by M. C. Dutton
The thug looked at him and saw the panic. He walked over to Tony and put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on mate, its going to be OK. They will let you go soon, trust me. I know whats going on here.” Tony looked at the smiling face and heard the soothing words but felt no better. Oddly, he thought being called ‘mate’ by this Indian guy sounded really strange. He asked when he could leave and the Indian guy said he would find out and left the room. Tony heard the key turn in the door. He was locked in and in an urgent panic looked around to see if there was an escape route. The window looked over the unkempt garden. It was pitch black outside; he looked at his watch and saw it was just past midnight. Time was passing so quickly and he had to get away. He thought of smashing the window and climbing out but saw a man standing in the garden smoking a cigarette. He wouldn’t get far. He tried the door just in case but, as he feared, it was locked.
Just as he was about to descend into that feeling of hopeless panic, the door was unlocked. As he heard the key turn in the lock, time stood still for a few moments. He held his breath with fearful trepidation. What was going to happen to him and why had they kept him here? He was not a brave man, he knew that, but even a brave man would be frightened by the knowledge that he was alone and powerless and no one would come to his aid. He knew his weakness, which gave them all the trump cards and put him at their mercy.
The two men entered and saw before them a frightened man about to panic and become uncontrollable. They had seen such fear before. They were full of apologetic smiles and soft voices. The familiar one said, “Look, we are really sorry, but until we checked you out, we had no idea whether you were police or someone we have been having problems with.” Tony relaxed for a second. “We are going to take you immediately to the police station and explain everything to your boss.” The other thug walked around Tony and with a goodwill gesture brushed imaginary fluff off his shoulder.
Tony tried to say it was not necessary, he had his car outside and thank you anyway but he had to get going. They were having none of it and firmly stated that it was the police station they were taking him to and that was the least they could do. Their insistence made arguing futile so Tony allowed himself to be led out to a waiting car. He noted it was not the Mercedes that had arrived earlier but a Range Rover. It certainly wasn’t there before. The three of them got in the back with Tony sandwiched in the middle. Tony asked where the other guy was that they arrived with. The thug he knew just grimaced, shrugged his shoulders and said, “He was no one in particular and left a while ago.” Tony knew that was a lie. He had seen them arrive earlier and he had seen the way the two thugs had acted. Only bodyguards jump out of a car like they did. They ensured the man in the back of the Mercedes was safe and escorted him with deference into the house. He was most certainly an important man. Tony wished he knew who he was.
The car took off sedately. They took the road to the A12 and were coming up to the Redbridge roundabout, but instead of continuing along the A12, they shot off by the Redhouse pub towards Woodford. By the time they arrived at Charlie Brown’s roundabout and were proceeding towards the Waterworks roundabout, Tony was feeling worried. “Why are we going this way?” he asked. “It’s nowhere near Ilford Police Station.” They looked at him and smiled. One said, apologetically, “We forgot to say we have just got to pick up someone who is coming to the police station with us. We need our brief cos we know there will be things to explain and he can do it better than us. He lives in Epping, which is just up the road from here.” Tony wasn’t sure he believed them but he preferred to give them the benefit of the doubt. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.
The road to Epping was long and dark. On either side of the road, the view was of the impenetrable forest. The branches of the trees seemed to spill onto the road and hover above them. In the darkness the trees took on frightening forms and gave Tony a sense of foreboding. The big leaf-bearing branches looked like triffids hunched over the car ready to envelope them. It was a very lonely and disturbing journey for Tony. The disquiet he felt was being quelled and held deep down in his bowels. The Range Rover took a right turn down a track into the forest. Tony sat up sharply and, panicking, asked why they were going this way. That disquiet was rising in his stomach and had reached his throat. The soothing answers were not helping him anymore. He didn’t believe that the brief lived down this sort of track. It wouldn’t be somewhere a man would live. Tony, in a panic, grappled to get over to the door to open it, but the thug just slapped him back. The soothing tones had gone and they told him to shut the fuck up and keep still.
He kept asking why they were doing this. He hadn’t done anything to them. They ignored him. It took only a few minutes to reach the turn-off which led to a small glade The Range Rover came to a halt. Tony didn’t want to get out; he held on and he pleaded again that he hadn’t done anything to them and for them to let him go home to his mum. Everything was moving slowly and noises and voices were pitched so high that he could hear with a clarity he had never experienced before. They dragged him out onto the brambled ground. It was all so unbelievable, he must be asleep and this must be a nightmare. He could see them clearly standing above him. One reached into his coat and took out what looked like a gun. It couldn’t be a gun. There was no reason to do this to him, he didn’t want to die. He pleaded again loudly and tearfully that he would be a good boy, he promised. He tried to scrabble away but he had lost the power to move, his muscles all felt like pap. He held his breath and closed his eyes for the last time; they would never open again. The loud shot made the trees rustle; the second shot to his head seemed to echo around the glade.
They took his body into the wood and buried it; they had done this before. The conversation on the way back was far more jolly. They were going to a club that they knew stayed open all night. They deserved a drink. One was on the phone to the boss. All he said was “It’s done.” He was told the other one had got away but they would get him in the morning. They knew where he lived so no problem.
Tony’s life had been lacklustre but in death he would have been proud. He may have been surprised to know that his mother, on hearing of his death, would go into deep mourning and die from a broken heart one year later. His skipper, Jazz, broken with guilt and convinced it was his fault, would be back in counselling. Sharon, unnerved by his death, would weep tears for him and would also be wracked with guilt and believe it was her fault. His death had spectacular repercussions and made him a hero in police and public legends, which over the years grew far bigger than Tony could ever have achieved if he were alive. He would have been proud of the medal he received posthumously.
A DATE WITH FATE
To sit in a car with Mad Pete on a warm day with all the windows open was not something you would wish on your enemy. He was whining and moaning about not going back to that house. Sharon sat in the front and Jazz sat uncomfortably in the back next to Mad Pete. Jazz wanted to know more about when and where he saw Tony and who was with him.
Pete told him he was going to a house in Upney but the Viets took him to Forest Gate. He said he hadn’t figured out why they took him there. He said they babbled excitedly in their own language to each other and he never knew what the fuck they were talking about. He was a bit scared to be taken to Forest Gate because he had never been there and everyone was edgy with all the tit for tat murders taking place. Someone wanted to know what had been said to him by the Triads and Snakeheads when they visited him. He turned to Jazz at this point and said, “Everyone seems to know what everyone else is doing. Everyone wants to know who I am talking to.” He turned back and looked at his hands. “I don’t want to be this important, Mr Singh. I just want to get back to my life. I liked my life before all this.”
“So what happened when you got to Forest Gate?” Jazz wanted to move this conversation on a bit faster. “Well, I was taken into the back room and a Mr Tin Pan alley man, something like that anyway –”
Jazz interrupted. “Do you mean Mr Tran Tan Giap?”
Mad Pete nodded. “That sounds about right, Mr Singh. Do you know him?” Jazz shook his head and told him to get on with it. “Well, Mr Singh, this Mr Tin Pan wanted to know precisely who I had spoken to and when and what I had said. I told him it wasn’t much. He asked if I knew any names but I didn’t. I don’t want to know nuffink, Mr Singh. It’s too dangerous out there.”
“So when did Tony come into this?” asked Jazz, trying to get this rambling man to move on. “Well, it wasn’t long before some man comes in the door, he wasn’t a chink, he was Asian and they told me to get upstairs and pushed me up there and into one of the rooms. I could hear someone come in downstairs. I was fed up now and wanted to go home. I had two of them talking ten to the dozen to each other in Viet language. They were getting very excited and I felt like a spare part, they didn’t need me there. I was hungry by now, I wanted some dinner. I had been out all day, Mr Singh, with nothing to eat.” Jazz told him to stop whining and get on with the story.
“After about 20 minutes I got really fed up and told them I wanted to go now.” They said I had to stay up in the room until someone downstairs had gone, he was very important and if I valued my life I had better do what I was told.” He looked at Jazz again. “I got into a strop, Mr Singh, I don’t know what came over me. I just pushed them out of the way and went downstairs. I must have been mad to do it. I ran into the back room and there was the poof sitting all comfortable with the Asian minder watching him. I could tell I wasn’t supposed to see him and the two Viets came in and grabbed me and took me back upstairs.” He looked sideways at Jazz; he had tears in his eyes, glistening in the corner. “I knew it was bad, Mr Singh. There was someone else in the front room and when I came out a minder was guarding the door to the front room and looked ready to top me. It was all wrong, Mr Singh, I knew it was really bad; something was going to happen and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had to get away.”
Jazz egged him on to tell him more. “Well, I was up in this room for ages and then there was movement downstairs. The two Viets had locked me in the room upstairs and I heard them go downstairs. I can pick any lock, Mr Singh, you know that, so was just biding my time. I heard the front door open and voices and I think I heard the poof’s voice. It all sounded OK though, there was no shouting or screaming, just the odd word as they went out the door. When the door closed, I heard a conversation in English for the first time. Someone was on a phone in the hall I think and they said He would be dealt with and I thought that sounded bloody dodgy. They then said Him too and I thought they meant me. I was so scared, Mr Singh, I was shitting myself. It took me at least two minutes to pick the lock on the door, I was shaking so much. As luck would have it, the landing upstairs was empty. I climbed out of the window in the toilet onto the gabled roof and walked along a few roofs until I was away from that house. I climbed down a drainpipe and got away. I never knew I had it in me to do the climbing but I think it saved my life.”
Jazz asked if he knew who was downstairs in the front room and he said he didn’t know. He didn’t think it was just Mr Tin Pan because he heard Mr Tin Pan’s voice and another man’s voice and they were deep in conversation.
“So you didn’t know they were going to kill Tony, and you didn’t know they were going to kill you?” Jazz asked.
“I heard the way they said he was going to be dealt with, Mr Singh, and it sounded really bad.”
Pete was getting agitated now. They were close to Forest Gate Station and the road must be nearby. Jazz was not sure if Pete was on a drug-induced fantasy or whether there was something to worry about. Nevertheless, Tony was still not answering his mobile and they hadn’t heard from him. It was not good. Sharon had sat quietly listening during the journey. She tried Tony’s mobile number again, just in case. He still wasn’t answering and she swore under her breath.
She looked up as a row started in the back of the car. Mad Pete was getting all panicky and Jazz was losing his temper. The police car had to stop until Mad Pete showed them which way to go. With a lot of shouting and arm waving, Mad Pete took them over the hill past Forest Gate Station and towards Wanstead Flats. Just as they came up to a road on the right, he shouted for the car to turn. They were in Carlton Road and the house they wanted was just over the road; he pointed, waving a dirty hand in the direction of number 29.
Within minutes, six police cars arrived; three were unmarked cars, two were standard police cars and one was a police van. Armed police jumped out of the van and positioned themselves around the house. It was done quietly and quickly. If Tony was in the house, they didn’t want to spook the Viets into doing something they might regret. Neighbours watching had never seen so many police crammed into one small area. It was a hive of activity and above them was a police helicopter watching the surrounding area. A police car was parked in the next road and the officers were making their way into the rear gardens that backed on to 29 Carlton Road. No one was going to get away.
Jazz dragged Mad Pete from the car. He was struggling and shouting, “No, Mr Singh, don’t make me go in there again.”
Jazz told him through clenched teeth, “Shut the fuck up you bastard. The place is full of armed police, what more do you want?”
Mad Pete looked around and for the first time took in the swarm of armed police and uniformed officers. “Bloody hell, Mr Singh, they mean business alright.” He was going to enjoy this. It wasn’t often he was on the right side of the law and now he realised he was the important person who knew the house and could identify someone. The sight of the guns made him feel brave and fearless. “Come on, Mr Singh, let’s get going.”
Jazz let him go and watched, amazed, as this usually sloppy and slow person walked across the road with a spring in his step. The sound of the door being knocked open stopped him for a second in his tracks but, on realising what they were doing, he happily continued up to the house. Jazz followed quickly and under his breath kept repeating, “Please God, let Tony be in there and OK, please God, please God.” Sharon was not far behind, praying for the same.
Jazz waited whilst the armed police went in and scanned the house room by room. He listened to the voices shouting “Clear” when each room had been entered. As the dust was settling and it appeared no one was in the house, there was an eye of the storm calmness which was abruptly broken by a voice he knew. Jenny the SOCO had arrived. The usual moaning of “Yea Gods! Doesn’t anyone leave a scene clear for me to examine?” reached him before she did. He turned to say hello and got out of her way. As she busied herself getting past him and dragging her box of tricks with her, he asked how the hell she got here so quick. She replied that Tom Black had called her and told her to get there pronto. She looked at Jazz and said somberly, “Of course I would come quickly, he said it was to do with the disappearance of a police officer. That gets top priority in my book!” He touched her arm in gratitude. What made Tom Black assume a SOCO was needed so quickly, he asked himself. The feeling of foreboding had gripped Jazz and it took his breath away.
He had to pull himself together, Tony was his Detective Constable and he was the one who would find him, not Tom Black from the murder squad. He put on a pair of rubber gloves he kept in his pocket and entered the house. He had to see for himself that Tony wasn’t there. At least, he told himself, they hadn’t found a body. He gave Mad Pete a pair of gloves and told him to put them on and not to touch anything. Mad Pete started to moan, so Jazz pushed him and told him to get a move on. Jazz was anxious, scared and fed up with so much time wasting, he wanted to see what was in the house and if there were any clues as to where Tony might be.
Looking at Mad Pete still moaning, he wondered if the man ever kept quiet. Jenny was in the front room taking fingerprints. He asked if they touched nothing, could they look in the back room. Mad Pete had told Jazz that was where they had kept Tony. Jenny looked up and said she was coming with him. No way was she going to let him corrupt any of the crime scene.
Mad Pete was poking the air with h
is finger in the direction of the only chair in the middle of the room. “There, there, Mr Singh. He sat on that chair there.”
Jazz walked over to the barren chair. He sighed with disappointment. There was nothing at all around the chair. If only Tony had dropped something or left a clue; anything that would help them find him. “Are you absolutely sure he was here?” It occurred to Jazz that it might have been a drug-fuelled nightmare and instead of seeing little green men, Pete saw Tony.
Pete nodded insistently. “He was here, on that chair, Mr Singh, honest.” Jazz’s frustration was sobvious.
“Enough!” said Jenny. “Get out of my way and let me do my job here.” She went and got her bag of tricks and they listened as she told anyone in her way or near the rooms to “fuck off and don’t touch anything.”
In a moment, she was back and dusting for fingerprints. She got out her magnifying glass, which was her way of working; not many used such a thing but Jenny was from the old school and Jazz suspected her eyesight wasn’t quite as keen as the foul language she used and she needed this bit of help. Bent over the chair and peering intensely, she asked in a distracted voice, “Does anyone know what he was wearing?” Jazz hadn’t a clue but Sharon told Jenny he was wearing a particularly nice light woollen suit in a charcoal grey with a sharp crease in the trouser to die for (she blushed at having made such a superficial comment at this time). She continued, saying that he was wearing a beautifully pressed white cotton shirt and a pink silk tie. Jazz looked at Sharon, amazed she remembered so much. He supposed it was because she was a woman and took an interest in such things. He just remembered that Tony always looked dapper, which was quite unusual for a Detective unless they were going to court.
