Undercover (7 page)

‘Thanks,' Iles said. ‘It
is
a big help if you tell us when we can rely on what you're saying because you mean it, as against all your other chit-chat when you don't.'

‘Selection methods for undercover people utilize research done here in GB and in the USA,' Maud replied. ‘On the face of it – yes, on the face of it – Parry looked ideally suited. Most police chiefs prefer their undercover officers to have had at least four or five years of ordinary detective experience. And ideally they should be in settled domestic relationships: this is taken as proof of a balanced, businesslike, well-rooted nature.'

Iles said in a quibbling, fussy, unnaturally quiet tone, sort of decorous seminar mode: ‘Harpur tended to get himself well-rooted
outside
the home environment. Very well rooted. That is, of course, outside his
own
home environment. Other people's home environments were quite another consideration, and could be shamelessly—'

‘Parry had done six years as a general duties detective,' Maud explained, ‘and was in what appeared to be a classic, two-child family situation. He fitted the approved age range – early thirties to early forties.'

‘Fucking lunacy,' Iles said.

‘Now, clearly, there can be, and are, objections to this pattern of recruitment,' she said. ‘Should officers with dependants be favoured for what is undoubtedly exceptionally risky work? If something goes wrong it isn't only the officer who suffers.'

‘I don't allow undercover on my ground,' Iles said. ‘Not married or single or civil partnership. Not young, not not-so young. We had a death there, too, you see.'
²

Iles had never completely recovered from his distress at the murder of Ray Street, an undercover man put into terminal danger with the ACC's agreement. Now and again, Harpur would see him slide back into almost disabling grief and self-condemnation. This sensitivity seemed to clash with his usual bland flintiness and snarling poise; though, yes, quite often he could fall into the screaming abdabs, lip-froth included, about his wife, Sarah, and Harpur, a liaison long over. Iles had become obsessed about the safety of his people. Maybe the indecisiveness and hesitance that resulted had killed his chance of a Chiefdom somewhere. He did believe there was a conspiracy against him, Home Office-based, but conceivably wider than that, taking in the European Parliament, the Church of England, St Andrew's golf club and the BBC. Perhaps his paranoia had some cause. Perhaps it didn't: he might be a natural second-in-command; eternally second.

‘Both GB and the US recommend mature, father or mother figures for undercover,' Maud replied. Obviously, she had very quickly worked out a procedure for coping with Iles: ignore him, or use waffly generalities to swamp his bleats. Perhaps this speed and ruthlessness was natural to graduates with fucking Firsts from fucking Oxford in Latin, Greek and the side dishes.

Maud said: ‘Occasionally, it's true, the police brass opts for a comparatively new recruit to infiltrate a villain outfit: they pick someone who hasn't had time to develop a standard police mindset and attitudes which might automatically take over suddenly in a crisis undercover and betray him or her. Also, the officer will be unknown to local criminals. He or she might have gone straight into plain clothes and be free from any lawman, law-woman, history. A possible boon. However, as we know, an alternative way to guard against recognition exists: choose a mature officer but from a different Force. This brings us to Parry.'

‘But it doesn't, of course, bring Parry back to his family,' Iles said.

‘Naturally, neither safeguard can be totally efficient, and we certainly have to wonder whether the distance tactic worked for him,' Maud said. ‘Members of crooked firms move about the country looking for better business, or to be near a girlfriend or boy friend, or to escape a spell of police heat on their usual ground, or to look at second homes to invest their smart gains in. And one of them could have run across Parry before he took on his undercover role, and remembered him.'

‘You said, “On the face of it,” Maud,' Harpur replied. ‘Said it twice. “On the face of it” Parry looked OK for the undercover operation. Why only “on the face of it”?'

‘Harpur will fix on a phrase,' Iles said. ‘It's a valid flair.' He had quit the sombre tone, for now. ‘Don't write Col off as just my sweeper-up.'

‘Parry got killed,' Maud said. ‘“On the face of it”, he shouldn't have got killed because he was near-perfect for undercover, according to US experts and our own. His entry to the firm seems to have been brilliantly carried out – patient and in slow stages. He did some buying, as if for personal use, with officially provided funds. Then he increased the purchase, said he had friends who'd enjoyed some of his stuff and wanted their own supply. He became a sort of courier and could graduate from there. Classic. It's an expensive way of working because, obviously, he had to be supplied with repeat money, and more repeat money. That can't be avoided. The outfit was alert to attempted penetration, of course, but very gradually they apparently got to trust him – as much as any of them trust any of them, which is never totally, but say fifty-eight point seven three per cent. So, he's in and seemingly secure, yet then gets wiped out.'

‘He was ambushed,' Harpur said. ‘No blame on him for that, surely. Who could have dodged it?'

Maud said: ‘Well, who? Yes. And who could have laid it on?'

‘The Home Office loves blame – blaming, that is, not
getting
blamed,' Iles said.

‘Parry was a solid, four-square officer. Those are considerable assets. But perhaps they preclude some other essentials which a different officer might possess,' Maud said.

‘Which different officer?' Harpur said.

‘Notional,' Iles said. ‘It's a concept, Col, not an actual person. We're in the realm of the theoretical.'

‘Which essentials?' Harpur said.

‘You see what I mean about the way he'll pounce on a word and get at its innards?' Iles said. ‘Like a lioness with a zebra.'

‘Instincts,' Maud replied.

‘Instincts?' Harpur said.

‘The undefinable, but essential,' Maud replied. ‘Shouldn't he have sensed, smelled, intuited there was something suspect about the route selected for him to take when Abidan's call came? He would have learned the local geography by then. We're referring to a blacked-out construction site where he'd have to walk slowly and gingerly to avoid tripping over foundations and discarded hods. Slowly and gingerly and therefore very hitably. Uncompleted buildings offered fine cover and useful firing points for a sniper, especially if the sniper had night-vision equipment.'

‘So, you
do
think the whole sortie was pre-shaped for the execution of Parry?' Harpur said.

‘We have no CCTV sightings of Justin Scray that night, but we do know that Abidan put the rallying signal out, which would bring Parry from his search at the shopping mall along the agreed route, including the building site,' Maud said. ‘Crucially including the building site.'

‘You regard the hunt for Scray as a charade, a fiction, to fool Parry and get him into an easy target area?' Harpur asked. ‘The real hunt was for
him
? No likelihood of finding Scray at the mall existed?'

‘Or anywhere?' Iles said.

‘My function is to suggest such questions,' Maud replied. ‘Only that. But I'd hope they're questions that have not been adequately dealt with so far, and which, perhaps, you will prioritize.'

‘You believe Parry was reliable and competent but naive?' Harpur asked.

‘There
are
people like that, believe me, Col,' Iles said.

‘Perhaps he
was
naive,' Maud said.

‘But you told us he'd been chosen for his maturity,' Harpur said.

‘Maturity in certain basics,' Maud said. ‘Important basics, though lacking that vital something else. The experts' formula for the ideal undercover candidate might need amending.'

‘So, selecting him was a terrible error?' Harpur asked.

‘
Any
selection for undercover is a terrible error,' Iles said.

‘But that's rather negative, isn't it?' Maud said.

‘No. Not “rather”. It's
totally
fucking negative,' Iles replied.

‘I think undercover has been known to work,' Maud said.

‘We can't ask Parry to confirm that,' Iles said.

‘We
can
get his assassin, assassins, though,' Maud replied.

‘And you believe the assassin, assassins, could be a police officer, police officers, scared of exposure as payrolled protectors of the firm?' Harpur asked. ‘The cop killer – or killers – is – or are – cops?'

‘As I've said, my job is to suggest questions,' Maud told them.

BEFORE

T
om drove alone to a would-be welcoming place, brilliant for confidential meetings and basic grub – a motorway service station, this one on the M4. Neither party got the advantage of home ground, and anonymity was easy in the changing crowd. They had his registration number and car colour and make. He didn't have theirs, but the instructions said to wait in his Megane and they'd locate him and tap his driver-side window in gentle, friendly style. Cash for petrol used and a day's subsistence would be provided, without need of a signed receipt from Tom. The petrol and subsistence claim should be rounded up to the nearest £5 multiple, so there'd be no awkward fiddling about with coins.

They'd take a table in the service station eatery and organize snacks, or just tea or coffee. The car park would have CCTV, and to conduct their little conference inside the building like this was considered less noticeable than three men in a Megane evidently talking something important, notably not using any of the on-hand facilities, and passing money, even without coin complications.

‘So, Tom, you'll ask: why are we here? What's the objective? Important to have an objective. Army orders always name an objective, and we can learn from them. In my opinion, that is. Well, it's like this, isn't it? You've been picked out as suitable for undercover – oh, but more than just suitable, outstandingly suitable . . . yes, outstandingly. Terrific results from Hilston, and Hilston isn't known for its generosity in assessment. That's all taken care of, then – the general potential aptitude, the overall flair. No question it is there and ready for use. But for use how, where? This is what I mean by the objective. It's time for us to focus your talent – seek to apply it to a specific situation, namely the piss-awful situation that I and others have been confronted by on our patch for upwards of a year, an impregnable drugs firm.'

He introduced himself, while they walked from the Megane to the services restaurant, as Detective Inspector Howard Lambert. The smaller, physically slighter man with him he said was Mr Andrew Rockmain, a psychologist working mainly with the London Metropolitan police, but available to other forces if needed. He had the rank in the Met of Commander, more or less equivalent to Assistant Chief Constable in a provincial outfit. He'd be around thirty-five to forty. He had longish fair hair and wore a blue denim top with khaki cargo trousers and sandals, no socks.

Lambert said: ‘Mr Rockmain is not like that Cracker character on TV, using psychology to solve mysteries. Mr Rockmain looks at situations and applies his special skills to say who'd be best to deal with them. Personnel selection of a very crucial kind.'

‘I'm here mainly re the women, Tom,' Rockmain replied. He spoke almost apologetically, as if he thought Tom must have already cottoned on that Rockmain was here mainly re the women and didn't need to have it blatantly spelled out.

‘Which women?' Tom said, though, naturally, he could make a guess.

‘Yes, the women,' Rockmain replied. ‘This can be a troublesome area. No point in denying. Rather, face up to it. Cater for it. That's happening now, thank God.'

They queued for food and drink. Lambert settled the whole bill. He said: ‘Tom, your subsistence allowance is related to the time you spend on a duty, not on your actual expenditure, so the fact that I'm seeing to the tab now doesn't interfere with your right to claim. And, while we're talking about such arrangements, let me say a bank account with five grand cash available in your operational name will be set up, with cheques and a debit card. Likewise a credit card, limit nine thousand pounds.'

‘Howard will look after you, Tom.' Now, Rockmain's tone suggested Howard Lambert would be OK, possibly very OK, on the rudiments, such as canteen nose-bagging, general finance, and manipulation of an expenses sheet, but that he, Rockmain, would presently disclose the core purpose of this meeting.

Tom took sausages, mash and peas, with a large milk coffee. Lambert had shepherd's pie and a pot of tea. Rockmain went for the super-mixed-grill and a bottle of fizz-enhanced spring water from a burn in the Scottish highlands, which was pictured on the label. Rockmain led them to a table in the middle of the big room. He had short legs and took short steps, but they were vigorous and confident. Perhaps he thought skulking out on the edge would have been more conspicuous. He must have decided they should blend in. There were occupied tables all round them. He would know more about camouflage than Tom. It was part of his trade. The certainty and swiftness of Rockmain's choice seemed to confirm he dominated: what should be expected from a Commander.

Tom felt estranged and deeply different from the customers around them. Their imperative was to enjoy a bite and a swig, then point themselves and their vehicle again at a destination. But for Tom and the other two this was a policy-making centre, a tactics venue, the roads to and from, and the meals, secondary, if that. Now and then tonight Tom wished himself part of one of those groups: eat, drink and get motorwayed. He wasn't sure he saw himself as a policy maker, nor as a tactics expert.