City on fire, p.3
City on Fire, page 3
‘Thanks, guv,’ said Scotty from the back of the room. ‘PC Bannerjee and I’ – he waved his hand to introduce Saira to his right – ‘will be joined by a drugs worker who we’ll pick up later. If you come across anyone who looks like they might be ripe for a treatment place, then call me and we’ll come to meet them. Boss, just one thing. We usually have a back-up unit in case things get spicy. Is that the case today?’
‘That might be a stretch. Can you manage without? Call up divisional response if you need any help.’
Scotty sighed. ‘I suppose so, but it’s not ideal.’
Bob shrugged and looked to Jo. She stood and turned to face the room.
‘I’m sorry you’ve been left short. We only found out this morning and I’ll deal with that but hopefully, as we’ve done this many times before without incident, today will be no different.’ As soon as she sat down she wished she’d engaged her brain before opening her mouth.
Bob rattled through the deployments, call signs and the ever-important overtime code, then sent the units off for their specific briefings by their sergeants.
Jo waited by his side while he finished a conversation with DS Luke Spencer, charged with coordinating the interviews once the prisoners had been processed. When Luke had stepped away, Jo said, ‘I’ll try to get you some more bods but don’t hold out too much hope. I’ll make damn sure it doesn’t happen again though.’ Bob gave her a doubtful look which made her even more determined.
As Jo slumped into her office chair, to her surprise, Chief Superintendent Kevin Curtis picked up her call after just two rings. ‘Morning, Jo, how’s life in your little township?’
‘I’m not in the mood Kev. Where the hell were your PSU this morning?’
‘And a very good day to you too.’
‘Piss off. You were supposed to send a unit over for Op Eradicate. Where were they?’
Just then Gary Hedges walked in, red, sweaty and still in his running gear. ‘Morning,’ he mouthed. Jo just shook her head.
‘We had some hunt protestors at one of the kennels on Lord MacInnes’s estate. I had to send them there,’ said Curtis.
‘Really, a whole PSU? How many protestors are we talking about?’
‘I’m not really sure but His Lordship was kicking off to the chief, so I decided to show some strength. These things happen, Jo.’
‘That’s bollocks. In any case you should have told me. We plan these raids to the last detail and it causes mayhem if we don’t have the right numbers.’
Jo signalled to Gary to pass his mobile. Reluctantly he handed it over, then she flapped her fingers for him to unlock it.
‘You do these arrest days every other month. The world doesn’t stop for your vanity projects.’
‘If saving lives is a vanity project, I’ll take that,’ she said as she zapped a Google search on Gary’s phone. What she was looking for came up straight away.
‘Four pensioners, Kev.’
‘Eh?’
‘Three elderly women and an even older man. That’s your animal rights protestors who warranted twenty-three highly trained riot cops plus drivers. Really?’
‘I’m not sure we knew that when we deployed.’
‘That is such crap. You’ve been had over and it’s me that suffered, like always.’
‘I’m not having this conversation. If you don’t like it, speak to the ACC.’ With that the call went dead.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Jo yelled.
‘And there ends the sermon,’ said Gary with a grin plastered across his face.
‘Read the fucking room, Gary.’
6
Scotty and Saira had spent the morning cruising the target areas, spotting drug users desperate for their next fix. Their unmarked Toyota was in dire need of a valet, the bodywork having been used as target practice by Brighton’s ever-present seagulls and the inside carpeted in rancid kebab wrappers and crushed coffee cups. Scotty’s rationale for not cleaning it was that its revolting state added to its anonymity. The fact that just about every drug user and homeless person in the city could spot it from a hundred yards did nothing to disabuse the sergeant.
Lizzie, the red-headed, sprightly, Op Eradicate drugs worker teamed up with them today, seemed less than impressed with this mobile hovel. Scotty also sensed her fidgeting in her stab vest, something they all did until they became a second skin. He knew his secret lover would give him hell about this later.
As he pulled off the seafront into Oriental Place, a prime dealing area due to it having more than its fair share of hostels and bedsits, half a dozen bewildered druggies of questionable ages were scurrying in the road.
‘You know the saddest sight I’ve ever seen?’
‘No, but I’m guessing we’re about to find out, Sarge,’ said Saira, as she half turned to raise an eyebrow at Lizzie.
‘I was driving down the M4 and up ahead brake lights flashed on and all the cars swerved from the middle lane. I thought something had fallen off a lorry but as I got closer, I saw there were seven or eight tiny ducklings dashing around the carriageway, no sign of the mum. It was too dangerous to stop but I knew it wouldn’t be long till the inevitable happened.’
‘Right, well that is sad, but why are you telling us that now?’
‘This lot reminded me of them, that’s all.’
‘Is he always like this?’ Lizzie asked Saira, as if she didn’t know.
‘Not at all. Once, around Christmas time, he talked sense.’
‘I heard that. Right, let’s have a word with them.’
Scotty dropped Saira and Lizzie off by a builders’ van, cover enough for the low-key surprise they were used to springing, while he drove past the group and pulled up beyond them. He parked up, slowly got out of the car and ambled towards the group as Saira and Lizzie did the same from the opposite direction.
As he closed in, Scotty recognised all but one and knew they’d have little fight in them. Anticipating them running though, he readied himself. He was proud to see the other two mirror him – both owning the middle of the road, their arms out at forty-five degrees.
It was a pale, scraggy young woman who made the first move. Her efforts to power-walk past Scotty lasted no more than a few seconds as the huge sergeant stretched out his right arm.
‘Now that’s just rude, Trish. Fancy not even stopping to chat.’
A couple of men met the same end trying to edge past Saira and soon all six were huddled between Lizzie and the two officers.
‘Now, what are you all up to?’ Scotty asked as he switched on his body-worn video camera, its red light flashing to show that it was active. ‘As if I can’t guess.’
It was Trish Kenyon who became the spokesperson. ‘We ain’t doing no harm. Just need to score then we’ll be out of your hair.’
‘I’m afraid that’s a bit of a problem today,’ said Saira. ‘See, our colleagues have been busy sweeping up the dealers and, well, most of your gear is now in our drug store.’
The panic was palpable – these, like every other addict, had just one goal in life.
‘We don’t cause no trouble but we’ll be clucking in a couple of hours. You lot keep doing this shit and no one gives a toss about us.’
Lizzie stepped forward. ‘It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.’
‘Oh no, not the fucking Op Eradicate chat again,’ said Trish as she tried to walk away. Scotty stepped across, blocking her path. Just then a furniture lorry trundled down the road.
‘Come on, let’s do this on the pavement,’ said Saira, shepherding them out of the truck’s way.
Lizzie continued. ‘Well if you’ve heard it before, you know the deal. You can come with me now and we’ll get you enrolled on one of the funded treatment programmes today. No waiting lists, no eligibility criteria. One form and you’re in. Do that and we’ll all be here to get you off drugs and crime.’ Her hand gesture included Scotty and Saira in that pledge.
‘And if we don’t?’ said the only person Scotty did not recognise.
‘Then we hound you, nick you for farting in public and when you tell the magistrates you need to go into treatment, we show them this video,’ said Scotty, tapping the camera. ‘Some call it assertive outreach. I prefer Hobson’s choice.’
Just then a blue panel van crawled up the road. Scotty barely glanced as it eased to a silent stop. It was only when the side door flew open that his antenna was spooked.
Three masked, stocky men jumped out, one of them shouting, ‘Get the fuckers.’ They closed the two-metre gap in half as many seconds, blades flashing in their clenched fists.
Saira stabbed the red button on her Airwave radio and screamed, ‘Code Zero, Oriental Place.’ This was the call that trumped all others, sparking every available officer to come running. It also left her microphone open for a few precious seconds. ‘Urgent assistance. Plainclothes officers and one civvy being attacked by three with knives.’
Scotty drew his baton and PAVA spray, holding the stick in an aggressive stance while aiming the synthetic pepper solution at his attackers’ eyes and simultaneously roaring, ‘Get back! Get back!’
Saira shouted the same, rushing to their flank. She swung her own baton at the right-hand man’s knees, but missed the target. The distant sirens were a welcome sound but Scotty knew they couldn’t hold the knifemen back for long.
The blades swished terrifyingly close and Scotty’s spray canister was all but empty. Just then he notched up a hit with the burning liquid as the middle man collapsed to his knees holding his eyes and screaming. This only drove the others on, and Scotty could only focus on the next few seconds.
He bellowed louder and saw Saira draw her own spray and take aim. Suddenly, the two in front of them stopped and dragged their stricken colleague into the van. Thank God, thought Scotty as they retreated, but then he felt a fourth person barge past him from behind. He glanced and saw it was the one from the original group he didn’t recognise. Scotty tried to grab him but the man slipped from his grip and jumped into the van, milliseconds before it sped away.
Scotty was about to run after it when he heard ‘Help me’ to his left. He looked round and to his horror saw Lizzie writhing on the ground, eyes pleading and blood jetting across the front wing of the white Vauxhall Corsa she was wedged against.
‘Saira, get an ambulance,’ he ordered as he sank to his knees and rammed his hand against the open slash where he guessed her jugular vein was. ‘Urgent, she’s bleeding out,’ he yelled before looking back at the sheer terror contorting the drug worker’s face, tears streaming down his.
‘Keep calm, Lizzie. I’ve got you. You’re going to be OK,’ he said with far more conviction than he felt. The blood sprayed between his fingers as the colour evaporated from Lizzie’s cheeks.
The first police car squealed to a halt and the passenger was instantly at Scotty’s side. He couldn’t have been more relieved to see it was PC Wendy Relf, not only one of the calmest and most experienced officers the division had but a trained medic too.
‘Keep doing that Sarge, I’ll grab my kit.’
Seconds later Wendy was back, her advanced first aid pack already open on the pavement and a huge bandage wad in her hand. ‘Sarge, on three, move your hand and I’ll clamp this on. One. Two. Three.’
In no time the white pad was sodden-red. ‘Get me another,’ said Wendy and Scotty obeyed without question. When that too soaked through and Lizzie’s eyes closed, Scotty prayed.
Five pads later, the ambulance arrived. The first paramedic was straight at Wendy’s side, ready to take over. Wendy shuffled over and the paramedics worked furiously to stem the blood, exchanged a look, then one started CPR. Scotty paced up and down, muttering desperate pleas. Time stood still, then the paramedics’ demeanour and urgency waned. ‘She’s gone,’ one said to no one in particular. Wendy sank back on her haunches, as if she’d been waiting for this confirmation.
‘NO! Keep going,’ yelled Scotty, dropping to his knees, barging the paramedic out of the way. Then, two hands on his shoulders gently pulled him back.
‘Sarge, it’s too late,’ said Saira in barely a whisper. ‘You did all you could.’
He looked around at the battlefield, Lizzie’s lifeless body the only casualty.
‘Where are the rest of them?’ he demanded.
‘They all scarpered,’ said Saira. ‘We’ll get whoever did this. We will find them, Sarge.’
‘Fucking right we will. And where the fuck was our back-up?’ he shouted before lung-bursting sobs overtook him and he collapsed into the pools of Lizzie’s blood.
7
Jo rubbed her eyes and popped a couple of paracetamol from the stash in her desk drawer. She knew what was coming her way as Op Eradicate Gold Commander. Contrary to the adage, shit travels uphill. Ever since she’d learnt of Lizzie Reed’s murder she knew every plan and decision would be subject to the most forensic of investigations, mainly by those whose understanding of operational planning was what they’d picked up from TV.
Having been at the centre of more crises in the last two years than many experienced in a whole career, Jo should have spent the day getting her notes in order before the vulture descended. Instead, she spent it with Lizzie’s parents. How you explained why a clever, funny, deeply compassionate young woman could go to work and never come back was beyond Jo. She hated that she could not give them the answers they demanded and deserved.
She glanced at her watch and couldn’t believe it was 4 p.m. already. Just an hour until the Gold Group – the high-level, arse-saving meeting which some chief officers used to bury or spread blame in the aftermath of critical incidents. In fairness, Assistant Chief Constable Leon Mills was a breath of fresh air and, despite him calling the meeting, Jo felt she could trust him. He’d phoned her shortly after the murder to check how she was and whether she had all she needed to manage the immediate fallout. It was during that call that he’d suggested they meet an hour before the main meeting so she could brief him privately.
She pulled into Police Headquarters at Lewes, then slammed her hand on the steering wheel. She’d only just remembered she’d promised to be home by 5 p.m. so she and Darren could continue their discussion from last night. She was still livid that he’d not told the snidey editor where to shove his job but hoped that they’d both have cooler heads this time round. She tapped his number on her phone and waited for the hands-free to click in.
‘Hi,’ said Darren. Frosty, but two can play at that game.
‘Hi. Look, you’ve probably seen what’s happening. I’ve no idea when I’ll be home so are you OK feeding the boys? Probably putting them to bed too.’
‘Yep. I worked that one out.’
‘Oh and Liam has got PE tomorrow, so can you make sure his kit’s clean?’
‘Already done.’
Jo left a silence, hoping Darren would fill it. As she spotted a parking place she gave in.
‘Look, I can’t help this. A young woman lost her life today and the buck stops with me. Give me a break.’
‘I’m not heartless but I’d love you to understand it from my point of view.’
Fuck’s sake, she mouthed. The gears crunched as she lined up to back into the space.
‘We’ll talk but not now. I’ve got to see Leon before the Gold Group. I’ll be home as soon as I can.’
‘Fine. See you later.’ The phone went dead.
‘Love you, too,’ said Jo to the silent handset. She hated that things were so glacial between them. Life, or rather the job she adored, kept chucking boulders in the way of her heartfelt intentions to get back to how things were before work became such a shit storm. God, she missed their date nights, days out with the boys, even running. Was she sleepwalking towards the same fate of most police relationships?
Five minutes later she was knocking on the ACC’s door. His velvet public-school voice summoned her in immediately and, as ever, he was out from his desk and shaking her hand when she’d barely cleared the threshold.
‘Jo, what a dreadful day for you and your team. I hope everyone is bearing up.’
‘Thank you, sir. We’re fine compared to Lizzie’s family and friends.’
‘Of course, of course. Anyway, thank you for popping in early. I just thought it would be helpful to understand and clear a few things up before the main show at five. That sound OK?’
Jo would have loved to say no, just to see what Leon would say. He was such a charmer, and so old-school for his age, that she wondered how he’d ever survived the violence and abuse that came with everyone’s early years in the police.
‘Sure.’
‘Good, good. Listen, I’ve taken the liberty of inviting Nicola Merrion, the CEO of Lifechoices, to join us. After all, Lizzie was one of theirs. She’ll be here in a moment. That OK?’
‘Of course, sir, but I thought you’d like me to update you on the operational matters.’
‘Nicola can hear that. No secrets in partnerships now, are there? Oh, where are my manners? Can I get you some refreshments?’
Jo waved her Chilly’s water bottle at him. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Why did this feel like the world’s most civilised ambush?
There was a tap on the door and the ACC’s PA poked her head in. ‘Ms Merrion’s here. Shall I show her in?’
‘By all means,’ he said, then gave Jo a look which asked whether that was OK. Bit late.
A tall, athletic woman, dressed in a green New Balance hoodie and grey jogging leggings, walked in as if she owned the office. Jo had met her a few times and, at best, tolerated her. The ferocity that speared from her laser-blue eyes unsettled Jo. No prizes for guessing whose blood she was after.
