by M. C. Dutton
Jazz got a lift back to the station with Sharon and Tony. They wanted to get something to eat and some notebooks and pens for the evening work. Tony was giving him a curious look and Jazz wondered what that was all about. As soon as Jazz put a foot on the stairs up to the CID floor, he was stopped by a Sergeant who said that DCI Radley was looking for him. The Sergeant added that he looked none too pleased. Weary from the day, Jazz really didn’t want a fight tonight. He walked heavily up the stairs; each foot felt like it weighed 20lbs. He knocked on the door and entered after a crisp “Come in” was heard through the door. He was berated for not answering his call and quoted every rule and regulation that must exist in the Met Police for contacting DCIs and communication etc. After expelling lots of hot air, DCI Radley calmed down a fraction and told Jazz to fill him in on all the details.
Jazz told him everything from pick up of call to finding the cannabis factory. DCI Radley was actually very pleased with how the day had gone. That was until Jazz said he had entered the house next door to Alice’s without a warrant. The rules and regulations were again quoted and the fact that no warrant had been issued by him. Jazz convinced the DCI that he had needed to get in urgently in case there was someone in there or they would have had time to escape. He added that he thought he heard a voice inside and needed to investigate immediately. As it happened, it was an abandoned cannabis factory but he didn’t know that until he looked. He hoped his DCI bought this lie. He reassured him that everything else had been complied with, the electrician the SOCO team etc. His punishment was that a full report needed to be on the DCI’s desk at 8 a.m. the next morning.
Jazz realised his evening was now ruined. A few drinks in the pub, fish and chips and a spot of cricket on the TV was how he hoped his evening would go. He needed to just pop to Sainsbury’s down the road to get some more vodka. The flask didn’t hold much, he told himself. Then, if he pushed himself, he could finish the report in two hours and still get home with fish and chips for a bit of cricket. The pub would have to wait but there would be a drink at home. He bought three bottles of vodka in Sainsbury’s. It would last him a good while.
The report was finished by 8.30 p.m. He was pleased with it. He would walk, it would only take him 20 minutes maximum and he could get fish and chips nearer home. The evening air was a little sharp but June was a funny month. It could be glorious one minute and freezing the next. He seemed to have been standing around for a lot of the day and he liked walking off the stiffness in his legs. The air was as fresh as it could be in busy Ilford. He took a deep breath and felt invigorated and calm for the first time that day; he felt good walking home.
The fish shop was not busy. It had been very busy until 7 p.m., the owner told him. This was his quiet time. He cooked a fresh piece of cod for Jazz. They chatted for a while and Jazz found out that this man had come over from Uganda not many years after Jazz arrived. They swapped information about families to see if they knew of each other but nothing was known. Jazz told him he was staying with Mr and Mrs Chodda. Now they had something in common. This man was the brother of Mrs Chodda’s aunt’s husband in Hackney. Always a small world in the Sikh World, Jazz thought. He got an extra amount of chips on the back of this information and a wally too.
He arrived at the door in De Vere Gardens and fumbled for his keys. With fish and chips in one hand and a Sainsbury’s bag clinking in the other, he had to swap bags to get his keys out. Mrs Chodda, on hearing the clinking and tutting, opened the door for him. He hoped to hell there was no more visits to deal with and currys. Mrs Chodda was learning and didn’t stop Jazz from going up to his room with his fish and chips. She smiled politely and wished him a pleasant evening. He gave her a big smile and thanked her. He didn’t know if the good wishes were from relief of no more family or pleasure at seeing her. Mrs Chodda was a lovely landlady and he sensed the warmth in her. He was actually very comfortable here and his room was big. When his other bits and piece arrived, he would be settled for a bit.
He should have known Mrs Chodda would have more plans in store for him and her single female relatives. Mrs Chodda had a long term plan for Jazz. First of all, she would make him welcome in her kitchen. Her motherly instincts told her he needed looking after. She was also aware that he would make a very fine husband for one of her relatives. For now she would just see how things developed but an invitation to join her in her kitchen would be hard to refuse and she knew it. Sikh manners and social interaction would ensure Jazz could not refuse.
He opened the door to his room and busied himself getting a plate and glass. He wanted to eat his fish and chips reasonably hot and he needed a drink badly. It had been a shit day and he needed to blot out Alice for a little while; he would have all night to think about her. He looked at his watch and saw he was in time for a bit of cricket on the television. He sat back with his fish and chips, his glass nicely topped up and cricket on the television; he felt relaxed and at home.
He woke the next morning tired with a mouth that was dry and tasted like he had licked someone’s sweaty armpit. The headache was intense and deep and he felt sick. He hadn’t slept much and when he did, it turned into nightmares of violence and fear, nothing specific but enough to wake him in a cold sweat. He looked over and saw that the bottle of vodka was three quarters empty. That was impossible, he told himself. He must have spilt a lot of it. The hot shower made him feel revived and calm. He drank a fanta from the fridge and the sugar rush gave him a good edge. He popped a couple of paracetamol and knew in an hour he would feel fine and dandy. He filled his flask with the remainder of the vodka for emergencies during the day and took himself off to Ilford Police Station. It was 9.30 a.m. and he was the last to arrive.
Sharon and Tony were waiting for him. As he walked in, he heard the cat calls and snide comments. So he was late; they could all go and fuck themselves for all he cared. It looked like Sharon and Tony had borne the brunt of their comments for some time. Sharon was fed up and Tony was red with embarrassment or anger, he couldn’t tell.
Jazz walked round the CID floor with an air of unbridled ease. There were six CID officers busy on the phone or looking at paperwork. He spotted Peter Young, the DS whose team were making the most noise. He slapped Peter on the back in a friendly gesture and asked what they were up to these days. Peter looked at the cocky man in front of him and sneered that they were dealing with many crimes and his team knew what they were doing and their clear up rate was exceptionally high. As he dismissed Jazz with the comment that time was money and was about to walk off, Jazz pulled him by the arm and squared up to him with his face inches from the DS. Through clenched teeth, he said, “My team are dealing with a huge case which we are going to solve in days. My team are half the size of yours with a quarter of the experience of yours but you know what? They have more balls and more sense in their little fingers than your lot of fat-arsed, not worthy of a blow job bastards. Now let’s have a bit of respect for the team, DS Young.”
With a smile and another pat on the back, Jazz walked over to his team. Everyone had watched in frozen silence and now that the two men had walked away from each other, everyone resumed what they were doing and the noise of people working started again.
Shocked at how he had flared up, it took Jazz a few moments to collect himself as he walked back to Sharon and Tony. He was quite scared at the level of hate and fury he felt and how it had risen and exploded into the room so quickly. He had just meant to give Peter a verbal slap but the demon inside him rose up and beat the crap out of the DS. He thought his demon had been squashed and overpowered and caged in the deepest part of him. He had had enough counselling to deal with it. The fear of not being in control and the fear of another breakdown took his breath away for a moment. He didn’t want anyone to see that darker side of him and it was a great shame and embarrassment to him that now everyone had seen him lose control. He was the friendly, disarming Jazz, that was how he wanted to be known. He kept his demons to himself and he would deal with them late
r. He had work to do and he needed a clear head.
Sharon and Tony wanted to say something but Jazz was having none of it.
“Come on, newbies, lets go find out what forensic have come up with on the blood and bones.”
With a smile and a furtive look at the others in the CID room, they both got up and followed Jazz.
As promised, Jenny, the SOCO, had crosschecked the DNA of the blood and bone found in the cannabis factory with the DNA of Alice. It was, without a doubt, Alice’s blood and bone. Jazz, to be fair, had thought this was a strong possibility, but he had been in denial, he had hoped it wasn’t Alice. He would have preferred that she died in her own house from natural causes.
On hearing the result, the blood drained from his face. So it was true; sweet, kindly, naive Alice had been murdered. If he had time, he would have just sat and cried. He felt inconsolable. What had she gone through in the last moments of her life? The fear, the pain, he just couldn’t bear to think of it. It felt like he had lost his grandmother in the most vile way.
Irrationally, for a few moments, Jazz was full of guilt and asked himself if he had let Alice down. He should have contacted her as he had promised. Could he have saved her? He was in the process of beating himself up about this. He went to the gents to splash his face with cold water. He could feel the sweat dripping off his face. He took a swig of his flask and felt better. It was early but he needed it. He kept saying as a mantra “Get a grip, get a grip.” He stopped when an officer came into the toilet and looked questioningly at him. Enough, he told himself. He could ring his counsellor if this feeling didn’t stop. He hadn’t felt the need to call him for many months and he sure as hell didn’t want to start now. He could do this, he told himself. He went out to join his team.
They all went to the canteen for a cup of tea and breakfast. Now the work would begin. Jazz, quieter than they were used to, sat with a faraway look. He was thinking of his next step. He was going to get the bastard who did this and avenge Alice. This was his case and he didn’t care who he trampled on to find out who murdered her. A tap on the shoulder brought his thoughts back to the here and now and he looked up at an officer who said DCI Radley wanted to see him in his office now. He knew he was going to be taken off the case if it turned out to be a murder. A more experienced team would be given it. Jazz was having none of that. By hook or by crook, he was going to keep this case and get the bastard who did this to Alice.
IT’S MY PARTY
DCI Radley was, as usual, sitting at his desk. Jazz for a moment wondered if he ever left his desk. Where did he pee during the day and did he eat? He told himself this was not the time for such thoughts. He needed this man to be on his side.
He was about to say that Jazz and his team were off the case. He had been told it was murder. Jenny had left a message for DCI Radley as well. Before he was told this, Jazz jumped in with his four point plan; he knew strategic planning was something the DCI loved. Of course this concept appealed to the DCI, and he listened a tad reluctantly to the animated DS in front of him. Point one: Jazz stated that he had been the first on the scene and had identified immediately that there was more to the case than an unfortunate accident. He had identified the cannabis factory next door. The DCI interjected here and forcefully noted that Jazz had flagrantly abuse Metropolitan Police protocol and entered a house without the necessary warrant. He reminded Jazz that the public would be distressed and the press would be angry to know this had happened.
Jazz anticipated this and answered soothingly that of course he would never abuse such a protocol and he only did this because he thought he heard someone inside the house. He added that if said person had been caught, it would have been a feather in DCI Radley’s cap. As it was, it had now been proved that the cannabis factory and the death of Alice were linked. His team had spent the evening interviewing neighbours to find out what they knew. He explained that he was about to debrief his team regarding this.
Point two: He had extensive experience in murder investigations. He quoted four murders he had solved in Manchester. He quoted the commendations he had received. Somewhere in a box was a certificate to prove this. He had a lot of experience of murder (this was actually true).
Point three: He had tremendous experience in dealing with cannabis factories. In Manchester this was what he had done for quite a few of the five years he was there. He added that he had good contacts in Ilford, who he could use to find out who were the main players. In answer to a comment, he agreed that yes, he had been away for five years, but his contacts were still there and they still owed him. He could tie the two together. This would be such a major coup for the DCI. The press love a success story and Jazz promised to deliver a success story in a week. Jazz thought he was pushing his luck but he could tag on extra time after a week if necessary.
“And what is point four?” asked DCI Radley.
Jazz was struggling now. He had picked the number four out of the air and not thought about it.
“Point four: To prove to you that I am a good DS and I will work every hour it takes to solve this murder and to find out who was running the cannabis factory. No one else will work as hard as me. I used to live in Newbury Park and I have contacts; it is a personal thing. I want to solve this and as my DCI, I will keep you informed at every step along the way.” Christ, he thought. He would give this man his soul if he kept the case but he didn’t want to go that far yet.
“There is a point five, Guv.” DCI Radley looked interested. “This is a big case and will do your career the world of good if it is solved expeditiously and it will be my honour to ensure you do well from this.” Jazz felt sick at such smarminess but it had to be done.
The DCI rolled these thoughts around and coyly said, “I would only do it for the good of the station.” Jazz readily agreed. “I am your man, Guv. Let me and my team carry on working this case. We are already discussing the next stage and I expect to have a name within a day.” This sounded very good to the DCI. He hesitated for a moment and Jazz, again, wouldn’t let it go. “I can do this, Guv, and because of the seriousness, I will keep you informed for your many interviews with the press and give you good updates. If the murder squad get this, Ilford Police Station, your station, Sir, will be out of the loop.”
This seemed to be the clincher and Jazz left the DCI’s office walking on air but knowing he needed to come down to earth very soon. Stroking naked ambition and telling exaggerated porkies were the order of the day. He smiled, he still had it, the charm and the quick turnabout; he could think on his feet. He was the man! Nothing had changed, he was the person he used to be before the incident in Ilford. It had all come back to him as easily as spitting in the wind.
But he had promised more than he could deliver at the moment so enough of the patting on the back. He was about to mess with the alliances in Ilford. Ilford was run by gangs that had an uneasy alliance with each other. They all understood where they were in the scheme of things. Years ago, parameters had been set after some pushing and shoving, with the inevitable deaths on each side. Everyone worked hard to keep the peace, it was more profitable that way. Jazz was about to poke a stick into the hornets’ nest. If DCI Radley knew that he had agreed to the murder of two Vietnamese men, some titfor-tat arson and a gang war that would finish off at least six more men, he may have reconsidered his decision to let Jazz and his team handle the case.
Jazz went back to the canteen buzzing with adrenalin and stress. With a mug of strong tea from the lovely Milly, he got down to business with his team. He was under immense pressure to solve this, but he told himself he worked better that way.
First things first, he asked how they had got on with the house to house last night. They had reams of paperwork but nothing much to say that would be of any help. It seemed that most of the neighbours worked and no one saw anything. One person said they noticed some Chinese people going into the house on occasions. They thought they owned the house, but they didn’t seem to live there; they just visited e
very week or so. No one had taken much notice and couldn’t be more specific about times. It was enough for Jazz, he knew where he was going now and who he would contact. He had a contact who was one of the biggest criminals in the East End of London and he owed Jazz big time. Jazz was about to collect the favour with interest. It would be the start of the killings in Ilford.
ASHES TO ASHES
It was Saturday and he had to collect Mr Singh’s ashes from the crematorium. He rang to check they were ready and he was told to come at 3 p.m. It had been a rushed job but they had done it as a favour to the temple.
Jazz had told Sharon and Tony to write up their notes regarding their house to house and he would see them Monday morning bright and early for the next stage in the investigation. He had made a call to his contact and arranged a meeting on Monday morning at 8 a.m. at the temple.
Now, he figured he would get some lunch at the local pub across the road and think out what his next moves would be. A few beers and four cigarettes later, he had got it organised in his head. First things first, he needed to do right by Mr Singh. It was going to be quite dodgy now. He had promised DCI Radley the earth to keep this job but he was about to do the dirty on him regarding Mr Singh’s ashes.
