by M. C. Dutton
DCI Radley uncomfortably thanked Tom Black for his, and he searched for the right word, his colourful update. It was his turn now, and he told everyone present that the Asian gang which had been identified as being brought in to assassinate the opposition, which they did, and which was responsible for killing DC Tony Sepple, was thought to be out of the country now. He added that Interpol were on the case and were looking for this group. It was too early yet for an update but he felt sure more information would be available soon. He said he was in constant contact with Interpol. He was waiting for SOCO to come back with anything they had found out. He said something should come forward today.
Jazz was asked to update everyone on his area. He stepped forward with a bravado that hid his shame. He told everyone he had a meeting with his informant this morning and hoped to get some information on what was going on and if anyone knew who could have authorised Tony’s death. With more venom in his voice than he meant to show, he added that he would personally avenge Tony’s death and catch the mean mother fucker who did this.
Johnny Radley concluded that the killings had to stop. The murderer of Tony Sepple, a DC in his borough, was going to be found. He reminded everyone that time was of the essence and to get going. He wanted everyone interviewed again. He wanted all witnesses checked. He wanted all the neighbours living near the houses marked as cannabis factories and the house in Forest Gate re-interviewed. Everyone present knew what they had to do and where they had to go. He drummed into everyone that someone somewhere knew something. He finished by saying all were to be back in the operations room by 4 p.m. for updates.
The signal to get going was given and everyone present was suddenly motivated and up and talking and shouting instructions on where they were going and who they were going with. It was mayhem. Jazz looked at the crowd of dedicated officers in front of him and he felt proud. Everyone in that room was there because they wanted to find Tony’s killer and they would do it for free. For once, overtime wasn’t an issue. One of their own was dead and that just didn’t happen in England. Jazz turned to the table to pick up the scattering of paperwork.
The figure standing in the doorway, ramrod stiff and straight with silent determination, watched the melee of men gathering themselves together to go about their business. She was spotted by a few officers and in a matter of seconds, the cacophony of voices, loud and urgent, all shouting for supremacy, was extinguished. The sudden heavy silence made Jazz turn and look at everyone in the room. They had all stopped and were staring at the person in the doorway. Standing there was Mrs Sepple. With trembling dignity, she walked slowly towards Jazz and his DCI. Her face was frozen in a grimace of pain, the grief barely contained. She was wearing the deepest black. A path was cleared as she moved forward. Like a tide, the officers present stepped back to allow her through and then forward after she had passed. Now everyone was watching Jazz.
DCI Radley stepped forward to greet her and gently took her by the arm to guide her away to somewhere quiet. But she was having none of it. She grunted as she roughly pulled her arm out of his grip. She had eyes only for Jazz. In a voice that seemed to come from the bottom of her soul she whispered vehemently that he was going to pay for what he did. Each word was aimed with a pointed poisoned tip to hit him between the eyes and make him suffer like she was. Only no one could suffer as much as she. She told him her world had been crushed and twisted and rung out and she wanted to die and be with Tony and it was his fault that Tony was dead. That word gave forth an anguished sob but she then became calm. In her calmness she was frightening. From the lowest part of her abdomen came a rumble of sound that forced its way into her throat and fired out of her mouth: “Murderer!” she said. She raised her hand in a flash and struck him across the face. She looked into his eyes and again screamed, “Murderer!” She struck him hard again across his face. DCI Radley, stunned and static by her actions, suddenly found movement and grabbed her arm as gently as he could and, whispering reassurance, spirited her away to his office.
The silence was palpable. Jazz held his stinging cheek. He couldn’t lift his eyes to see everyone standing looking at him. He could feel the heat of their scorn and contempt and if he could, he would have just disappeared off the face of the earth. He wasn’t sure he could carry on. Sharon, who had been standing in the corner, rushed to his side and turned him from his accusers. She whispered, “She is sick with grief. She doesn’t know what she is saying. We will find Tony’s murderers and everyone will know who did this.” In desperation, she shouted, “It wasn’t him!” to everyone standing in the room. They all knew about Jazz and the other incident so she could save her breath. It was him last time and it had happened again on his watch.
Everyone left feeling pretty sick at seeing Tony’s mother in such despair but each and every one of them was determined to do their best to find Tony’s killers and the man who had ordered his death. The room soon emptied, leaving Jazz and Sharon. Tom Black had left with Radley and Mrs Sepple. There were a few questions he would like to ask her if she was up for it.
On Jazz’s instructions, Sharon was off to the Pathology Department to see if anything interesting had come out of the autopsies and there were fingerprints and bullets and whatever else they found to go through. She would report back to Jazz as soon as she knew anything of interest.
Jazz was off to see Bam Bam and he hoped and prayed he had the name of the bastard who ordered Tony’s death. He wanted him arrested and in a cell before nightfall. It was early but he needed a drink. He stopped in the gents and sat down in a cubicle and drank deeply. He looked around at the regulation white tiled walls and thought what had he come to? Sitting on the bog drinking vodka and it wasn’t 10 a.m. yet. When this was all over, he would sort himself out but for now he needed this.
He had time to spare. The phone call from one of Bam Bam’s henchmen told him to be at the Gurdwara at 11 a.m. Again, Bam Bam was playing games. Of course he wouldn’t be dictated to by the likes of Jazz. He was never going to see him at 9 a.m. because Jazz had ordered him to be there. There was no point in getting upset and making an issue out of it. Jazz had to calm down. He knew Bam Bam and what he was capable of. It was well known that Bam Bam would have someone badly beaten and the odd limb snapped for any disrespect shown to him.
At least it gave him a couple of hours to get himself straight and ready for the meeting. It was all taking its toll and Mrs Sepple just about finished him off. He splashed his face with cold water and looked in the mirror. He didn’t like what he saw. OK he couldn’t see horns or vampire teeth but the view was just as horrific. He wasn’t a murderer, he knew that, but he didn’t stop it happening. Once was bad enough but twice was incomprehensible. He would have to resign. God! He loved his job, he was good at it, he knew that. But why would anyone ever trust him again? At this moment he wouldn’t even get a job as a lollypop man let alone as a Detective Sergeant with a team of Detectives under him. The drink helped stave of the deep depression that was trying to descend on him.
He decided he would get a coffee, he had time to kill. “Gees,” he said in disgust, why had he used that word. For a second, he closed his eyes and mentally pulled himself together.
As he made his way to the canteen, he heard his name called out and he turned to see Bob striding along the corridor. “I’ve come looking for you. Fancy a cuppa?” Jazz smiled and nodded, he could do with the company. Bob had always been there for him when everyone else had turned their back on him. Bob got the teas and they sat in a corner of the canteen. Eyes were on them but Bob told him not to worry, it would pass. “It’s just gossip, Jazz, tomorrow it will be someone else. You’re a good officer and anyone in their right mind knows you had nothing to do with Tony’s death.” He hesitated for a moment and his eyes flicked up and met Jazz’s gaze full on. “But my God boy! You sure as hell sail close to the wind.” He laughed and breezily said, “You need to lighten up boy. You’ve got work to do. Tony needs your kinda brilliance to find his murderer.”
> They talked for a while about cricket mostly and then it was time to leave and go to the Gurdwara. Jazz told Bob in confidence that he hoped Bam Bam would have the name he desperately needed to nail the man who ordered Tony’s murder. He felt better, stronger. Bob had been around a long time and was good to bounce ideas off. He always made him feel good. The canteen was a hive of gossip and the fact they had sat together as friends would be noted by all present and shared with everyone and anyone. In a show of gratitude for his solidarity, Jazz patted Bob on the back and shook his hand. He promised to let him know how things were going.
GETTING CLOSER TO THE BULLSEYE
Jazz arrived at the Gurdwara with five minutes to spare. He could hear the hum of muted women’s voices in a corner of the big hall. The gossiping aunties were cooking again. He hoped this time it was for something more pleasant than a funeral. He looked around and found a corner at the edge of the great hall with a small table and two chairs to wait for Bam Bam to arrive. Everyone who came to eat sat on the mats on the floor and ate but he couldn’t see Bam Bam sitting on the floor. It would take a crane to get him up again. He had taken his shoes off and put a hankerchief over his head as was expected and now she sat and waited.
Gurdwara Karamsar was a beautiful domed Gurdwara. The outside was made of sandstone and intricately hand carved by Rajasthani stonemasons. The sweeping staircases took you up to the prayer room. The women went up one staircase and the men up the other. Looking around, Jazz realised that in this day and age you never had to starve. The gossiping aunties cooked all day every day and anyone could come and eat. It made him proud to be a Sikh.
The Gurdwara was built from funds raised in Ilford and the surrounding areas by wealthy Asians. Bam Bam was a notable benefactor to the Gurdwara and was considered highly by everyone. It still amazed Jazz that money could even buy you a place in heaven. Bam Bam was an evil man capable of most acts and it galled Jazz to have to work so closely with him. He would rather be arresting him and getting him and his filth off the streets of the East End.
Sitting quietly for the first time in what seemed days, Jazz thought back on the events that had culminated in so many deaths. He had hardly thought about Alice. He made a mental note that he must find out when her funeral was. It seemed unfair that the gangland killings had upstaged the mourning period and thoughts of Alice. She deserved to be mourned. At least her murderers were found. Unfortunately, they were dead and so no trial, but she had been avenged.
Tony was a different kettle of fish. He was murdered in the execution of his duty and as a young man his life had been ended far too soon. The big difference between the two was that Jazz could have done nothing to save Alice but he could and should have saved Tony. He was tormented by the mother, who spoke the truth. It was his fault. He should have kept a better eye on what Tony was doing. He should never have let him go off on his own. In that moment, he knew he had to find Tony’s killers if it was the last thing he ever did. He prayed silently for the first time in quite a while for help in finding Tony’s killers.
THE SPIDER’S WEB
Bam Bam was late. The bastard knew what was going on in the East End and yet his ego had to be fed. Jazz thought wryly that his ego was as big as his belly.
It was 10.10 a.m. when four of Bam Bam’s henchmen walked in and looked around. They spotted Jazz in the corner occupying a table with two chairs and turned and left. A moment later, the melee of bodies moving in through the door showed they had returned. Now there were six henchmen walking two by two with Bam Bam in the middle. His entourage disturbed the peacefulness of the Gurdwara and all eyes watched him walk up to Jazz and sit down. The henchmen, with eyes darting, kept guard at a suitable distance. Bam Bam was getting a bit big for his boots by displaying such a presidential arrival. Did he think he was Mr Big, Jazz thought. Well, he sure was that in size. He could have sworn Bam Bam’s stomach had grown since yesterday. The man was huge in size but nothing but a low life in character. Jazz did his best to keep the contempt he felt out of his eyes and face. He needed this bastard.
He waited respectfully as Bam Bam made himself comfortable on a chair that looked too frail to bear his weight. When the positioning and grunting to get comfortable had stopped, Bam Bam nodded to his six men to disperse to the door and just out of listening range. He could see Jazz looking quizzically at so many men in his entourage. “It’s dangerous times. That’s why I have all six of them here.” He nodded towards the door and said, “I have another four looking after the cars outside.” He came in a bloody motorcade as well, thought Jazz, so much for confidential information here. Everyone who wanted to know would know who was in the Gurdwara. Jazz could see the smug look on his face and knew the display of power was giving Bam Bam more pleasure than it should and that his security could be compromised. On second thoughts, Jazz thought he couldn’t care less about Bam Bam’s safety as long as he got the information he needed.
Settled now and with a smile and a nod to the aunties in the corner, two coffees and cakes were brought to the table. Bam Bam thanked them for their kindness. He sat contemplating which cake to start with. He looked quizzically at Jazz, who shook his head. They were all for Bam Bam and he gently picked the one nearest him. Bam Bam grunted with the effort. He didn’t have much room for movement with a stomach as big as his and the leaning forward caused him great difficulties. Jazz assisted by lifting the plate closer to him. With a curt nod, Bam Bam proceeded to devour the cake in two bites. Finishing with a sip of coffee, he sat up straight and looked ready to talk. At last, thought Jazz, his patience was at screaming point.
Looking congenial and quite relaxed, Bam Bam beckoned to Jazz to move closer. He gave one swift look around him to ensure no one was listening or looking directly at them and turned back to Jazz. In an alarmingly gentle fashion, he opened the conversation with “By the way, don’t you ever come to my office again uninvited.” The look on his face didn’t marry up with the gentle tones. He looked close to hitting Jazz. Now he had his attention, he carried on. “These are dangerous times and I don’t want anyone to think I am a grass. Don’t you fucking put me in the shit.” In lower, quieter tones, with his face inches from Jazz’s, he added, “No one is safe. Anyone can be wasted, remember that.” He patted Jazz on the arm in a most friendly way. “Just a little warning, my friend.” The tone was upbeat but the underlying meaning was threatening. Bam Bam had flexed his muscles and showed just how menacing and dangerous he was. It took Jazz’s breath away and he could feel how terrifying it would be to upset Bam Bam.
This was not how it was supposed to be. Everything felt wrong. Jazz had come here to ask the questions. Bam Bam owed him and he was calling in his dues with interest. What gave Bam Bam the right to turn on him in this way? His growing anger was immediately suffocated by an unsettling fear. He realised for the first time that he was out of his depth. The world felt out of sync. He had never felt fear in Bam Bam’s company. He presumed his utter contempt for the man cushioned the vibes. The ‘Them and Us’ scenario which meant villains kept their hands off police officers seemed to have gone out of the window since Tony was killed. In the present killing spree, it seemed that no one was safe, not even little old ladies who knew nothing about no one. He watched as Bam Bam devoured another cake, oblivious to Jazz for the moment.
Bam Bam knew exactly what his words had done. He had had enough of this jumped-up little shit of a Sikh. OK, he surmised, he had done him a favour in the past but it had been well paid back and enough was enough now. He wanted to get on with his work and not have to pander to this pathetic excuse for a police officer. He knew Jazz’s history with his drink problem, two marriages and his counselling. It made him sick to see a grown man, a Sikh man, who should be braver and stronger than most, act like a useless twat! He had decided that today all debts were paid and he would get on with his work. Jazz was becoming like one of those irritating buzzing wasps that annoyed the hell out of him. Today he would swat him and if he didn’t take the hint, he woul
d have him stamped on.
Jazz waited patiently and watched Bam Bam totally engrossed in the cake and the coffee. Bam Bam’s ego was so huge that he was comfortable in the knowledge that everything and everyone would wait for him and in his world you never presumed to interrupt him or step out of line. You waited until he was ready.
He seemed to have finished the cake and, after wiping his mouth with a brilliantly white handkerchief, he looked up at Jazz. Jazz leaned forward expectantly. “This town is full of police buzzing around and causing all sorts of upsets,” was Bam Bam’s opening statement. Jazz nodded in agreement, but he kept quiet and waited to hear more. “The gang have gone back to India. Don’t know who they are exactly but you might want to ask Freddie Chow and Charlie Wong. I heard that they had joined forces and called the gang in to get rid of the Viets who had got too greedy on their patch.” Jazz knew this much and it wasn’t enough. He wanted names of the gang and something to link Freddie and Charlie to the gang.
