‘Yes, but-’
‘It was taken seriously, it went well up the chain, but the decision was no.We’re bound by that. I expect you to be bound by that. No further action. Sorry. I appreciate your initiative, but that’s it.’
‘I can’t accept that.’ Tom rose to his feet, holding himself rigid, face pale with anger.‘I put myself on the line to gather legitimate, damning evidence-evidence that couldn’t be obtained in any other way. It provides conclusive information about a crime of massive proportions. So what is this? A cover-up or a cop-out? Are you all too bloody weak-’
‘That’s enough, Tom,’ Brock growled.
Kathy couldn’t quite make Brock out. His words were his, but he sounded as if he had something stuck in his gullet. It was hurting him to do this to Tom, and she wished Tom would stop, but he couldn’t.
‘Do you realise what two tonnes of crack on the streets means?’ he yelled, his voice incredulous. ‘Do you have any idea what devastation-’
‘There’s another way of looking at this, Tom.’ Brock’s voice was suddenly hard.‘If you’d come to me before you went in last night, if we’d set it up another way, things could have turned out differently. As it is, the whole case is closed down. Whatever leeway we had has been taken from us.’ He gestured as if to take in the whole office, the empty pin board, the stacked files.
Tom glared at the faded files in disbelief and shook his head, unable to find the words. Then he turned and stormed out of the room.
Brock put his head in his hands for a moment, then looked across at Kathy.‘Couldn’t you have stopped him,Kathy? Couldn’t you have let me know?’
TWENTY-FOUR
Tom wasn’t at his desk when Kathy returned downstairs. Bren
was standing nearby, and he gave her an odd look.
‘Hi, Kathy. Everything okay? Tom-’
‘Where is he?’
‘He just charged in here, grabbed his stuff and ran. Didn’t say a word.’
Kathy hurried to the front lobby, but Tom had apparently left. There was no sign of him outside in the street. She returned to the office and told Bren what had happened.When she finished he shook his head and said, ‘The old man wouldn’t be happy about that.’
‘He wasn’t.’
‘Maybe I’ll go up and have a word.’
While she waited for him to return, Kathy tried Tom’s mobile number and got his answering service. She didn’t leave a message, deciding it would be best to let him cool off.
When Bren reappeared he gave Kathy a wink. ‘He’ll come round. How do you fancy a spot of rape? Sad Simon’s made another hit.’
She groaned.‘Oh,not again.’
‘Yeah. All hands to the pumps. Brock wants you to work with me. Keep you out of mischief. Come on, there’s a briefing out in Barnet in half an hour.’
Kathy grabbed her coat and bag and followed Bren out to the car. It was the best thing, of course, a new case, a fresh start.
Over the following days she tried a number of times to make contact with Tom, but without success. He wasn’t answering his phones and there was no sign of him at his flat. She rang Nicole and asked if Lloyd had heard from him, but he hadn’t. As time passed without contact she was more and more haunted by an image that George had conjured up, of Tom at the JOS with Magdalen, flirting, dancing, drinking, and of Teddy Vexx watching them, apparently unmoved.
By Friday she was sufficiently worried to talk to Bren about raising the alarm.He was inclined to let it lie for a while.‘It’s only been a couple of days. He’s got you in enough trouble, Kathy. Raising a false alarm will just make things worse. He’s probably gone away for a while till the dust settles. Did you check with personnel if he’s asked for leave?’
‘Would they tell me?’
‘Hm. I’ll get Dot to give them a ring. And admin over at Special Branch, too, see if he’s contacted them.’
She thanked him. Bren’s calm, imperturbable solidity reassured her a little, and she waited while he went upstairs to speak to Brock’s secretary. As she sat there, staring at the blank screen on her desk, her phone rang and she was surprised to recognise the voice of Andrea, Michael Grant’s research officer.
‘Kathy? So glad I caught you. How are you? I hear you’ve been getting into trouble.’ She chuckled.
‘Andrea? Have you seen Tom?’
‘Oh yes. He’s standing here beside me as a matter of fact. That’s why I’m calling.’
‘Where are you?’
‘We’re waiting outside a committee room.’
‘Where?’
‘Parliament. Michael’s Home Affairs Committee has just reconvened. They’re in private session at the moment, and we’re waiting for them to open the meeting up so we can go in and watch. Tom thought I should tell you. He thinks you and your boss will be interested in the proceedings this morning. Michael’s planning to cause a bit of a stir.You can watch on live webcast on your computer-www.parliamentlive.tv.’
‘Oh no . . .’ Kathy groaned softly to herself.‘Andrea, will you put Tom on, please?’
‘Sorry, they’re opening the doors. I’ll have to turn my phone off now. Tom sends his love and apologises for the short notice.’
The line went dead.
Kathy immediately dialled Brock’s number. Dot answered, telling her that Brock was in a meeting.
‘You’d better put me through, Dot. He needs to hear this now.’
She did so, and a couple of minutes later Brock came into the office to join Kathy in front of her computer. Kathy had warned Bren, the word had spread and the other detectives were also clustered in front of screens around the room.
The picture showed a horseshoe-shaped table with the chair, Margaret Hart, in the centre. Michael Grant, further round to her left, was conspicuous as the only black member, and Kathy also recognised Nigel Hadden-Vane facing him across the central space. Margaret Hart was deep in conversation with an aide at her shoulder, querying something, nodding, and then speaking briskly into her microphone.
‘That’s confirmed then, all of next week’s meetings will be held in this room. The schedule of witnesses has been confirmed. Now, let’s get down to business. Mr Grant, you have something you want to raise?’
‘Yes, Madam Chair. I have a matter of such great relevance and urgency that I would beg your and the committee’s indulgence and request that I be allowed to introduce it immediately.’
‘How long will this take, Michael?’
‘No more than an hour.’
Hart looked around the table.‘How does the committee feel? Can we suspend our agenda for an hour for Mr Grant?’
There was a murmur of conversation and several heads on the Chair’s right turned to Hadden-Vane for a lead. He drew himself up and said,‘We’ve become quite used to the distractions offered by the Honourable Member for Lambeth North. I’m sure we can spare the time to be entertained by him once again.’
Several people chuckled. Margaret Hart nodded at Grant. ‘Very well. As quick as you can, please.You know I like to stick to our timetable.’
‘Thank you.’ Grant opened the file in front of him and paused for a moment, as if the contents were so significant that he had difficulty finding words to begin. Then, into the expectant silence he said,‘I am indebted to my colleague for his invitation to entertain the committee, but I can assure you that what I have to say will only shock and horrify you.As you know,the subject of our current inquiry is the involvement of organised crime in legitimate commercial activity in the UK. Well I have here evidence of a carefully planned and implemented conspiracy between apparently legitimate British businesses-household names on our high streets-and organised criminal gangs both here and abroad, to carry out criminal activity on an industrial scale and for enormous profit.’
There was a ripple of interest around the committee, but it was clear from some of their expressions-amused, sceptical-that they were used to hyperbole from Michael Grant and were waiting for something tangible. He proceeded to give
it to them.
‘I will table evidence that the well-known off-licence chain Paramounts Beers,Wines and Spirits,wholly owned by members of the Roach family in London, has been used, with their knowledge and active participation,to import Class A controlled drugs into the UK under cover of innocent international trade.’
Now the room erupted in noise. Some members showed outrage or shock-no doubt, like Commander Sharpe, they were regular customers of Paramounts-while others were gesticulating to each other as if to say that Grant had finally gone mad. Only two figures were still-Grant himself,sitting with head bowed while the comments fizzed around him, and Margaret Hart, who was gazing at him with a worried frown. In the background, Kathy heard Bren’s muttered ‘Blimey’.
Hart allowed the turmoil to continue for a few moments before calling the meeting to order.‘Mr Grant, you have just made an allegation of the greatest seriousness. I have to warn you of the limits of parliamentary privilege.’
‘Hear hear!’ Hadden-Vane rumbled. ‘Madam Chair, may I comment? Some of our committee will recall that this is not the first time that Mr Grant has slandered this family under cover of privilege. They will recall his description of them as “slum landlords” and other scurrilous terms during earlier inquiries. The fact is that Mr Grant has a pathological hatred of this family, who have extensive business interests in his constituency. This committee is no place for a private vendetta of this kind.’
‘That is true,’ Hart replied,‘but I was going to point to another limitation on privilege. If, as you say, you have evidence of specific criminal acts, which presumably could become the subject of a police investigation, then you are bound not to reveal information that might prejudice a later trial.’
Grant nodded and said,‘I have consulted with the Clerk of the Committee on this, and understand that I must not comment on matters currently before a court of law or where court proceedings are imminent. But that is not the case here. In fact, this brings us to a crucial issue and the reason why this committee must listen to what I have to say and must act upon it. The fact is that the irrefutable documentary evidence I have here was provided to me by sources close to the Roach family. When confronted by this evidence these sources rightly took it to the police, who declined to act upon it. Only then did they bring it to me, and one of the most serious questions that this committee must ask is why the authorities have refused to investigate. We are the last bastion of the truth, Madam Chair.We must not shirk our duty.’
More turmoil, Hadden-Vane shaking his gleaming pink head in disgust.
‘I think,’ Margaret Hart said loudly, ‘that we will move to private session to discuss the implications of this.’
‘Personally,’ Hadden-Vane came in again, ‘I would favour hearing Mr Grant’s so-called evidence in open session.We’ve had enough of his outlandish and irresponsible behaviour. Let him have his say and live by the consequences.’
‘All the same, I’m calling a ten-minute recess to consider this. Will all those who are not members of the committee please leave the room.’
After a moment the image on the screen was replaced by a blank background behind the words COMMITTEE IN PRIVATE SESSION.
Everyone in the office swivelled round to stare at Brock. He rubbed the side of his chin.‘Hm. I’d better tell one or two other people to watch this. Are we recording it by the way?’ He got to his feet and ambled out.
They had armed themselves with mugs of coffee by the time the image flicked back to the live picture from the committee room. They leaned forward together in the attentive way that screens carrying breaking news command. Margaret Hart briskly announced that they would hear Grant’s submission in open session, a decision that provoked a murmur of excitement from the committee room and clicks of disapproval from around the office.Brock watched impassively.
Grant reached for a bag beside his chair and produced copies of a document for each of the eleven members of the committee. As he began to lead them through it, Kathy realised that they had repackaged Tom’s material as a dramatic narrative, a blockbuster thriller.With the help of photographs, diagrams and maps, the MP introduced them to the route taken by cocaine smugglers from Colombia to Jamaica, showed them the Dragon Stout brewery in Kingston,a bottle of the malty beer,twenty-foot containers stacked at the Kingston Container Terminal, the container ship Merchant Prince,which had brought the first consignment across the Atlantic, a Paramounts store in South London with cases of Dragon Stout on special offer and, finally, a chilling picture of blank-eyed crack-smokers in a derelict squat.
Grant also gave them copies of key documents supporting his accusations. His presentation was measured and unemotional until he came to the conclusion, a summary of the likely impact of the drugs on the people of South London.
Despite herself, Kathy was impressed, and so was the committee.When Hart called for discussion, Hadden-Vane’s attempt to find fault sounded like empty bluster. When he demanded that Grant reveal his sources, Grant neatly turned it into a further attack on the Roaches. He would not name his sources, he said, because they would be at serious personal risk,and to support this he would provide members of the committee with a list of criminal convictions of various members of the Roach family. Hadden-Vane seemed to realise that he was being outmanoeuvred,and after some heated debate around the table he proposed that discussion be suspended so that members could have time to study and digest Grant’s material over the weekend.Grant concurred,adding that he intended to bring to the committee at its next sitting, on the following Monday, a list of witnesses that he would ask the committee to call for interview under oath, including members of the Roach family.
As the committee moved back to their scheduled agenda, Dot appeared at the door. Her usual poise seemed ruffled.‘Brock,’ she said,‘Commander Sharpe on the phone.’
Brock got to his feet. ‘I’d like a transcript,’ he said. ‘But our priority is catching Sad Simon. Let’s concentrate on that.’
Later that afternoon Kathy got a call from Dot to say that Brock wanted to see her. He waved her to a seat.
‘Damage control. They’re going to keep mum to the press and try to nobble the committee chair, Margaret Hart, behind the scenes. I don’t fancy their chances. How far do you think Tom will go with this,Kathy? You know him better than I do.’
The coldness in Brock’s voice confronted her: Tom was the enemy now, the threat. She’d sensed that in the others’ murmured comments all morning, but coming from Brock she realised how absolute Tom’s betrayal had been.
‘I’m not sure. He was very angry after our meeting on Wednesday, and I haven’t seen him since. I’ve been trying to contact him but he won’t answer my calls.’
‘I don’t like to ask you to betray confidences, Kathy.’ He spoke slowly, eyes on a heavily marked-up copy of the webcast transcript lying on the table in front of him.‘But I need to understand what he’s doing. Is this some kind of elaborate professional suicide, or does he really think he can prove a point and come back to us covered in glory?’
All morning Kathy had been asking herself the same question. ‘I’ve had the impression, right from the beginning, that Tom felt he had to prove himself in some way. I mean in a personal, individual way, not just as part of the team. I didn’t realise it at first, but he wasn’t being open with me, not about what he was really thinking. He didn’t tell me about what he was planning with Magdalen until I came across a surveillance picture with the two of them together, and then he had to tell me. But he was desperate that nobody else should know until he’d pulled it off, and in the end I agreed, on condition I could go along as back-up. That was a big mistake, I know. I’m sorry. I really am, Brock. This is my fault.’
‘Divided loyalties,’ he murmured, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.‘It does for us all.’
‘I think it goes back to a problem at Special Branch. He had some kind of personality clash there.’
‘It was a bit more than that. He didn’t tell you?’
<
br /> Kathy shook her head, puzzled.
‘A couple of years ago there was an IRA group operating in the UK, responsible for a series of big robberies up north. It was believed they were based in a neighbourhood in Liverpool. Tom had had some earlier experience on the IRA desk and it was decided to plant him and another officer, a woman, in the area, as a couple moving in as new teachers at the local school,he for PE,she for maths. They settled in, got to know their neighbours through their children. They’d worked together before, Tom and this woman, and they made a convincing couple. The trouble was that it became a little too real. After a time they announced that they were going to get married, and they did, inviting their neighbours to the party. Branch disapproved, but didn’t do anything. Then things went wrong. A new gang member came over from Ireland and recognised Tom. They did nothing at first, then one night they paid Tom and his wife a visit. Only Tom was away from home, reporting to his people in Manchester.When he got back he found his wife battered to death.’
‘Oh God.’
‘The Branch brought Tom back to London and moved him into their A Squad, protecting VIPs. He never really settled into it. There may well have been personality clashes as he told you- I’ve only heard his boss’s side of the story. Anyway, I was happy to give him a berth here for a while.’
‘He never mentioned any of this to me,’ Kathy said. ‘I didn’t even know he’d been married twice.’ The story was a jarring revelation, throwing everything she thought she knew about Tom into a new context, every word, every action open to fresh interpretation. ‘You said he’d worked with the other officer, the woman, before.Was that in Jamaica?’
‘I believe it was, yes.’
Kathy remembered the evening of Jamaican cooking, the stories, funny and wistful. I have been a surrogate, she thought, no more than a channel to old memories, a bandaid for old wounds.
‘I think he’ll go all the way with this,’ she said sadly. ‘Maybe the real question is, how far will Michael Grant let him go?’
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