The Sun Will Still Shine Tomorrow (6 page)

Mac hesitated, took a nervous step forward.

“Who are you, you cheeky cunt?”

Ashley stepped back. “Whoa… and, Jesus, your breath smells like you’ve been licking your dog’s arse for a week.”

Macintosh, not so sure now, looked around for some support. Where was Bulldog? Were the lads carrying out their instructions? He felt in his pocket for his mobile. Checked it. No missed calls, everything okay. He took another step forward as Ashley stood his ground.

“Who are you, how do you know who I am?”

“Everyone knows who Bulldog’s arse bandit is.”

The penny dropped.”You’re filth, aren’t you?”

“Bright.” Ashley smiled. “Let me guess, the customary nine O levels, sixth form and on to uni.”

Ashley pulled out his warrant card, thrust it at arm’s length in the direction of the astonished thug.

“Shit for brains, Macintosh, you’re fucking nicked. You have the right to remain silent, though I doubt you probably will, given the size of your ugly pig-shaped mouth. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer and have a lawyer present with you during questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you. You underworld types call them your brief, I believe. So, shit for brains, you’re fucking nicked. That’s your rights read. Do you wish to say anything?”

Macintosh stepped forward, made a grab for the warrant card with his left hand while swinging a wild punch with his right. Ashley turned slightly to the left and rammed his right fist into his aggressor’s solar plexus. Macintosh winced, staggered as Ashley swept through his standing foot. Nineteen stone of thug crashed to the concourse floor as Ash leapt on his back pulling out the plastic restraints, securing them onto a flailing hand.

“You fucking bastard, you’re hiding behind your pissing uniform.”

Ashley couldn’t help but laugh. “Cityworks, you mean? I’m hiding behind a Cityworks uniform.”

The irony was lost on the injured man but, just as Ashley reached for the free wrist, the air was forced from his lungs. Another gorilla, not much smaller than Macintosh, had headbutted him in the back and lay slightly dazed on the ground wishing he’d held back just a little.

“You okay, Mac?” he gasped, pleased to have assisted his criminal colleague. Macintosh smiled, regained his composure and got up onto his knees.

“A golden rule, copper. One you’ve chosen to ignore. Always post a back-up, a little muscle to help you out if things aren’t going your way.”

Ashley tried to answer, tried to respond with a witty, confident-sounding comment. The words froze in his throat. Mac, on his feet now, delivered a sharp, painful kick to the ribs. The normal commuters and people going about their business looked on but did not come to his assistance.

Ashley curled up in an involuntary ball and Mac dropped his nineteen-stone frame into his ribcage. Ashley wanted to scream, to cry out in pain but still the sound wouldn’t come. Mac leant over him, his sour breath inches from Ashley’s face.

“And now, copper, my party trick… my Hannibal Lecter special.”

A hideous laugh, Mac’s open mouth coming ever closer to his face. Hot breath… his teeth splitting the skin of his nose and the all too familiar taste of his own blood trickling into his mouth.

And then, respite.

A familiar voice, Macintosh’s head snapping back over and daylight and the sweet smell of oxygen.

Ashley groaned.

“Holy John. Thank Christ.”

John Markham grinned at Ashley who was still lying prone on the ground.

“Thought you might need some help, buddy – I sprinted up from the school, sorted him out.” He pointed over to the wall where Macintosh’s unconscious tag partner lay.”And managed to get to you before Mad Mac got the salt and pepper out.”

Back at the station the team were debriefed and congratulated by Chief Superintendent Roddam.

“It seems we’re due a few beers tonight, lads. Two hundred thousand pounds worth of crack cocaine recovered from Bulldog’s BMW and the whole of his little exercise filmed for prosperity. He’s wriggled his way out of many a tight hole in the past but this time he’s quaking in his boots.”

Holy John squeezed Ashley’s shoulder, beaming like a Cheshire cat.

“No beer for you, partner, you’re on a fast track to the RVI to get those ribs checked out.”

And although Ashley Clarke tried to convince his new partner that there wasn’t any treatment for broken ribs, John Markwell insisted on driving him to hospital personally and sitting for two hours in the waiting area adjacent to the consulting rooms.

Afterwards he dropped the car off at the station in Market Street and hailed a taxi outside. Within fifteen minutes they were sitting in a small room at the rear of the Osborne Hotel in Jesmond, toasting their good fortune with their already well-oiled colleagues.

Andy Gibbons stood at the bar grinning, overseeing his successful team, ready to deliver the debrief.

The following morning, Ashley eased himself from his bed. Never before had he experienced such pain. Every breath, every cough, the slightest change in any direction caused a shooting dagger-like sensation to bury itself deep in his ribcage. Each stab felt as if his lungs would collapse at any minute.

Filled up with an overdose of Ibuprofen he walked gingerly into the station at Market Street. John Markwell looked up from the desk

“Jesus H, Ash, you look like shit.”

Ashley didn’t respond, knowing that even the slightest effort of speech would cause extreme discomfort. Instead, he nodded in agreement. Somehow John Markwell seemed to understand.

Ash looked around the station. It was still buzzing from yesterday’s success. Chief Superintendent Roddam was hanging around trying to be one of the boys again even though he’d been behind his Canadian maple desk during the entire operation. He was talking to
a suit
that Ashley hadn’t seen before. Ashley didn’t like the look of him.

“It went like clockwork. My team were magnificent; we’d been after Billy Graham for years.”

Ashley had seen it all before. The team had carried off the perfect operation, everyone and everything had fallen perfectly into place. First-class policing from every member of the team. And then the suits arrived and a man not involved at any stage

of the wonderfully executed operation stood at the front of the

line in the backslapping queue.

Roddam continued.

“We had a bit of a celebration last night. Some of the boys are a bit rough this morning.” He shot a disapproving glance at Ashley who by now really did feel like shit.

Ashley eased into the chair beside Markwell.

“John… I didn’t get a chance to thank you yesterday. I —”

Markwell held up his hand.

“There’s no need, Ash… partners, remember. I didn’t mind the rough stuff, quite enjoyed it if the truth be told. It was that bloody half-mile sprint to get there that was the hard bit.” Ashley laughed and regretted it instantly as the knife rasped up the inside of his lungs once again.

DC Rob Shanks chipped in. “Jesus, Ash, are you gonna be up for the interviews?”

Ash wheezed a reply.”No problem, Shanksy, just try and stop me. That’s the best bit.”

Rob Shanks had been leading the unit staking out the dealers. He’d been patient and meticulous and timed the hits flawlessly, leaving the dealers just enough time to commit their offences. Intent to supply was the lesser charge; Rob Shanks wanted the cream from the top of the milk.

All three youths had offloaded the crack cocaine to at least one pupil from the school. Everything had been filmed for good measure.

Afterwards Shanks had sent the uniforms with the victims to their home addresses.

The uniforms had read the riot act out in front of the children’s parents but the children had escaped with a caution and hopefully had received the biggest fright of their short lives.

“Interviews start at ten, Ash. Should be fairly routine, but we need at least one of the dealers to implicate Bulldog as the main man.”

“No problem, Shanksy. I looked in on them last night. They all look pretty scared.”

DC Rob Shanks walked over to the desk and picked up a file.

“Two seventeen-year-olds from Cowgate: John Potts and Marcus Appleby. Both addicts, I’m afraid, a little bit of previous for shoplifting and thieving. And a Pakistani kid with nothing at all on his card. A bit weird really, not the sort of kid who’d be working for Bulldog.”

Shanks rubbed his chin, shook his head. “Which one do you want to have a go at first?”

Ashley Clarke prised himself from the desk and at the same time dropped yet another painkiller in his mouth and swilled it down with a mouthful of lukewarm sweet tea. He turned the file around, studied the profiles of the three dealers caught red-handed.

“I’ll try the Paki kid first. My guess is that he’s terrified, never seen the inside of a cell before.”

Within two hours of interviewing Rafi Patel, Ashley Clarke had a confession with more or less everything the Northumbria Police wanted. The other two dealers, when confronted with this information, yielded too and admitted that the notorious Billy Graham had supplied them with crack cocaine to sell for which they received a very handsome hourly rate of pay.

No income tax, no national insurance deductions.

Ashley Clarke wandered back to the cell where the frightened Pakistani youth now sat with his solicitor and the statement that Ashley wanted signed.

Ashley spoke.”Can we talk off the record?”

He looked in the direction of the solicitor, a twenty-something youth not much older than his client.The solicitor shot a glance at his client who shrugged his shoulders. Ashley continued, assuming the gesture as a positive.

“How did you get mixed up with that lot?”

Silence.

“I mean you hardly fit the profile of your two colleagues, do you? They’ve been in trouble with the law since they came out of nappies. They’re both addicts and ideal candidates for Graham and his henchmen to manipulate.”

Ashley sat down at the table, placed his elbows in front of the youth and rested his chin on his fists.

“But not you, Rafi, right?”

A twenty-second pause elapsed.

“You’re from a respectable business family; your father has four shops.”

“Five.”The youth answered with an obvious hint of pride at his father’s business acumen.

“Sorry, Rafi… five.”

At last, a breakthrough, thought Ashley, the guard was slipping.

“From what I’m led to believe, Rafi, you’ve been working those shops a hundred hours a week. Your old man’s ill now, isn’t he; can’t manage the hours he once could. You’re running the show now, aren’t you?”

For the first time the Pakistani youth made eye contact with Ashley. The fear in his eyes had vanished now and instead it was replaced with a realisation.

“So who’s gonna run the empire when you’re in Durham, Rafi?”

Matthewson the solicitor jumped to his feet.”Whooaa… just a second. We’re off the record here, let’s keep it nice, no threats or I call it a day. You’ve had your confession, he’s admitted what you wanted him to admit, end of story.”

Ashley turned away to face the solicitor.

“No threats?” he shouted at the young solicitor. “No threats! Are you kidding me, Matthewson, or are you missing the big picture? This kid has been threatened and bullied by Graham and his gang to stoop so low as to create a whole generation of crack addicts before they can legally vote. What sort of threats do you think it would take to make a decent kid stoop that low?”

Ashley pointed to Matthewson’s client.

“He’s in the gutter, Mr Solicitor. He’s in there with the rats and pieces of shit and used johnnies and, for the first time in my life, I’m getting sympathetic vibes for a dealer.”

He looked at Rafi Patel’s frightened and confused state and the tears gently welling in his eyes. Rafi glanced at his solicitor for help. Matthewson averted his gaze, looked down at the table at his notes, pawed through them with no real purpose, no real direction. It was as if he too wanted his client to speak.

And he did.

“This is off the record, right?”

Ashley nodded his head. The solicitor shrugged his shoulders and cast his eyes in the direction of the frozen tape recorder.

It was Matthewson’s turn to hold up a hand. “I’m not so sure this is—”

Rafi interrupted. “It started about four years ago. I knew nothing about it, of course, I was just a kid. Father explained it to me when the real trouble started about six months ago.”

“Real trouble?” Matthewson asked.

Rafi ignored him, didn’t even acknowledge him with a glance.

“And what I’m about to tell you, I will never ever repeat outside this station, let alone a courtroom. You don’t realise how evil these men are.”

Ashley and the solicitor inched ever closer.

“Father had noticed the trouble had been getting steadily worse. Sure we’d had an odd break-in and some shoplifting, the sort of thing you’d kind of expect in the not too salubrious areas of Newcastle but really nothing out of the ordinary.”