Ash Cameron - Confessions of an Undercover Cop

For Kenny.

And for our children.

See, we did have a life. Once.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page CONFESSIONS OF AN UNDERCOVER COP Ash Cameron

Dedication For Kenny. And for our children. See, we did have a life. Once.

The end

In the beginning, there was light

Drunk and orderly

Prisoners, property and prostitutes

In your face

A man’s world

Face down in the gutter

Have you told her?

Do not pass Go

Gruesome twosome

Hard-knock life

Black and white

Strapped

Knee-capped

Fitness test

On prescription

No headway

Moving west

All the evidence

The night I met …

Up the junction

Bounty hunting

Nondescript

Wheel clampers notorious

Willy warmers

Cut!

House bugs and other nasty things

Who’s there?

In the crowd

Fast forward

Working the streets

Bit of a handful

Sewer rat

Suspects with benefits

Summary justice

Unmistaken identity

Down the drain

Doors

Dead or alive

The day I met …

Street people

Poisoning pigeons

’Ere!

Expensive jackpot

Keeping up appearances

Marshmallow surprise

The day I almost met …

Marianne St John

Phantom of the theatre

Fast train to London

Pockets

Somebody’s son

Polacc’ed: police car accidents

Swinging low

999 hoax calls

A little bit on fire

Night-duty eyes

On the job

Dead ringer

Perks

Lucky ladders

Downfall

Ailsa MacPhee

A quick buck

B for bingo

Game on

The beano

Busted

Hats off

Ménage à trois

The cost of an arrest

The day I met Jennifer

Exciting boredom

Saving lives

It came off in my hand, sarge

Christmas confession

The call you’re waiting for

Animal lovers

Stanley the Stallion

Dirty Don

Importuning and all that

Daisy chaining

A pounding

Cassie’s girls

Courting

The verdict

Contempt

Through the square window

Let right be done

In stitches

The day Diana died

Women’s work

Mommy dearest

What do you call it?

Double jeopardy

Not their fault

Mum’s gone to Iceland

Mother love

Fly away home

Wearing his ring

Who’s lying?

The man in the corner

Head case

When the Twin Towers fell

Bin-bag kids

Pets at home

For Stan, Santa

Chasing motorcycles

Bad apples

Fair cop, guv’nor

The waiting room

In my head

The end – again

OTS and other strange things

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

I was nineteen when I went to London to join the Metropolitan Police. I left the police force twenty years later, combining my leaving do with reaching forty.

They say life begins at forty. Mine didn’t begin but it did change. I look back and wonder: that person, that police officer, was she me?

It’s easy to see why cops feel battered when the people they deal with are often the bad people, the sick of mind people, and the victims and witnesses who are often distressed. And there are those who for whatever reason blame the police for everything.

Police officers can become embittered working in areas of high crime, populated by people with an abhorrent dislike of the law and those who try to enforce it. It’s easy to understand the cynicism and jaded outlook when the days are filled with endless abuse and violence and grief. Even the officers working in the affluent suburbs and the beautiful countryside see people at their worst, all high drama and emotion, because in policing you are rarely involved with people at their best. After all, unless something’s gone wrong, why would you need the police?

It’s a strange phenomenon, and a bit perverse, when a good day at work can be a bad day, a sad day or a tragic day. Saving a life is one of those days.

There are also moments of fun and bizarre absurdity, slivers of sunshine, when you can laugh a real, gutsy belly laugh and know that today is one of the good days. They are golden.

I would have liked to reach the rank of inspector. Beyond that you become a manager, a pusher of pen and paper or mice and emails. Although the higher ranks are necessary, it’s a totally different job. I finished my service as a detective sergeant and I was happy to settle for that, in the end.

Officers higher up the chain of command don’t deal with the public. They deal with police officers and bureaucrats and forget what life is like policing the street. The real gutsy jobs are carried out by those who work hands-on with victims and suspects, getting down and dirty, and there are fewer hands-on officers nowadays, at a time when we need them more and more.

There are lots of opportunities in the police force. I wanted to experience as many as I could. I moved on, did different things, worked in diverse roles with different people in various departments. If I found myself grumbling too much, I knew it was time for change. I believe you make your own future and I’ve never sat around waiting for it to happen.

I’ve worked in the capital, in the East End, the West End, and north London. I’ve worked somewhere in the North too, in a constabulary. I’ve been a uniformed constable, an undercover cop, a detective and a sergeant. I’ve worked with the public in their many guises – victims, witnesses, prostitutes, rent boys, criminals, suspects, and many professionals in multi-agencies. I worked in London at the height of the IRA bombings and dealt with a few too. It’s scary going to work knowing that you might be bombed at any time. As emergency workers, we’d run towards the explosion whilst urging everyone else to run away, and hoping there wasn’t a secondary device primed to go off on our arrival. I’ve worked with the vulnerable, investigated racial incidents, homophobic attacks, elder abuse, missing people; I’ve worked in witness protection, on murder squads, in domestic violence and child protection. I’ve been a volunteer that took underprivileged kids on week-long camps. I’ve helped out in a women’s refuge and come to the aid of Girl Guide and Brownie packs. I’ve saved lives and failed to save others. I’ve done some good things and I’ve also made mistakes, but I’ve always tried my best.

I had a fantastic time and have lots of marvellous memories. I miss the job incredibly, every single day. I loved it. All of it. Even when it was bad, it was good. It was part of me and it always meant more to me than perhaps it should have. It has taken a toll, like it does on every one of us who put everything we have into it. There are threats that still bounce around in my head from time to time, spat out by vile people who I helped to send to prison. I think they’re probably out of jail now, and sometimes I feel them looking over my shoulder.

In the end, I had to make a choice. I could finish the last third of my career on completely restricted duties or take medical retirement due to a physical condition I was diagnosed with. It wasn’t an easy decision and not the way I would have chosen to end my career, but I decided to leave with twenty years’ service when there was a chance to start a different life while my children were young. I gave the job everything I had to give and I still believe the things I believed when I joined. I believe in justice, in right and wrong and, most of all, I still have that desire to help people.