Then, one day, completely out of the blue, he had received a phone call. He recognised the distinctive Russian accent immediately. His past had come back to haunt him. Whether Petrov had followed him to Manchester, or whether it was a coincidence that they both found themselves in the same city, he did not know. Either way, the blackmail had continued where it had left off. Only this time, John was a Superintendent with much more to lose, but also with access to more classified information, as well as a greater influence over investigations under his command. John had unwittingly become Petrov’s “Guardian Angel.” Reluctantly, he had been put on a retainer, a monthly payment direct to his offshore bank account. To refuse it would have been suicidal, but secretly, he considered it a good thing to have a separate income. After all, he was taking all of the risks; he might as well get paid for the inconvenience of it all.
John Mitchelson knew that Petrov was in deep trouble this time, and that there was little he could do to help him other than to continue pushing for the deal. However, after his latest outburst and set of demands, he had had enough. He was in too deep. If Petrov talked, he would be finished. He needed to silence him for good, before he had a chance to ruin his career. He WOULD put an end to it.
Using a private mobile phone, he placed a call to an informant that he knew in Liverpool. In a businesslike voice, he said, “You owe me. I’ve got a job for you.” As the person on the other end started to object, John continued, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing too difficult. I just want you to spread some information amongst your druggie contacts up there.”
“Oh yeah? What information you on about?” came the reply.
“I want it made common knowledge among your people that ‘The Russian’ is planning on turning Queen’s Evidence and is going to inform on his drugs connections in Liverpool. Do you think you can manage that?”
“Of course I can. Do you think I’m thick or something?”
John paused. “He’ll be at Chepstow Street Police Station first thing in two days time to be interviewed. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“The clock is ticking. I’m relying on you to spread the word fast. Don’t upset me or you’ll regret it. Is that clear?”
As he ended the call, John sat at his desk holding his head in his hands. He instantly regretted his actions, but it was too late to do anything about it now, things were already in motion. What the hell did I do that for? he thought. It had been a spur of the moment thing; he had not considered the consequences. But what would the consequences be? If the Liverpool syndicate heard the rumours, what might they do about it? Petrov would certainly be a marked man for the rest of his life. If he did go through with the deal, and was relocated with a new identity, he would be watching his back forever. The drugs gangs had a long memory, and an even longer reach, they would never stop searching for him. And what if they found him? Would he be executed? Have I just signed Petrov’s death warrant? he wondered. On the plus side, it would certainly stop any more blackmailing. All he could do now was to wait, wait to see if the message was received, and wait to see if it was acted upon. It was out of his hands.
What John had not considered was what might happen if it was discovered that he had leaked the information that led to Petrov’s demise. Nor had he considered what might happen if Petrov discovered that he had attempted to silence him. He might have just signed his own death warrant too!
Chapter 37
Colin arrived at the coffee shop on the High Street, and took a seat on a comfy sofa next to the front window. Already waiting there was Matt Carmine, sitting in an armchair, watching the world go by, sipping his latte.
After a little chit-chat, Matt said, “So you got Petrov then? How’s the interviewing going?”
“Don’t ask!” replied Colin. He felt depressed. “We’ve got enough evidence to put him away for years, what with links to both murders, the firearms stuff, and numerous other minor offences.”
“Are the Met gonna come up to interview him about the assaults on us as well?”
“Yeah, I gave them a heads-up. They’re chomping at the bit to have a go at him. They’ve got quite a few outstanding cases that have also got his name written all over them.” Colin paused to have a mouthful of coffee. His mood changed. He seemed angry. “Despite all of that, he’s still gonna walk...!”
“WHAT? You’re taking the piss!” exclaimed Matt. “How?”
“Our beloved Superintendent is pushing for a fucking DEAL. He’ll walk away with total anonymity, immunity, and a new life.” Matt looked stunned.
“They can’t do deals with cop-killers, surely? There must be exceptions.”
“Apparently, any offence is valid, provided the quality of the information being traded is high enough. Besides, he’s denying any connection to the actual murders, and our evidence is circumstantial at the moment.” Colin shrugged his shoulders in disbelief. “Yeah, I know, it’s ridiculous.”
“What’s he offering?” asked Matt.
“He claims that he’ll bring down a Liverpool drugs syndicate, if you can believe a word that comes out of his mouth.”
“And that’s worth the life of a copper?” Matt was incredulous. “I always knew Mitchelson was an obnoxious, self-promoting little bastard when he was on the Drug Squad, but this is a new low for him – choosing to convict a bunch of drug dealers over the conviction of a cop-killer – hell, it was one of his own men, for fuck’s sake! What is going on in his head?”
“Anyway, nothing’s settled yet,” Colin said. “It hasn’t been agreed upstairs, he hasn’t been served with all the paperwork, and they haven’t assessed the value of the info he wants to trade. It might still fall through.”
“Not if Mitchelson has his way,” muttered Matt.
“Petrov doesn’t seem to care. As far as he’s concerned, it’s a done deal,” said Colin. “He thinks he owns the place, running around custody demanding this and that. Maybe he knows more than I do?”
Matt was seething. “He can’t get away with it,” he said through clenched teeth.
“He won’t if I have anything to do with it,” replied Colin.
Both men sat silently. Both were angry with a legal system that allowed such travesties to occur. And both were deep in their own personal thoughts, contemplating ways and means to derail the deal.
...
Interview Room #1, Bradwell Street Police Station.
Superintendent Mitchelson walked into the room and took a seat facing Petrov and his solicitor, Brian Smythe. Without recording anything that was said or done, he shoved a sheet of paper across the table towards Petrov. There was no hint of a smile on Mitchelson’s face. He was totally professional, frustrated, and wishing that this interview could be over with as soon as possible.
“Read, agree, and sign,” he said in a formal voice, a hint of anger breaking through.
“What’s this?” asked Sergei, “my deal?”
“Just the first stage in the process,” replied Mitchelson. “Under sections 71, 72, and 73 of the Serious Organised Crime and Police Act 2005, I have to serve you with this formal Proffer Letter. By signing it, you are agreeing to provide information in a Scoping Interview with the investigating officers and the CPS. They’ll assess whether it’s worth anything, and then forward their recommendations to those who will make a decision on your deal. If you fail to keep to your side of the arrangement, then the deal is off. Is that clear?” Mitchelson had rehearsed this speech a hundred times before, and reeled it off like a robot.
Sergei smiled. He nodded to his solicitor. “What do you think?” he asked abruptly. Smythe nodded his agreement and Sergei scribbled his signature on the bottom of the letter. He placed the pen on the table and arrogantly shoved the sheet of paper across to Mitchelson’s side.
“Right, your interview will be at 09:00 hours on the 15th March at Chepstow Street Police Station. Until then, you’re staying here in custody.” Mitchelson started to leave.
“What? Two more days of microwaved
meals in the cells? It’ll be worth it...” Petrov winked at the Superintendent.
...
As Superintendent Mitchelson walked down the corridor away from the interview rooms, he passed DI Peterson.
“What are you up to?” he demanded.
“I’m gonna give Charlie York his second interview. He’s in Interview Room #4, sir.”
“Just get enough to charge him for his part in forging the documents. Don’t worry too much about getting anything incriminating against Petrov, I just served papers on him. His scoping interview will be at 9am, Chepstow Street Police Station, in two days time. I want you there too,” he said brusquely.
“Fucking great,” replied Colin, angrily. “Do you ever get the feeling we’re wasting our time?” With that, he walked off towards the door labelled, “I/V Room #4.”
...
Interview Room #4, Bradwell Street Police Station.
Charlie York was slouched in his chair. It looked as if he had not had a moment’s rest since his last interview. His eyes were red-rimmed, his hair dishevelled, and his skin pale to the point of sickly white. He sat tapping his foot in a display of nervous agitation.
His solicitor, Archie Truman, sat next to him, his glasses glinting in the harsh lighting as he awaited the arrival of the interviewing officer. He looked like a child, barely old enough to have left school, let alone qualify as a legal representative.
Supervising both men was DS French. He sat waiting for his superior, making small talk with them as the minutes ticked by.
DI Peterson stormed into the room, slamming the door behind him. He was still miffed at his encounter with Mitchelson in the corridor outside. Having started the recording devices, introduced everyone, and reminded York that he was still under caution, he began.
“Right, since you last spoke to DS French, we’ve checked your claim that you supplied the information leading to Petrov’s arrest. It seems that you were telling the truth. Very public-spirited of you,” he said, sarcastically. Colin was in no mood to mess about, so he got straight to the point. “Have you thought about your options re: getting leniency for grassing up your mate?”
York started to speak, but Colin interrupted him, “It doesn’t really matter now, anyway. It appears your buddy, Petrov, has decided to follow your example. He just signed the paperwork to turn Queen’s Evidence. He’s gonna name names, stitch up the drugs syndicate he was doing business with in Liverpool, and the likes of you will just be collateral damage.” He paused, feeling good that he had been able to take out his frustrations on an easy target like York. “My boss just told me to get enough evidence to charge you with the forgery offences and to not bother linking it to the Petrov case. After his interview at Chepstow Street nick in a couple of days, he’ll disappear with a new identity, a new location, a whole new life. He’ll be free as a bird, while you’ll be serving a sentence for the crimes he got you to do on his behalf. I doubt he’ll even give you a second thought...”
Archie Truman was not as green as he appeared. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Detective Inspector, but I‘ve got to stop you there. If what you say is true, then part of the deal will be total anonymity. You can’t tell my client, or anyone else, that it is happening. It will all be conducted in closed court.”
“Oops! Silly me, it was a slip of the tongue, my mistake,” Colin said, pretending that he had not intended to divulge the information. He then looked York in the eyes with a cold hard stare. “Forget I even mentioned it,” he said in an intimidating manner. The underlying message that he actually intended to convey was the exact opposite, remember what I said, and tell everyone that you know.
Colin terminated the interview and left the room with Gary chasing after him.
“What was that all about, Guv?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Colin replied, still annoyed that he had been told to charge York, while the real culprit was going to get off scot-free.
“Shall I charge him then, like you said?”
Colin pretended to think about it for a moment. “No. We’re still waiting on more phone records to be analysed. Bail him for a week. We can charge him later.”
“What! Release him?” exclaimed Gary. “He’ll talk. He knows Petrov is turning informant for us. What if he tells other crew members? What if he tells the Liverpool people? They’ll all disappear, go into hiding, we’ll lose ‘em all.”
“It’d make Petrov’s information less valuable though, wouldn’t it? Maybe they’ll retract the offer of a deal?”
Gary shook his head slowly. “You know you’re playing with fire, sir? It could all come back and bite you on the arse. If those upstairs hear about it, or Truman talks, they’ll be after your job, at the very least.”
“It’d be worth it though, to get justice for PC Griffiths, and to have the right person locked up for life, eh?”
Gary thought about it. He could see the logic, he could see his boss’s argument, and he was not totally opposed to the idea. “Are you positive you want him bailed?”
“Yeah, go ahead. Do it.”
Chapter 38
Later that evening, Colin arrived, unannounced, at Matt Carmine’s house.
“Colin, how you doing? I’m feeling rather privileged. I’ve seen more of you in the last week or so, than I have over the last five years,” he said, jokingly. “Come in. Want a drink?”
As they went through to the kitchen, Colin could contain himself no longer. “I’ve fucked up!” he said, despondently.
“What, again?” Matt joked. He looked Colin in the eye and could see that he was deadly serious. “Really? What have you done, mate?”
Colin leaned against the worktop counter looking at the floor tiles. He was beginning to regret his actions. He had realised the error of his ways.
“I’ve gone and let it slip to a prisoner that Petrov is getting a deal. I told him that he was going to be locked up for his part in the crimes, while Petrov would keep his freedom, be given a new life, and have a new identity.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad. What made you do it? Was it just a mistake?” asked Matt.
“No, there was no mistake, I did it on purpose. But that’s not the worst of it... I told him Petrov was going to have an interview to trade information, and then I released him on bail for a week. He’s bound to talk, pass the details to the other gang members, and maybe even the Liverpool crew.”
Matt blew air through his teeth, whistling. “Bloody hell, Colin, you know that if they find out what you’ve done, you’ll be looking for a new job? They’ll probably charge you with something too - possibly perverting the course of justice - even though the purpose was clearly to get justice for PC Griffiths.”
“Ironic, eh?”
“So, assuming he does talk, what do you think’ll happen?” asked Matt.
“If they’ve got any sense, the Liverpool lot will vanish. Anyone else that Petrov might incriminate ought to keep a low profile, and if his information isn’t going to lead to arrests, there will be NO DEAL. He’ll go down for murder and everyone will know that he was gonna grass on ‘em.”
“Might make his prison time somewhat interesting!” smiled Matt. He thought about the potential outcome. “Seems to me that it’s a good result all round. The criminals will all be too scared to show their faces, the deal will be withdrawn, and Petrov gets locked away for killing PC Griffiths.”
“Technically, he’ll be done for killing Malachi Maclean. It’ll probably be conspiracy to murder Griff, but that’ll do.” Matt nodded in agreement. “You don’t seem overly surprised or shocked,” stated Colin.
Matt laughed. It looked as if he was debating whether to say something.
“While we’re in the mood for confessions,” he began, “I guess it’s my turn...” Colin was confused. He did not understand. “After our last chat, I felt the same as you about Petrov getting away with murder. I still have a few contacts left from the old days in the job. I did the same as you. I spread the word that he was goin
g to turn informant. If you hadn’t slipped that information to your prisoner, it would still have reached the streets through my contacts.”
Colin stared at Matt, not believing what he was hearing. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. Suddenly, both men burst out laughing.
“I guess we’re both in the shit then?” said Colin.
“Let’s drink to Griff...”
“To Griff...” They raised their mugs and drank tea to justice for PC Griffiths (by whatever means necessary).
...
The following morning, en route to the MIR, DI Peterson stopped off at the custody suite. Having had a quiet word with the Custody Sergeant, he wandered along the passageway and stood outside Petrov’s cell.
Lowering the door’s drop-hatch, he peeked through to see Sergei sat on his bed with his eyes shut. Colin spoke calmly and quietly, but loud enough that Petrov, and only Petrov, could hear.
“The word on the street is that you’re turning Queen’s Evidence. They know about you,” he said with relish. “There are a lot of unhappy people out there, in Manchester and Liverpool, who want to have a word with you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ll have a new identity soon. I’ll be protected, far away from this shithole,” Sergei replied.
“IF your deal goes through,” Colin said, cryptically.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing is set in stone yet. Your information had better be good enough, or your deal won’t happen. Then you’ll be facing a lifetime in prison. Only life might not be all that long once your fellow inmates realize that you were going to feed them to the wolves.”
It suddenly dawned on Petrov that if the deal failed - now that his own gang, and the Liverpool syndicate, were aware of him turning traitor - his own life expectancy had just diminished. These people had connections everywhere. They would find him in prison, and kill him. He would never be safe again. Sergei looked petrified as the gravity of what he had just been told, sunk in. Colin was secretly pleased. He had achieved his aim. If the deal did go through, Petrov only had two more days in custody. Now that he knew that his former colleagues were looking for him with lethal intent, he would NOT be sleeping very soundly during that period. Colin smiled to himself.
Reflex Action Page 24
