Hard Landing

by Stephen Leather

  'Best wasn't good enough, was it?' said Shepherd, bitterly. 'Not for Jonathon.'

  'There's a bad apple,' said Hargrove. 'Has to be. Elliott is one of the squad's most experienced officers.' The superintendent grimaced. 'Was,' he said. 'We're looking for leaks within the Met, Customs and the CPS.'

  'I'm not going to be much good to you in here,' said Shepherd. 'You need me on the outside.'

  'Not so,' said the superintendent. 'You're exactly where you're most needed. Close to Carpenter.'

  'He can't be doing anything here,' said Shepherd. 'This is a Category A prison. Even on the remand wing they're watched every minute.'

  'Carpenter has never trusted anyone,' said Hargrove, 'and he'd never cede control of his organisation - he's too much of a control freak for that. No, he's still running things from behind bars. The question is, how? We know he's not passing anything out on the phone. All conversations are listened to.'

  'What about his legal team?' said Shepherd.

  'That's a possibility,' said the superintendent. 'We're also watching his family visits. But there's a more likely proposition.'

  'A corrupt prison officer?'

  'It wouldn't be the first time,' said Hargrove. 'A man with as much money as Carpenter wouldn't have any trouble buying help on the inside.'

  'And that's why I'm in here? To sniff out the inside man?'

  'Assuming you're up for it, yes.'

  Shepherd sighed. 'What did Sue say?'

  Hargrove shifted in his seat. 'She used a few choice phrases.'

  Shepherd could imagine the sort of language his wife would have employed on being told that he was remaining undercover for the foreseeable future. She'd been nagging him to spend more time with their son. 'I'm going to have to see her,' said Shepherd. 'Liam, too. They've been through enough over the past few years.'

  'That's not going to be easy,' warned Hargrove. 'Bob Macdonald doesn't have a wife or child, not with the legend the way it is.'

  'I'm sure you'll think of something,' said Shepherd. 'There's room for flexibility. Have them separated. She's got the kid. Planning a divorce. It's not rocket science.' Although Shepherd was a detective constable and Hargrove a superintendent, they'd worked together long enough not to worry about speaking bluntly. 'This isn't going to be an overnighter, is it? There's no way Carpenter's going to let me get up close and personal until there's a degree of trust, and that could take weeks. Months.'

  'It depends on you,' said Hargrove. 'I doubt that he's ever going to tell you how he's getting his orders to the outside, but you might pick up clues from watching him. That's all we need. Once we know how he's doing it we shut down his lines of communication and let the judicial process take its course.'

  'Okay,' Shepherd said. 'I'm in.' He smiled. 'I've just realised that even if I said I didn't want to do it, I don't have much choice, do I? You could just leave me here.'

  'You know me better than that,' said Hargrove. 'You always get to choose, Spider. It has to be that way. And the moment you think it's too risky, you bail out. He's already been responsible for the death of one undercover agent so he'd have no qualms about getting rid of another.'

  'Who would my contact be?'

  'We'll talk to the governor. He'll be the only one who knows who you are.'

  Shepherd leaned forward over the table. 'You mean I'm in here alone at the moment? No back-up, no nothing?'

  'We don't know who the rotten apple is. Any sort of back-up risks blowing your cover. This way, if you turn down the assignment we pull you out and nothing's lost.'

  'What if the governor doesn't co-operate?'

  'He won't have a choice,' said the superintendent. 'Besides, it's in his own best interests to find out who's helping Carpenter.'

  'And he'll be the only one who'll know what I'm doing?'

  'Has to be that way,' said Hargrove. 'We've no idea who Carpenter's using. Chances are it's a prison officer, but it could be anyone in the prison administration. They're not especially well paid, these days. The fewer people who know the better.'

  'Until it goes pear-shaped,' said Shepherd. 'What do I do? Rattle my tin mug against the bars and demand to see the governor?'

  'Haven't you noticed it's all plastic in here?'

  Shepherd smiled grimly. 'You know what I mean. Prisoners don't just get to see the governor. There's six hundred-odd men in here and they've all got grievances. They'd all be in to see the top man, given the chance, but there are procedures in place to stop them. If the shit hits the fan, I won't have time to start filling out forms in triplicate.'

  Hargrove reached into his top pocket and took out a white business card, with a handwritten telephone number and a north London address on the back. 'This is a dedicated line and there'll be someone at the end of it twenty-four hours a day. Register the number as your uncle Richard's. He's your mother's brother. If you need to be pulled out, call it and we'll do the rest.'

  'And if I can't get to a phone?' Shepherd memorised the number and handed back the card.

  'What do you want, Spider? A mobile?'

  'I'm just saying, there are only so many hours a day when we're allowed to use the phones and more often than not there's a queue. I can't just push to the front and say, "Sorry, guys, I'm an undercover cop and I've got to call my handler," can I?'

  'It's not like you to be so jumpy.'

  'Yeah, well, this is the first time I've been undercover in the midst of six hundred Category A criminals. And the cover I've got wasn't set up for the sort of scrutiny I'm going to get here.'

  'It's perfect. Career villain, ex-army, parents deceased.'

  'But that's as far as it goes. I'm banged up with a guy most of the day. We've got to talk. That's all there is to do. And the way things stand at the moment, I've bugger-all to talk about.'

  'So be the strong, silent type. Play the hard man. That fits with your cover. Look, Spider, if this is too much for you just say so and you can leave with me now.'

  Shepherd flashed the superintendent a sarcastic smile. 'I've already said I'll do it,' he said. 'It's just that I was in the end phase of the Verity operation, home and dry. I was all geared up for drinks with the lads and a pat on the back, and now I'm having to get used to an open-ended operation with a whole new target. It's going to take me a while to get back into the zone, that's all.' He sat back in his chair and put his hands flat on the table. 'Sue's going to be as pissed as hell.'

  'She's a copper's wife, she'll understand.'

  Hargrove looked in his briefcase and took out half a dozen sheets of paper. He slid them across the table to Shepherd. 'This is a summary of the intelligence we have on Carpenter. I've taken out all the dross.'

  Shepherd scanned them and handed them back. He closed his eyes, took a slow breath and forced himself to relax. One by one he pictured the papers in his mind. Ever since he was a child he'd had virtually total recall of anything he read or saw. And he could remember conversations almost word for word. It wasn't a trick or a skill he'd acquired, it was a knack that he'd been born with. It meant he'd had to do the minimum of work at school and university - and it had saved his life several times as an undercover policeman.

  'Got it?' asked Hargrove.

  'Yes.'

  Hargrove took an envelope from his briefcase. He opened it and placed half a dozen black-and-white photographs on the table in front of Shepherd. 'These are Carpenter's associates, the main ones.' He pushed two pictures towards Shepherd. 'These guys are on remand but they're in different prisons. The other four are on the outside.'

  'They're all being watched?'

  'Best we can, but they're pros.'

  'Think they're doing his dirty work?'

  'Pretty sure. But thinking and proving are two different things.'

  Shepherd turned the photographs over. On the back he read typewritten summaries of their criminal careers.

  'So, are we okay about this?' asked the superintendent.

  Shepherd passed back the photographs. 'I guess so. Wha
t about the money side?'

  'The money side?' repeated Hargrove, frowning.

  'I'm in here twenty-four hours a day. By my reckoning that's fifteen hours a day overtime. More at weekends.'

  'Since when have you been in the job for money, Spider?'

  'Have you tried the food in here?' asked Shepherd. 'Have you tried sleeping on an inch-thick mattress with a pillow that's not much thicker? And a cellmate who farts in his sleep.'

  'I get the point,' said the superintendent.

  'So the money won't be a problem?'

  'How about a compromise? Eight hours a day overtime, then take the rest as days off when this is over. It'll give you a chance to spend some time with your family.'

  'Deal,' said Shepherd. He sighed and stretched out his legs. 'You might have warned me,' he said.

  'There was no time,' said Hargrove.

  Shepherd wondered if that was true. Or if Hargrove had wanted him inside before putting the mission to him. It was a lot harder to say no once he was in the system.

  'What's happening with Verity?'

  'He's in Belmarsh, and that's where he'll stay. Owen's singing like a bird so we'll let the Sussex cops run with him.'

  'Any sense that they know I was a cop?'

  Hargrove shook his head. 'Owen reckons you lost your nerve. Verity's going to be after your blood, but we've got him under wraps.'

  'He'll know I'm here, though. And chances are he'll have mates inside.'

  'We'll be watching your back, Spider. Anyone who's associated with you will be kept well away.'

  'It was a bloody mess, the whole thing.'

  'There was nothing else you could do,' said the superintendent.

  The bald officer appeared at the window again. He stood watching Shepherd, his arms folded across his chest.

  'Knocked me for six when Owen took the petrol out,' said Shepherd. 'He was going to do it, too. If the warehouse staff find out we knew there was going to be a robbery, they could sue for millions.'

  'We didn't have a choice, you know that,' said Hargrove. 'There were too many warehouses at Gatwick to put our own people in every one.'

  Shepherd shrugged.

  'You did everything you could,' said Hargrove. 'The transmitter on the minibus led us to the right warehouse.'

  'Eventually,' said Shepherd.

  'We got them. That's what counts.'

  'We risked civilians.'

  'It was my decision, Spider. It was either that or just do them for conspiracy. I wanted Verity there with his trousers round his knees.' He paused, then leaned forward. 'I'm putting you forward for a commendation. You did a great job.'

  Shepherd already had a string of commendations and awards for his undercover work, but he didn't do it for the glory. Or for the money. He did it because he was good at it. And he enjoyed it.

  'So, what do you think?' asked Hargrove.

  'About Carpenter? He's got people fetching and carrying for him on the wing. The prison officers seem a decent bunch. I presume you've already done financial checks?'

  'All clean. But they wouldn't be stupid enough to pay money into their bank accounts.'

  'Might not be money,' said Shepherd. 'He could be threatening them. Guy like Carpenter could reach their families any time he wanted.'

  'Hopefully you'll hear about it on the wing. That's all we need, Spider. A nod in the right direction. Once we've got a name we can put him under the microscope.'

  'Or her,' said Shepherd. 'There are female officers in here.'

  'Only two on the remand spur where you are. It's not unknown for female officers to develop crushes on prisoners, which is why they get moved around more than the men. But Amelia Heartfield's married with four kids and, believe me, he's not her type. We had a good look at Joanne Lloyd-Davies too, but she's got a boyfriend. Several, as it happens.' He adjusted his cuffs. 'And she's very highly thought of. Graduate entrant, studied psychology at Exeter University. She could be running her own prison before she's thirty-five. Not the sort to start taking bungs from a drug-dealer. Don't rule her out on my say-so, but I'd look elsewhere if I were you.' Hargrove pushed back his chair and stood up. 'I'll fix an appointment to see you tomorrow.'

  Shepherd got to his feet. Hargrove pressed the bell by the door and the grey-haired officer opened the door and took him down the corridor. A man Shepherd hadn't seen before escorted him back to the remand wing.

  By the time he was back on the wing the evening meal was being served. Shepherd wasn't hungry but he joined the queue. He was given the vegetarian option - curried beans - and put a roll and a pot of strawberry yoghurt on his plastic tray with it. As he headed for the stairs he passed Lloyd-Davies and flashed her a tight smile.

  'How was the meeting with your lawyer?' she asked.

  'He agreed with you,' said Shepherd. 'Said I should start co-operating. Would it be possible to speak to a governor some time?'

  'About what?'

  'About registering, or whatever you call it. I want to start making phone calls, maybe arrange a visit.'

  A smile of triumph flicked across her face. 'Decided to face reality, have you?'

  'Seems pointless playing the strong, silent type.'

  'Cutting off your nose to spite your face - I told you that your first day on the wing,' said Lloyd-Davies.

  'I should have listened to you. So I can have a meet with a governor, can I? Run through my details?'

  'You don't need to see the governor for that,' said Lloyd-Davies. 'I can take care of it. What do we call you?'

  'Macdonald. Bob Macdonald.'

  'And this is your first time inside, is it?'

  Shepherd nodded.

  'I'm sure it won't be your last. Now up the stairs with you.'

  'You sound just like my old mum when you say that, ma'am,' said Shepherd. He saw her fighting not to smile as he headed up the stairs to the first-floor landing.

  Lee was sitting at the desk, his head down over his plate. He grunted as Shepherd walked in. 'Where'd you get to?' he asked, his mouth full.

  'My brief,' said Shepherd. He put the tray down on the table. 'You can have mine, I'm not hungry.'

  'Gut trouble?'

  'Just not hungry.' Shepherd sat on his bunk.

  'The yoghurt, too?'

  'Have it all.'

  'Cheers, mate.'

  Shepherd lay back on the bunk and interlinked his fingers behind his neck. 'Just so you know, I'm Bob Macdonald.'

  'No more man-of-mystery, huh?'

  'Figured it wasn't getting me anywhere. At least I'll start getting my money and I can register for the phone.'

  'Means the screws'll cut you some slack, too.' Lee ripped his roll in half and used it to wipe his plate, then reached for Shepherd's. 'So was it your brief's idea to come clean?' he asked.

  'He said they could put me away for just as long even if they didn't know who I was.'

  'Makes sense. Is he expensive?'

  'I suppose so.'

  'It's worth paying the extra, that's what I always say. My brief's a diamond. Worth his weight in gold.'

  Shepherd noticed the mixed metaphor but didn't say anything.

  'He's the reason I'm in here,' said Lee, digging his plastic fork into Shepherd's beans.

  Shepherd rolled on to his side so that he could look at his cellmate. 'Run that by me again, will you, Jason? Your brief's a diamond and he's the reason you're in prison?'

  'Not in prison, you soft bugger.' Lee waved his plastic fork around the cell. 'Remand. He's the one who got me in here instead of doing hard time.'

  'This is a Category A prison,' said Shepherd, still not following his cellmate's logic.

  'It's Cat A, but we're on the remand wing, and remand time is always easier than hard time,' said Lee. He twisted round in the metal chair and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. 'Look, I'm as guilty as sin, right? So Joe, he's my brief, says we plead not guilty on the basis that there's no way I'm going to get bail whatever happens. I sit here on remand, Joe drags his
feet as much as he can before we get to trial, then we put our hands up to it. Judge looks at us favourably because we're saving the taxpayer the expense of a trial and I get a reduced sentence. Any time served here is knocked off the total.' He raised his eyebrows. 'See?'

  'Got it,' said Shepherd. He rolled on to his back and stared up at the ceiling.

  'He's all right, is Joe,' said Lee, turning back to his meal. 'For a Yid. Always make the best lawyers, Yids do.'

  Lee continued to talk, but Shepherd closed his eyes and blanked him out as he went through the information he'd read about Gerald Carpenter. Father of three, married to his wife Bonnie for fourteen years, a keen rugby union fan and an experienced scuba diver. He had a private pilot's licence, a collection of expensive sports cars and a driving licence that had twice been suspended for speeding offences. Educated at Chiswick grammar school, he'd gone on to study economics at Exeter University then dropped out at the start of his second year to spend three years backpacking around the world.

  Carpenter was almost fifteen years older than Lloyd-Davies, so there was no possibility of them having met at Exeter, but it might have given him a way to get close to her.

  Carpenter had ended up in South East Asia, teaching English in the north of Thailand before coming to the notice of the US Drug Enforcement Administration's office in Chiang Mai. He left the country just days before the DEA and the Thai police swooped on a major heroin consortium. A dozen Thais and two American expats received long prison sentences, but two months later the street price of heroin dropped ten per cent in south London with the arrival of a huge shipment from the Golden Triangle. Carpenter had acquired a large mews house in Hampstead and a Porsche, and was red-flagged by Drugs Squad surveillance teams after he was seen in the company of known drug-importers.

  The DEA bust was interesting, thought Shepherd. Undercover operations in the UK, even for Hargrove's special Home Office unit, were tightly monitored and controlled. Every facet of an operation had to be approved and signed for at a high level, but the Americans were often allowed to play fast and loose. He wondered if they'd cut a deal with Carpenter and allowed him to keep his shipment in exchange for information on the Chiang Mai Americans. It wouldn't be the first time that a drug-dealer had prospered under DEA protection.