Reflex Action

by Andrew Heasman

  “Yeah, I know, mate. Anything else?”

  “Well, then he started complaining that he was too tired to be interviewed. He wanted some food, a dinner break, and a drink. Then he decided that he did want a solicitor after all. He’s just playing games. He knows the system, and he’s doing everything he can to piss us off.”

  “So, how have you left it for now?” asked the DI.

  “I’ve stuck him back in the cells again. If he wants to play games, he can stay locked up for as long as it takes. The Custody Sergeant is sorting food and drink, getting him the duty solicitor, and then bedding him down for the night.”

  “OK, that’s great, Gary. With any luck, by tomorrow morning, we’ll have some forensic results to actually put to him during a second interview. We’ll see what he has to say when we confront him with a few facts.”

  Gary nodded.

  “Anyway, you get off home. Get some rest before we start again in the morning. Oh, and Gary, good work today.” Colin smiled at his second-in-command.

  As he left the room, Colin picked up the phone and dialled the Superintendent’s extension number. He proceeded to give him an abbreviated update on what had happened in interview, and told him his plans for the following day. Colin thought that Mitchelson seemed rather subdued. He certainly did not seem as happy about the arrest of Petrov as he would have expected. It was a good result. Lots of Brownie Points would be heading his way. The least he could do was to congratulate his officers.

  As his superior was still in the building, Colin decided to show willing, and chose to stay working in his office for a few extra hours. He contacted the forensic labs, and, foregoing his usual habit of never interfering in their work, he advised them that he was going into interview with the suspect early next morning, and that some preliminary results would be greatly appreciated before then. Whether this hurry up call would make any difference to their work, he had no idea.

  As early evening drew near, Colin phoned Matt Carmine on his home number. He spent the best part of twenty minutes telling him, in detail, how the operation had gone in the early hours, and how Sergei had been playing-the-game in interview, so far. Matt had not been surprised. In his dealings with Petrov in the past, he always had considered him an arrogant bastard.

  After a brief pause, Matt asked, “Colin, I don’t suppose you’ve had time to think about it yet, but are you looking to bring up the Drug Squad job when you interview Petrov?” It sounded as if he was unsure whether to mention it to his former partner in case it complicated matters. “I mean, now he’s in custody, it’d be a perfect opportunity to charge him for assaulting us down in London.”

  “Yeah, I’d love to, Matt. Problem is I can’t interview him as I’m a witness for the prosecution (if it ever got to court). That being said, I don’t intend letting him get away with it either. I’ll have a word with the Met, see if they can spare a detective to come up here and interview him.” That seemed to placate Matt. He was satisfied that he might still get justice for the life-changing injuries that he had suffered.

  While the subject was still fresh in his mind, Colin phoned his ex-boss, Malcolm Stern, to discuss the feasibility of the Met interviewing Petrov in relation to the offences down south. Malcolm was extremely pleased that Petrov had been arrested; it was the only case during his long and illustrious career, where the suspect had escaped conviction. If he had not been retired, he would have jumped in a car and headed to Manchester himself. However, no longer being a serving officer, but still having influence amongst his former, and present day colleagues, he promised to have a word on Colin’s behalf. He was convinced that they would jump at the opportunity to send Sergei down for a few extra years.

  With the evening dragging on, Colin decided to get ahead of the game by preparing his interview notes for the following morning. When he had finished, he glanced at his watch - it was gone midnight. It was too late to bother traipsing all the way back home, especially as he needed to be back at the police station by 6am. So he decided to rest his head in his office. If he pulled the blinds and shut the door, he would not be disturbed.

  He had a fitful few hours rest. He was unable to sleep properly. His head was filled with too many memories of that fateful day in London, and the adrenalin was still pulsing around his body from his exploits earlier in the day. He chose to just sit, legs resting on his desk, and let the past wash over him as he catnapped.

  Chapter 34

  Colin could smell the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

  His nose twitched, his eyes slowly opened, and he found himself sat at his desk, leaning forward, his head cradled in his arms. As his bleary eyes regained some focus, he saw a steaming hot mug of dark liquid before him.

  “Morning, Guv. I thought you might need that.” It was DS French. “Have you been here all night?”

  Colin rubbed his eyes and yawned as he stretched his arms above his head. “I must have fallen asleep,” he said, drowsily.

  Just then, a cheerful looking Doug Johnson bounded into the office. “Good morning gentlemen,” he said, far too jovially for the time of day. “I come bearing good news.” His smile stretched from ear to ear. As Colin sipped his drink, Doug continued.

  “We’ve all worked through the night to get you some preliminary results, seeing as you dropped that not-so-subtle hint last night about having an interview this morning,” he said, cheekily. “Now, where shall I begin?”

  Colin was slightly more alert now, keen to hear what Doug had discovered. He was desperately in need of something substantial to link Petrov to one, or both, murders.

  “OK, let’s start with the knife found on the prisoner,” Doug said. “As you know, it was a hunting knife with a six inch blade. I can confirm that it fits the size and width of the wounds inflicted on PC Griffiths, and the serrated edge matches the tear marks of the stab wound. It had been cleaned, but there were minute traces of blood stuck in the serrations, and under the hilt. Initial results match PC Griffiths’ blood type. I’m just waiting on DNA confirmation. Prints on the weapon match Petrov, and there’s a partial matching Maclean.”

  Colin took notes which he added to his interview folder.

  “The gun was examined by ballistics. It’s a match for Maclean’s killing, and has been connected to two drive-by shootings in central Liverpool. I’m guessing it’s a gang weapon, sold on for a specific job.”

  “Hmmm, and another connection to Liverpool too,” Colin mused. Doug nodded.

  “Was there any link to PC Griffiths’ shooting?” asked Gary.

  “Nothing definitive as yet, but it is the correct calibre of weapon. Prints on it match Petrov, unsurprisingly, seeing as he was using it to shoot at police officers.”

  All three men nodded.

  “Now, the mobile phone was interesting,” Doug said. “It was a burner phone, pay-as-you-go, but Petrov didn’t have time to delete his call history or memory.”

  “That was careless of him,” Gary said, sarcastically.

  “I passed it to Techie Services. There were calls and texts to a contact by the name of ‘Mal.’ I assume that to be Malachi. I believe the Doc seized a phone from his body when he did the post mortem, so we’ll need to confirm that the numbers match.”

  Colin made a note of that, and added it to his list of To-Do items.

  “They also found various numbers for UK landlines and mobiles which are being checked as we speak, as well as a number of other burner phones which I assume are used by his gang members. Some might be on record, but the tech lads are trying to trace as many of the unknown numbers as possible.”

  “Have you prioritised that job?” asked Colin.

  “Yep.” Doug paused. “There was one number that was recorded on our intelligence system. Petrov had called and messaged regarding an urgent driving licence a few weeks ago, and a passport in the last couple of days.”

  “Really?” Colin was intrigued. “Do we know who he was calling?”

  “Yeah, we certainly do. The number
is tagged to a forger by the name of Charles York.”

  “Right, Gary, get onto that. I want him nicked and interviewed. He’s obviously involved in this case somehow. Let’s apply a little pressure and see what gives,” said Colin.

  DS French nodded affirmation.

  Doug handed a few sheets of paper to the DI. “These are prints of some photos found in the memory of the phone. We’ve got a head and shoulders shot of Maclean and another of Petrov.”

  “They look like passport-style pictures,” added Colin.

  “Exactly! And they were attached to texts sent to the forger, so I’d assume they were for fake IDs or documents. But this last one is especially interesting.” He pointed to the third picture. “You’re not gonna believe it, but Petrov has taken a selfie stood outside a certain, ‘Case Rentals,’ in Liverpool. I’d guess he was doing a Recce of the place before Maclean collected the car from there.”

  “Well, we’ve got a link to the hire car, to Malachi, and to PC Griffiths. I think Sergei has quite a few questions to answer,” said Colin.

  DI Peterson thanked Doug for his timely assistance, and reiterated the fact that DNA confirmation and tracing all of the phone numbers needed to be prioritised. Then he spoke to Gary.

  “You concentrate on bringing York in. I’ll give Sergei an early morning wake-up call and get him ready for interview. DC Ryan can sit in with me for that.”

  ...

  Interview Room #4 was about 9 square meters in size, with a single wooden topped table firmly screwed to the floor, and four freestanding chairs. It was equipped with state-of-the-art audio and video recording facilities, and had a short “panic strip” attached to one wall in order to summon immediate assistance should the interviewee turn violent.

  DI Peterson silently entered the room, placed his pile of paperwork on the table, and sat on one of the chairs, DC Ryan taking a seat to his left. Already present were Sergei Petrov and his appointed solicitor, Brian Smythe, both sitting opposite him. The solicitor acknowledged his entrance with a nod, but said nothing. Petrov simply slouched in his chair, raising his eyes to grin at Colin. Spending nearly a day in the cells had done little to diminish his arrogant attitude.

  Colin did not generally read from an interview aide-mémoire, but with the importance of this particular interview, he chose to read the introduction and caution word for word as he initiated the recording devices. With the formalities out of the way, he began the interview.

  “During your initial interview with DS French, you chose to give a ‘No Comment’ to all questions; is that correct?” he asked. Sergei said nothing as he studied his fingernails, picking at the skin underneath.

  “We now have new evidence to put to you in relation to the murders of PC Nicholas Griffiths and Malachi Maclean.” Sergei made no indication that he had heard Colin speak.

  “My client has chosen to give a ‘No Comment’ interview on this occasion,” said the solicitor, barely lifting his head from his notes.

  “OK, if that’s the game you’re playing, I am required to put the evidence to you anyway. This is your chance to give your account, to disprove any of the points that I am about to raise. Should you choose not to comment, the courts are free to infer your guilt or innocence from your silence. From past experience, courts tend to take a dim view if you choose not to cooperate, as I’m sure you are already aware,” Colin said, formally.

  Over the following 20 minutes, DI Peterson detailed everything relating to the gun and knife, and their links to the two murders via blood samples and DNA. He went on to talk about the mobile phone discovered on the suspect, and the content found on it linking him to the forger, Malachi, and Case Rentals. Sergei initially said, “No Comment,” to the questions put to him. However, as time passed, he grew bored with the monotony of it all and refused to say a word. Instead, he stared into space, smiling to himself, hardly even acknowledging the police officer’s questions. His solicitor sat scribbling shorthand notes into his notebook, saying nothing, but recording everything.

  Colin had known that this would be a frustrating interview and so had mentally prepared himself for it. However, as he finished disclosing the evidence to the defence, his patience began to wear thin.

  “Look, let’s stop messing around, Sergei. You’re already going down for the firearms offences, shooting at police (the police dog will live, by the way), possession of offensive weapons, and a whole lot more. You might as well tell us your involvement in the two murders too. The courts will look favourably on you if you cooperate with our investigation.”

  Sergei laughed, a deep throaty laugh, but there was no humour in it. For the first time, he spoke.

  “You...” He spat the word out. “You know nothing, copper. You are a lackey; you do what you are told. You have no power or authority. You can’t tell me what the courts will or won’t decide.”

  Colin was unsure how to respond. In some respects, Sergei was right, but his words still hurt. He could feel anger boiling up inside. No doubt, this was the effect that he had hoped to achieve.

  Sergei continued, “My lawyer; he has already spoken with your boss, your Superintendent. He has agreed a DEAL. Immunity, a new identity, and I will give information about the drugs syndicate that I worked with in Liverpool. I say nothing until I have my get-out-of-jail-card safely in my hand, fully signed by your government...”

  Colin was taken aback. He had not expected this. It could not be true, could it? His anger erupted. “That’s bollocks,” he shouted as he slammed his fists on the table. “I’d have been told about it.”

  Sergei’s grin spread wider. He knew that he had wound his interviewer up. It had worked better than expected.

  “It’s above your pay scale, I’m afraid,” he replied, smugly. “Check with your boss. Ask my lawyer...”

  Colin looked with disbelief at Smythe as he nodded in agreement. He felt deflated. He did not want to believe what he was hearing, and yet it appeared true. He felt betrayed. Betrayed by his own superior officers, betrayed by the legal system that could allow something like this to happen, and betrayed on behalf of Nick Griffiths who would not receive any justice as a result of this deal. On a personal note, he also knew that it would mean no closure for Griff’s wife, or for Matt and himself with regard to their operation in London. This arrogant bastard sitting before him was going to get away with murder, and the British legal system was going to give him a new life as a thank you!

  Colin’s face turned puce as he fought to keep his anger contained. He bit his tongue, saying nothing, but inside, he had an overwhelming urge to lean across the table and rip Petrov’s head off. He stood up and collected his papers together. As he did so, Sergei leaned over the table towards him and whispered so that his words were only heard by Colin.

  “You got nothing, copper. You’re a nobody. You could do nothing to me in London and you can do nothing to me now.” He paused. “How is your partner, by the way? Did he recover in the end?” Petrov grinned at Colin.

  Colin saw red, his temper getting the better of him. He kicked the chair backwards, causing it to bounce off the far wall. He leant over the table and grabbed Petrov by the throat, squeezing with increasing pressure.

  Through clenched teeth, he whispered, “You fucking bastard. You’ll regret...”

  DC Ryan leapt to his feet and attempted to pull Colin away from Petrov.

  “Sir, SIR! Stop. Let him go. Don’t...” he cried.

  Colin released the prisoner as his anger subsided. Sergei slumped to the table rubbing his blotchy red throat. The solicitor, who had jumped into the far corner of the room, out of harm’s way, tutted to himself, saying, “This will be reported, DI Peterson.”

  Sergei’s smirk returned to his face. With a now husky tone from his sore throat, he said, “Run along now, you can’t do anything...” He was taunting Colin.

  As he left, Colin replied under his breath, “We’ll see about that...” And he stormed out of the interview room before he did anything else that
he might regret.

  Chapter 35

  Superintendent Mitchelson’s office door flew open with a crash.

  DI Peterson strode up to the front of his desk, not bothering to announce his abrupt arrival with a knock. Mitchelson was in the midst of signing some paperwork and looked up, shocked.

  “What do you mean by...?” he started to say, but Colin was in no mood to be polite.

  Interrupting him, he shouted, “What’s this bloody DEAL all about? Why wasn’t I told about it?”

  Mitchelson was taken aback, but managed to calmly say, “His solicitor says he will supply information relating to the Liverpool drugs syndicate that he worked with - name names, locations, shipment details...” He took a breath. “What do you mean by barging into my off...?”

  Colin cut him short again. “What about the dead police officer? Doesn’t he matter anymore?” He had lost none of his anger, if anything it had intensified. “What about his family? What about his colleagues? Is he just collateral damage?” He took a long breath and in a slightly calmer tone, he added, “You do know he’s gonna get away with murder – two murders?”

  Mitchelson replied defensively, “Actually, we haven’t proved that he killed PC Griffiths or Maclean, the evidence is circumstantial.” He always had to have the last word, and enjoyed putting his subordinates in their place.

  “Bollocks, SIR! Even if he only sanctioned it, it’s still conspiracy, aiding and abetting at the very least. It doesn’t really matter; he still needs to be locked up for it.” Colin’s face had flushed as he stood his ground.

  “Anyway,” Mitchelson argued, “it’s not a done deal yet. It all depends on the quality of the information that he wants to trade. It’s up to the CPS, the Chief Constable, and ultimately, the Home Secretary to make the decision as to whether or not to proceed.”

  As these details started to sink in, Colin slowly calmed down.

  “So, you’ve not actually heard any of this information that he wants to pass on?”