City on Fire E-Book

Graham Bartlett

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: Jo Howe
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 494

Beschreibung

After losing her sister to an overdose, Chief Superintendent Jo Howe is desperate to tackle the world of drugs that consumes the shadowy backstreets of Brighton. Operation Eradicate is her response but not everyone sees it as a positive development. For self-made millionaire Sir Ben Parsons it is a threat to his business - his colossal empire relies on addicts who survive on Respite Pharmaceuticals' substitute drugs. With connections in the highest levels of government, media and organised crime, Parsons unleashes a brutal counterattack on Howe. How will she survive being caught in the line of fire? Readers love Graham Bartlett . 'Another roller-coaster of a book!! It's is dark, gritty and unputdownable!' 'A fast paced, heart stopping story and I enjoyed every minute of it' 'It's gritty, dark, and doesn't pull any punches. I couldn't turn the pages fast enough'

Leseprobe

1

PRAISE FOR GRAHAM BARTLETT

‘City on Fire is such a thrilling instalment … like being given secret access into an incident room’

Araminta Hall

‘An immersive, gripping and tightly plotted thriller’

Nadine Matheson

‘Enthralling … told with the confidence and verve that you’d expect from a writer who’s been there and seen it for real’

Neil Lancaster

‘Authentic, pacy, gripping and first-class characters’

Steve Cavanagh

‘An absolutely electrifying read’

Imran Mahmood

‘Bartlett has set a new standard for the police procedural’

Kia Abdullah

‘A brilliantly gritty slice of British crime’

T. M. Logan

‘Explosive’

Vaseem Khan

‘A fast-paced, just-one-more-chapter thriller’

Clare Mackintosh

‘This one’s a cracker!’

John Sutherland

‘If you want to walk on the wild side, read City on Fire’

P. D. Viner2

3

CITY ON FIRE

GRAHAM BARTLETT

4For Julie, Conall, Niamh and Deaglan who believe in me even when I do not.

5I always tell authors that the story and characters must come first. With that in mind, this is a work of fiction, hence some structures, titles, locations, even some police procedures, have been modified to serve the story and the characters for your enjoyment.

6

Contents

Title PageDedicationEpigraph123456789101112131415161718192021222324252627282930313233343536373839404142434445464748495051525354AcknowledgementsAbout the AuthorBy Graham Bartlett Copyright

7

1

‘I said strip,’ boomed the voice from behind the pistol, which was trained rigidly between Ged’s eyes.

‘Jesus. Fucking calm down mate,’ said Ged, trying to steady the wobble from his voice. ‘What is this? I thought we were sweet.’

‘You’re either a grass or a fed,’ the man said as a statement, not a question, in the faux-patois lilt that without the barrel so close, Ged would have mocked.

He glanced around, weighing up his chances of flight or fight. The basement looked – and smelt – like a disused beer cellar. The reek of stale yeast and the chill suggested that it was months, maybe years, since a jolly publican had scurried down here to change the lager.

The only door was guarded by a masked-up meathead who, by the way he held his Glock pistol across his chest, had clearly watched too many episodes of Narcos. Surrounding Ged were three others, all of whom looked desperate to rip his head off should he try to escape. There was even one stood under the beer-drop hatch as if, even at his most athletic, he could possibly scale the clammy bricks to launch himself out of that. 8

His only option was to style it out.

‘Let’s not get excited,’ he said. ‘I know you have to be careful, but we’re all in this game together and you seeing my todger, such as it is in these temperatures, might scar you for life.’

‘Fam, if you don’t strip now I swear to God, I’m going to plug a bullet right through your brain.’

Ged couldn’t allow the gunman’s anxiety to become contagious. There was no telling what the other numpties would do if a drop of adrenaline found its way into their bloodstreams.

‘OK, but bear in mind what I said about it being cold down here.’

First he unzipped, then slowly removed, his grey hoodie. He was about to drop it on the floor when a girl’s voice to his right snapped, ‘Chuck it here.’

Ged looked round, genuinely shocked. He turned back to the mouthpiece with the gun. ‘Really? Does she need to see this?’

‘You ain’t shy boy, are you?’ the gunman sniggered.

Ged shrugged. No point arguing, but to be called boy by a scrote young enough to be his son was taking the piss. He launched the top over and the girl caught it in both hands.

‘Keep going,’ said the gunman.

Each time Ged removed an item of clothing and threw it over, there was a shuffle from a different direction as if the ring of steel were growing anxious that they were running out of reasons to kill him. He strung the striptease out as long as he could until he was butt naked and shivering.

‘Happy?’ he said, his hands out in supplication.

‘I’ll tell you if I’m happy, but you’ve got some reassuring to do.’

‘Ask away mate but I promise you, I’m much better company with my clothes on.’ As he was saying this, another of the lieutenants stepped up and, with his mobile phone torch, checked every inch of Ged’s naked flesh. ‘Each to their own,’ said Ged.

A couple of minutes passed before the excruciating exercise was over 9and the man with the flashlight and the girl checking the clothes grunted that they’d found nothing.

‘Get dressed,’ came the command.

Ged complied as quickly as his icy fingers would allow. As he zipped up his jacket, the man jabbed the pistol into his side. ‘You ever cross us, fam, we won’t be so nice. You get me?’

Ged stepped back and turned. ‘Listen pal, if this thing is going to work, we have to show some mutual respect and …’ He cast his hand around. ‘You didn’t need to do that.’

‘I ain’t taking no chances.’

‘And what’s this shit about being a grass or fed?’

‘Fam, I trust you for now. No wire, no piece.’

‘So, are we doing this?’ said Ged.

‘Sure. The brown should be here by the end of the week. You got the “ps”?’

‘I don’t carry money like that. Not on me, as you’ve just seen, but I’ll get it.’

‘£250k by tonight, the rest when we deliver.’

‘Sure, like we agreed,’ said Ged, his inner terror only now starting to dwindle.

The boss set out the terms and where the drop would happen. Ged nodded and checked some details which, as only he knew, were completely irrelevant.

Fifteen minutes later and having succumbed to the temptation to blow the thug manning the door a kiss, Ged was back on the street pacing to his next meeting.

Having doubled back a few times, stopping suddenly to look in shop windows and jaywalking the bustling high street, Ged disappeared down an alley and in through a nondescript door. Taking the stairs two at a time he burst into a room to be greeted by his cover officer, Nick, holding a Starbucks Americano and a doorstep bacon sandwich while busting a gut to stifle his giggles. 10

‘Just fuck off,’ Ged said as he grabbed the coffee and sarnie. ‘And stay fucked off.’

‘I’m sorry mate, but put yourself in my shoes. Or any shoes come to that.’

‘Ha, fucking, ha.’

‘You seeing my todger, such as it is in these temperatures, might scar you for life. Fucking priceless, mate.’

For the first time Ged cracked a smile. ‘You’ve no idea how cold it was down there. Then the bloody bird piped up. Shit, I wish the ground could have swallowed me up.’

Nick chuckled, then switched into work-mode. ‘Well, the good news is, we got it all on tape.’ Ged subconsciously twiddled his ear stud. The only thing on him they didn’t search, thank God. ‘Obviously the bad news is that we still haven’t got a nailed-on drop time. You going to be able to work on that?’

‘I reckon so. Providing they don’t make me go through that palaver again, I think I can start getting a bit impatient.’

‘Just be careful of Code C,’ said Nick, referring to the Police and Criminal Evidence Act guidance that was the bible for undercover officers.

‘You didn’t get an egg and straw with that butty, did you?’

‘No one’s teaching you to suck eggs. I’m just doing my job as your cover officer to ensure the right people end up in prison.’

‘Fair dos,’ said Ged just as the encrypted app on his undercover phone buzzed. Ged opened the screen and scanned the message, a beam lighting up his face. He turned the phone to Nick. ‘We’re on,’ he said just as his mind started to race about how he’d work this, the final stage of the two-year operation.

11

2

Three months later

Chief Superintendent Jo Howe, her deputy, Superintendent Gary Hedges, and ‘the father of the station’, Detective Inspector Bob Heaton, shuffled away from the crematorium, snatching what shelter they could beneath the overhanging trees that lined the 500-yard driveway.

At any other police funeral, the hearse would have been flanked by a white-gloved guard of honour, snapped to attention. As close friends, Jo, Gary and Bob would have been among the lucky ones to have allocated seats inside but, for most, it would be standing room outside with the proceedings relayed through loudspeakers.

This was no ordinary send-off though. Phil Cooke, now being vaporised in Woodvale’s furnaces, had suffered a catastrophic fall from grace, and the fact that his only living relative had been whisked back to HMP Pentonville in a prison van seconds after the committal only underlined the reason why so few ex-colleagues wanted to be associated with him. Alive or dead.

The tiny plus point of the sparsity of mourners was that rather than 12having had to park miles away, Jo’s car was within sight of the chapel.

Each were lost in their own thoughts, memories of a man they all had reason to admire and love. A man to whom, whatever he later did and became, they each owed their careers.

Jo zapped the key fob as they approached the police-issue Peugeot 508 Hybrid. The hazard lights winked their hello, accompanied by the reassuring clunk that invited them to step in from the rain. Jo and Gary removed their hats and both unbuttoned their dress-tunics, while Bob, the only one in plain clothes, slid into the back seat.

The two more senior officers went to the boot of the car and carefully laid their jackets inside, resting their caps on top. As Jo closed the lid, Gary broke the silence.

‘Christ on a bike, have they no respect?’

‘Who?’ said Jo, following Gary’s gaze to the grass verge.

‘Bloody junkies,’ he said, as he kicked the three hypodermic needles further from the road. ‘Can’t they go somewhere more suitable to pump that muck into their arms?’

‘In fairness, at least it’s not a park or the beach. Probably the safest place.’

‘They could just not do it at all,’ said Gary as he squeezed between the trees and the car to get in the passenger side.

‘Simple as that,’ muttered Jo as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

‘What is?’ asked Bob as he looked up from his phone.

‘Oh nothing. Attila the Hun here is moaning about some needles on the road and I’m just saying where else do you expect them to go?’

‘Not that again. Just leave me out of it,’ said Bob as he returned to his screen.

‘Well, if you did your job, Bob, and nicked the dealers, we’d have no issues,’ said Gary.

‘Not now. I haven’t got the energy for this,’ said Jo as she pulled out of the space and snaked her way towards Lewes Road.

Gary huffed, then changed the subject. ‘Nice eulogy, Bob. I’d love to 13have seen the old boy running naked down Old Shoreham Road that New Year’s Eve.’

‘Really?’ said Bob. ‘It’s an image I’ve not been able to shift in twenty years.’

‘I bet. Shame there weren’t a few more there to hear about the true man. I counted ten, including the prison officers, and I reckon two of the rest were journalists.’

Jo kept quiet and let the men chatter inanely. She was lost in her own thoughts. It seemed only yesterday she’d driven from this very spot having said a premature farewell to her sister, Caroline, after she’d succumbed to her heroin habit with a massive overdose.

The two Gary had spotted were indeed reporters and she predicted the headlines later that day would not be pretty. Instead of carrying on into the city centre, Jo circumnavigated the Gyratory roundabout and headed out of town.

‘Hey, where we going?’ said Gary.

‘Pub,’ she said.

‘I’d love to,’ said Bob, ‘but I’ve got a conference with CPS re Op Vellum at three. I’m taking them through all the undercover evidence.’

‘We’ll be back by then,’ said Jo. She caught his eye in the rear-view mirror. ‘I can make it an order if that helps.’

14

3

In his early days in the police, Sergeant Dale Scott would have been somewhere near the foot of anyone’s list to be the friendly face of the war on drugs. A former county-level weight-lifter, he spent most of his PC years in riot vans. He almost never got into a fight, as his mammoth presence was more than enough to subdue the most truculent of crowds.

Since promotion he’d flitted between the response and neighbourhood teams before Phil Cooke, the former divisional commander, created the Street Community Policing Team, put Scotty in charge and vowed to keep him there. He even allowed him to handpick two PCs and a PCSO to work alongside him.

In the five years since Scotty’s unit had been running, they had built up an encyclopaedic knowledge of the toings and froings of Brighton and Hove’s homeless and begging population. His only flaw was that he rarely committed much of this to paper so, when one of his clientele was murdered – as happened all too frequently – one of his officers would be seconded to the Major Crime Team to share all they knew.

Dodging the traffic as he crossed Grand Junction Road, heading for the arches by the Palace Pier, Scotty felt a gust of wind sting his face. ‘There 15better be the mother of Indian summers coming to make up for this,’ he grumbled to PC Saira Bannerjee. She threw him a look, tinged with a half-smile.

‘Am I allowed to say that?’ he asked.

‘Bit late now if not.’

‘I can’t keep up,’ he said, pacing ahead.

They reached the other side and headed to the steps that led towards the lower promenade.

The area beneath the pier had used to be rich pickings for drug users and dealers but since the council blocked it off, they nestled in whichever arches hadn’t been taken over by arty gift shops or boutique cafés. Scotty spotted a pile of rags nestled by the door to a vegan ‘seafood’ restaurant. He prodded it.

‘All right chief?’ he called out. ‘We’re police. Stand up for me, will you?’

‘Fuck off. You ain’t Old Bill and I ain’t got nuffin you can rob.’

Both officers reached for their warrant cards while Saira said, ‘Surprisingly we are. You’re not in any trouble, we just want to see who you are and what you’re up to.’

‘I’m sleeping.’

With that they held out their credentials and Saira illuminated them with her torch. ‘PC Bannerjee and Sergeant Scott from the Street Community Team.’

The man shuffled to his feet and Scotty and Saira took a precautionary step back.

‘I’ve heard of your lot. They say you’re the only pigs I can trust.’

‘Nice,’ said Scotty, almost gagging at the stench of urine and pound-a-pint cider. The man could have been anywhere from late teens to mid-thirties. His matted hair was dragged into a ponytail held in place by a knot of twine. His stubble had long since abandoned any designer pretence. The parka coat that hung off him might once have been green but now was mottled with grime, vomit and unrecognisable foodstuffs. 16Same with his jeans, although there might have been some other bodily fluids added to the mix there.

His complexion had an all too familiar pallor.

What surprised Scotty most though was that he didn’t recognise the man. That meant he was new to town, and newbies brought challenges; never in a good way.

‘What’s your name fella?’

‘They call me Spanners.’

Scotty and Saira looked at each other.

‘Why Spanners?’

The man said nothing.

‘Righto. Where are you from?’

‘Originally from York but I was in Winchester nick up to a couple of weeks ago.’

‘You been here since?’ said Saira.

‘Nah. I went to Eastbourne, then Hastings. Shitholes.’

‘Hold up. I’m from Hastings,’ lied Scotty.

‘No offence.’

‘Listen chief. Obviously we’re Old Bill but we are here to help. By the look of it, you need a bloody hot shower, a change of clothing and to score. Not necessarily in that order. Am I right?’

Spanners shrugged.

‘Now you’ll forgive us if we can’t help you with the last one – our boss is funny like that – but we can find you somewhere to get cleaned up and some food.’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘’Cos you’re killing the tourist trade looking like that. No, honestly, we’re the opposite of your average drug dealer. We woo you with hot water, shower gel and clean clobber. Fill your belly with McDonald’s—’

‘Other fast foods are available …’ Saira interjected.

‘Indeed,’ continued Scotty, ‘then we have a little chat about all the wonderful things we can do if you go into drug treatment and all the 17horrible things we’ll do to you if you don’t.’

Spanners looked at each of them in astonishment. ‘Is this some kind of wind-up?’

‘Not at all. We call it Operation Eradicate. In a nutshell, you go into treatment while the dealers go into prison. We’ll even speak up for you in court if you fall off the rails. You do have to play ball though. There’s a limit to our benevolence. What do you say?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘Always, but that involves iron bars or a wooden box.’

18

4

Jo felt obliged to pay for the light lunch they’d enjoyed at the Devil’s Dyke pub, although she did wonder what Gary would describe as a heavy one if the mixed grill, chips, onion rings and garlic bread he chose fell into the slimline category. The corner table gave them the privacy they needed yet stunning views of the South Downs National Park which, as ever, brought Jo a rare inner peace. She and Gary had removed their ties and epaulettes but that did little to disguise who they were.

As wakes went it was tame, but at least they could raise a glass of something soft to Phil and swap stories not suitable for a wider audience. He’d have been proud of them, if a little humbled by the fact they’d all forgiven him for the utter stupidity that had spelt the beginning of his end.

‘Coffee anyone?’ asked Jo.

Bob checked his watch. ‘I really ought to be getting back.’

‘It’s only half one,’ said Gary. ‘We’ll get you back by three, no worries.’

‘He’s right, and as I’m having a drink and have the car keys, you’re kind of stuck.’ 19

‘I’m calling my Federation rep about you two bullies.’

‘Bring it on,’ said Jo. Using the pub’s app, she ordered two Americanos and a hot water. As she pressed confirm, a Twitter notification flashed up. Idly she clicked it and wished she hadn’t.

Brightonherald @Brightonherald

‘Brushed under the carpet’ Police chiefs conceal drug use while leaving jailed cop’s funeral. #OpEradicate #Policecoverup #Drugs #Brighton @ChsuptJoHowe @Sussexpolice Read more https://BH.co/77PTSbbJRik

She scanned the article, which led with a long-range shot of Gary kicking the needles into the crematorium’s grass. It went on to explain how the negligent senior officers, one of whom – her – had gone on record calling for the decriminalisation of drugs, had ignored evidence of blatant law-breaking in a place which should be reserved for grief and repose. It asked why they were paying their respects to a convicted criminal during working hours. Was this another example of how little the police, amid the highest drugs death per capita in the UK, cared? it asked rhetorically.

‘You need to see this.’ She turned her phone round on the table and watched both men as they took in the trashing. Gary’s face gave away his escalating rage while Bob’s suggested this was one more layer of bullshit that was making the job intolerable.

‘Wanker,’ said Gary, a little too loudly for a public restaurant.

‘Keep it down,’ snapped Jo.

‘Christ, what the hell gets these scum out of bed in the morning? I’m telling you, there’s a special place in hell for reporters.’

‘All reporters?’ said Jo, with a raised eyebrow.

‘Well not your Darren, obviously,’ Gary replied. He’d bonded with Jo’s husband, who worked for the Daily Journal, over her hospital bed the previous year and they’d been friends since. ‘Anyway, how did they get that picture?’ 20

‘Never mind that. We’ll do the usual rebuttals, trot out the arguments and the stats, but we need to get used to this.’

‘If I’m honest boss, it does make things tricky in the run-up to the Op Vellum trial,’ said Bob as the drinks arrived.

‘How so?’ said Jo.

‘Most of our witnesses, those who aren’t cops that is, are addicts and we don’t want to be batting off accusations that we’ve given them special treatment in exchange for their evidence.’

Jo sipped her hot water. ‘It’s because we got them into treatment that they’re alive to give evidence. If only someone had done that for Caroline.’ As she said it, her eyes pooled at the thought of her sister, riven with the depression and addiction she’d battled since she was twelve. It was being branded a tart during the trial of the councillor who’d been abusing her for years that tipped her over the edge, especially as he walked free from court. Jo still beat herself up for not doing more to help her.

‘I’m just being practical,’ Bob replied.

‘I know you are, but I’m quite happy to come to court and explain what we are trying to do. Users in treatment, dealers in prison. Reduce the demand while choking off the supply and you stand half a chance of saving lives.’

‘We get it,’ said Gary. ‘The thing is … well sometimes you sound a little, what’s the word. Preachy.’

‘Preachy? If you’d gone through what I have then maybe …’

Gary showed her both palms. ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed.

‘This is a long term approach. Everyone wants results overnight but that’s not how these things work. Sorry, Bob, if it causes problems at trial, but we still need to get the message out that users entering treatment will be supported. We’re trying to save lives here.’

‘All right, calm down,’ said Bob. The two senior officers stared at him, shocked by this rare flash of insubordination. ‘I’m just saying there’s more than one big picture here and the one I’m concerned about is locking up 21the organised crime group we spent two years catching. Now, can we drink up and go?’

Jo and Gary obediently drained their cups, then Jo clicked the app to settle the bill while the two men put on their coats and headed for the door.

‘Thanks,’ said Jo, as the server held the door.

As she followed Gary and Bob, her phone buzzed. A WhatsApp from Darren.

Hi darling. I hope the funeral went OK. Don’t forget you’re picking the boys up as I’ve got to go to London for a meeting with the editor. Leaving in a mo. Love you xxx

‘Bugger,’ said Jo as she passed an elderly couple coming through the pub door. She quickened her pace to catch Gary and Bob up.

‘Get in the car. I’m going to have to drop you off at the front of the nick. Something’s come up.’

She spotted the two men looking at each other quizzically, then saw something tucked under her wiper blade. She grabbed it.

National Trust Car Parks Penalty Notice – Failing to Pay

‘Just when it couldn’t get worse, eh,’ said Gary, with that sickening smirk he seemed to save for her.

‘Darren’s place in hell can go to parking wardens if I get my way.’

She barely waited for Bob to close the door before spraying gravel behind her as she wheel-spun away.

Before working from home became a thing, delayed trains to London had been a daily bind for Darren Howe so, despite his summons to the editor’s office being for 5 p.m., he gave himself a full two hours to get there from Brighton.

It was just as well as following various ‘operational incidents’ and 22unspecified congestion, when he finally jumped off at St Pancras station he had just twelve minutes, rather than the twenty he needed, to make his way to the glass monolith that served as the Daily Journal’s head office.

He’d spent the journey reminding himself of some of his more groundbreaking articles and totting up his recent page one bylines. He was surprised how few of those there were. Was that why his presence in person had been demanded?

Catching his breath after the dash from the station, he trotted up to the security desk and, in vain, scanned the white-shirted guardians for a familiar face. He swung his rucksack off his back and fished inside for his security pass. His heart sank as he thought he’d left it behind, but eventually he found it wedged inside his Kindle cover.

He flashed it to the guard, put his worldly goods on the X-ray machine and ambled through the metal-detector arch. Grabbing his bag, he pressed the card against the reader and, to his utter relief, the glass door in front of him clicked and he was in.

He chose the escalators over the stairs to rise the three floors to Sam Parkin’s lair in the hope they might settle his pounding heart and red face.

As he expected, the newsroom outside the editor’s office was throbbing with activity: the subeditors shouting demands and profanities at the youngsters hammering away at keyboards. It was one thing not recognising security, but to be unable to name even one of the senior staff made Darren realise how long it was since he’d stepped foot in here.

Darren tapped on Sam’s open door, relieved to see he’d made it on time and that Sam was on his own. No one from HR, either.

The editor looked up from his screen and his fresh face beamed. ‘Hey! Thanks for coming up here, mate. God, it’s been so long.’ He shoved back his monstrosity of a gaming chair and strode over, his neatly manicured hand outstretched. Darren shook it and, as ever, was 23surprised by Sam’s incongruously firm grip.

‘Yeah, good to see you, boss,’ said Darren, not fooled by the effusive welcome.

‘Shut the door, then you can call me Sam like the old days. Wouldn’t want those snotty kids out there getting ideas above themselves,’ he chuckled.

‘Thanks. How have you been?’

‘Oh, you know. Struggling with my work–work balance to tell you the truth. Have a seat, have a seat.’

Darren grinned and settled himself in one of the easy chairs by the glass table near the door.

‘Drink?’ said Sam, grabbing two glasses before waiting for an answer. He sloshed a good three fingers of Scotch into each, placed one in front of Darren and took a slug from his before sitting opposite.

‘Listen, mate, I’m sorry to drag you all the way up here but some things are better done face to face.’

‘No worries,’ said Darren, desperate to read the signals. Warm welcome. No HR. Comfy chair. Whisky. Why was he still worried?

Parkin checked the time. ‘I’ll cut to the chase. Bit of a delicate one but a massive opportunity for you. And it needs your skills. No regurgitating press releases or Freedom of Information requests, this one.’

Darren sat a little straighter, his interest piqued. ‘Go on,’ he said, sipping his drink.

Sam leant forward, his hands outstretched and eyes on fire. ‘The owners wanna get back into investigative features. Deep, meaningful stuff our more intelligent readers lap up. Now you can get all the headline news as it happens on your bleeding phone, we need to offer more. I told them that bit, by the way.’ He seemed proud of that. ‘So, who else was I going to ask to do just that than my old pal Dazza?’

Darren cringed. He was the only one who still called him that. He’d told everyone – including Sam – he’d always hated it but the editor persisted nonetheless. 24

‘OK, so what did you have in mind?’

‘A monthly long read, well researched, getting into sources no one else can, which exposes a huge contemporary issue, home or abroad, but, and here’s the cherry, poses an ethical dilemma for our readers to debate in the forums over the weeks before the next one. Looks at the heart of an issue and gets people thinking and debating. We just sit back and watch them joust. Great, innit?’

Sam’s feet were jigging under the table and his whole body followed in step. This was clearly his own idea, as Darren had never seen him so excited about anyone else’s.

‘And you want me to do that?’

Sam nodded.

There seemed to be no downside. It played to every skill Darren had and it meant he could continue to work from home and in his own time, which was great for childcare. The alternative, outside this very room, just didn’t bear thinking about.

‘I’d love to. Thank you, Sam.’ He beamed, chiding himself for the sense of doom he’d felt since he received the invitation.

‘Amazing. Amazing. The owners will be delighted. They wanted you to do it,’ said the little man opposite as he stood to refill their glasses. ‘Cheers. You’ve got free rein. You find the stories. Run them past me first of course but we’d like to get started on one of our choice. You know, save you the effort of sniffing around. Hit the ground running and all that.’

Darren took another drink. ‘OK.’ He just hoped it wouldn’t involve short-notice travel. Jo wouldn’t be happy given how full-on her job was since the scandals of the last two years.

‘Yes, and it’s a great one. Perfect in fact. Right on your doorstep.’

‘OK.’ Darren stretched that out for a full two seconds.

‘Yes, we want you to do a complete exposé of this drugs thingy in Brighton. What’s it called? Operation Irradiate?’

‘Eradicate,’ mumbled Darren. 25

‘Yeah, that’s it. All this legalisation nonsense, paying for druggies to get treatment and not bunging them in jail where they belong. How much public money is being pissed away? The police picking and choosing what they’ll enforce. Dig the dirt and get us the inside track. Say, five thousand words cutting through the namby-pamby spin, then leaving it to the readers to natter about what they think.’

Darren breathed heavily, trying to steady his tremors and prevent himself grabbing his old colleague’s throat.

‘You know I can’t do that,’ he said.

Sam stared at him for a good ten seconds. ‘What do you mean, you can’t do it? You said a moment ago that you would.’

‘You know who’s behind Operation Eradicate, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do. That’s why it’s a perfect one to start with. You and the missus must chat about it all the time. I reckon half the big players were round your gaff for barbecues most of the summer. If I were a betting man, I’d say you could write the piece now.’

‘But you know it’s both ethically and morally impossible. Would you write an article trashing your own wife?’

‘Which ex-Mrs Parkin are you talking about? In short, I’d jump at the chance,’ he laughed.

‘I just can’t.’

Sam’s face hardened and Darren recognised that infamous rage rising. He chose to sit and take it.

‘You fucking can and you will. You’ll do as you’re told and make like you’re enjoying it. It might have seemed like a request, but let me make it clear, if you refuse or fuck it up, the best you can hope for is a box for your things and an escort to the door. On the other hand, if we dig deep enough we might just find you once dabbled in a bit of phone hacking or bunging a copper a few quid for a story. We were all at it, weren’t we?’

‘No.’

‘Really? Well I’m sure we can make it look like you were.’

‘Why does this story mean so much to you?’ 26

‘It’s what the owners want and it’s what they’ll get. So I’d trot off now and start tapping that keyboard, as I want it ready to publish in two weeks’ time.’ Sam went back to his desk, while Darren remained where he was. ‘You still here? Off you pop.’

Darren didn’t remember leaving Sam’s office, or the building, as he walked on autopilot to the Lighterman pub behind King’s Cross Station. Only on his fourth pint of Peroni did it sink in that Sam was right; he had no choice. He just couldn’t imagine how he’d break it to Jo.

27

5

The following morning, with five minutes to spare, Jo slipped bleary-eyed into the briefing room expecting it to be standing room only. The row with Darren last night had been horrendous. How could he even contemplate writing the article? They’d have round two later but, sleep or no sleep, she had to focus now.

Between the ranks of slouching blue-overalled officers, chatting, slurping drinks and tapping at their phones, there were too many spare chairs for her liking. She checked her watch then sidled up to Bob who was running through a PowerPoint presentation on the ageing laptop.

‘It is a 7 a.m. start, isn’t it?’ she asked.

‘That’s right, ma’am.’

‘Where is everyone?’

‘This is it. Two PSUs. One from here and one from East Sussex.’

Jo looked puzzled. She’d been authorised to second a Police Support Unit – eighteen PCs, three sergeants, an inspector and a medic in each – from all three divisions.

‘What about West Sussex’s unit?’ 28

‘They’re a no-show I’m afraid. There’s some animal rights protest at one of the hunt kennels near Chichester. They’ve gone to that.’

‘Jesus. When were you told?’

‘About an hour ago. I just need to tweak a few things.’

‘Can you do all seven warrants with just this lot?’ She glanced around the room, trying not to show her anger to the officers watching them.

‘It’s tight. We need to do them all at once, otherwise word will get out and the sewers will be swimming in crack and heroin – but I’ll work something out.’

‘Righto, I’ll leave it with you.’ She took a seat in the empty front row and sent a text to her West Sussex counterpart.

Not happy that you’ve stood me up. Op Eradicate is a force priority yet your PSU had a better offer. We need to speak.

On seeing the laughing emoji she received in return, she was about to call him and ball him out but Bob called the room to order. The chatter stopped instantly and everyone was fixed on the DI standing by the screen.

‘Right. Listen in everyone. You’ll have spotted we are a little thin on the ground so we’ve had to make some choices. I think you’ve all been on an Op Eradicate arrest day before but I’ll just remind you of what it’s all about. We are going to execute seven warrants issued under the Misuse of Drugs Act, at separate locations around the city. Your sergeants have the individual arrest packs. Each of the people you’re arresting has been positively identified as having supplied class A drugs to undercover officers. They won’t be told that last point until they are interviewed, so keep that to yourself.

‘Each premises will be searched for class A drugs, paraphernalia and evidence of supply. Now, all that’s pretty standard. The difference with these operations is that once you’ve taken the prisoners to custody, Sergeant Scott and his team—’ Scotty waved to show who he was, as 29if there were anyone in Sussex Police who did not know. ‘Thank you Scotty. As I say, the Street Community Team will float around the area of each warrant to pick up any users who might be expecting to get their fix from our suspects. The team will engage with them and start the work to get them into one of the dedicated Op Eradicate drug treatment places. Scotty, anything to add?’

‘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. 30

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.’ 31

‘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.’

32

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?’ 33

‘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.’ 34

‘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 35for 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. 36

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.

37

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 38of 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. 39

‘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?’ 40

‘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.

‘Thanks for inviting me, Leon,’ she said, shaking the ACC’s hand, then just nodded at Jo.

‘Do take a seat. I was just saying to Jo—you do know each other, don’t you? Of course you do. Anyway, I said it would be helpful if we understood things before everyone else arrives.’

‘I quite agree,’ said Nicola. ‘To kick off, how did a member of my staff get stabbed to death in front of two police officers on a pre-planned operation? Any idea?’ She glared at Jo, who hoped Leon would chip in, but he just stared at her too.

‘Can I first say how deeply sorry I am, we all are, for Lizzie’s loss.’

Leon spluttered in agreement.

‘She was with two of the most experienced officers on the street policing team and was wearing a stab-proof vest with “Drugs Worker” on the front and back. It’s early days but from what I understand Sergeant Scott and PC Bannerjee were threatened by some men who turned up in a van and, while they were dealing with that, another man stabbed Lizzie in the neck. My officers did all they could to save her but I’m afraid … well, you know the rest.’

‘I’m fully aware of that,’ said Nicola. ‘What I want to know is, where was the back-up? We have a signed service-level agreement that on arrest days our workers accompany your officers to engage with users but there will always be uniformed back-up immediately available. Where was that?’

Jo looked at Leon, hoping he’d read the signs that this was not for the CEO’s ears. The ACC just smiled and waited.

She had no option but to plough on. ‘We didn’t have the number of officers we were expecting. One division had, er, they had another 41commitment so at the last minute their PSU, that’s a team of officers, didn’t come.’

Leon cut in. ‘That’s not altogether unusual. I’m sure Jo has recorded that unforeseen issue and has a clear decision in her policy book which sets out how she adjusted the operation.’ Jo’s mind flashed back to her very brief conversation with Bob before the briefing:

‘Can you do all seven warrants with just this lot?’

‘It’s tight. We need to do them all at once, otherwise word will get out and the sewers will be swimming in crack and heroin – but I’ll work something out.’

‘Righto, I’ll leave it with you.’

‘We did look at it,’ she muttered, hoping not to be drawn further on the point.

‘There you go. Tragic, but I’m sure we did all we could.’

Why the hell was he always so chipper?

‘So, here’s where we stand,’ said Nicola. ‘My staff are refusing to be part of Op Eradicate until this whole matter has been investigated and there are some cast-iron reassurances about their safety. They have a point.’

‘That’s a bit premature,’ said Jo. ‘We both know how many lives Eradicate has saved, how much crime it’s cut and how much money it’s saved the city. Three pounds saved for every pound invested.’

‘Spare me the lecture. I have a duty to my staff, not saving your career.’

‘That’s not fair. I’ve put my reputation on the line with this operation. Where else have the police challenged the war-on-drugs narrative with something more humane which treats addiction as the illness it is? I thought you of all people would understand.’ She nearly mentioned her sister, Caroline, but stopped herself just in time.