by Paul Finch
‘That works too … because if Cleghorn is all we’ve got, it’s difficult. He’s not going to volunteer another witness statement unless I lean on him again. And it may be that I forget to lean on him.’
Quinnell frowned through his blood. ‘What’re you talking about?’
Heck lowered his voice. ‘Wade McDougall’s only out on parole. So, he’s going back to the clink whatever happens. But it’s a matter of how long for. You know what he went down for last time?’
‘Didn’t you say he beat up …’
‘He attempted to murder a police officer, Gaz.’
‘You mean … like he’s just done now?’ A slow look of understanding came over the Welshman’s pain-twisted features. ‘Which means this time he’ll likely get life?’
‘What do you think? He got fifteen last time and served ten. That was lenient … but they won’t be lenient a second time.’
‘Unless we find a reason not to charge him with attempting to …’
‘… murder a police officer. Correct.’ Heck gave him a hand to help him to his feet. ‘Will you mind?’
Quinnell rose weakly to full height. Fleetingly he looked dazed and had to lean on Heck. ‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind anything as long as you get me to a head-doctor. Gimme a pair of binoculars and I don’t think I could see straight.’
‘That’s where we’re going now.’
It was slow progress as Heck assisted the casualty across the still-crowded basement.
‘Just make sure you get something good out of him,’ Quinnell said. ‘Don’t want a cracked noggin for nothing.’
‘Don’t worry, pal. You know the rules. You don’t wallop one of our lot and walk off. One way or the other, that bastard’s having it.’
‘Ah, Sergeant Heckenburg,’ Anderson Burke said in an unsurprised voice. ‘Some things never change, I see.’
Burke was a tall, spare man, with short white hair and steel-rimmed glasses, and he’d been the McDougall family solicitor for at least as long as Heck had known the nefarious clan. The twosome had dealt with each other many times back in Rotherhithe, a period of Heck’s career when he’d been Wade McDougall’s arresting officer more often than he could these days remember.
This latest encounter came in the Custody Suite at Finchley Road, where, despite the bustling crowd of captives and captors, Heck had ensured that he was the first person the solicitor laid eyes on when he arrived.
‘They certainly don’t,’ Heck agreed. ‘Wade resisted arrest as strongly as he always used to. Once a Bushwhacker, eh? Odd thing, though … you and him going back as far together as you do. Thought he’d have learned something by now. Such as how dumb it is, when you’re only out on parole, to be clobbering police officers with chairs.’
Burke was at the Charge Office counter, in the process of signing himself in with the Custody Officer; now he looked round, briefly but visibly troubled.
‘One person you won’t be seeing tonight, Mr Burke, is DC Gary Quinnell,’ Heck said. ‘He was our undercover officer during the raid. He’s currently having an emergency operation to elevate a depressed skull fracture.’ Heck gave him a frank look. ‘What a silly boy our Wade is, eh?’ But then he mused, ‘At least … we think it was Wade. Very chaotic down in that cellar. I didn’t witness the attack, personally … I’ve got to see what the other officers present have to say first.’
‘What were the actual circumstances?’ Burke asked coolly.
‘Here’s a copy of Gary Quinnell’s statement, taken before he went into surgery … and my initial intel report.’ Heck handed him a couple of printouts. ‘The latter outlines the reasons for the raid, what we expected to find there and why, who we expected to find there, etcetera. It’s heavy stuff, as you’ll see. Of course, the last thing your client needs on top of this lot is being charged with attempting to murder a police officer … wouldn’t you say?’
Heck collected the keys from the Custody Officer and headed down the cell corridor. Burke followed, briefcase tucked under his arm as he skimmed through the documents.
‘Sergeant Heckenburg,’ Burke said, ‘you know Wade McDougall very well. He’s never been the sharpest tool in the box.’
‘That is undoubtedly true,’ Heck said over his shoulder.
‘He’s often the architect of his own misfortune. But that doesn’t always mean that he appreciates the bigger picture. Just because Wade was arrested at this weird underground cinema, I wouldn’t necessarily read huge responsibility into it. He’s rarely been anything except a minion.’
‘He’ll still go back to prison,’ Heck said.
‘Of course, but it’s all about how long for, isn’t it?’
‘Well …’ Heck halted at the relevant cell door, ‘I guess we’ll only find out exactly how involved in the running of this cinema Wade was, or even …’ he pondered, ‘how much he knows about it, when we get into the interview room. Be an interesting exercise, won’t it?’
‘And this … “attempting to murder a police officer”?’ Burke tried to sound amused. ‘Seriously?’
Heck shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be his first time, would it?’
‘It would certainly be his first time with a chair.’
‘With all respect, Mr Burke, you haven’t seen the steel-framed chair.’
‘Sergeant Heckenburg—’
‘Look, as I say … your client may be investigated for attempting to murder DC Quinnell, and he may not. I’ve got to make some further enquiries on that … after we’ve had a chat with Wade about this cinema.’
Then he unlocked the door and allowed the solicitor access to his client.
Chapter 28
‘I want to talk first about your relationship with Lance and Margot Frith,’ Heck said.
Jack Reed sat alongside him. On the other side of the interview room table, Wade McDougall slouched next to Anderson Burke.
The prisoner shook his head. ‘Don’t have a relationship with them.’
‘We arrested you working in their unlicensed cinema, Wade,’ Heck replied. ‘Excuse me if I struggle to keep a straight face in response to that.’
‘I mean I don’t have … like a relationship with them. You know … as in a relationship.’
‘You work for them, though, don’t you?’
‘Oh that … yeah.’
‘How long have you worked for them?’
‘Eight months. About.’
‘So, you started not long after the last time you got out of prison?’
‘Soon after, yeah.’
‘What has that job involved?’
‘Security. I’m just a glorified doorman really.’
‘Glorified.’ Heck considered that. ‘Funny use of the term, Wade. Bobby Moore was glorified when he lifted the World Cup in 1966. The Virgin Mary was glorified when she entered heaven with no sins on her soul. You worked in a club that showed snuff films.’
‘That’s yet to be established,’ Burke cut in.
‘Did you ever watch the films that were being shown there, yourself?’ Reed asked.
‘I saw some of them, yeah.’
‘What did you think?’ Heck wondered. ‘Good stuff?’
McDougall grimaced. ‘No … fucking horrible.’
‘Damn right, Wade,’ Heck said. ‘Damn right. Because this isn’t just porn, is it? I mean, this stuff’s really nasty. So, I’ll tell you what … given that you were working for these people, helping them make money out of providing this “fucking horrible” service – to quote you exactly – once this interview is concluded, we’re going to be looking at you for disclosing indecent and distressing images. Now, you may not be too worried about that … even though I happen to know you’re at a stage in your life where you’re really supposed to keep your nose clean. But … there might be some heavier stuff coming down the line too. Because you and me also know that, whether we can accurately classify that place as a snuff club or not, a lot of those movies depicted sequences which look, on the surface, to contai
n real-life rape, torture and murder. True or not?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘You must have an opinion, Wade? I mean, you’re not that dense, are you?’
‘Sergeant, please …’ Burke said.
‘What do you think, Wade?’ Reed asked. ‘Didn’t they at least look real? Certainly, the customers who went in there thought they were … I mean, they were paying top dollar.’
McDougall shrugged. ‘They looked like they were real, yeah.’
‘We’ve now had the chance to skim through a few of those films, ourselves,’ Heck put in. ‘And, quite clearly, not all of them are home-made. Some look like they originated overseas, some looked quite old. So, I’m guessing that Mr and Mrs Frith bought those in?’
McDougall shrugged. ‘They bought them all in.’
Heck and Reed glanced at each other.
‘Do you want to elaborate on that?’ Reed said.
The prisoner looked reluctant to say more. Many career criminals were snake-like in the treachery they showed to each other; but some – the soldier caste, like this one – never found it easy. Only in extremis would they consider informing on comrades, and as Heck had already indirectly reminded McDougall’s solicitor, this situation was potentially the very definition of ‘extremis’. But before the prisoner could say more, Burke cut in.
‘Perhaps, Sergeant … I could have another consultation with my client?’
Heck met his gaze. The only thing that surprised him about this interruption was that the interview had actually been allowed to start, but again, that was probably down to McDougall’s mulishness. Now, however, he’d clearly changed his mind.
‘No problem. Interview suspended, 10:19 p.m.’ Heck flipped off the tape machine. He then gave the solicitor and his client a long stare. ‘You guys got a statement for us?’
‘I’m still a tad concerned about this chair incident,’ Burke said.
Heck shrugged. ‘As I say, there may be nothing in it.’
Reed sat listening to this in fascination, but he kept his mouth shut.
‘May not?’ Burke enquired.
‘May not. It all depends.’
‘You haven’t spoken to the CPS about this?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then yes,’ Burke said, ‘we’d like to make a statement.’
Heck looked at McDougall. ‘Before we actually write anything down, Wade … what are we going to be talking about?’
‘We didn’t make those films,’ McDougall said sullenly. ‘We didn’t kill anyone.’
Heck leaned forward. ‘Suppose I believe you … who did make them?’
‘I can only tell you who sold them.’
‘That’ll do for starters.’
‘One bloke … don’t know his name. Always the same fella, though. Always comes to the same place in the same green van.’
‘What place?’
‘A lorry park down in Newham.’
‘You sound like you have personal experience of this?’ Reed said.
The prisoner nodded. ‘It’s me and Alfie who do the buying. Not with our own money, obviously.’
‘You and Alfie pay the money and take possession of the merchandise?’ Heck said.
‘Yeah. We can look after ourselves, me and Alf, so … in case it ever cuts up, Margot sends us. After she’s set the deal up … on the phone, or whatever. We get paid extra for that, though … so it’s always worth it. And nothing ever happens. Just straight business.’
‘Tell us about the bloke?’ Heck said.
McDougall frowned. ‘Foreigner. East European, I’d say.’
‘How old?’
‘Late thirties.’
‘White?’
‘Like I say … European, but eastern, I think. Darkish skin. Spoke with an accent.’
‘Good English?’ Reed asked.
‘Enough to get by.’
‘Hair?’ Heck said.
‘Black. Short.’
‘Big fella?’
‘Average height, but massive across the shoulders. That’s all I ever really see. It’s dark, because the exchange is usually at midnight. We park behind a row of oil drums about fifty yards away. We always know when to walk over, ’cause he gets out his van and waits.’
‘And this van’s a green transit?’ Reed said.
McDougall nodded.
‘Registration number?’ Heck asked.
‘No clue.’
‘And this bloke always comes on his own?’
‘Never seen anyone else with him.’
‘OK … how does it go down?’
McDougall shrugged. ‘We hand the cash over, he gives us a bag of films.’
‘How much money are we talking?’ Reed asked.
‘Me and Alfie never know. It always comes to us in sealed brown paper.’
‘And he just takes this packet, gives you the mucky movies and drives off?’ Heck said. ‘Without checking it first? He must be very trusting?’
‘Why not? We’ve been doing this a while.’
‘Is this guy ever armed? I mean with a firearm.’
McDougall gave it some thought. ‘I never saw that, but I wouldn’t be surprised. That sort of bloke, if you know what I mean. I once overheard Lance and Margot talking. Sounds like part of the original deal was that none of these movies ever show up online … and if they do, there’ll be trouble.’
‘As in … trouble for Lance and Margot?’ Heck asked.
McDougall half-smiled. ‘As in … this guy will kill them both. Least, that was the impression I got.’
Heck sat back, thinking that it all rang eerily true.
The Friths had spent their professional lives in the adult movie market. They’d probably made lots of connections in that time, but ultimately that was all they’d ever really done – produce and sell mainstream pornography. Of course, in the age of free video-sharing websites, there was less and less money to be made in that field, unless you were prepared to venture ever further into the extreme. And during one such foray, most likely on the Dark Web, they’d made contact with a whole other universe.
On one hand, it was frustrating because it meant that Heck still wasn’t as close to this organisation as he’d hoped, but on the other, Wade McDougall was the best lead he’d had.
‘How often did you meet this guy?’ Reed asked.
McDougall pondered. ‘No set time. Just when Margot told us. She was the one who made all the arrangements.’
‘And it’s always at this lorry park in Newham?’ Heck said. ‘Around midnight?’
‘Not around … bang on. If we’re late, he won’t wait.’
‘OK … and when were you next due to meet him?’
‘That’s the funny thing …’ McDougall eyed them warily. ‘Tonight.’
‘Ma’am … the way I see it,’ Heck said, ‘we’ve got to act on this fast.’
They were back in the Charge Office at Finchley Road, he and Reed in conflab with Gwen and Gemma, the former of whom had been summoned out of her interview with Lance Frith, the latter who’d just arrived from the hospital and was able to report that Quinnell was doing well.
Aside from the Custody Sergeant and his assistant, there was no one else around. All the prisoners taken at Deercot Road, including Margot Frith, were now in their respective cells, conferring with their solicitors or waiting for them to arrive.
‘We can be the ones who meet this guy,’ Heck said, ‘but if we don’t do it tonight, the Friths’ legal reps will find a way to pass the message on and the whole thing’ll get called off. This bastard with the pen drives disappears, and that’s it. We’ve got nothing.’
‘We might already have nothing,’ Gwen said, tapping her pen irritably on the charge desk. ‘Both the Friths have consulted with their brief. He could already have made a phone call.’
‘I can’t believe he’d be stupid enough to use his own phone,’ Gemma said.
‘He could have brought a spare along for this very purpose.’
‘That’s true, ma’am,’ Reed said, ‘but Heck’s right. If we don’t take the opportunity to meet this green van at midnight tonight, word will get out somehow, and this guy will never show up again.’ He shrugged. ‘If he doesn’t show tonight … well, there’s nothing we can do about that, but if he does, we’re quids in.’
Gwen clucked with dissatisfaction. ‘My problem is that undercover ops like this need proper planning.’
Reed glanced at his watch. ‘It’s nearly ten-thirty. No time for that.’
She regarded the two men carefully. ‘Who goes?’
‘We will,’ Heck said.
‘Just the two of you?’
‘Well … Gary can hardly assist, Gail’s not here any more and no one else is available.’
Gwen looked so unhappy with the plan that it felt as if she was about to kibosh it.
‘Ma’am …’ Heck urged her, ‘this may be a once in a lifetime opportunity.’
‘All right, all right … but I don’t like it. Not the two of you on your own. So … get back to Staples Corner first and draw yourself a pistol each. I’ll arrange to have a Trojan unit in close support as well.’
‘Ma’am,’ Heck groaned, ‘going back to Staples Corner now will add another—’
‘Don’t argue with me, Heck. Just do as you’re damn well told, OK?’
He nodded.
‘We’ll get some local plod on the scene too,’ she said.
‘So long as they keep well back … we don’t want to blow it now.’
‘Heck!’ Gwen’s eyes flashed with impatience. ‘I know you’re convinced you’re the only copper in the UK who knows what he’s doing. But try and have a little faith, eh?’
Chapter 29
As part of his co-operative approach, Wade McDougall agreed that Heck and Reed could take his car, a distinctive beige BMW Sedan, to the meeting at Newham. This was the vehicle the Green Van Man was used to seeing and, with luck, it would lull him into a momentary false sense of security – sufficient at least for them to grab him.
The main problem, though, was time.
It was 10:35 p.m. when they left Finchley Road. The ten-minute drive back to Staples Corner wasn’t much of a problem, but drawing firearms from the SCU armoury was never a quick and easy process, not least because the unit’s official armourer, a retired and cantankerous ex-firearms sergeant called Joe Mackeson, only worked nine-till-five, and now had to be called in specially. He only lived around the corner in Dollis Hill and was already on site when the two detectives arrived, but as he issued them each with the requisite Glock 17 and shoulder holster, plus two fifteen-round magazines apiece, he still managed to take his time and to complain endlessly about being dragged from his late-night comedy shows.
