The Singhing Detective

by M. C. Dutton

  Slowly, as his eyes adjusted to the light, his mind cleared. His thoughts raced. He recognised them. Fuck! He remembered them well. They were the gang of killers he met in the warehouse. They were the gang of killers who had caused all the damage and killings in the East End. He had come to find them but now he just couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Bam Bam couldn’t be behind all of the killings, it didn’t make sense. He wondered if the hit on the head had caused some damage and he wasn’t thinking straight.

  They could see his confusion and they laughed. “Call yourself a policeman,” they taunted. “You knew nothing and sadly now you think you know, you won’t have anyone to tell.” They pushed him about a bit but they were in a relaxed mood, not tight as a bow and on the edge in the way they were when he saw them last time. They were obviously having a relaxing day. The drinks were poured and he could see they had been playing cards. They must be in the pay of Bam Bam. They were not here to do any damage. To think Mad Pete had been right.

  Now he had come round, they tied him tight to the chair. He asked what they were going to do with him and they just said “Shut up” and carried on with their game. He asked if they had done the same to Tony, his DC, and they just laughed. In a squeaky voice, one said, “I promise to be a good boy” and they all roared with laughter. Jazz suddenly felt very hot as he realised these were Tony’s killers. The hot sweat lasted a few minutes. He again asked why they had killed Tony. He said surely Tony was nothing to them and it was always going to cause big trouble when a police officer was killed.

  They looked up from their cards and he thought they were going to answer him but they were looking at Bam Bam, who had just entered the room. Bam Bam strode up to Jazz and looked at him with a coldness in his eyes and a quiet fury on his lips. “What the hell are you doing in my home?”

  Jazz could have laughed. He had killed more men in a few days than anyone else had since the IRA bombs and he had the cheek to be indignant that Jazz had trespassed. “What the hell is going on, Bam Bam? This isn’t your style. You had a police officer killed and an old woman has died who was nothing to do with any of your filthy plans.”

  Bam Bam was beside himself with fury. He spat out, “You Bevacoof!” (you idiot). Spittle was flying from his mouth and he was shaking from the exertion of trying not to shout. He added in disgust, “You have been protected up to now, but oh no, you just can’t leave well alone.” He pointed sharply at the men in the room. “One more day and they would have gone back to Pakistan and some sort of normality would have returned. Now you have forced my bloody hand.” He shrugged his shoulders and for a milli-second he gave Jazz a loser’s look of despondency. “I can’t do anything else to protect you. You have used up all I owe you.”

  The anger, just bubbling under the surface, rose again and Bam Bam went bright red and looked close to punching Jazz. With barely controlled fury, he asked, “Who the hell do you think saved you from being iced in the warehouse? Me! You should have been killed there and then but I saved you, you ungrateful fucker.” Again he pointed at the others in the room and loudly said, “They wanted to kill you many times. But I,” the finger came back and he stabbed himself in his chest, “wouldn’t let them.” For a few seconds, he looked straight into Jazz’s eyes and let his words sink in. He was not happy and swiftly turned and walked out of the room for some fresh air in disgust, mumbling something about ungrateful fucker and serves him right.

  There was a bit of Bam Bam that felt some gratitude towards Jazz for saving his daughter but not enough to let him live. If Jazz, all his plans, meticulously worked out, would be for nothing. There was no way he was going to jail, he wouldn’t survive the experience. This was the culmination of one year’s planning. He intended to own the East End and he intended that the police would boot out the Triads and Snakeheads for him. It was going very well until Jazz put his size 10 shoes all over the area and got in the way. For that alone he deserved to die.

  Jazz needed to buy some time. He knew he had not a lot of it left. He was told by Bam Bam that as soon as it was dark, he would be taken into the forest, like Tony was, and shot. As a favour, he was told, he promised it would be as painless as possible. It didn’t make Jazz feel any better.

  He had gone stone cold and pale at the thought that he would be shot before the end of the day. He was numb with fear and could feel his bowels loosening. His breathing was coming in short bursts that made his head spin. He had to calm down. His brain raced to find some way of stalling the inevitable. He needed to think of a reason for them to keep him alive. It had never occurred to him that he might be in this position. Sitting here tied up and waiting to be killed, it seemed highly stupid and naïve of him not to have thought this could be the outcome. Again, he wondered if he was as good a Detective as he thought he was.

  With some time to spare until it got dark, Bam Bam returned to the room and offered Jazz a drink, which was accepted gratefully. A vodka was produced for him and his hands were untied, but his feet were very securely shackled to the chair and he was now watched intently by at least one of the gang. Bam Bam was ruthless and business always came first but Jazz had saved his precious daughter and for that he would make sure he was drunk before they shot him. He knew he had a drink problem and so a few drinks would do the trick. He owed him that.

  Bam Bam made his excuses and said he had to make a telephone call and would be back in a while. With time on their hands, one of the gang, a young Asian man, about 28 years old, with cold eyes, taunted Jazz and told him they had watched him crashing through the brambles. He asked him in mock surprise why he didn’t realise that CCTV cameras had followed him as soon as he climbed over the wall. In fact, another one of them said, they had taken bets on how long it would tale for him to enter the house. They all thought he was a ponce for taking so long. The laughter was raucous and jeering. They held him in the highest contempt and looked forward to finishing him off. Jazz held his glass with both hands to steady the trembling as he drank his vodka. His hands shook fiercely and he worried he would spill some. He needed every drop of it to calm down.

  When Bam Bam returned, he found Jazz quite calm and cocky. He baited him and asked if Bam Bam thought he was stupid enough to come here without a safety net. He asked him to consider that he had a witness ready to tell the police everything he knew about Bam Bam and his operation. He added that his witness knew enough to get him put away. On being asked sarcastically where this witness was, Jazz told him that he was safe in police custody. Bam Bam stood still and digested this bit of information. Jazz felt, for the first time, that he was getting some sort of control. Watching Bam Bam considering his words, he told him he had to be set free, unharmed immediately. Soothingly he added that this would be one less charge against him when the police came to arrest him. He added unnecessarily that he would tell the police he had been treated well.

  From the silent form of Bam Bam standing and digesting this bit of alarming information, a hint of laughter escaped. He was struggling not to laugh but failed and the force of the laughter shook his huge stomach. Jazz looked on in amazement. Why the fuck was he laughing? He had just told him he was nicked and there was nothing he could do about it. After a few seconds, Bam Bam controlled himself, blew his nose and mopped his brow. The odd giggle escaped him but he was calming down. The gang of men in the corner were playing cards. Silent and unconcerned, they held their game and watched as Bam Bam struggled to settle himself. He was going to enjoy explaining it all to Jazz.

  He started with an insult. He whispered with menace, “You sanctimonious little prick.” Disgusted by the lack of respect shown him, he pushed Jazz in the chest and told him, “You don’t come to my house and threaten me.” Bam Bam walked around Jazz and smiled at his band of men. “You are right, lads, he is an idiot.” He was enjoying letting Jazz into his little secrets. “You thought I was your grass, did you?” It wasn’t a question that needed answering. “Actually, you were playing into my hands every time. I wanted the Triads and S
nakeheads to fight and you helped me do that.” He leaned closer to Jazz and added sarcastically, “Thank you.”

  Jazz watched as he walked slowly and deliberately to and fro past him, finally stopping again in front of him. He leaned forward and said, “So you want to know why your police officer was killed?” He raised his eyebrows and, after a theatrical pause, answered slowly and clearly, “Because he was there.” Realising Jazz didn’t understand that chilling statement, he added, “I know he didn’t see me, or certainly recognise me, but I wasn’t going to take the chance. He had to be got rid of, my plans wouldn’t be destroyed by a silly little bender pretending to be a police officer.” With disgust, he added, “Where do you get your recruits from? The Met Police are going down the pan, you just can’t get the staff anymore.” They all laughed at that.

  “So you killed him for the sake of it,” challenged Jazz.

  Bam Bam shrugged his shoulders and said, “If that’s the way you want to view it, yes. It was a chance I wasn’t going to take.”

  Again Jazz challenged, “How did you know he hadn’t reported where he was to the police station? What the fuck made you think you were invincible?”

  Bam Bam had had enough of such disrespect in front of others, he was not used to being spoken to in this manner. He gave Jazz a hard slap for his insolence. All he would say was, “I have contacts. I know what’s going on. If a police officer takes a shit in East London, I know about it.”

  Jazz wondered if that was an exaggeration but it had a ring of truth. It was beginning to make sense to him. There had been times, and Jazz remembered them now, when Bam Bam seemed to know where he should be and what meetings he was attending and at what time. Now he wondered why he hadn’t asked questions at the time. Again, he asked himself what sort of detective he was.

  Bam Bam lightened up a little and in an off the cuff way said, “Oh by the way, if Mad Pete is your informer, and I have it on good information he is, he is on his way here and I shall be having a conversation with him shortly.” Jazz was just about to ask “How? He was in the police station” when Bam Bam, still in a conversational tone, added, “He is being brought here as we speak.” With more sarcasm than was necessary, Bam Bam asked, “Were you wondering how I could do this?” Jazz nodded, speechless, his brain racing to work out what the hell was happening and, more to the point, why his safety net appeared to have gone.

  With time on his hands and in the sure knowledge that Jazz wasn’t going anywhere, Bam Bam wanted to show him just how good he was. The contempt was showing again. “You really are a fucking stupid bastard! I can do anything I like and get away with it. Sure, I have to be a bit sensible but I have the best paid police officer in my pocket to assist me. He has helped me for years.” He was taunting Jazz now and desperate to tell him something that had been the best kept secret for the last 10 years. He could never tell anyone such valuable information and it gave him much pleasure to share it with someone who would appreciate the treachery and who would be dead in a few hours. To see the expression on Jazz’s face when he told him would be worth it. He was going to enjoy this very much.

  The goading started again. “What a great detective you are, DS Jaswinder Singh. You never knew your best friend, the helpful and comforting Bob; the officer always there to help you when you needed it. Well it may surprise you to know he is on my payroll and tells me everything.” He watched Jazz’s face closely and enjoyed the shock he saw developing. He whispered, “Oh yes, he tells me every single detail.” He looked into Jazz’s eyes and knew the next bit of information would finish him off. “Remember back five years ago when you and DS Bleasdale were on a stakeout?” He saw the sudden realisation of what was to come on Jazz’s face. “Indeed, you are beginning to understand now.” It was very satisfying to share this information and see the reaction it was getting.

  Bam Bam’s ego had risen over the years. He knew he was the big man in the East End and it felt good to push this bit of disrespect shown to him back into Jazz’s face. All his plans and ideas had been worked on over the past five years. He knew he was far more intelligent than any of the other Holy Trinity. No one knew of his plans except his gang from Pakistan, who only know what was necessary. He had no one with whom to share his triumph and his immense skills in planning such a brave and foolhardy takeover. He had planned that the killings would set off rival gang killings and all the evidence would point to the Triads and Snakeheads. He was going to sit back, look innocent and wait for the police to do his dirty work. He wanted the East End for himself and he was well on the way to achieving his goal. He would be the most powerful man in England and the thought filled him with pride. It felt good to share this information with a police officer who he used to respect. He could tell Jazz everything and anything. He would be dead in a few hours. It felt good to share.

  Now, everything felt in jeopardy. Jazz, the stupid fucking idiot, had walked into something he had no idea about and caused his plans to be sidetracked. At no point had Bam Bam considered that he might be found out. That was just not possible. He was far too clever and had thought of all eventualities. Then along came Jazz, pushing doors and asking questions that made Bam Bam feel vulnerable. He had never felt vulnerable and for once he felt afraid. It was a very uncomfortable feeling, which caused him to panic.

  He had instructed Bob to bring Mad Pete to his house. A totally irrational and stupid move, that in saner times he would never have considered. Bob tried to argue that the police custody process would not allow that to happen. He was shouted down by Bam Bam and told to fucking do it now or he would ensure Bob would go down with him and anyone else involved in this fiasco.

  Jazz asked what had happened that night with DS Bleasdale and what his involvement was. Bam Bam looked at him and shrugged his shoulders. For the moment he couldn’t be bothered to reply. Jazz licked his lips. Bam Bam was on edge. He could see he was barely in control and perhaps liable to do something stupid and rash. This was not the Bam Bam of old; this was a very frightening person to be in front of. He looked like one of those mad Italian Caesars who could raise or drop a thumb to extinguish life instantly. The usually rational and calm egotist that Bam Bam was had disappeared. Jazz didn’t want to goad him. He knew if he wasn’t careful, Bam Bam could have him killed there and then, never mind about in the woods and in the dark, but he needed to know what had happened all those years ago.

  With the talk of that night and what happened ringing in his ears, Jazz’s body felt shrivelled up and dried out in shock. Bam Bam had something to do with that night and Bob, his hatred of Bob was only just blossoming; couldn’t have had anything to do with it, surely? No police officer would be involved in the killing of another officer. Everyone loved John, it didn’t make sense. He needed to hang in there, the thoughts of the previous nervous breakdown scared him into pushing his mind to stay calm and clear and find out what happened that night. Jazz cajoled Bam Bam. “I’m dead meat in a few hours, it makes no difference. What happened that night?”

  Bam Bam, going from calm to chaotic in a blink of an eye, decided he was going to enjoy telling Jazz how clever he was. He couldn’t talk so freely to anyone else. He reminded Jazz that on the night of the stakeout he had a conversation with Bob on the telephone. Smoothly and with a smirk on his face, Bam Bam told him that he knew Jazz and Bob talked all the time. Jazz remembered the banter. Bob had been a good friend, always watching his back and keeping in contact with him to check he was alright. On the night of the stakeout, it was boring as usual. Bob rang regularly and chatted and joked and it helped pass the hours. He could tell Bob anything and he knew he would cover his back and keep quiet about his working practices that were a little below police standards.

  The stakeout was a drug deal organised by Bam Bam. At this stage, the police did not know who was involved and Bam Bam wanted it to stay that way. Bam Bam had given instructions that the meeting was to be called off and was in the process of organising it when he got the message that John Bleasdale was on a
walkabout and might see more than he should. Jazz was waiting for a takeaway to be delivered so John Bleasdale was dealt with in the only way that would keep the meeting secure; he was shot dead. Bam Bam added, with that sarcasm again in his voice, “Your good friend Bob kept us informed of what was going on at the stakeout. Very useful man.” Jazz, sick to the stomach, thought back on everything he had told Bob that night. He had told him exactly what John Bleasdale was doing and where he was. He had contributed to his death and that hit Jazz harder than anything to date. John Bleasdale was his partner and friend and he had helped the bastard in front of him kill him.

  Everything was beginning to make sense now. He had wondered how Bam Bam knew what was going on. Why had he not thought about it more before? He kicked himself mentally for being such a cock sure prick. He had to ask the question: “Was Tony killed because of information you received?” Bam Bam confirmed that he had received nothing about Tony being there. He was spotted by his men. He added that he thought he was a stupid officer who didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Like John, he was killed because of what he might see rather than what he did see. It was all so senseless. Two decent men’s had been taken for no apparent reason.

  The tension in Jazz’s chest got sharper and heavier. He thought he was going to have a heart attack but knew it was the stress. “I never thought you were such a cold-blooded killer.”

  Bam Bam looked at him and considered what he had said. “You do what you have to.” He sighed and added “Greatness is not an easy mantle to carry.” Jazz wondered at that point if he had gone barking mad. He sounded like a megalomaniac. He again asked himself why he hadn’t seen the signs.

  The heavy silence was broken by Bam Bam’s mobile ringing. For a megalomaniac he had a blousy jaunty tune on his mobile which just didn’t ring with greatness. All he said was “They are here.” Then he left the room. Jazz reckoned they must be Bob and Mad Pete. God he felt bad for Mad Pete. It was his fault he was about to enter the lion’s den.