Going Dark

by Neil Lancaster

  He watched himself walk into the solicitor’s office and was happy with the quality of the recording: the audio was clear through the tinny iPhone speaker and the footage of the Adebayo brothers was, in general, pretty good. The look on Adebayo’s face when Tom had burst through the door was priceless and there was more than enough evidence to sort the job out, once and for all.

  Satisfied, Tom packed his bag back in the boot and drove up to Forest Gate nick to meet Liam.

  *

  Liam was already sitting at a table in the corner of the deserted canteen, nursing a tea in a Styrofoam cup, when Tom arrived fifteen minutes later. He looked up as Tom approached and offered a slight smile.

  ‘Jobs never go as planned, do they, fellah?’ he said as they shook hands.

  ‘I didn’t have too much choice, Liam. I wasn’t about to let him continue raping that poor girl. Hopefully it’s all recorded and should cause him a little problem.’ He didn’t mention he’d already scanned the footage; it wasn’t strictly correct procedure.

  ‘Talk me through it then, mate,’ said the Irishman.

  Tom went through the whole series of events, giving all the details, including the direct evidence of the trafficking and immigration law breaches, plus what the tape should show relating to the sexual assault.

  Liam paused before answering, as if weighing up all the possibilities.

  ‘It sounds a done deal, mate. Right, you got the SD card?’

  Tom plucked it out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. ‘Should all be on there, in HD resolution. Make sure they destroy that fucking creature; he is not nice at all.’

  Liam took the card and popped it inside a small, self-seal evidence bag. He tore off the protective strip and sealed the bag, exposing the unique serial number. Tom signed the exhibit label on the bag and gave it his exhibit number, TK/1, making a note of the seal number on a scrap of paper. He would need to refer to the serial number in his statement to keep the evidence legally watertight. The card was of paramount importance, especially in this case when the defendant was a rich solicitor.

  ‘Right, pal, best get started on your statement. Once you’re done, I’ll whizz it all over to Ilford with the card. I assume the team there will be desperate for it: the PACE clock is ticking.’ PACE: the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, dictated how long a suspect could be held after being charged. Liam handed him an undercover officer’s notebook.

  Tom found an empty office on the second floor and spent the next hour making detailed notes in the book, giving precise information about the sequence of events: from his briefing all the way through to extracting the SD card. Together with the card, those notes would comprise the evidence he would supply to Jean and her team, as well as whoever was investigating Jeta’s sexual assault.

  Tom wondered how the girl was doing. The Met had vastly improved its handling of sexual offences over recent years, and he assumed it would be one of the Sapphire Teams that would investigate. Jeta would hopefully be at one of the rape suites: so-called havens, where she’d be forensically examined and emotionally supported. Tom had found that the quality of the investigators varied widely on Sapphire Teams, but there were some good cops who specialised in dealing with the victims.

  He couldn’t help but feel sorry for Jeta. She’d seemed so naïve and vulnerable, and the process of a rape investigation was intrusive, to say the least, with a medical examination as well as her having to re-live the incident in detail as her statement was taken.

  Tom found Liam again, still nursing a tea in the canteen that was now a little busier, being close to the end of late-turn.

  He handed his notebook over and said, ‘It’s all in there, Liam. Hopefully, with the recording, that’s more than enough.’

  Liam briefly looked through the book without comment. It was fully accepted that, after a stressful incident, an undercover officer’s notes may suffer a little and a second pair of eyes were always valuable.

  Liam seemed satisfied, however. ‘That’s fine, Tom. I’ll get these over to the team at Ilford. You may as well go home. I doubt much will happen with the prisoners at this time of the night; not until they’ve done the first recall with the victim and she’s been examined. I’ll call you tomorrow. Leave the liaison with the team to me: you’re a bit too close to this job. It would have been nice to distance you before the team struck.’

  Tom had to agree on that point. On other deployments he had been able to muddy the waters a little and create some distance from the informant. It wasn’t so troubling in this particular case as Ivan had only introduced Tom to Luka as a potential sparring partner, and that was quite a few months ago. It had been Luka himself who had made the offer of participation in crime, so the informant had a big outer on that front. Ivan just needed to say that he didn’t know that Tom was working with the brothers: he just thought they were fighting partners.

  ‘Hey-ho,’ said the Irishman. ‘Not much we can do about it now. Good job, Tom. Now get yourself home: you look tired.’

  Tom did feel a little jaded. It had been an unusual and tiring deployment; the brothers had been stressful company and he would be glad to be away from them. One thing he was sure of, though, was that Adebayo would be moving heaven and earth—whether in prison or not—to find out how an undercover officer had ended up in his office.

  11

  A few hours later, Michael Adebayo was sat in the solicitor’s consulting room at Ilford Police Station. He was still in pain; his leg was throbbing evidence of the encounter with Tomo at his office. He was both angry and extremely worried about the events that had led him there, but the presence of his old friend and solicitor was a welcome development.

  Asif Khan sat across the desk, looking at him with those familiar hard eyes. He was immaculately dressed in a tailored grey suit with a blindingly-white shirt and conservative tie. They had been friends at university and immediately gravitated towards each other, especially once their mutual desires to make money became obvious. It had been Khan’s suggestion that Adebayo take the plunge and convert to Islam. They shared the same taste in women: particularly feckless white women of questionable morals who were amenable to their advances after a few drinks.

  After university, both men went on to be solicitors: Adebayo specialising in immigration and Khan setting up his own successful criminal defence practice. Part of Khan’s success story was down to his morals. He had none whatsoever; he would represent anyone and use any tricks—fair or foul—to keep them out of jail. He and Adebayo had remained good friends and associates ever since going their separate ways after university, often feeding work each other’s way, their practices complementing each other perfectly.

  ‘Right, I’ve had the evidence disclosure from the officer in the case,’ said Khan. ‘It doesn’t look good. They have the girl secured away at an examination suite and I think—although they won’t admit it yet—they had an undercover officer, or they’ve recorded you at the office. Basically, my friend, you’re screwed and I don’t think normal tactics will work here. If it was an undercover officer, he would have been wired as well. They also have you bang to rights for organising sham marriages.’

  Adebayo didn’t answer, instead slumping against the desk with his head cupped in his hands. Tears seeped out between his fingers and spotted the dark Formica table. He pictured everything he’d worked for falling around his ears.

  Khan spoke after a second, ‘We say nothing for the time being. I will demand the information about the undercover officer and the details of the girl. I will also demand to see the footage in full before we comment.’

  ‘I knew I shouldn’t have agreed to let the new face bring the girl,’ said Adebayo. ‘He seemed just like the brothers, though. I didn’t think for a second he would be an undercover officer, the bastard. Police were there within minutes after he fled with the bitch; he must have been a cop.’ The thought pushed away his self-pity, resolve suddenly returning with a vengeance. ‘Get hold of Mira, find out what the fuck is
going on and where this bastard came from. I want to know everything about him. Also, call the Brankos’ police and Home Office sources, see who knows what. Money is no object, I’ll pay whatever. The girl will respond to money; if not, do we know where she’s from and where her family are? Then do whatever you can to get me and my brother out on bail.’ Spittle flecked from Adebayo’s mouth as he barked furiously.

  ‘It won’t be easy, brother,’ said Khan. ‘If the girl gives them a statement and they have undercover recordings you will be charged with rape and remanded. If the Home Office can only charge you with the immigration matters, then I may be able to make the case for bail.’

  ‘Make it happen. I need to get back out so I can straighten this mess out. Go and speak to Mira and the sources, then come back. I can’t go to prison; not a fucking chance.’

  12

  Liam Devlin used his warrant card to swipe himself into Ilford Police Station and ascended to the first-floor CID office to hunt for the officer on the case.

  Liam found the officer glued to a computer terminal with a phone held to his ear. He acknowledged Liam as he approached his desk with a harassed half-smile.

  ‘Okay, let me know once she’s done and I’ll get someone along,’ the man barked into the phone and hung up. He was a tired-looking man in his late forties wearing a rumpled, ill-fitting suit. An air of weariness surrounded him like an aura.

  ‘DS Liam Devlin. I come bearing gifts, my friend.’ Liam smiled a greeting. He handed him a brown envelope containing the notebook and the bagged SD card.

  ‘I’m DS Pete Lyons from the Sapphire team. I’m taking the rape job over, unfortunately. Are you from SC&O35? I’m hoping you’ve got some evidence with you, as right now I haven’t a fucking clue what’s going on.’

  ‘The UC is away but we have an audio and visual record of what’s happened. I’ve not seen it, but I’m assured it has captured everything. We also have other recordings from previous deployments, but they don’t relate to Adebayo. The UC went to Adebayo’s offices today in relation to a sham marriage job and the victim was supposed to be a bride. Unfortunately, Adebayo decided he was at liberty to help himself to the merchandise.’

  ‘How many copies of this are there?’

  ‘Just that one: no copying facilities at Forest Gate and we wanted you to get hold of it right away. I assume Mr Adebayo is a bit pissed off?’

  ‘That’s a fucking understatement. Screaming about assault and entrapment and breaching legal privilege and all sorts of shit. He has a twat of a brief as well; the smarmy fucker is demanding bail before we’ve even got to the fucking bottom of what’s happened.’

  ‘How’s the girl?’

  ‘Not particularly injured, but she’s shaken up as fuck. She won’t stop crying and panicking about her family back in Bosnia or wherever. She’s only just cooperating with the haven staff and has threatened to fuck off several times. I’ve got a SOIT investigator with her, but it still wouldn’t surprise me if the girl fucked off given the chance.’

  Devlin smiled to himself at the DS’s command of old English oaths. It probably explained why the actual liaison with the victim was being left to one of the Sexual Offences Investigative Trained—or SOIT—officers.

  ‘Okay. Well, the Home Office investigators are dealing with him for the immigration offences, which seem pretty tight. It would be really good if the sex offences stuck as well, as my man has intervened and blown his cover wide open.’

  ‘We’ll do our best, mate, but if she doesn’t want to know, we’re fucked anyway. Happens too often in sexual offences.’

  The men shook hands and Liam left. Once in the car, he called Tom.

  ‘I’ve delivered the SD card and your statement. It’s up to them now, although it doesn’t sound like the victim is being cooperative. They think she’s scared and just wants to go home.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be good, Liam. I’ve assaulted him and his brother and I’m far too exposed on this job. We need Adebayo locked up.’

  ‘Not much we can do about it now, mate, just got to let it ride out. Your recording keeps you well in the clear.’

  Tom agreed, and they rang off, promising to speak the next day. Devlin started his car and drove off, looking forward to a pint after a difficult day.

  *

  Tom couldn’t face going into Kilburn the next morning, so he phoned up and asked for a day off. He had worked extra hours recently so had lots of time to take. Simon Taylor was his usual blustery self but eventually agreed with a sigh, saying, ‘We really need to speak about your career development, Tom. You’ve not had your shoulder to our wheel recently.’

  That pissed Tom off, but he was too tired to argue with the senior officer. He knew from experience it wouldn’t get him anywhere, so he kept his feelings to himself.

  He made himself a strong coffee and ate some toast while the morning news played in the background. The job hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped. Adebayo had made a sensible arrest strategy impossible. The Home Office would be under severe pressure and it was in no way a sure thing that the CPS would authorise a charge on the immigration matters alone. The CPS wanted everything gift-wrapped, especially for an immediate charge. Home Office investigations were always drawn out, as they were so reliant on documentation that took time to assemble. Often that meant long periods of bail while all the paperwork was prepared to the CPS’s exacting standards.

  The telephone buzzing on the coffee table started him out of his reverie: it was Liam.

  ‘They’ve bailed him.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The girl is refusing to do a statement at the moment. She was too upset and just wanted to sleep. They’ve got her in a refuge in Clerkenwell until she feels up to it, but she’s saying she wants to go home. They’ve just bailed Adebayo after a ‘no comment’ interview. The CPS won’t authorise a charge on the immigration matters either. They’ve asked for loads more evidence before they’ll authorise it. He has all sorts of bail conditions, but he’s out on the street. I’m sorry to say though that’s not the worst news I have.’

  Tom felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach but said nothing, waiting for Liam to continue.

  ‘The SD card was blank. Nothing on it, nada. You sure you set it up right?’

  Tom felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He clearly remembered copying the file onto the phone, leaving the original footage on the SD card. This meant only one thing. The card had been wiped.

  ‘Liam, I know I set it up right, I know it.’ He thought the possibilities through. No one knew he had a copy of the footage, not Liam and none of the investigation teams. So it had either been deliberately or accidentally erased. Wiping the disc could be done simply enough on a computer just by formatting, or it could potentially be done with a strong magnet or extreme heat. But by who? Who could he trust? He had handed it to Liam, who said he had handed it in turn to the investigators.

  ‘Who did you give the card to?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Some DS from Ilford called Pete Lyons. I don’t know the bloke. What are you thinking?’

  ‘Somehow, it’s been wiped. But by who? Was it sealed when you handed it over?’

  ‘Yes, mate. I sealed it at Forest Gate. You were there.’

  ‘This is fucked up, Liam. It gives Adebayo a massive loophole to jump through: he can claim destruction of evidence and allege that it’s all been concocted and a fit-up, for fuck’s sake!’

  Tom’s head spun as he realised he didn’t know who to trust. He recalled Liam sealing the bag, but that was the last he saw of it. Plenty of people would have had the opportunity, possibly, to interfere with the bag. He made a snap decision.

  ‘I copied it,’ he said. ‘I put it on my phone to review it and check it had recorded okay. I watched it in the car before I got to Forest Gate.’

  He heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the phone, followed by a pause.

  ‘Jesus, man, that’s good news. Defence may have a little go at a procedural b
reach but it’s better than having nothing. When can you get it in?’

  ‘I’m being careful with this one, Liam. I’ll copy it and deal with it myself. I don’t know who to trust here; someone has deliberately erased an exhibit, and there’s only one reason. There’s a fucking leak.’ He hung up.

  Tom’s mind reeled. A leak, a corrupt officer somewhere. But who?

  He didn’t know Liam personally, but he had a very good reputation and a long and distinguished history with SC&O35. The bag had been sealed when he left Forest Gate, but Tom had no idea what had happened to it following that. Tom had the only copy of the undercover footage that would sink Adebayo and the Serbs. They would obviously be desperate to keep it under wraps; who knew what they were capable of to get it erased permanently? Without the footage there were so many holes in the case for a good lawyer to exploit, so it was unlikely that Adebayo and his brother would be convicted.

  He went to his operational bag and retrieved his camera case, picking out a new SD card. Using the same lightning SD card port he had used the day before, he transferred the footage from his phone onto the blank card. The evidence contained on that small square of plastic and metal now held enormous importance and he had to protect it at all costs.

  Who could he trust? The only name he was confident in was Neil Wilkinson, the head of the undercover unit. He picked up his phone and dialled.

  ‘Tom, where are you?’

  Not even a greeting. Neil was always to-the-point, but that was brusque even for him.

  ‘At home. What’s up?’ asked Tom, feeling a rising sense of unease.