by M. C. Dutton
Mad Pete looked hurt. “Not because of that, Mr Singh. Everyone will be after me if I grass.”
Again Jazz promised that a safe place would be found for him. “Now tell me who in the Holy Trinity I should be looking for,” asked Jazz. Enough was enough and time was getting on. He had to find someone today and put a stop to all the murders.
“You want Bam Bam,” was the answer.
Incredulously Jazz looked at Mad Pete. “You can do better than that, sunshine. Stop messing around. It’s the Triads or the Snakeheads and you know it!”
Mad Pete shook his head. “No, Mr Singh, it’s Bam Bam. He murdered everyone including that police officer.”
Again Jazz looked at him and dismissed this bit of information. “Bam Bam doesn’t do drugs. He wouldn’t be interested in cannabis factories and the Viets. It’s not his bag. I want the truth. If you mess around now, I can’t promise you any safety.”
“OK, Mr Singh, I’ll give it to you from the top. It was about the time the Viets came to town. I did some running for them. They were new to the area and I helped with messages and shopping.” Jazz thought he made them sound like respectable families in a new area, not the bloody drug manufacturers and dealers they were. “I do some running jobs for the Holy Trinity from time to time, nothing much and they didn’t know I was doing the same for the Viets. I hear things, Mr Singh. I ain’t no grass, I keep quiet. No point in drawing attention to myself. No one was happy with the Viets and the Triads and Snakeheads were watching them to see how they were doing. They were doing good, Mr Singh. Their cannabis crops were top quality. The best skunk you could get. They gave me heroin for nothing to start with and it felt so much better than methadone. I liked them, Mr Singh, they looked after me.
“I do bits of jobs, nothing much, for Bam Bam. I like to be helpful and do the shitty jobs no one else wants to do. I clean stuff for them and take stuff to the dump for them. Nothing exciting but they chuck me a few quid every now and then. I kept on the right side of everyone and never took liberties. I knew something was happening. Heard the odd bit every now and then and just put two and two together. The Triads and Snakeheads were getting jumpy about the Viets about the time you came back. Something riled them. I was doing the odd running job for them but they were getting edgy and it got a bit scary to be around them. No one takes much notice of me, Mr Singh, but I was very careful to give them no reason to be worried about me. I know it was Bam Bam’s men who were putting it about that the Viets were getting powerful and thinking of taking over the East End. It had felt a bit tense for a while by the time you came back. Then that old lady got killed by the Viets and all hell let loose.”
Jazz listened intently. So far it all made sense.
“I seemed to be working more closely with the Holy Trinity around that time. It might have been that they only used people they could trust and they all seemed to either trust me or think I’m not worth much and not to be worried about. All true, Mr Singh. I tell nobody nuffink. I ain’t stupid, I know what these people can do, I just keep my head down and my mouth shut.” Jazz knew that to be true and gained a bit of respect for Mad Pete. He certainly wasn’t as stupid as he liked people to think.
“I don’t know why exactly everything took off like it did and all the killings happened. I could guess and I bet I’m right. It was a good opportunity to start the gang war that has been brewing for ages.” Jazz asked what the hell that meant and who he was talking about. “Bam Bam brought in his family from Pakistan to deal with this. Not sure if they’re all related to him but they’re connected in some way, either relatives or through marriage, he would never trust anyone else. The gang have been living in his house for the past four months. His missus is staying somewhere abroad with the daughter.”
Jazz, again, had to stop him and ask why on earth would Bam Bam do such a thing. If he had brought the gang over from Pakistan four months ago, there were some premeditated plans here, he thought. He asked Mad Pete why he was doing this. Mad Pete replied, “I’m not a bleeding psychic, I don’t know what’s going on in his head.” He added for good measure, “I think the Paki gang are still here and staying in Bam Bam’s house.” When asked why, he pulled a face and said it was just a feeling he had. He thought if they laid low in England while everyone was watching the ports and airports, it would be safer. Jazz was doubly impressed; that Mad Pete had thought this out was pretty clever stuff.
“The Triads and Snakeheads are very edgy. They don’t know what’s going on and they are looking for a target. I’ve always worked for the Holy Trinity and I think they might be after me too.” In a plaintive call to the ceiling, Mad Pete asked, “Why the fuck is it me? I ain’t told no one nuffink and I aint done nuffink wrong.” He looked at Jazz and said “Where are you gonna hide me. I ain’t safe here anymore once you start poking your nose into everything.”
Jazz’s brain was going ten to the dozen. It didn’t make sense yet it made complete sense. Bam Bam was a cocky devil but taking a chance in riling the Triads and Snakeheads seemed pretty daring. What on earth gave him the confidence to pick a fight with the Triads and Snakeheads? The Pakistani gang appeared to be just a killing machine and perhaps that had made Bam Bam a bit too confident. English gangs didn’t usually like to take too many chances if they didn’t have to. No one with any sense wanted to bring themselves to the attention of the police. It looked like the Pakistani Gang didn’t care what chances they took, they were going to move out of the country when everything settled down. They didn’t have to live with the consequences, which could have made them bolder.
He had to check things out. He understood that Mad Pete thought Bam Bam had started all the killings but he still couldn’t get his head around this. Bam Bam had never been interested in the drug world except for the odd few poppers he sold. Taking on the Viets and then causing the internal gang war was a pretty tall order. To cause such mayhem didn’t make sense. Bam Bam had always lived comfortably with the police, the Triads and the Snakeheads. To start a turf war just didn’t make sense. If someone put it in a book, no one would believe the story line, he reckoned.
Mad Pete got very spooked and nearly went into a druggy fit when Jazz told him he was gonna arrest him.
“Hold on, hold on, Pete, and listen,” said Jazz, trying to placate the madness that was rising. “If I arrest you, you will be safe in a cell whilst I go check out Bam Bam. I don’t want to leave you here. You’ll be good for a few hours before you need another fix and by then I’ll be back and release you into my custody.” Mad Pete nodded, understanding what he was saying. He got fed and watered in Ilford Police Station and that wasn’t a bad thing, he told himself. It was 2 p.m. by now and Jazz needed a result by the end of the day. He got Mad Pete to gather up his stuff and bundled him into the car and drove to Ilford Police Station.
He took Mad Pete into the custody suite and Bob was on duty which was a bit of luck. Another Custody Sergeant would have wanted to have reasons and charges explained to him. Bob was his mate and he knew he would help him. He asked Bob to put Pete in a cell for a few hours whilst he made some enquiries. He said if anyone asked, he was going to interview Mad Pete later. The PACE clock was fine for the next 24 hours and he would be back in a couple of hours. Bob wanted to ask lots of questions but Jazz said he didn’t have time now and would tell Bob everything when he got back. Bob was not happy but said he would do what Jazz asked for old times sake. He shouted to Jazz as he led Mad Pete to a cell that he had better not be longer than two hours.
He looked up Bam Bam’s address on CRIS and, with the help of a local A-Z, went off to look around. Time was getting on and he badly wanted something concrete by the end of the day. Bam Bam lived in Epping, which was very posh. He had moved there after Jazz had moved up to Manchester. He got in his car and before he set off, he reached into his inside pocket for the flask. He took the last swig of the flask and urgently checked his other pocket. He was relieved to feel the full spare flask; he would need it later.
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sp; Jazz looked at the tall solid gates ahead of him. There was an intercom on the wall beside the gates. He couldn’t see anything. Business must be good, he thought. He couldn’t even see the house. The road to the house was down one of those private roads. He saw one other gate on the opposite side of the road and reckoned there were not many houses down there. It smelt of wads of dishonest money. The East End villains had developed airs and graces and had all moved out to either Epping or Chigwell. Bam Bam used to live in Chigwell in a big house but this looked like it was on land big enough to build a small town.
He had parked a little way away from the house. He suspected CCTV was erected on the top of the gates and he didn’t want to announce himself yet. The walled estate seemed to go on for ages before he got to the gates. He got back in his car and drove sedately past the gates to see where the wall ended. It was nice here, the afternoon sun was shining and warm and the air was calm. It seemed a nice place to be, with the birds singing and the bees humming. If it had been any other time, it would have been good to sit propped up under one of the oaks that stood majestically on the green nearby and have a little drink. Even the roadside greenery was enormous. It didn’t look like there were many houses down this road. He spotted another set of gates further down on the right but Bam Bam’s property still kept going on and on. The wall was 7 foot high at least. At last he came to the end of the road and the wall. The wall did a right angle that was off road and straight ahead was a thick privet. He pushed his hands through the prickly spines of the hawthorn bush and could just make out what looked like farmland.
“Now what?” he asked himself. He had come this far so he had no choice, he had to get over the wall and into the grounds. It had been a long time since he had climbed a 7 foot wall and crept into someone else’s property. It wasn’t something he did on a daily basis. He knew he was putting off the inevitable. This was the most dangerous thing he had ever done. If Mad Pete was right and the Pakistani gang were here, he was dead meat. If they weren’t here and Bam Bam found him abusing his trust by climbing into his property, he was dead meat. It was a no win situation but he had to find out.
The wall wasn’t as hard to scramble over as he thought. It was an old wall with aged, crumbling stone that offered him footholds, which helped him climb. There was shrubbery and trees the other side. They were not close enough to the wall to help a potential burglar but far enough away to hide the house and grounds. So far so good. He jumped down onto the ground and ran to the trees and bushes ahead. He looked through the bushes and saw the mansion. It was a good 500 yards in front of him and it was open grassland and road up to the house. He sat and looked around from the safety of the shrubs and trees. He had no idea what he was going to do now. Suddenly the singing of the birds and the hum of the bees felt quite threatening. What the bloody hell was he doing here? He had taken the word of a druggy and had invested his precious time in following up a dodgy lead – a man who had always professed to be uninterested in the drug industry. He should have gone after someone in the Triads or Snakeheads. He was here now though and he had better make the best of it.
With a sigh and the wish that life would be a little bit easier and not such a fucking bummer, he decided he had to bite the bullet and make a move. He would be exposed no matter what he did. He decided not to walk up to the house face on. He would walk along the tree line for a while and then consider walking across the green. He followed the wall for 500 yards until he was at the side of the house. It was still 500 yards, he reckoned, across the grass to reach the house. He kept calling it a house but, seeing the side of it, it was more like an hotel. It looked like it could hide a small army inside.
He could just see another building at the back the house. It looked fairly close to the tree line. He just needed to follow the wall and walk further along the tree line. He hoped the trees would continue to afford him some protection. He felt jittery about walking across the lawns and being so open. It took him another 15 minutes to reach the outer building. The trees and shrubs had got thicker and he found it difficult to walk through them. He presumed that because there were fields the other side of the wall, this area was particularly overgrown to stop anyone trying to get in. It was a struggle to get through the biting bushes of gorse and brambles and blackberry bushes that stood in his way. A startled blackbird flew up from the bush in front of him, shrieking its warning cry. For a second it scared the hell out of him and he felt desperate to get out of the mangle of thorns that were trying to get him. He fought the bushes and crashed and thrashed through them. The sight of his face scratched by brambles and his hands bloodied and sore from pushing away the thorny fronds showed he was the loser in the battle with the undergrowth. The outer building was only 50 yards from the tree line and looked quite secluded. He raised his hands and thanked Niranka for his mercy. He squatted, looking around and catching his breath. Everything looked still and calm, in fact, the place looked empty.
He thought what a prized prat he would feel if Bam Bam was sitting innocently in his home. Again he beat himself up with the thought that he would be the laughing stock of the Met Police and hated by Bam Bam for the intrusion if this turned out to be a wild goose chase. He wondered why sometimes he just didn’t stop and look at the bigger picture. Mad Pete was just that, mad! Of course it was all a lot of tosh! Before the self-doubt overwhelmed him, he reasoned that now he was here, he might as well check it out. If someone stopped him, he would think of something to say, or just hold his hands up and come clean. He felt in his pockets for his flask and was comforted by the feel of its shape and hardness in his pocket. He deserved a swig. The warmth and familiarity of the clear liquid sliding down his throat made him feel good. His adrenalin was rising. He ran fast towards the outer building with renewed vigour and a determination to get this done and dusted and go home.
He reached the wall of the outer building and thought so far so good. He wondered where everyone was; he reckoned a house and grounds of this size would need quite a few staff to maintain it. The outer building was a swimming pool. He walked to the side of the building and saw the front was all windows. He couldn’t see anyone in the pool house. The distance to the house didn’t seem so bad now. He was at the side of the house, which seemed better to him. Again, he could see no movement and proceeded to run to the safety of the house walls ahead of him.
Now he was so close, he stopped to think what on earth he was going to do. Was he going to break into the house? He had no choice, he hoped a back door would be open or something. Smashing a window would certainly ensure he was given a good slap by Bam Bam for the temerity of such an act. No one would dare to do such a thing. He wondered for a moment if he had caught some of Pete’s madness. He had the best grass in Bam Bam that any crime fighter could have. How was he paying him back? He was breaking into his house. Again, he wondered if he had a death wish.
He stood still, thinking of his next move. He was at the side of the house and there was a set of French windows that opened onto the patio that seemed to encompass the house. It was raised and he had to climb a set of steps in front of the French windows. He had been lucky so far. No one was looking out of the windows and he scuttled past them to the safety of the brick wall close to the corner of the house. He heard a noise that appeared to come from around the corner at the back of the house and he peered tentatively towards it. A man was standing there smoking and looking out onto the expanse of lawn. The area appeared to be ringed by trees. It must stand on at least 10 acres of land, Jazz thought, and surmised that it was once a house for the landed gentry. It had an early 1800s look about it. Now was not the time to think like an estate agent, he told himself ruefully. What to do now was the question.
At last the man finished his cigarette and disrespectfully threw the stub into the flowerbeds that sat either side of the steps that led down to the lawn . He turned and walked back into the house, closing the door behind him. Suddenly it felt like the world had held its breath. Jazz couldn’t hear the birds s
inging and even the bees had disappeared. He moved quickly and quietly towards the back door. With a little movement on the handle, it opened quietly. He realised he had been holding his breath and exhaled as he opened the door a fraction more to see what was behind it.
It opened to a lobby that appeared to have many doors leading off from it. It was empty and with a deep breath he entered the lobby and shut the door behind him as quietly as he could. He walked to the first door and listened intently but couldn’t hear any noise or voices. Again with a deftness he didn’t know he had, he opened the door softly and silently. Through the crack he saw no movement and on opening wider saw that it was an empty room. It looked like a tack room of some sort. It had saddles and reins on the wall and boots neatly in a row on the floor. The room led nowhere. He examined the other rooms one by one and they appeared to be sculleries and one led to a big, modern kitchen. It was all empty and he thought that was surprising. The final door led out into a long hallway. He could see that further down the hallway it opened out more so he presumed this end of the hallway was the servants’ end. The first door he came across on his right was slightly ajar. He tried to peer in but he could see nothing but a wall. He listened and heard nothing again. It was like the Marie Celeste, lived in but empty and puzzling.
By now he was feeling less cautious and opened the door a bit further than he should have. He saw the feet first and then he felt the stinging blow from the metal bar the man had in his hand. When he came to, his first sensation was pain, deep, thick and bright. They had sat him in a chair and his head lolled as he tried to open his eyes and focus. The muddle of voices he could hear around him stopped as he tried to open his eyes. He groaned as the light hit his eyes. He was surrounded by men, lots of men. He tried to think where he was and why he hadn’t heard them in the house. He looked up and screwed his eyes and brow in thought. They looked familiar and for a moment he couldn’t remember where he had seen them before.
