Rollover

by James Raven

  By the time Temple sat down Jordan was calm but remained indignant.

  ‘What the fuck is this all about, Jeff?’ he demanded to know. ‘I’m one of you, for pity’s sake.’ His voice had an abruptness to it, a strident quality.

  Temple was not aware that he and Jordan had ever been on first-name terms. It put his back up and set the tone for what was to follow. He explained that it was not a formal interview so there were no lawyers or recorders. That would come later if it was deemed necessary.

  Jordan was pale and unshaven, his skin damp with a sweaty sheen. There were black circles beneath his eyes. He was wearing a denim shirt and matching jeans and his sheepskin coat was on the back of his chair. Temple wondered if it was a permanent accessory.

  ‘We’ve been trying to contact you,’ Temple said in a flat monotone. ‘Where have you been?’

  Jordan licked his lips nervously and shook his head. ‘What’s that got to do with you? I’ve been off duty, so where I go and what I do is my business.’

  Temple could see why he was so unpopular in the nick. He was an arrogant git of the first order.

  ‘Just answer the question, Detective Sergeant.’

  Jordan’s lips were pulled back against his teeth. He had narrow eyes and protruding ears. His hair was shaved to within half an inch of his scalp and he was a dead ringer for the face in the drawing Temple had seen earlier.

  ‘I’ve been night fishing,’ Jordan said after a moment. ‘I go every other weekend when I’m not working. Since when is that a frigging crime?’

  ‘What time did you go?’ Temple asked.

  Jordan drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I got there about six on Saturday evening. Left at lunchtime today and went straight home. Two bloody uniforms were waiting outside for me. And let me tell you those fuckers will regret talking to me the way they did.’

  ‘Where did you go?’ Temple asked.

  ‘The front at Warsash.’

  ‘Anyone with you?’

  ‘No. I always fish alone. Have done for yonks.’

  ‘Did anyone see you there?’

  ‘Nobody except the fishes. Now are you going to tell me what this is all about? I’m a detective, not some scumbag off the street.’

  Temple pursed his lips and stared Jordan hard in the eyes.

  ‘Where’s Joe Dessler?’ he asked.

  Jordan tried to act surprised by the question but it didn’t come off.

  ‘How should I know?’ he said.

  Temple heaved a sigh. ‘Look, I can do without the bullshit, OK? Tell me where he’s hiding out. We want to question him about the murder in the forest last night.’

  Jordan arched his bushy brow.

  ‘Are you talking about Vince Mayo? That piece of slime had it coming. Shouldn’t it be a cause for celebration around here?’

  ‘Remarks like that are not helpful,’ Temple said.

  ‘But it’s true and you must know it. Wasn’t George Banks your best mate?’

  ‘Forget about Banks. Right now I’m interested in finding a killer.’

  ‘I thought Mayo’s toerag of a partner was in the frame for that,’ Jordan said. ‘I heard about the press conference on the car radio.’

  ‘There’ve been some developments,’ Temple said. ‘For one thing we discovered what you’d been up to.’

  Jordan moved his head to one side. ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘Just tell us where Dessler is.’

  Jordan sat back and folded his arms across his chest. He tried to project an air of confidence but it didn’t work.

  ‘I have no idea where he is,’ he said. ‘Why should I?’

  Temple leaned forward, locking eyes on Jordan. ‘Because we know that you’re in his pocket.’

  Jordan blinked a couple of times.

  ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘But I do know it’s a serious fucking accusation. What’s Halliwell say about this?’

  ‘He’s pissed off. We all are. You see, we have proof that you’ve been on Dessler’s payroll for some time. Within the hour I’ll have the go-ahead to delve into your bank accounts. So you might as well come clean.’

  Jordan started to get to his feet but Temple roared at him to stay put.

  As he sat back down his jawline pulsed and he suddenly lost some of his swagger.

  ‘Listen to me, you pathetic shite,’ Temple said. ‘One person has already been murdered and whatever’s going on I believe you’re in it up to your neck.’

  Jordan’s eyes skittered nervously up to the video camera. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not involved in any of that.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, let’s just look at what we’ve got so far.’

  Temple held up his fingers and started counting them off. ‘First, we’ve got you for corruption. You’re a bent copper and that makes you lower than the low in my book. Then we’ve got you stalking Vince Mayo, who happens to have been the murder victim.’

  ‘Fuck off. I’m no stalker.’

  Temple jabbed a finger at him. ‘You were identified by Jennifer Priest as the person spying on Mayo’s cottage through binoculars. I can tell you that her father – Superintendent Priest – is not happy. You were also seen taking photographs of Mayo in a car with Mrs Maggie Cain. So you see why you’re high up there on our list of suspects?’

  ‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ Jordan said, his face flushed.

  ‘Then try to convince me of that,’ Temple said. ‘Tell me what’s been going on. Why were you watching Mayo? Where’s Dessler? And what do you know about Danny Cain?’

  Panic flared in Jordan’s face. He rested his arms on the table, fingers splayed.

  ‘I want a fucking lawyer,’ he said.

  31

  Jordan’s reaction came as no surprise to Temple. He was after all an experienced copper. He knew the rules, even if he wasn’t prepared to play by them.

  While they waited for a lawyer to turn up Temple went back into the briefing room for an update.

  There had been more than thirty alleged sightings of Danny Cain. They were spread across the country and would all have to be followed up. The Chief Constable of Hampshire was hounding Priest for a result. The papers were hounding the press office for more information. A local radio reporter had learned that a vice squad officer had been arrested. She wanted to know the details.

  Temple went to his desk, checked his emails, then called Priest to update him.

  ‘Not much so far, sir,’ he said. ‘Jordan has demanded a lawyer.’

  ‘So what’s your impression, Jeff? You reckon the allegations in Mayo’s article will stand up?’

  ‘I’m afraid I do. Jordan is a sleazebag and I don’t understand why he hasn’t been rumbled long before now.’

  ‘There’ll have to be an investigation. We’ll get to the bottom of it.’

  ‘Yeah, and a fat lot of good it will do,’ Temple said.

  The lawyer who turned up to represent Jordan was well known to Temple. His name was Irwin Applebaum and he was with one of the best legal firms in town. Tall, jogger-trim and in his forties, he had a reputation for being ruthless but straight. Most of the officers who needed representation called on his services.

  After a private consultation with his client, Applebaum announced they were ready to resume the interview.

  If anything Jordan looked paler and more nervous than before. That was probably because the gravity of the situation had sunk in. Applebaum was a smart brief and he would have convinced his client that co-operating with his accusers on Dessler might play well when and if they eventually charged him with corruption.

  At first Jordan continued to deny everything, but when confronted with some of the facts in Mayo’s article he began to crack.

  The article included dates and places where Jordan had met Dessler and money had changed hands. There were also statements from two of Dessler’s girls who claimed they had ‘entertained’ Jordan for free.

  Temple then introduced new evidence
– bank statements picked up in the last hour on a warrant from Jordan’s flat which showed regular monthly cash deposits of £2000 into his account. How did he explain them?

  Jordan was astute enough to realize that he was in deep shit. He was also bright enough to know that if he wasn’t careful he’d end up so far in that there would be no way out.

  So he finally opened up.

  ‘It started about a year ago,’ Jordan said. ‘I called up Dessler’s agency and got them to send a girl over to my flat.’

  ‘You mean a prostitute?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Sheepishly.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, the girl that the agency sent was a stroppy cow. She was crap in the sack and mouthy. I wasn’t happy so I refused to pay. We got into an argument and she took a swing at me with a bottle. I lost my temper and punched her in the face. It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t been a bit drunk. I didn’t mean to hit her so hard. I broke her nose.’

  Temple would have liked a pound for every copper whose career had hit the rocks because he got involved with a prostitute. It had been a common occurrence back in the seventies and it was happening again. The soaring divorce rate among coppers was partly to blame, plus the fact that the government insisted on cracking down on the oldest game in the world. It meant that coppers were dealing with working girls and their pimps far more frequently. So there was far more temptation and many more opportunities to seek out a cheap thrill.

  Jordan was flustered and embarrassed now. He drank tea from the plastic cup in front of him and didn’t flinch even though it must have been cold.

  ‘After she ran out screaming I knew I was in the shit,’ he said. ‘I called the agency and asked to speak to whoever was in charge but she had already been in touch with them. They sent a car to take her to the hospital. Then about thirty minutes later Dessler and two of his minders turned up at my house. They were going to give me a kicking before they realized who I was. It changed things. They saw an opportunity. Said if the girl made an official complaint my career would be over. I didn’t need to be told that. So they made me an offer. Work for them and they’d put things right. They’d pay me a retainer and give me regular free sessions with the girls.’

  ‘And that was an offer you couldn’t refuse,’ Temple said, his voice dripping with contempt.

  ‘It was either that or end up on the fucking dole with a conviction for ABH.’

  Temple felt the urge to reach across the table and pile a fist into his ugly face. He wondered how the bastard had got away with it for so long. Why had it taken a freelance journalist to expose him as a crooked cop and a sleazebag? Why had it not been bloody obvious to all of his colleagues in Vice?

  There was a whole list of questions relating to his day job that would now need to be answered. Like how many times had he tipped Dessler off about operations? How much confidential information had he disclosed about Dessler’s enemies?

  But all that could wait. Another time and place. Right now they had to focus on a murder investigation.

  ‘So tell me why you started stalking Vince Mayo,’ Temple said.

  Jordan was sweating profusely now. As he spoke his right eye developed a twitch. His breathing became laboured.

  ‘Mayo owed Dessler a pot of cash,’ he said. ‘Dessler was getting fed up waiting for it. So he threatened him a couple of times. He also talked to me about fitting him up for something just to scare him into paying.

  ‘Anyway, Dessler then got wind that Mayo was going around asking lots of questions and delving into his affairs. Even a few of his girls were approached. I think the one I hit gave Mayo some information. She was still pissed off that I’d got away with it.

  ‘Then someone told Dessler that Mayo and his agency were putting together a news exposé on his activities. He was going to pay him a visit and sort it out but he was worried that if things were in writing and if Danny Cain was party to it, then it would get out anyway.’

  ‘So what did he do about it?’ Temple asked.

  ‘He called me. Asked me to dig up what I could on Mayo and to follow him around. See what he had. He said he’d pay me a few extra grand. So I said I’d do it.’

  ‘What did you do exactly?’

  ‘Dessler wanted me to break into their office and access their computer, but I wasn’t prepared to go that far, although I told him I’d try to. Instead, I followed Mayo. Spied on him if you like. I took pictures and watched his home. I didn’t really expect to find anything but within days it became obvious that Mayo was shagging his partner’s wife. It was a result. I got photos of them together.’

  ‘Did you know that they saw you?’

  He shrugged. ‘I know they did on one occasion when they were in his car. But there was another time when they didn’t see me. I photographed them through the French doors at the cottage when he was giving her one on the sofa.’

  ‘What did you do with the information?’

  ‘I took the photographs to Dessler,’ he said. ‘Told him he should use them so as to get what he wanted. From what I knew about Mayo’s relationship with Cain it was clear he wouldn’t want his partner to find out. They were supposedly best mates. Went back a long way.’

  Temple thought about the envelope that Marsha Rowe had mentioned. The one that seemed to upset Mayo.

  ‘Did Dessler send the photos to Mayo’s office in a manila envelope?’

  Jordan nodded. ‘I put them under the door myself. There was a note in there too. It warned him that they would be shown to Cain if he didn’t stop work on the article and pay the money he owed.’

  ‘And did Mayo respond?’

  Jordan shrugged. ‘The pictures were delivered on Friday. Dessler called me on Friday evening to say he’d spoken to Mayo. He said Mayo had agreed to pay him some money and stop writing the article. He’d arranged to collect some cash on Saturday night.’

  ‘And is that what he did?’

  ‘How the hell should I know? I didn’t speak to him after that. I’d played my part. I didn’t want to be involved any more. I went fishing to clear my head. I was tired and stressed out. Then in the early hours of this morning Dessler called me. Said that Mayo had been murdered and he’d been questioned. He was in a panic.’

  ‘Why? Because he killed Mayo?’

  ‘He said he didn’t, but he feared he’d be dragged into it and maybe even get fitted up. He warned me to keep my mouth shut, said he was going to disappear for a bit until things cooled down. Then he hung up and I switched off my phone so I could give myself some breathing space and try to work out what to do.’

  ‘And what about Danny Cain?’ Temple said. ‘Where does he come into this? We know he was at the cottage last evening. His wife’s affair gave him a motive for murder. Now he’s on the run. Could he be in cahoots with Dessler?’

  Jordan shook his head. ‘I don’t see how. Cain never really figured in anything except he was Mayo’s partner and therefore they were both effectively working to bring Dessler down.’

  Temple had to repress the anger that bloomed in his chest. He would have paid good money for just half an hour alone with Jordan. The man was a dirty, slimy disgrace and he’d given more ammunition to those who were critical of the police.

  ‘Do you think Dessler went to the cottage and killed Mayo?’ he asked.

  A frown wrinkled Jordan’s brow. ‘I don’t know. It’s possible. Dessler is a ruthless fucker and he has a fierce temper. I’d say he’s capable of killing anyone who poses a threat to him and his little empire.’

  32

  Temple questioned Jordan for another hour, by which time he was sure he’d told them all he was going to.

  He informed him that he’d be formally charged in the morning. Meanwhile, he’d be held in custody and was duly sent, shamefaced, to a cell for the night.

  As Temple headed back to the briefing room he knew that they had to fully reassess the case. There were more elements to it now. The photographs. Blackmail. Betrayal. Two suspects on the run.


  Now they knew that at least three people had a motive for killing Mayo. Cain, because Mayo was screwing his wife, and Dessler, because Mayo owed him money and was writing an incriminating article about him. Then there was Jordan, who also had a motive. He must have been fearful that the story Mayo was pulling together would involve him and threaten his future – maybe even his freedom.

  But still the strongest piece of evidence involved Cain. He had Mayo’s blood on his shoes. That in itself would be enough to get him convicted by a jury.

  Temple explained to a room full of CID officers that Jordan had confessed to being bent. They all expressed their outrage because they knew it would mean another huge internal inquiry into which they would all be drawn in one way or another. More bad publicity. More passing the buck. And no doubt more unsavoury revelations about what certain police officers in the Hampshire Constabulary were up to.

  ‘We have a warrant to search Dessler’s flat,’ Patel said when Temple started to assign new tasks.

  ‘Go over there and check it out then,’ Temple said. ‘See if he’s left any clues to his whereabouts.’

  Then, just minutes after the meeting broke up, another bombshell dropped.

  Brayshaw banged a mug on his desk to get everyone’s attention. ‘I just came off the blower to the lab,’ he said. ‘They’ve now run all the fingerprints from Mayo’s cottage and there’s a little surprise.’

  ‘What is it?’ Temple said.

  ‘There were a couple of prints on the plastic handle on Mayo’s bedside drawer. The one we believe he kept his mother’s jewellery in.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, they match those of his neighbour, Bill Nadelson.’

  33

  If you knew why this was happening you would understand. I’m sorry but there’s no going back.

  The kidnapper’s words bounced around inside my head. I wanted to know why he’d said that. What did it mean? It was really bugging me.

  After he descended from the loft we heard him drive away in his car. It then took us the best part of fifteen minutes to calm Laura. I had never seen her in such a terrible state. It had all finally got too much for her. The fear had built up inside her until she could hold it in no longer.