by M. C. Dutton
The burglaries happened in Ilford Lane, which goes from Ilford to Barking. The houses were near the Barking end of Ilford Lane. The CID car was in the car park waiting for them. Jazz let Tony drive. He felt under the weather still and hoped his stomach wouldn’t let him down during the drive. He said they were off to the Gasgoine Estate in Barking to meet Mad Pete. En route, he explained that Mad Pete was a druggy on methodone to combat the withdrawal from heroin. Pete was addicted to methadone now. His brain had been frazzled and he looked like the walking dead. He had a flat in a high rise and with nothing to do all day he roamed the streets and got to know what was going on out there. The feral kids, as Jazz called the under 18 year olds who roamed the streets – no school, no jobs and homes they would rather be out of than in – were the major criminals in small time crimes like sheds, muggings, street robberies and gang fights. For whatever reason, that made no sense to any adult, Mad Pete was looked on as a god by the feral kids. He was no Fagin, not enough brains to keep that together, but he did lay his hands on cannabis from time to time, which he shared with the ferals. When really pushed, he was good at shoplifting too. With all the CCTV and security around, he managed to get bottles of whisky through without being stopped. He did target smaller shops where it was easier to distract and steal. Over the years, Mad Pete had gained a lot of experience. It would be true to say that most shops in the Barking area now knew him and he had to travel by bus further afield for a shopping spree.
They pulled up outside the high rise. Sharon and Tony understood this area well and made sure the car was locked. Every town had a ‘Gascoigne Estate’ in it. High rise flats and maisonettes all built close together with the odd sprinkling of a green with signs saying ‘No Ball Games’. The graffiti was quite good in places. Jazz turned to Sharon and pointed out the lack of education in the area. “Someone ought to teach these kids something. That’s not how you spell ‘bolicks’. The youth of today are going down the pan!”
Jazz suddenly moved forward quickly. He was now in a hurry to get into Mad Pete’s flat. He rang at the bell more times than was necessary and Mad Pete could be heard to grumble that he was getting there as fast as he could. He opened the door and Jazz dived in and went straight to the toilet. He left Sharon and Tony to ask if they might come in.
Minutes later, Jazz appeared, obviously suffering. “My God, Pete, the state of your toilet, don’t you ever clean it? I need carbolic soap for my bum after sitting on that seat.” Pete looked down and smiled an apology.
A bottle of beer was offered but all thanked him and refused. Nothing in this place was clean, including Pete, who stank of sweat. The two DCs looked at him and reckoned he must be about 50 years old at least. His grey thin hair held together by grease hung limply to his shoulders; not a trendy look at all, more a mad look. His jeans had seen better days and hung from the waist with no bum or stomach to give them shape. They looked like whatever he had eaten, touched or been close to over the past year were stained on them. The blue denim had lost its colour to a barrage of grease stains and dirt. He wore a tee shirt with the words, if a man is alone in the woods is he still wrong. Tony liked that and smiled.
“So you are back, Mr Singh.” Mad Pete opened the conversation in a most respectful way.
Jazz was not in the mood for pleasantries. “It’s about these shed burglaries off Ilford Lane; what do you know about them?”
Pete shook his head and before he said anything Jazz reminded him that he could make life very difficult for him, he knew he was fencing stuff, not big time stuff, but enough to get him put before the Magistrates and he knew he didn’t want to go down that route. Pete was petrified of going to prison again. The last time he had been badly attacked by other inmates and he said he would rather be dead than go back there. Jazz was guessing. He had only just returned to Ilford, but Pete didn’t look like he had made any life changes and small- time fencing had kept him going before so no need to assume it was any different now.
“OK, Mr Singh, I know the Barrow lads from Barking were fencing some bikes and lawnmowers which came from sheds I reckon. Not the stuff I am interested in, Mr Singh, too big for me.”
Jazz knew Pete fenced mobiles only. There was a lot of money in it. Every kid had a mobile these days and street robberies were on the increase when he was last in Ilford. Times certainly didn’t seem to have changed in the five years he had been away. Even Mad Pete’s tee shirt was the same as he wore last time he was here and still not washed by the look of it.
The Barrow boys were new to Jazz; when he got in the car, he asked the two DCs if they knew of them. They did. The week they had been at Ilford had been spent well. Sharon and Tony had looked at persistent offenders lists and those names that had come to the attention of Ilford Police. Tony added that the Barrow boys were well known in the area for petty crime. Both were on referral orders at the age of 13 years for shoplifting. They were obviously not going to learn from it and were about to go up the next rung on the ladder of criminality.
Jazz thought that sounded poncy and said, “They are little thieves who are never going to change. We had better get their address and visit them.” The two of them were looking good and, in a moment of warmth, Jazz turned to each of them and promised, “We’ll show the bastards on the CID floor who’s the daddy! We’re going to be the best.”
Sharon and Tony hoped he was right. It all looked a bit hit and miss to them. The CID teams had enjoyed more fun at their expense than was fair. The thought of sweet revenge was very appealing and they both vowed to work hard to make it happen. The bonding of the team was well underway.
A call was made to intelligence, who gave an address in Ilford Lane. The Barrow boys lived in a council maisonette with their mother, a single parent who had lots of uncles visiting regularly.
“Is she a tom?” Jazz asked.
He was told that she wasn’t a tom, more she liked to have a man around for a little while. They never stayed long and then she got another man. She didn’t work and apart from the twins, Brian and David, she had Kayleigh, who was three years, and William, who was one year old. All by different fathers.
“Sounds about normal to me, lets go visit.” Said Jazz, anxious to get going. “I would say it was a pleasure, Pete, but it weren’t!” Mad Pete smiled. Mr Singh was back and going to be a pain in the neck again.
Mad Pete begrudgingly liked Mr Singh. He had saved him from prison a couple of times. Pete had never done anything too bad and he had always helped Mr Singh when forced to, but sometimes a very ambitious PC or DC would home in on him and try and fix him up. Mr Singh protected him to a certain extent. He was told that if he ever did anything big, he would not protect him and, in fact, Jazz would ensure he went to a prison with particularly big bad bastards who would love to meet him. Pete stayed fairly clean, just making a bit of a living now and again.
“Well, what do you think of Mad Pete?” Jazz asked them.
Tony answered ruefully, “You take us to the best places, skipper, thank you very much.” Jazz laughed, he was warming to Tony, who had an ironic sense of humour. “He’s mine, I introduced you but he stays mine and you don’t touch him, is that clear?”
Both Sharon and Tony understood and got quite excited because this was real Detective work, like on TV. Jazz could see the excitement rising and told them to calm down and focus on the job of getting the shed burglaries sorted.
The maisonette looked good. Sharon Barrow let them in. She kept a very nice home and looked after herself. The two youngest were sitting watching TV. She was asked where her twins were and she said she didn’t know. They usually went out and came back at lunch time or teatime; whenever they felt like it. Seeing the look on the DC’s face, she pointed out that at 13 years old they were young adults and were growing up. No one except her thought that was the way to bring up teenagers but they weren’t social workers so it wasn’t their problem. In answer to their question, she thought that they usually hung around Barking Town Centre, near the station.<
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When they were back in the car, Jazz phoned ahead and asked for pictures of the Barrow boys. They said they would go and collect them straight away. The journey back to the nick involved stopping at two pubs so Jazz could go to the toilet. The curries were hitting him with vengeance. They had a quick drink, Sharon and Tony had orange and Jazz had a couple of brandies for his stomach. He chewed some gum to cover the brandy breath, which was just as well because the fucking graduate wanted to see him in his office.
He knocked on the DCI’s closed door. He entered when he heard a “Come in”.
“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Jazz asked respectfully. The tirade started then and continued for 10 minutes. Kalia had been in to complain about Jazz.
“You have been here less than 24 hours,” which was incorrect, it was getting on for 48 hours, but Jazz was not going to argue the point, “and already I have a member of the public accusing you of GBH. What have you to say about this?” His voice was full of anger and the pitch was getting higher and higher. With a cough to adjust his voice, DCI John Radley pushed a picture of Kalia’s seared arm towards Jazz. The shock was real. Jeez, his arm was badly burnt in a perfect circle. He was amazed the metal bangle could have done so much damage. “He had to go to the hospital and he is traumatised by the effect.” DCI Radley was trying to stay calm but the urge to shout and lose control was there. “He said you did this to him. Is it true, DS Singh!” It was not a question, it was an interrogation.
Jazz, cornered but coming out fighting, had a response ready. “Sir, Kalia lives in a house with six other men. When myself and DCs Day and Sepple attended the house, we found all seven members of the house indulging in a drinking bout. The six men were very drunk indeed. Kalia was also drinking and whilst he was able to hold a conversation with me, he showed signs of being highly intoxicated. DCs Day and Sepple and myself left the house together. We did not return because intelligence gave us no reason to believe any persons in the house had any history of criminal intent.”
DCI Radley wanted more.
“Why would I do such a thing, Sir? We found nothing in our conversations with Kalia to suppose he would be of any further interest in the case of the hanging. If I may suggest, Sir, he was very drunk and has got muddled up with events.” This was a polite way of saying to his DCI, prove it, which of course he couldn’t. DCI Radley had no idea at all why Jazz would do such a thing and it didn’t seem feasible. The hospital had said that Kalia was drunk when they looked at his arm and quite honestly a drunk is capable of doing any stupid thing.
DCI Radley said he would deal with this but he warned Jazz he would be keeping an eye on his working procedures and if he found any reason to suppose he was not working within the protocols of the Metropolitan Police, he would come down on him like a ton of bricks! His face had now burned to a bright angry red and feeling ill at ease and not at all reassured, he dismissed Jazz from his office. Jazz knew he had to be careful and watch what he did in future. He couldn’t go on this way. He thought himself a good CID Detective and he didn’t like what he was becoming. He would do things by the book from now on. No more Jazz justice. But soon something would make that very difficult to follow.
The DCs had the picture of the Barrow Boys, Brian and David. It was thought a quick recce of Barking Town Centre might find them. It was 1 p.m. and there was just enough time to find them and interview them before their shift was over. Raring to go, Sharon and Tony had to wait in the car whilst Jazz made another visit to the toilet.
“My God, those bloody curries are going to kill me,” he said. They laughed; an Asian man complaining about curries didn’t sound right.
The got to Barking Town Centre at 2 p.m., later than they hoped. The picture was a clear one but all the young lads together were hoodies. They got out and walked up to groups of them and showed the picture and asked if they knew them and where they were. They got a lot of ripe answers which Jazz let pass, but no one knew these boys. It was on turning and seeing two young lads walking towards the station that he saw them. They saw him first and turned and ran. Sharon and Tony were on the case and were fit. They steamed after the two lads whilst Jazz tried to keep up. After five minutes, Sharon and Tony, with one boy each, marched back to where Jazz waited. Off came the hoods and the pictures were looked at; it was them. When asked their names and where they lived, they lied; with a bravado they should not have felt, they gave false names and addresses and said they had done ‘nuffink’ wrong. Handcuffed and put in the back of the car, Jazz said it was over to the two DCs to sort out and interview them. They were taken back to Ilford and put in a cell until it was decided what they were going to do with them.
With no direct ideas coming from the two DCs, and fed up with just speculation, Jazz told them what they were going to do. To begin with, a search needed to be made of the Barrow Boys’ home. Jazz would speak to Mad Pete again, it was possible he might know where they fenced the stuff. He told them Mad Pete did not go down on paper, he was his informer and he was to stay out of the limelight. He suggested the boys were interviewed separately to see if they would own up to the shed burglaries. In fact, Jazz announced he would interview the first boy. They were not identical twins so could not play the game other twins had played by saying You can’t prove which one of us was there.
Brian and David were waiting for an appropriate adult each to turn up. The mother couldn’t come because she was looking after the two little ones. Also, a brief was organised for them both. Until it all came together, Jazz went off to speak to Mad Pete. The two DCs went to organise a warrant to search the Barrow Boys’ home. Jazz’s parting words were “Back here by 6 p.m. latest and we will pool our information.” They went off excited to be doing real police work. Give me strength! he thought. This was a stupid little case and it had taken all his day. He hoped the days got better otherwise he was going to be bored out of his brain.
Pete knew it was the Barrow Boys and said they fenced bikes and lawnmowers to Albie Edwards down Beckton Way. Jazz remembered Albie, a careful man who usually only bought what he had orders for. The Barrow Boys must have been stealing to order. Perhaps that was why they left behind tools that could have fetched a few bob. Albie was using younger boys these days. The burglary was a few days ago. Albie would have got rid of the stuff immediately, but he would go and see him anyway, just to let him know he was back. Not a lot seemed to have changed on his patch in the five years he’d been gone.
The DCs returned promptly and looked very pleased with themselves. They told Jazz, well they argued between themselves who was going to tell Jazz, but Sharon won. Good on her, Jazz thought, she was making herself known. They found £60 under the Barrow Boys’ mattress. They slept in bunk beds and it was under the bottom bunk’s mattress. They also found a set of new screwdrivers in a drawer. One of the people who had been burgled said a new screwdriver set was missing. It looked like they had found it from the description given. That set the boys right in it.
The appropriate adults were about to arrive and the briefs were already there. As soon as they were ready, interviews would start. They were all into overtime now, which pleased them.
Jazz intended for this to be sown up quickly. He wanted to get home and relax. Last night was ruined with the curry evening, tonight he was taking a kebab home and watching any highlights he could find on the test match in India. He felt exhausted by his stomach reacting to the curries. Again he rushed off to find a toilet.
The appropriate adults had arrived. Jazz took Brian and he let Sharon take David. Tony could watch and learn. It took five minutes for the belligerent mumbling idiot to realise he had been banged to rights. His brief advised him to make a no comment interview but solicitors can be more of a pain in the butt than anything else. If he goes hands up to it, Jazz said it would go well in court; if not and he was found guilty, with all the evidence they had and the fact that David said it was his fault, well, he could get something much more serious. The appropriate adult watched but said nothing a
t this stage. Brian, incensed that his brother might blame him, spilled the beans and told all. Of course, his brother David instigated the burglaries and they fenced it to someone they had met but whose name they did not know. It was all written down and signed. Done and dusted, now for the other one, Jazz thought whimsically. He didn’t think Sharon would have got a confession out of him. The no comment interview was standard these days.
He knocked and entered the interview room whilst Sharon was offering a tissue to a very upset David. “Poor lad, this is all too much for him, skip,” she lamented.
The appropriate adult asked for a break for David. Jazz thought it better to get it over and done with so the lads could go home as soon as possible. Another confession was signed and the boys were duly bailed and sent on their way. Jazz always shook the hands of the appropriate adult and thanked them for coming. It was good manners, they were volunteers and besides, best to keep them happy otherwise they could make an interview hell by stopping it every few minutes and arguing points for the suspect. Sharon had done well. He thought she had potential.
Sharon and Tony went home feeling very good but Jazz felt listless and hoped things would improve soon. He wanted a meaty job to get his teeth into. For the time being, he would have to settle for a kebab. He opened the front door of his lodgings hoping Mrs Chodda didn’t jump out with any other surprises. She did come out of the kitchen but when she saw he had a kebab she just smiled and said she hoped he had a good evening. With relief, he climbed the stairs to his room, turned the TV on and got a glass. He needed to remember to get another bottle of vodka tomorrow, this one wouldn’t last another night. He had a good night’s sleep. The nightmares were less frequent and it was always a bonus when he slept well. He got up on Thursday morning full of hope that today would be a better day. His stomach, at last, felt fine, much to his relief.
