coat down gently. This was what I thought love should be – couples that couldn’t live without each other. I imagined that they’d probably never spent a night apart in their lives.

  My mind was brought back to reality when Ricardo knocked heavily on my passenger-door window. I pressed the central locking and he squeezed his huge frame into the cream leather seat. I looked at him, waiting for him to say something. He was close enough to smell the fact he’d had a brandy or two before he met me. He broke the silence and said, ‘I introduced you to Ray, so that’s why I’m here. We’re all in this together.’ He told me to follow Ray’s Range Rover.

  I looked at him. ‘Ricardo, if you think I’m a dirty Old Bill then that’s you and me done – I don’t want you anywhere near me.’

  We sat in silence for a while as we drove out of the main town and onto the roads that led into the countryside. The car was full of anxiety and uncertainty. I could feel Ricardo’s fear. He pointed at the Range Rover in front; I could see Ray with his mobile squashed to his ear. ‘Do you know who he’s on the phone to, Joe?’ He paused. ‘His best mate, who’s Old Bill, and he’s telling Ray what to do to you if you are the filth.’ He spat the last word out; he made it feel a dirty word to me.

  I knew Ricardo was praying it wasn’t true, because he and I had done things together that would put him behind bars for many years. He was a worried man, and that made him dangerous to me.

  The roads became narrower and windy as we headed towards the coast. I had been subtly looking in my mirror to see if anyone was following, and to my horror I’d seen the same Skoda Octavia a number of times. It was now about three cars behind me. This meant one of two things: Ray had some of his heavies who were going to join us, or there was a surveillance team following me. I could see the car had two people in it.

  I wanted to keep Ricardo’s attention focused on the bumper of Ray’s Range Rover, I didn’t want him to get an eyeful of the Skoda. So I handed him my phone and said, ‘Ring Emma and tell her what you think I am.’ I wanted to get a message to her. I wanted to somehow let her know that all wasn’t fine. I knew Ricardo liked Emma; he’d spent time with her and I’d asked him to keep an eye on her when I wasn’t about. He’d done that for me and I knew he’d enjoyed it.

  He dialled the number and I could hear her voice. She was surprised to hear Ricardo on my phone. I could hear her say, ‘Where’s Joe?’

  Ricardo told her, ‘We’re taking a drive to the seaside, nothing to worry about.’ I knew that the last four words he used would alarm her. He didn’t say anything else and hung up. I was confident that Emma knew I’d done that for a reason.

  I looked at him and said, ‘Listen, Ricardo, until you apologise to me I’ve got nothing to say to you, so it’s gonna be a quiet journey.’ I knew he had a million questions he wanted to ask me, and I was sure Ray would’ve given him instructions about what to quiz me on. For some reason, Ricardo wasn’t using his time with me wisely. He was a big man, and I knew the damage he could do to me, but at this moment I could feel and smell his fe
ar.

  As we took a couple of left and right turns, I was left in no doubt that the Skoda following us was indeed a surveillance car. It was getting closer and more obvious by the minute.

  It was getting dark as we drove through a tiny village with a few shops and houses, smoke coming from the chimneys. I saw a split in the road with a brightly lit fish and chip restaurant in the centre acting like a keep left/keep right bollard. I could see that to the left was a sign to a car park and to the right a sign to the creek.

  I followed Ray to the right, to what appeared to be a harbour. I could see an old building with a sign that read Cinque Ports Board of Trade, Wreck Warehouse. Ray turned his car around, as did I, and we parked perilously close to what appeared to be the harbour wall. Ricardo got out of the car first and spoke to Ray. I got out of the car, as I wanted to see exactly what was beyond the wall. The evening sky lit up an extremely muddy creek or inlet; the mud looked wet, thick and deep. All I could think was that if it was my only escape route, I’d get stuck in the mud and be an easy target for someone who wanted to shoot me.

  I walked over to Ray and said, ‘What’s going on, Ray? Where are we?’ He pointed to a newly built block of flats that had a very nautical look to them. ‘Ray Winstone’s got one of them gaffs. I bet it’s the penthouse.’ I looked at him and said sarcastically, ‘Nice.’ Ray said, ‘Let’s go and have a cuppa tea. We need a chat.’

  We made our way to the fish and chip restaurant and I ordered drinks, but Ricardo said he was hungry and wanted to eat. I’d decided if I wasn’t talking to him, there was no way I was buying his dinner. I took my cup of tea and Ray’s hot chocolate over to the table. Both were in polystyrene cups. I don’t know if they did it on purpose to intimidate me, but Ray and Ricardo both sat opposite me, looking out onto the split in the road where we had driven in and turned right. I was facing the counter and the windows that looked out onto the car park at the rear of the restaurant.

  Ricardo got the biggest plate of cod and chips I had seen for some time, and his culinary class had seen him order a side plate of three oversized pickled eggs. Ricardo ate like a pig at the best of times, and I wasn’t looking forward to sitting opposite him for the next ten minutes. I looked out the window as I sipped my tea, and as clear as I could see the shiny skin of the pickled eggs, I saw two men standing at the side of the Skoda. They were looking into the restaurant as I looked at them. The two surveillance officers were doing all they could to expose themselves to the two villains that I was sitting with.

  Ricardo was stuffing his face full of cod, chips and pickled eggs. As he asked me to pass the vinegar, he spat out a combination of all three. I felt a bit land on my face, and I immediately got up from my seat and said, ‘I can’t sit opposite him when he’s spitting his food everywhere.’ I called Ricardo a pig and said, ‘I’m having a slash.’ I didn’t need the bathroom, nor was I overly bothered by Ricardo and his eating habits. But I had to get rid of the surveillance team before it was too late.

  I went into the Gents, and whilst stood at the freezing cold urinal I frantically texted Dave: get rid of the 2 gimps in the Skoda before they get me hurt. I hoped that neither Ricardo nor Ray had followed me in and caught me in the act of sending it. It was a judgement call, and luckily I managed to send and clear it before returning to the table.

  Ray leant over the table and said, ‘The fella coming is a proper face. Don’t fuck him about.’ Ray said he wanted me and him to split a ‘German’, and it would be seven and half bags each.

  ‘Why the fuck have we brought Ainsley Harriott with us’ – I pointed at Ricardo – ‘I didn’t know this was a beano.’

  Ray said that a lot had happened over the last twenty-four hours, and he and Ricardo needed to be sure about me. I asked him if they were, and he said, ‘Not yet.’

  In my mind, I knew that Ray needed me for this trade. I didn’t think this ‘face’ we were meeting would serve up less than a quarter of kilo of cocaine at a time, and Ray didn’t have £15,000 today to trade on his own. I know he wanted this trade to happen, and he needed my half.

  Ray’s phone rang and he went outside to take the call. Ricardo was now wiping the remnants of food from his face. He looked at me and said, ‘This ain’t over yet, Joe.’

  ‘Thank fuck that is,’ I said, pointing at his plate. Then I got up and joined Ray in the doorway of the restaurant. He pointed to another Range Rover parked in front of his. I could see two large men inside, both smoking.

  Ray asked for my money. I told him he could have my money from the boot of my motor once I’d seen the gear. I told him I wasn’t having my pants pulled down in the middle of nowhere. Ray wasn’t happy, but I walked over to my car and popped the boot. The vanity light lit up the darkness, and I could hear the noise of the creek filling up to my left and a squelching as the water slowly covered the mud. I could sense someone directly behind me; it was Ricardo. ‘Ray wants the readies. Give me the money.’

  I took one look at him and said, ‘Fuck off out of my face, Ricardo. This is Ray’s and my trade.’

  This was the point I was at my most vulnerable – there were four of them and I was on my own – but I was sticking to my guns. It seemed like an eternity before Ray came to the boot. He wasn’t happy as he said, ‘I’ve had to weigh that in the back of the motor.’ He handed me a Sainsbury’s bag, and inside was a clear bag with a block of white powder. I could smell the distinct smell of cocaine. Ray said, ‘It looks proper – I’ve just had a go and it’s bang on.’

  I looked at him. ‘Is it spot on the weight?’

  Ray nodded his head. ‘If it’s light I’ll sort you the difference later.’

  I wasn’t about to weigh it in public in the boot of my car; I’d do that when I was home. I had taken the money out of the shoebox and I now handed it to Ray. As I did, a new face appeared by the boot.

  ‘Everything sweet, fellas?’ He was a big man; he had a big head with bulging veins the size of hosepipes pumping across his forehead. It was clear to see he was on steroids. He held out his hand and said, ‘Dazza – nice one.’

  I shook his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Dazza. If you gentlemen don’t mind, I’m a long way from home and I’ve got people waiting on this.’ This was the moment – if they were going to make a move on me, it would be now. Dazza had had no need to come to my car. No reason to put himself there.

  I needed to get into my car and away.

  I shut the boot with the gear safely inside, but as I went to get in my car Ricardo grabbed my arm. I turned – almost too quickly – ready to confront him, ready to fight as best I could. I was in a vulnerable situation, surrounded by dangerous men. He held my arm tightly and said, ‘Don’t call me a pig. My old man used to, all the time, and I hated him.’

  I pulled my arm away, and as I got into the car I said, ‘Well, don’t eat like one then.’

  I didn’t wait to hear his reply.

  Twenty-four

  I was so relieved to shut the door of my car. I knew I was safe now. My initial thought as I went to pull away from the murky quayside was to drive as fast as I could away from this place. To put as much distance as I could between myself and this inlet of the Essex coast, a place I didn’t want to visit again.

  Instead, I memorised the registration of the other Range Rover and pulled slowly away, leaving behind the silhouettes of the three men standing on the quayside. I could see the embers of their cigarettes light up two of their faces as they watched me. I passed the fish and chip restaurant where Ricardo had gorged like a pig, and drove quietly and anonymously out of the village.

  It had been a long, testing and dangerous day. I turned the CD player on, turning the volume control on the steering wheel to near its maximum I sang along at the top of my voice. It was my favourite song. I sang along in a world of my own, and by now I was clear of the place I never wanted to return to.

  I pulled off the main road into a service lane that sat behind a line of thick conifers. I could see there was a middle-a
ged couple in a Belgian-registered motorhome making a hot drink on their Primus stove. I picked up my phone and called Emma, and it seemed like she picked up the phone before it had even rung.

  ‘Where are you? Are you OK – what’s happened?’ I could hear, in her voice, the fear and worry and genuine concern for my safety.

  ‘Emms, I’m fine, I promise you. Do me a favour. Ring Dave, tell him I’m safe and that I’ve got half a German in the boot. I’ll tell you everything when I get home.’ She paused, then said, ‘I’ve been so worried.’ I apologised and said I’d see her soon.

  As I pulled back onto the main road, my phone rang and it was Dave: ‘Fuck me I’m pleased to hear your voice. What happened?’

  I went through the sequence of events since we’d shared a cup of tea earlier that day. He listened without interrupting, which was a great talent in itself. When I’d finished, he took a deep breath and said, ‘I don’t know how you’ve managed to turn that around. I know one thing, I need a drink.’ I told him that it would probably take me over an hour to drive to him and we could share a glass together then. Before he ended the call, he said quietly, ‘Well done, mate. You did real good.’ I think it was more of a relief for Dave – a weight had been released off his shoulders. For the time being, he hadn’t lost an undercover officer on his watch.

  As I drove to meet Dave at the office, I pictured his chocolate-box cottage. I could see the wooden swing under the cherry tree and I imagined me pushing my daughter gently in the sunshine. She was shouting ‘higher’ and screeching with laughter.

  It was at moments like this that I regretted the times I wasn’t there for the people I loved, the ones that needed my protection and guidance. Did it really matter that I’d just bought a chunk of cocaine off some Essex gangster? I knew my little girl wouldn’t care, was too young to understand. All she wanted was her dad to be there at bedtime to read her a story and kiss her goodnight. To make her breakfast in the morning, and walk hand in hand with her to school. Surely that wasn’t a lot for a little girl to ask of her dad?