City on Fire, page 25
‘I doubt it. He’s got a soft spot for her. Whatever they’re talking about, if he wanted rid of her he could have done that when Darren blabbed about the UC, or when he was charged. I reckon he’s trying to save her.’
‘How do we convince her to back off?’
Bob watched his boss as he mulled that over. ‘She’ll be thinking there are only two people in the world she can trust.’
‘Us?’
‘Yep. It’s always one of us she comes to when she needs back-up or validation of some idea or other.’
‘So?’
‘It’s not guaranteed to work. After all, we’ve disagreed with her before and she’s carried on anyway, but if we tell her she can no longer count on our support, maybe she’ll see sense.’
Bob couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘It’ll kill her. We’re all she’s got.’
‘It won’t. She might think it will but, if she’s got her head screwed on, it’ll help her focus on what matters; Darren, the boys and getting the workforce back on duty.’
There was a silence. Bob racked his brain for an alternative that wouldn’t smack of a Caesar–Brutus moment, but he was all out of ideas. The betrayal he knew was necessary brought back memories of when he’d come out to his wife and kids. He hoped now, like then, the expectation would be infinitely worse than the reality.
‘All right, but let’s be careful. She’s vulnerable at the moment.’
ACC Leon Mills was always convivial and polite, and he had more emotional intelligence than all his peers combined. His stony face, therefore, told her that whatever she’d done was indefensible. His staff officer was glued to his notepad, indicating that he knew what was to come.
‘Whose is that phone number?’ Mills said, pointing out the missed calls from yesterday.
She looked at it, repeating the number in different rhythms over and over in her head. Defeated, she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I have no idea.’
‘Think harder.’
‘You can see I didn’t answer them. It’s not a number I’ve saved or recognised. I bet if you go back through the calls it’s never called me before.’ It was unusual for Jo not to pick up a call, any call, and once she discovered whose a number was, she’d save it under their name. ‘They didn’t leave a voicemail so I can’t think who it might be. Perhaps a sales call.’
‘Would you like me to tell you?’
Jo was confused and exhausted. ‘That would be nice.’
Leon’s face turned even darker. ‘Last night, your husband Darren …’
‘Darren? How’s he …’
‘Darren’s cell was searched and they found a package of what is believed to be cocaine and a miniature mobile phone.’
‘Drugs? A phone? There must be some mistake. I take it he’s sharing a cell, right? It’ll be the other person’s. Darren just wouldn’t …’
‘Take a breath Jo. I can go through all the reasons the prison is sure they were Darren’s if you like, or you can just trust me that they were not his cellmate’s. That number on your phone is the one found in his cell, as you’ll have guessed.’
Jo didn’t know what to think. Was she learning about a whole new side to her husband or was he being set up yet again?
‘Sir, this is all part of it. You must be able to see that.’
‘Part of what? I’m prepared to accept one or two coincidences but I can’t ignore what’s plain to see.’
‘We’re agreed then.’ The relief was overwhelming. She’d thought he was here to discipline her, but he’d been on her side all along.
‘No, Jo, we’re not.’
‘What? But …’
‘I don’t dispute that you and your officers have been targeted, but you must agree that you could have done so much more to prevent that. You’re losing focus.’
Jo was so furious that she had all but forgotten the staff officer scribbling away in the corner. ‘How am I losing focus? Tell me.’
‘If you insist. An under-resourced operation that led to the murder of a drugs worker. Redeploying an undercover officer on dubious intelligence who was then killed along with a major target. Your husband miraculously finding out that officer was, indeed, undercover just before he’s charged with paying for corrupt information. Allowing an illegal informant to operate who has distributed drugs that have gone on to kill. Then, allowing one of your sergeants to tackle dangerous drug dealers single-handed and end up on life support. Finally this.’ He held up her phone.
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Which part?’
‘All of it. I’m trying to save lives here and someone is out to stop me. All of what you’ve just said illustrates that, yet you put it down to me being a crap leader.’
Leon raised his hand. ‘No one is saying that, it’s just there have been a series of unfortunate events which arguably stem from your poor judgement.’
‘I’m not having that. I thought you were the one chief officer who actually supported their staff. How wrong I was.’ She leapt up.
Leon stood and stepped in her path. ‘Sit down.’ To her own disgust she did as she was told, knowing that she had the look of a chastened schoolgirl. ‘That’s better. You need to know that I spent a good hour and a half before I came here persuading the chief constable not to suspend you.’ She was about to interrupt, but Leon’s hand silenced her. ‘What I am here to do though is to give you a formal order to close Operation Eradicate. The investigations that have fallen out of it will be taken on by the Major Crime Team, but so far as you are concerned, it’s finished. Be under no illusion – you are lucky to still be at work, but take this as an opportunity to focus on more achievable goals and to restore the chief constable’s faith in you.’ He gathered his papers. ‘I hope I made that clear.’ He nodded to his staff officer, who seemed only too pleased to jump up and follow as the ACC left the room.
Mills had not been gone more than five minutes when Gary and Bob walked through the door.
‘Thank God you’re here. You will not believe what Mills has just done, or should I say tried to do?’
It was Gary who spoke. ‘Jo, we need a word.’
‘Me first. I thought that bloke was on our side, but he comes down here shouting the odds. Someone’s stitching Darren up from inside—’
‘Jo, please,’ said Gary. It was then she noticed that both were still standing, looking edgy.
‘What is it? Is it Scotty? Oh, God, I’m going up to the hospital.’
‘It’s not Scotty.’
‘What then? You’re scaring me.’
The two men sat down.
‘You know how much we support you,’ said Gary.
‘Is there a but coming?’
‘I think the time has come to rethink Op Eradicate. I, we’ – he looked at Bob who nodded – ‘we know you’ve only got the city’s best interests at heart, but we aren’t sure it’s ready for what you’re trying to do. Look at everything that’s happened, the lives lost and ruined. We don’t think we can just carry on as we are and accept the collateral damage.’
‘How dare you. I’ve never used that term.’
‘Jo, please. I know you haven’t but that’s what it’s been. Bob and I have wrestled with this but we need to go back to basics. Treat anyone who breaks the law as a criminal and let others worry about whether they can be cured.’
‘Surrender? That’s not what we do here. You both need to grow a pair and accept that when things get tough, we do not give up and go back to our old ways.’
Gary left a silence. ‘Read the writing. Eradicate’s not working so we can’t be any further part of it. We can’t have blood on our hands. You’re on your own.’
Jo struggled to find the words. This was treachery, plain and simple, but she needed to come up with something better than that to bring these two turncoats back in line. She breathed deeply. ‘Did you know these bastards have planted drugs and a phone on Darren just to get at me? No, of course you didn’t ’cos you didn’t bother to ask what the ACC wanted.’ Bob went to say something. ‘Shut up, Bob. Did you also know that he’s ordered me to drop Eradicate? Whether I do or not is another matter, but why should you cowards care? You’re no better than the rest of them. Well you can both fuck off. I don’t need you. I don’t need the fucking ACC. I don’t need anyone. I’ll do this, with or without you.’
She stood up, grabbed her bag in a swish, and just as she was about to reach the door, turned round. ‘And if you’re not with me on this, find yourselves other jobs ’cos you’re not welcome here.’
She just managed to get out before they had a chance to respond.
She sat in her car, aware of the eyes that would be watching her from the windows which surrounded three sides of the car park. She needed to pull herself together. God, she needed sleep. And food; she could murder a bacon sandwich. But sleep, preceded by a glass of wine – just to help her get off – must come first.
She pulled away, her bed and a large Pinot Grigio calling.
42
It wasn’t unusual for Gary to take the helm. It was what deputies did. But Jo did pick her moments to storm out. He knew it was partly of his own making, and if he were in her shoes, he’d have done so months ago.
The next hint that the day was on a collision course was when the duty inspector called him and asked where they should take prisoners.
‘Where do you think? Bit of a daft question.’
‘Well, obviously, sir, but have we got permission to go out of county?’
‘Why would you do that? If Brighton is full try Worthing, Crawley or Eastbourne.’
The inspector took on a patronising air. ‘But they’re all closed. Have you not read the email?’
Gary tapped the touchpad on his laptop and typed in the password.
Force-wide email.
To all officers and staff,
With immediate effect, due to a contractual issue, all custody centres in Sussex Police area are closed. Prisoners already in custody have been transported to neighbouring force facilities, but until further notice only essential arrests are to be made until the situation is clarified.
Thank you for your cooperation and understanding.
Chief Constable
‘What the hell …? I’ll get back to you ASAP.’ He ended the call and immediately called ACC Mills.
‘Gary, how can I help?’ said Leon, sounding much more like his usual self.
‘Have you seen this email about custody? What the hell are we supposed to do?’
‘I know, it’s a bit of a pickle. Just bear with us and we’ll sort something.’
‘With respect, sir, it’s not as easy as “bear with”. I’ve got officers attending calls as we speak and my money is on most of those ending in an arrest. We can’t just ask people to pop back when we’re open again.’
‘Gary, we are dealing with this and, for your ears only, the force maintenance contract and vehicle recovery contract have been suspended too. It’s hell up here so do what you can. Phone round other forces, voluntary interviews, you know the drill.’ Gary pressed to end the call, if only to stop himself detonating his career with a reflex response.
He messaged all the inspectors and chief inspectors to attend an emergency meeting.
Ten minutes later, the three of them walked in.
‘Right. We know that custody is closed, so the second this meeting is over I’m contacting Reigate and Portsmouth to let them know to expect our prisoners …’
‘But boss,’ said the chief inspector. ‘That’s a three-hour round trip to either. We’ve next to no one on duty anyway, so what are we going to do when they all bugger off to Surrey and Hampshire?’
Gary shrugged. ‘Have you got a better suggestion?’
The inspector who’d called him earlier then spoke. ‘I’ve got two units at RTCs and no one is available to recover the cars. So that’s the Mill Road roundabout and the Rottingdean traffic lights gridlocked.’
‘Jesus,’ said Gary. That was two of the busiest junctions blocked, effectively cutting off most of the city.
The second inspector chipped in. ‘And undertakers too. I’ve had a PC at a sudden death for three hours and no one will come out. It’s bad on us but worse for the families.’
This was a new one on Gary. ‘Why won’t they come out?’
The inspector shrugged. ‘Comms say they can’t get hold of anyone but they’ll keep trying.’
‘Good God. Is there anything else I don’t know about?’
They shook their heads.
‘Great. I need to make some calls,’ said Gary, gathering his papers while trying to figure out where the hell this was heading.
43
At first Jo thought it was a lorry reversing. She rubbed her eyes, then swung her legs off the mattress and retched. Grabbing her phone from the bedside unit, she realised it had been her ringtone that woke her and the Unknown Caller had rung off.
She checked the time: 2.32 p.m. Three missed calls. God, how long had she slept?
Then she caught sight of the empty bottle of Pinot next to the fingerprint-smeared glass. Surely she hadn’t drunk all that. On a school day. She fumbled the glass and staggered to the en suite. As she passed the mirrored wardrobe she had to double take then ran her hand through her matted hair.
She put the glass on the sink and sat on the toilet. Once she’d finished, she washed her hands and filled the wine glass with water, downing it in one go. She was about to repeat the exercise when she heard the phone ring again. She dashed back to the bedroom to grab it. Voicemail. She hit ‘play’.
‘Mrs Howe, it’s Mrs Holmes, North Hove Primary School. I’m afraid we’ve had to call an ambulance for Ciaran and Liam. It seems they have some kind of food poisoning. I wonder if you could call me as soon as you can.’
The headteacher’s even tone was at odds with her message. Food poisoning? Ambulance? What the hell?
Jo’s fingers raced across the screen as she located the school’s number. Hitting the call button, she paced the bedroom willing the pre-recorded messages explaining how to report an absence to fuck off. Eventually an equally insidious voice to Mrs Holmes’s answered.
‘North Hove Primary, how can I help you?’
‘Put me through to Mrs Holmes,’ Jo snapped with more panic than aggression.
‘Can I ask what it’s about and I’ll see if she’s free?’
‘My two boys who’ve just been rushed to hospital. Put me through.’
With a fluster, the receptionist couldn’t transfer the call fast enough and in two rings the West Country burr of Mrs Holmes came on the line. ‘Mrs Howe?’
‘Yes, what the hell has happened?’
‘I’m afraid Ciaran and Liam have both been taken ill this afternoon. We did try to get through as soon as it happened but …’
‘Both of them? How? I mean, what’s wrong with them?’
‘Well, they’ve both been fitting and vomiting quite violently and Liam was unconscious for a while.’
Jo’s head span. ‘Are you sure? They’re OK now, yes?’
‘They’re on their way to hospital. The paramedics did what they could to stabilise them. They thought it was some kind of food poisoning. Can I ask, have either any allergies we weren’t aware of?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘It’s just if they have, you really should tell us.’
‘I said they haven’t. Which hospital are they going to?’ As she asked this, Jo was racing downstairs to search for her keys, purse and warrant card.
‘The Royal Alex,’ said Mrs Holmes. ‘But the paramedics said they’d go straight to trauma so you should call first.’
‘Fuck that,’ said Jo as she ended the call.
She dashed to the front door, leapt in her car and wheel-span it off the gravel driveway. She powered down the road, mentally planning the quickest route across Brighton to the children’s hospital. It seemed every red light was conspiring against her, so she made up time by racing down the bus lane. If only she was in her police car. She prayed that all her officers would be too busy to pay any attention to her Brands Hatch driving, too preoccupied to put a tube in her mouth. That would be the final nail in her career’s coffin.
Once she passed her own police station, she was logjammed in the Brighton College school traffic. She cursed the town planners who had decided to build one of the country’s most prestigious public schools and the dual-sited Royal Sussex County Hospital and Royal Alexandra Children’s Hospital within yards of each other on the same narrow road. Weaving between buses, taxis and white vans, she eventually arrived at Upper Abbey Road where she darted into a residents’ bay. She was about to jump out of the car when the bottle of Pinot sprung to mind, so she grabbed a handful of mints and a face mask from the glovebox.
She stumbled as she stepped out of the car, then regaining her footing, sprinted to the Children’s Accident and Emergency entrance. Her mind raced as to how she could let Darren know. She shoved that to the back of her mind as she ran through the doors to reception, fixing her face mask firmly around her ears.
‘Mrs Howe. My sons have been brought in by’ – she frowned – ‘what do you call it, ambulance, from North Hove Primary.’ She hoped her slurs weren’t obvious.
The receptionist tapped a keyboard. Jo saw a frown flash across the young man’s face before it returned to the corporately approved smile.
‘Take a seat, Mrs Howe, and I’ll ask one of the doctors to come and see you.’
Terror coursed through her. ‘They are OK, aren’t they?’
‘The doctor will see you soon.’
Jo took the only vacant seat, next to a woman whose toddler seemed intent on coughing her lungs up onto the linoleum floor. Now she was grateful for the face mask for a second reason.
Each time the door to the treatment area opened, Jo went to stand – but each time the doctor, nurse, cleaner or whoever strode past on a mission that did not involve her.
God, her head ached.
After what seemed like an hour, but was only fifteen minutes, a young floppy-haired man in a check shirt and grey jeans ambled into the waiting area, looked around then, guided by the receptionist, headed grim-faced towards Jo.
