Heavy Duty Trouble (The Brethren Trilogy) (6 page)

And now we turn to the trial at Newcastle Crown Court of the five men accused in the
biker
club
murder case. Our legal affairs correspondent,
Eamon
Reynolds, reported earlier
this evening
from outside the Court.

VTR

This was the first day of proceedings in what is expected to be a dramatic tr
i
al and Mr
Simon
Kirtley
QC
opened the
Prosecution
case for the Crown by
read
ing
out
extracts
from
a diary kept by Mr
I
ain
P
arke. You will remember that Mr Parke is someone who became involved with the
infamous motorcycle
club
,
The Brethren
,
while working as a crime reporter
for
The Guardian
around two years ago
, but
who
then disappeared
in mysterious circumstances and was being actively sought by the police in connection with the sus
pected murder of Inspector Robert Cameron
.

From the evidence presented in Court today
, Mr Parke
appears to have been in hiding in Ireland
. However, following the riot at Heathrow airport in
February
of
last year
, at which you will remember senior members of the club were arrested in connection with the
four
murders, he had
be
en
found and
contacted by members of the club
. According to his diary he was
being blackmailed in
to return
ing
to the mainland under a false identity to act
as some kind of go-between in negotiations between senior members heading up different
factions
within the club.

Th
ese diaries are
expected to form the foundation of the
Prosecution
case and will be used to explain the
development of the
feud that seems to have led up to the murders.

To demonstrate the reliability of the diaries the
Prosecution
produced ticket a
nd airport CCTV evidence showing
Mr Parke, travelling under the alias
of Mr Adams
referred to in the diaries
,
flew from Belfast to
London Gatwick
airport on
Sunday February 14
th
last year
, precisely as reported in the extracts read out in Court.

Mr
Kirtley
explained that it was important that the jury understood the
culture
and context involved
within the club
. He described it as akin to an almost tribal, warrior, absolute code; one of club honour, hospitality to friends, and implacable revenge upon the club’s enemies for any perceived offence or slight.

The prisoners are being held on remand at Frankland jail in County Durham
. Now this is
a modern
prison, it was only
opened in 1980
, typically holding around 850 prisoners each in single cells. But don’t let that mislead you, Frankland is no soft option
and
i
t
’
s
actually
an indication of how
seriously
the authorities are taking this tr
i
al
.

N
o
rmally men on remand would be h
el
d in a category B jail. Frankland
on the other hand is a category
A
facility
,
normally used for high risk offenders
including many serving life
sentences
. In fact it has a specialist Dangerous and Severe Personality Disorder unit for dealing with particularly difficult cases.
It
is
therefore
only used to hold people on remand who are
being tried on very serious offences and
who the authorities are
treat
ing
in the same way as Category A prisoners.

The trial continues tomorrow.

Eamon
Reynolds, reporting for BBC News,
from outside
Newcastle Crown Court.

END VTR

Monday 1
5
th
February
2010

Bung
, or whoever was organizing this little trip,
had
booked
us
into
one of the more
anonymous chain hotel
s
. It was
all dark purple walls, dim lighting, windows that were secured against opening more than an inch ‘for my safety and convenience’, and weird semi abstract art which as far as I could guess had been chosen on
a
corporate inoffensiveness agenda rather than any artistic merit
,
and were intended to be maroon trees. Either that or it really was a row of lollypops.

We had
what counted as
a suite so we were sharing a room.
I g
uess Bung didn’t want me tiptoeing out and away into the night
. H
e really was intent on keeping an eye on me.

On the plus side, it was clean,
it
had decent sized bed
s
and enough space to dump
our
junk
. I
t was
also
slap bang on the edge of what had been the
main shopping
centre before a huge silver UFO of a shopping mall had sprouted like a mushroom just on the other side of the town beside the inner ring road. So it wasn’t far to walk to find a pizza and to have the club’s bank account buy
us
a
few
beers
each
.

I
n the morning
I
stood in the joke of a bath and blasted myself awake under the stinging jets of scalding hot water, while as usual the shower curtain tried to cling to me
every time
I moved. Then I
sandpapered myself dry on the yard or so of towel supplied
,
which I decided to dump in the bathroom for replacement rather than helping them
to
save the planet and their laundry bills
.

T
hen
we
went to jail.

I couldn’t escape
, after all where could I go
?
Where could I run to? They’d already proved they could find me when I tried to get away. I had no ID, other than the papers that they had given me, no cash, other than the amount in the account that they controlled, and to cap it all I was still a wanted man on whom they had a ton of manufactured, but very persuasive, forensic evidence stashed away.

But then, for the moment, I didn’t think I actually needed to. If they
had
wanted to kill me, they’d have done so already was what I clung
on to
. Not the most comforting of thoughts perhaps
,
but at the moment, probably the best I’d got or could hope for.

*

The
re was no tearing rush
,
so
we
could take
our
time about it. Even though there was political pressure on to have a swift trial
,
it wouldn’t actually make much difference to the way the Court machinery ground
through things
and we all knew it would take the CPS w
eeks and more probably months to get their act together
sufficiently
to bring the bikers to trial
.
Meanwhile
,
having been refused bail at an initial hearing they
were
be
ing
held on remand in legal limbo until the trial was over.

Sadly, despite th
e fact that it would take place at Reading Crown Court
, they weren’t being held at Reading jail which would have seemed the logical choice. But these days, despite the grim appearance of its high blank exterior walls and the gothic Victorian edifice
whose
roofs peered out over the top, it was just a young
offender’s
institution. It was a pity. I’d always fancied going there to have a look round, Oscar Wilde and all that, but never had the occasion to
do so
whil
e I’d been reporting
for
the rag.

Instead, t
he bikers were being
held at
a couple of
the local jails
pending the setting of a trial date.
So
Charlie
and some of the crew were
at Grendon, just outside Aylesbury. Wibble
and the rest
meanwhile w
ere
only
a few
junctions away up the M40 at Bullingdon, just North East of Oxford and out
towards
Bicester
and Long Crendon
.

So
, as Bung and I made our leisurely way down to reception after breakfast to wait for our ride,
it l
ooked as though
we were
going to be a
pair
of commuter
s
for the next few days.

‘
A
h, here he is,
’
said Bung cheerfully,
as
almost immediately a
car drew up
in front of the doors and we stepped out of the
warmth
of the lobby and into the
chilly grey
damp
of the car park, ‘Bang on time.’

My heart sank.

‘Get in,’ growled Scroat unnecessarily from the
driver’s
window
,
as I reached for the handle.

And good morning to you too
,
I thought
,
but carefully didn’t say as I slid
on to
the back seat
while
Bung plonked himself down in the
front
passenger
seat
.

*

The
car
was
quiet
as
Scroat
stuck the motor’s nose out of the hotel entrance and forced his way
into the
stream of
morning rush hour
commuters heading towards their desks
,
their emails
,
their coffees and their
first
meetings
of their ordinary days
.

Scroat, I might have known
,
I thought. I should have seen that one coming. If Wibble and Charlie wanted me to act as a go-between then they’d both want to keep an eye on me. Bung was so obviously Wibble’s man that of course Charlie would want someone of his own around, and who better or more natural a choice than his old sponsor, Scroat?

‘So who’s first up then?’
I asked
,
breaking the silence.

‘
Wibble
,
’
g
runted Bung.

‘
The hotel was very nice
by the way,
thanks for asking
.’

‘
Don’t get too comfortable,
’
Scroat barked without so much as a glance over his shoulder in my direction.

‘
Why not?
’
I asked.

‘
You
’re
not staying
there again
.’

That was a surprise.

‘
No one
said anything about
checking out
,
’
I protested, not liking the sound of this. It
wasn’t that I had much of a ti
e to it, but at least it was a fairly public place and the idea of disappearing off to anywhere with Scroat
in tow
gave me the creeps.