Chapter 38
Hooley called a time out; he needed to clear his head. Something was nagging at him but, to his irritation, he couldn’t pin it down even though he sensed it was important. That meant yet another coffee run was underway, which also meant more doughnuts for Roper.
He divided up the purchases and then sat back at his own desk. He’d gone for a stronger coffee than normal because he reckoned his brain needed the caffeine hit but was finding it very hard going. He’d only added an extra shot but it tasted a lot stronger than that.
He was going to have to do something. Glancing casually at Roper he noted he seemed to be occupied. His right hand sneaked into a drawer and his secret cache of sugar packets. He’d just got his fingertips on a bag when Roper spoke.
“You know sugar is bad for you; that last blood test suggested you might be heading for the first stages of diabetes, so you need to cut it out.”
He froze with his hand in the drawer. He suddenly knew how Winnie the Pooh must have felt when caught with the honey jar.
“How did you know I was going for sugar?”
“Because you keep your supplies in the left-hand drawer. It’s pretty much the only time you go for that one and, given that you just pulled a face after taking a sip of your drink, it didn’t take that much working out.”
Chagrined, the DCI withdrew his hand and braved another bitter mouthful, trying to convince himself that if he gave it enough time his taste buds would adapt to the strong flavour - but he still grimaced as he swallowed.
The coffee did have one benefit: the overpowering taste had cleared his head. He suspected it could probably clear drains as well.
“I know you love this cloak-and-dagger stuff but there is one question I have. Are we getting sucked into spy work that would be better off being carried out by intelligence professionals? I would hate it if we missed some key detail that even the most junior MI5 person would pick up.”
“Well, I’m not sure you can make a distinction between a criminal investigation and an intelligence one. Surely, if you are plotting an explosion then it follows you are engaged in criminal activity, whatever the reason you might claim to be doing it.”
Hooley was ready for the response since he knew Roper was very strong on the “crime is a crime” line.
“Yes, and I do appreciate that argument, but I think you agree with me: the thing about any form of detective work is that you would hope to be able to prevent things happening, as well as working out what happened after the event.
“So, if we are dealing with Russian spies, then surely any investigation should be led by the intelligence people? I know Bill Nuffield and his people are looking into it, but we don’t have any idea of what they are doing and at the moment it feels like we are taking the lead. I’m worried that we are trying to do this with one hand tied behind our back.”
Roper had been staring at him intently and now he jumped up.
“I think you might be right.”
“I am.” He always liked it when Roper appeared to credit him with brain power he wasn’t entirely sure he possessed, although working alongside someone with his ability to make intuitive leaps was enough to make anyone doubt their abilities.
“So what’s going through your mind?”
“I want to rethink our approach. If I am right that this is a rogue operation, then the chances are they won’t be able to move things around so easily as if they were an official outfit.
“That means they need to consider how they bring everything into this country. Years ago all the KGB needed was diplomatic cover, but our people won’t have access to anything like that.
“That will make things tricky for most of the bomb components, the electronics and suchlike, but it’s going to be nearly impossible to bring in radioactive material. If they get caught, it won’t just be us who will want to punish them; it could be their own side too.
“So, if we know they need to get assistance, that means a smuggling gang - but not one of your usual gang of baddies. You wouldn’t want some South London heavy in charge of a load of plutonium.
“That means they will need to find the more rarefied gangs - the ones involved in moving the most difficult cargoes. Now, I bet there can’t be many of those people around. I think it might be just a small handful and they won’t advertise. Either you will be in the know or not at all.
“It’s been said for a long time that some of the richest Russians in London use smuggling services to avoid the authorities when they want to move assets around. One way or another, it is Russians behind this.”
Hooley nodded thoughtfully.
“OK. I can see now where you’re coming from. Let me ask you in a different way - and I am going to come across a bit George Smiley here.” Seeing Roper arch an eyebrow he stopped and thought for a moment. “You know I sometimes like to call you Sherlock? Well, George Smiley is the equivalent in the world of fictional spymasters.
“Anyway, the point is, I do have a question. What if there is a double bluff going on and this is all official and they can use diplomatic cover? Doesn’t that put it back to MI5?”
Roper barely paused. “We can cover that easily. If we tell Bill Nuffield we are looking at this as criminal activity, then he and his team can focus on the intelligence side. That should make for a very efficient use of resources.”
Hooley liked the response. “Good answer, and I think your idea sounds a very good approach all round. I would add one thing: we make sure that Nuffield provides us with daily updates on what his team are doing. That way you can be on top of their investigation and make sure we’re not both missing something important that neither of us is dealing with.”
A thought struck him.
“Talking of dealing with things, I’ve got some more news on my idea about forming an Odd Bods group. After talking to you I put some feelers out to a couple of my more sensible mates and asked them if they had anyone who might fit the profile.
“It turns out there is someone in the training section who is running the computer system, but my mate reckons she’s being wasted there. He does know an expert when he sees one and he reckons she’s great.
“She has a real flair for digging out details and doesn’t need any motivating. You just point her at a task and she gets on with it. Her problem up to now is that she hardly ever says a word.
“People find that a bit unnerving. It’s not they don’t like her, it’s just that no one can ever have a conversation with her. Even asking her if she’d like a cup of tea just gets a grunt. She only communicates by email, or even, and this is bizarre, prints out messages which she leaves on people’s desks.
“They’ve tried to find a proper role for her because it’s obvious she is clever, but they just don’t know what to make of her. My mate says we would be doing her and ourselves a favour if we could take her on board.”
Roper had listened closely.
“I get like that when I don’t know people very well. It’s like my brain empties out. The big change for me was working with you because you don’t mind people being quiet. Julie says it’s because you are a ‘miserable old git’ but I think she was joking. At least she said she was.”
He didn’t know it but Hooley was pursing his lips.
“She said that, did she?”
“Yes, a couple of days ago. She was looking for you and said to me ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for the miserable old git.’”
Hooley narrowed his eyes. Sometimes it was hard to tell if Roper was trying to wind him up. “It’s nice to know when your superiors are singing your praises. Look, what do you think? Shall I fix up for us to meet her? There’s no rush, but if we can start lining people up then why not?”
“I think that would be good. And could you do something else? I need to know if you have any informants who know the big players in the smuggling business.”
Chapter 39
Roper had launched into a bizarre monologue the moment he met Hooley’s contact.
“Blimey, me old china plate. I know we’ve been talking on the dog and bone but it’s good to meet, even if it is a bit Mork and Mindy out here. Let’s go and spend a bit of bees and honey because I’m Hank Marvin at the moment.”
Hooley stared at him open-mouthed.
“What did you just say?”
“Cockney rhyming slang, ‘innit?”
The other man started laughing. From the neck up, he looked like a vicar from casting central, with a wide, innocent expression and protruding front teeth. From the neck down, his powerful shoulders and barrel chest said Boston Strangler.
He said. “I’m not sure many people would call it that. You don’t really need to use the whole phrase, so you’d just say ‘china’ not ‘china plate.’”
Before Roper could respond, Hooley chipped in again.
“I think I’m right in translating what you just said as - ‘Hello, mate. We’ve been talking on the phone but it’s good to meet, even if it is a bit windy out here. Let’s go and spend some money because I’m starving at the moment’?”
He rolled his eyes before carrying on. “First of all, you only have to use the first word in the phrase. It barely makes sense.”
Roper looked crestfallen.
“When you said he’d done some bird lime, sorry jail time, I thought it would make him feel at ease. I wanted to show that I was on the same level.”
This last made Hooley’s contact burst out laughing.
“You’re the most comical Cockney I’ve ever met,” he said, holding out his hand. “The name’s Pete and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He was quite a bit shorter than Roper and had to look up to meet his eyes.
“Given that you’re about six inches taller than me, I think sitting down is the only way we will be on the same level. There’s a nice cafe around the corner - I know the bloke who runs it - so we can talk in there. And, if you are starving, he does one of the best bacon sandwiches in London.”
The meeting was taking place in Penge, a busy suburb of South London. Hooley had insisted they travel by train, claiming it would be much faster than coming by car. Roper had some slight association with the area, having briefly attended a private school in the nearby and considerably posher Dulwich, but he had never had the time to venture out of the immediate area of the school, so he was absorbing the surroundings.
It struck him that the DCI had been right about heavy traffic; the high street seemed to be gridlocked with buses, builder’s vans and cars, plus the odd brave cyclist weaving in out of the vehicles. Pedestrians were everywhere.
They followed Pete away from the railway station and walked slightly downhill on the left-hand side of the road, passing fast food restaurants and greengrocers, until they reached a cafe. They walked inside, and Pete led them to a quiet table at the rear.
The owner came over to shake hands and take their order. He was short and thin, wearing a pristine white apron, and sporting a dark beard. His bright eyes seemed to sum them up instantly. His expression never altered as Roper asked for three bacon sandwiches for himself.
“Three?” asked Hooley.
“It’s because of that man sitting by the door.”
“What?” he shared a quizzical look with Pete.
“Didn’t you notice? He had just picked up his bacon sandwich as we came in. It looked brilliant, you could tell the bacon was nice and crispy and it was on proper white bread with butter and tomato sauce.”
“I thought you were a wholemeal-only bloke?”
“Not with bacon sandwiches. My grandmother taught me that you don’t want bread that’s got too strong a flavour. The point is, the sandwiches here are much better than we can get near the office so, since I am hungry, I thought I might as well go for it.”
Hooley had to admit there was a certain logic to this and even Pete, who had only just met Roper, was looking approving.
“I still think three is a lot. You’ve told me off for ordering just one bacon sandwich.”
“That’s because you’re fat.”
For the second time Pete burst out laughing as he patted Hooley on the shoulder. “I’d give up while you still can,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “You told me he was different, but you never mentioned he was going to be such a laugh.”
Fortunately, the food started arriving and they settled into eating. It was as good as Pete had suggested and Roper had surmised from looking at his fellow customers. Despite having three times as much as the other two, the young detective still managed to eat all of his before they had finished.
“Very nice indeed,” said the DCI, wiping his hands on a paper serviette. “If you’re ready Pete, are you happy to get down to business?”
The man nodded so Hooley talked for the next few minutes, apologising for leaving out most of the key details but stressing how important it was and how short of leads they were.
As he had spoken Pete had become more and more sombre, until his features had gone quite dark. Hooley had never seen him react this way before so was concerned by his response.
“Your face is telling me that you might be having a problem with helping us with this.”
Pete puffed out his cheeks and, if anything, looked even more mournful.
“I don’t know, Brian. I really don’t. I used to dabble in a bit of smuggling myself, years ago. In those days it was mostly beer, spirits and fags. Back then you didn’t see much wine either - that only started in the mid-80s when everyone started going mad for Chablis and champagne.
“We used to sell a lot of it round here, off the back of vans and a few shops that would keep stuff in the back and flog it to punters they knew. Even the local filth, present company not included of course, turned a blind eye in return for a carton of smokes here and there.
“The blokes who brought it in were a tough lot but nothing nasty. They weren’t angels, believe me I’m not one of those who pines for the ‘good old days’, but at least there were no guns.
“Nowadays it’s a totally different story. Most of the smuggling routes have been taken over by total bastards, if you pardon my French. They cut their teeth on people trafficking mostly and you really don’t want to mess with people like that. They’re the sort that will kill you just for looking at them.
“But it can be even worse than that. If they think people are talking about them they come after you. I just don’t think I can take the risk.”
Hooley knew he was speaking from the heart.
“I can tell you are genuinely worried about this. The only thing I can say is that I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t serious, but you must do what is right by you.”
Pete stood up. “All this talk of smuggled fags is making me want one. Hang on here for a few minutes while I go and have a smoke and think if there is anything I can do for you. I’m not promising, mind you, but if I can I will.”
In the end he was gone for almost half an hour and Hooley was just preparing to give up when he reappeared.
“Sorry about that, but it turned into a three-smoke problem. Two to think about it and one more to check through what I was thinking.” He paused to take a breath. “I do have something for you, but I’m going to admit I’m not sure how useful it will be.
“The bloke I am going to tell you about is a bit of a throwback. He has some sort of code that he sticks to, or at least that’s what I’ve been told. I wasn’t trying to con you when I said I’ve been out of the game for a while.
“There was a bloke about ten years back who had a reputation for being able to move anything. It was even said he was transporting kids around London by hiding them in suitcases, so you can tell what sort of fella he was.
“I never had a proper name for him and he was known by a sort of made-up name. I think he was called the Butler, or the Concierge, something like that. The idea was to make it sound like he offered a high class personal delivery service, or so I was told.
“But he was obviously tough enough to survive against the psychos who are r
unning the business now - so if you could find him, I bet he would be a great place to start whatever it is you are looking for.”
The DCI knew he had been lucky to get this much. He paid the bill and, after saying goodbye, he and Roper headed back to the railway station where they could catch a direct service back to Victoria.
“What did you make of him, Jonathan?”
“I thought he was telling the truth about how worried he was. There were no indications he was lying. Even I thought he looked scared.”
“I couldn’t agree more. I think we were lucky to get anything. When we get back, we can try chasing down the names he gave us.”
“I Googled those two names while we were still in the cafe and nothing came up.”
“I didn’t notice that, you must have been very quick.”
“You weren’t supposed to see. I’ve been practising using the keyboard without looking at it and just using my thumb to type out the letters.”
“I’ve seen you do some amazing things, I must admit, but that sounds impossible if you ask me. I can’t even type on those little phone screens when I am looking straight at them in good light. Yet you’re telling me you can do it without even looking. I mean - how?”
“It really isn’t that hard once you get your mind into the right space. Anyone can memorise the keyboard, and then you just have to learn to judge the spacing so that you can spell out your words. I just made it something I really wanted to do and took it from there.”
The DCI raised his eyebrows. “There’s loads of things I tell myself should happen, but it doesn’t seem to work.”
If Roper had taken his comments in, it didn’t show in his response.
“When we get back I can do some proper checking on the intelligence databases and have a look at some of the message boards on the dark web. They’ll probably be encrypted, but the name may be there.
“I’m not that confident though. People know that even the dark web can be searched by the security services, so most of them are using impossible-to-access messaging services. So it is a long shot, but we have to try.
(Jonathan Roper Investigates Boxset Page 57
