Law & Order Page 5

  ‘Well, make yourself at home – use my office if you want. It’s quiet up there. Most of the relief are still here if you need any of them to chase things up. I s’pect I’ll see you around sometime tomorrow.’

  ‘I s’pect so,’ Pyle said and went into the interview room.

  ‘What about that brief then?’ Harding tried.

  ‘I don’t remember promising you a solicitor, Clifford.’

  ‘I’m supposed to be allowed a phone call.’

  Pyle looked at him. ‘Who told you that? It’s a fairy story. You were caught bang to rights, weren’t you just? Sit down, son.’ The felon remained standing. ‘We’d better understand each other,’ Pyle warned, ‘it’ll save a lot of aggravation. Whatever favours you get now, you’ll get because I choose to give them. So sit down, and we’ll see how you shape.’ Still Harding hesitated before sitting. ‘Now, so we progress in the fastest manner possible, there’s certain information I want from you. Like your whereabouts last Monday week. Who you were with on that blag, who had the dough off you, and where you got that shooter.’

  Harding’s mouth fell open. ‘Oh, is that all?’

  Pyle shook his head. ‘That’s for starters. I’m going to know a lot more before we’re through. I’m going down the cells to see your mate now.’

  ‘What mate?’ Harding said.

  He smiled. ‘You’re going to have a little chat with these lads. When I come back I’ll expect some answers. Right?’ Harding just stared at him, full of anxiety. ‘You’d better know it is, son.’

  He glanced at dcs Fenton and dc Humphries as if giving them licence. Although there was no certainty that Harding was connected with the armed raid at Lewisham, the gun found at his place suggested he was involved in something, so information about that would do. The assumption that he was party to the blag at Lewisham was a good starting point.

  Terry Clark, the villain who Lethridge brought in, was still in his underpants when Pyle opened the door. He was sitting on the edge of the shelf bunk in this stark brick cell with its lidless toilet in the corner and a window made from glass bricks high in the end wall opposite the door. dc Jenkins was leaning against the wall behind Lethridge, with another dc sitting on the bunk near Clark.

  Pyle sniffed the stale air, which was heavy with disinfectant.

  ‘Don’t look at me, guv,’ dc Jenkins said, straightening off the wall. ‘I didn’t shit myself.’

  ‘Smells like someone did. How’s it going, Eric?’

  ‘Usual old story. Don’t know nothing,’ Lethridge mocked. ‘Do you, Terry?’

  ‘Fucking right I don’t. What about my fucking clothes? Sitting around like this in this pisshole. I’ll catch m’ death.’

  ‘They were your choice of going-away clothes, weren’t they?’ Lethridge said. ‘Running down the garden like that.’

  ‘Popping in to a neighbour’s for a cup of sugar, were you, son?’ Pyle said. From the end of the bunk he lifted a folded blanket, which smelled of disinfectant, and offered it to the prisoner. ‘There you are.’

  ‘Piss off! I ain’t putting that soapy thing around me.’ He flexed his shoulders as if attempting menace.

  Pyle smiled, despite interpreting his gesture as aggression rather than defensiveness. This suspect was likely to get some stick before they got what they wanted. Perhaps he couldn’t give them what they wanted on the Lewisham blag, but still he would get the treatment.

  Letting the blanket drop, Pyle said, ‘Wouldn’t be so bad if they were washed after drunks vomited over them. They just splash it with Dettol and hang it up to dry. What about Lewisham, Terry?’ His tone sounded reasonable. ‘D’you wanna put up your hands? Saves us all a lot of trouble.’

  ‘Some fucking chance, I should think.’

  ‘Then let’s do it step by step. Where were you the Monday before last?

  ‘That was a long time ago, I got a short memory.’ There was a smile on Clark’s face.

  Pyle glanced from the young man to the large-framed detective with a bright red beard alongside him, an implicit threat in the gesture. ‘He gives you a couple of rabbit punches it might jog your memory.’

  ‘It’d fucking well take all four of you.’

  ‘He’s a real hard man, this one, guv,’ Lethridge said.

  ‘Or just thick. He can’t remember what he did eight days ago.’

  Clark adopted a thoughtful pose. ‘Oh yes, I do remem­ber. I was with my solicitor. Why don’t you give him a bell and ask him?’ He smiled, like he had said some­thing clever.

  ‘I’d say you were down at Lewisham tucking up that bank.’

  ‘Not me, pal. S’not my game. Ask your mate here.’

  ‘You’ll do,’ Lethridge said. ‘Your alibi’s not worth a rub, and you know it.’

  ‘Naw, all you done is give me a pull on my form. What d’you think, I just got off the boat?’

  ‘A bit more scientific than that, Terry,’ Pyle told him, hoping that they would find something for this flash bastard. ‘Not much more, but a bit.’

  ‘I don’t fancy your chances when my brief gets to work.’

  Pyle laughed, mocking him. ‘He must find your faith very touching. You fuckwit, you sound like you’re just off the boat. You’ll be weighed off almost before you even get to call your brief. Who is it he wants, Eric?’

  ‘Gladwell, guv,’ Lethridge informed him. ‘He’s sup­posed to be well bent.’

  ‘Hairpin Alex, s’what they call him he’s so bent. Even less of a problem if we slip you on the list before the right sort of judge – someone like Melford Stevenson. He’s heard so many strokes. What sort of credibility do you think you’d have with that judge?’

  Terry Clark sneered. ‘You can’t do that.’

  Pyle said, ‘Don’t talk bollocks, son. Nothing’s easier than making sure villains go into the lists before a particular judge. Melford Stevenson always favours hard-working detectives, and detests defendants who tell lies about them. A quiet word with the clerk of the lists. Judges do it themselves all the time, Terry. They have their clerks juggle the lists.’

  That left Clark looking less confident. Pyle smiled, guessing he didn’t know that judge had retired from the bench.

  ‘It might sound all right when Alex “Hairpin” Gladwell slags us off, Terry,’ he said. ‘When you get right down to brass tacks, son, it only impresses villains. You add up his results, see if you find them quite-so impressive.’

  Clark flexed his shoulders as if to dispel his doubt. ‘I’ll take my chances.’

  ‘You save us time and effort, we won’t be unappreciative. We’ve got homes to go to. You think these lads don’t want to go home to fuck their girlfriends rather than fuck around here until you crack?’

  ‘They don’t mind, guv,’ Lethridge put in. ‘Looking forward to a couple of days away from home.’

  ‘You gonna call m’ brief or what?’

  The four detectives looked at Clark and said nothing.

  ‘I want to know how long I’m going to be kept here.’

  ‘Until we crack you.’ He leaned closer with menace. ‘As far as anyone out there’s concerned, you no longer exist. Not until we say you do.’

  ‘Leave off. I know my rights. You can’t keep me here. Under the PACE rules you have to charge me or take me before a magistrate. He’ll make sure I see my brief.’ Anxiety was making Clark’s voice go higher on the register.

  ‘It’s the Squad what nicked you, Terry, not some wooden-tops. You pulled a right stroke with that security guard, you wicked bastard. Don’t whine about your rights, because you haven’t got any, not now you’re nicked by us. We tore up the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. You got, son, information we want, so you’ll stay assisting with our inquiries for as long as it takes.’

  ‘Yeah. We’ll see about that,’ Clark said, and flexed his shoulders again. ‘Don’t cost
me nothing sitting here.’

  ‘Then stand up!’ Without warning Pyle’s hand shot out and seized Clark’s genitals, pulling him up. He was compelled to rise in order to alleviate the sudden pain. He cried out.

  ‘Painful, Terry?’ Lethridge inquired.

  Clark clawed at the air. Pyle half-expected him to lash out. The four of them were ready if he did. Even in his suffering this villain recognised his precarious position so didn’t try to retaliate.

  ‘Leave off, leave off, for fuck sake, you bastard,’ was all he said.

  ‘That’s not nice, Terry,’ Pyle told him. ‘Am I a bastard, Eric?’

  ‘I’d say so, guv – a right wicked bastard.’

  ‘About right –’ All the while squeezing his balls.

  ‘Le’ go, will you… le’ go, fuck you.’

  ‘That’s not respectful, Terry. Let’s have a little respect.’

  There was a rap at the cell door, and a uniformed constable pulled it open. He waited, watching with uninterest.

  It was then Clark cracked. ‘Please,’ he said in a polite tone.

  Pyle released him and turned to the uniform officer. ‘Inspector Redvers is on the phone, sir.’

  ‘Good luck.’ He turned back to the felon, who had sunk back to the edge of the bed, massaging his balls. ‘I think you’ll find you’ve a lot to say to us, son.’

  He went out, leaving the interrogation to ds Lethridge.

  8

  ACTIVITY WASN’T BRISK IN the front office where Pyle went to the telephone, nor would it be until the day relief came on duty. He doubted if it would amount to much worthwhile even then, despite this being one of the busiest nicks in Area 3. Most of the collars would be blacks. At that time of day there were only two policemen around – drinking tea!

  ‘John,’ he said, picking up the phone. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Nothing,’ di Redvers said. ‘The bastard was gone. He wasn’t long gone. I’d say he got a bell from someone out here.’ He was at Paddington Green police station.

  Pyle was unconcerned. There was nothing he could do about the runner now. ‘How’d the other fella go?’

  ‘They nicked him,’ Redvers said. ‘I’m on my way over there to see how he shapes. What about your end? Any good?’

  Pyle told him about Harding and the gun.

  ‘That sounds nice. Going to be a long morning?’

  ‘With luck we’ll get what we want a bit lively. I’ll see you later, John. Cheers.’ He replaced the phone and stood by the table for a moment and thought about Clifford Harding, who was both frightened for his liberty and desperate to keep it. However, that didn’t mean he’d take the easy option. Villains were never that bright.

  ‘All right, Clifford,’ he said, back in the interview room, ‘how about it?’

  The two dcs had taken him through his story, which amounted to nothing more plausible than his minding the gun for a man he knew not well.

  ‘What is it you want from me, then,’ Harding said, ‘a signed statement?’

  ‘That’d be handy, and to have you plead to it in court.’ He paused and watched him. ‘Let’s start with a few names, shall we?’

  ‘What names?’ Harding tried.

  ‘You know the names we want, son. You’ve got them all right. The names of the lads who were on that blag with you. What do you think I’m talking about?’

  Harding remained silent, like he was lost for an answer. Again Pyle wondered if he was in fact involved with that robbery. He glanced at the two detectives with him, then back at Harding.

  ‘Says he hasn’t got any names,’ dc Fenton said. ‘He was home with his wife and kids, guv.’

  ‘That’s the worst place you could have been, Clifford. Terry. Clark, Brian Finch, Dennis Cooper,’ Pyle informed him, putting up his thumb and fingers for each of the other men who had been raided that morning. ‘They’ll do. Oh, and Jack Lynn. He was involved as well, wasn’t he?’

  ‘For all I know. You could nick them and anyone else for that blag,’ Harding said. ‘I wasn’t on it, I promise you that.’

  With a way of making statements sound irrefutable, Pyle said, ‘Don’t talk silly, Clifford, you were seen.’ He watched the villain’s sense of desperation increase.

  ‘By some slag you stuck up to lolly me. By some dirty slag you told it was me!’

  Pyle shook his head. ‘No need for strokes like that. Not this time.’ He dragged up the second chair and sat opposite him. ‘What about the shooter we found, Cliff? Or do you think we materialised it? You fancy trying to say it was ours? We planted it there?’

  Harding said nothing, as if knowing anything he might say would cost him later.

  ‘It’s well known we carry spare shooters to fit up suspects, guv,’ Fenton said.

  ‘He doesn’t believe that, do you, Cliff? Sure you don’t. You know we don’t pull those sorts of strokes.’ He smiled. ‘You know what that gun’s going to get you, with your form? Ten years, without me even trying, son – up before Melford Stevenson, you’re a million.’ That judge was a stick with which to beat any active villain; with his open loathing for the felonry his name filled most with dread.

  ‘You do realise you were grassed, son, don’t you?’

  Harding raised his eyes to look at him. ‘I don’t think so. That’s just a get-up.’

  Pyle didn’t let the pressure off. ‘Your mate down in the cells put you right in it. Well, it’s the only sensible thing to do when you’re nicked. Save yourself, any way you can. They all do it, Cliff. Fancy keeping a shooter in your own house, who ever heard of anything more stupid?’

  ‘Who said villains have any sense, guv?’ dc Humphries commented like he was unsure of himself.

  ‘This oversight wasn’t folly, it was insanity – when you go mates with grasses.’

  Harding was becoming nervy and irritable. Having his sleep interrupted as he had would have done nothing to induce calm. Flakes began to fly off him. Pyle knew it would happen as the pressure increased, but gave no sign of satisfaction.

  ‘All right,’ Harding said, ‘you done me for the gun. It was stupid. I was like some fucking wally. But that’s all you got.’

  ‘It’s enough, son, more than enough with your form.’ He paused, letting that sink in. Harding had a previous conviction for a firearm offence, which was how he was selected for the Method Index raid. ‘Give me the others on that blag last week and I’ll drop the firearm charge.’ Pyle offered this in such a matter-of-fact way it stopped Harding’s breath. ‘Drop it right out.’

  After a long moment he said, ‘I can’t. I mean, fuck I, I don’t even know the guys you stuck up, do I?’ He hesitated, as if realising the detective wasn’t impressed. ‘Well, I know one of them – not very well. Lynn, I know. Jack Lynn.’

  Pyle stayed unimpressed. ‘Then you’re bang in trouble, son.’

  In this war of nerves Harding was losing. ‘I’d like to be able to help you,’ he said.

  ‘Help yourself, you mean,’ Pyle reminded him. ‘I don’t need any help to get you sent down for the gun.’ He waited now as Harding glanced at each of the dcs. There was a better chance of him offering something if they were alone, Pyle decided. Not often did villains want witnesses to their treachery. ‘Pop down and see how Eric’s getting on with the other fella, Peter, will you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ dc Fenton knew what was going on.

  ‘Haven’t you got to shoot off, Rog’?’ Pyle inquired, catching the eye of the other dc.

  ‘If I could, guv,’ Humphries said, but didn’t stir.

  ‘You’d better shoot off then – time to get down to Bromley, have a word with your witnesses.’ At last the inexperienced dc Humphries got the message.

  ‘What did you have in mind, Clifford?’ Pyle asked when they were alone.

  Harding shrugged and said, ‘S’up to you, guv.’ He waited.
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  di Pyle resisted taking the initiative. He waited also.

  In an uncertain voice Harding said, ‘I could put a nice earner into you. Be well safe. I mean, if that charge could be dropped out – the shooter, like… know what I mean?’

  Pyle was enjoying this and not reacting made the villain more nervous.

  ‘The dough would be double-safe. There’d be no prob­lem on that score. I mean, what’s it worth to you, d’you think?’

  Pyle waited a moment as if considering, then said, ‘It’s a bit late to do it that way. My entire squad’s involved, and most of another squad. That’s about twenty cid. They’d all want a taste, not just fivers and tenners.’ He wasn’t averse to taking an earner, but these weren’t the right circumstances. ‘You wouldn’t have enough to go into us all, even with the lion’s share out of Lewisham.’

  ‘I wasn’t on that. That’s straight, guv.’

  ‘About as straight as a dog’s dick,’ Pyle said. ‘You’ve no reason to lie, have you, Clifford?’ – mocking once more. ‘Who was it down to then? Jack Lynn?’ The suspect didn’t answer. ‘If you want the firearm charge dropped you’ve got to be practical, son. Your money’s no good to me. Offer me something else. Something I can use. Give me the villains who did that blag.’

  ‘I can’t. I haven’t got them.’

  ‘Well, what have you got? You go mates with Jack Lynn. What’s he having these days?’

  ‘His old lady, I s’pose. I haven’t seen him for a while.’ Harding waited. ‘I don’t go mates with Lynn. I’ve met him a few times, he don’t mean nothing to me. I’d lolly him to get a result. I mean, I’d sooner he did a bit of bird than me, that’s for sure. I want a deal.’

  ‘He’s supposed to be well active,’ Pyle said, as if it was of no importance.

  ‘I heard that,’ Harding said. ‘I didn’t get no offers.’

  There was a rap at the door, and ds Barcy put his head inside the room. ‘Guv, got a minute?’

  He stepped back to allow Pyle out, then pulled the door to. Barcy remained behind at Harding’s house with another detective to complete their search.