Simon Kernick - The Crime Trade

‘A lot easier said than done.’

I allowed myself a thin smile. ‘Isn’t everything?’

It was near enough lunchtime so Tina and I decided that, for once, we’d go Continental and actually sit down and eat. Life’s too fast in London. It’s always go go go, and when your job involves go go going through the heavy tide of human corruption, then occasionally you need to sit back and take a break. We went to a cheap French restaurant I knew near Islington Green where they served moules mariniere with french fries and crusty bread, a meal that always brings back happy memories of childhood family camping trips to the coast of Brittany. And they only charged?4.95 for it as well, so, being overworked and underpaid, I felt doubly rewarded.

When we’d eaten and broken all the rules by washing it down with a glass of white wine each, we left and headed our separate ways: she to talk to Stegs’s boss at SO10, me to interview his guvnor at Barnet nick.

On the way, I got a call from a Mr Naresh Patel of the Police Complaints Authority, telling me that he’d like to speak to me as soon as possible in relation to the shootings at Heathrow. Knowing there was no point putting off the inevitable, I agreed to meet him later that day. He wanted to do it at their headquarters in Great George Street over in Westminster, and though I tried manfully to get him to come to the station instead, he insisted. So we set it for four-thirty, and I phoned through to Flanagan and told him that I wouldn’t be able to make the five o’clock murder squad meeting. Since it was routine anyway, he didn’t mind, but told me to call him beforehand with any relevant information I’d picked up that day. I told him about our meeting with Tyndall and the fact that he’d been out of the country for the last three days.

‘Setting himself up with an alibi suggests to me that he was more involved than not involved,’ said Flanagan, which were my thoughts exactly. ‘But, as I said this morning, it’s facts we need. We’ve got plenty of theories.’

I told him I’d see what I could come up with.

Stegs’s overall boss at Barnet, DCI Tom Clay, was overweight and looked like he’d had it with policework. It’s not an uncommon trait in coppers who’ve been in the job too long, but Clay had it more than most. He was genuinely concerned about Stegs, though, and hoped that he’d be back on duty before too long.

‘I could do with him back here,’ he told me as we sat in his office on the building’s third floor, overlooking the high street. Outside it was drizzling, and I wondered when we were next going to see the sun. ‘He spends three-quarters of his time on SO10 business — not that it’s ever done him any good.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

‘I mean, he gets involved in all these dangerous activities, risks his neck constantly, and it never helps his chances of promotion, doesn’t get him paid any more, and the first opportunity, they hang him out to dry.’

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that.’

‘Wouldn’t you? I would.’ He sat back in his seat and it creaked under his weight. ‘He’s suspended from duty; you’re here asking questions about him; and he’s got that arsehole Flanagan to look out for.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, taking a sip from the tepid station coffee Clay had provided me with, and remembering the atmosphere between the two men during the meeting after the hotel shootings. ‘Why would Flanagan have it in for him?’

‘Stegs and Flanagan haven’t seen eye to eye for a long time. Flanagan was the DCI in overall charge of an op him and Vokes Vokerman did once for SO10. The two of them almost got killed. I don’t think it was entirely Flanagan’s fault that things went wrong, but Stegs took a different view and told him that he was an incompetent arsehole who couldn’t do his job properly. I don’t think either of them have ever forgotten the set-to they had, and I doubt if Flanagan’d lose any sleep if Stegs took the rap for what happened Wednesday.’ He took a crumpled pack of Embassy No. 1s out of his pocket and stuck one in his mouth. ‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those new breed who can’t stand the smell of smoke.’

‘Do I look like I’m new breed?’

He managed a smile, his first since we’d shaken hands at the front desk ten minutes earlier. ‘No, not really.’

‘Then please feel free. It’s your office.’

‘They’re trying to ban it everywhere,’ he said defiantly. ‘It makes me wonder why I joined up sometimes. They give the criminals a slap on the wrist, but if you’re law-abiding they’re on to you like a shot. So, where did you say you’re from?’

‘I don’t think I said I was from anywhere, but since you ask, I’m based out of Islington. I’ve been seconded to the inquiry into the murder of Robbie O’Brien, the guy they found dead alongside his grandma yesterday.’

Clay’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s that got to do with Stegs?’ he demanded through a haze of smoke.

‘He knew the victim, and the victim had links with what happened on Wednesday. We’ve been trying to keep that part out of the papers, but I don’t suppose it’ll be too long before someone leaks it.’

‘I saw a mention about it on London Tonight , but I haven’t had a chance to read the papers for weeks, so I’d probably miss it if it was leaked. There’s no time, that’s the problem. No time for anything when you’re a copper. Apart from policework, that is.’ He took another drag on the cigarette, and eyed me as if he was somehow laying down a challenge. I got the feeling then that Clay didn’t trust me much. ‘Well, let me tell you this, Stegs Jenner’s a good copper. One of the best. He’s had the occasional run-ins, and his career’s not entirely unblemished, but I’d take him back here full-time tomorrow if I could. And I sincerely fucking hope that he doesn’t end up getting hounded out of the Force, because he doesn’t deserve it.’

I nodded. ‘Look, I’ve met him a few times myself and, for what it’s worth, I tend to agree with what you’re saying. Now, this incident when him and Flanagan fell out. What was it all about?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

The question bordered on hostile. I was going to have to tread carefully on this one. Tom Clay obviously had a lot of time for Stegs and was not going to want to say anything that made his situation worse.

‘I want to know because I’m trying to build up a picture. Personally I like him, but at the moment there’s questions being raised about his integrity, and I just want to make sure that I’ve got all the information I can.’

Clay continued to watch me like a hawk. Then he cleared his throat with a rattling cough that did not bode well for his long-term health and began. ‘It was when Flanagan was running CID at Greenwich. There was a drug importer and thug down there called Frank Rentners who was looking to expand his business, and Flanagan was interested in making sure he didn’t. So he brought in Stegs and Vokerman. The first meeting was in a pub and neither of them were wearing wires, but SO11 had a tracking device under Rentners’ car just in case they changed venues, so the handlers could intervene if anything went wrong.’

He then told me the whole story about how the two SO10 men had ended up having to watch another man being tortured while being told that they’d be next, and how they’d only just managed to persuade Rentners that they were kosher dealers, and therefore escape relatively unscathed. The way the operation had been controlled had been slapdash. According to Clay, Flanagan had only put a couple of DCs in as back-up since the risk of things going wrong on a first meeting was considered small. The DCs had followed the two Mercedes carrying Rentners and his entourage but had lost them quickly, and had then called the control room to alert them to this fact. However, it seemed that Flanagan had still considered the SO10 men a low priority because, by the time the car was tracked to the house and officers had arrived there, more than two hours had passed since they’d left the pub. The officers on the scene had been unaware of what was going on inside and had even seen Stegs and Vokes leave. By the time the police had finally approached the house and knocked on the door at ten to three, Rentners and the rest of his men had also left, along with an injured Brewster. Brewster had declined to press charges and had immediately disappeared from view.