Rough Justice (8 page)

Sharpe grinned, and Button glared at him. ‘It’s not funny, Razor. One of them was a sixteen-year-old kid.’

‘Yeah, well, when I walked a beat in Strathclyde, we had ten-year-olds breaking into houses,’ he said. ‘They’d get in through the bathroom window and let their mates in. Steal everything that wasn’t nailed down and trash the place for good measure. Scum of the earth, burglars, and the courts these days let them off with a slap on the wrist. Same with car thieves and joy-riders. Maybe if a few more got their hands smashed, they’d be less likely to do it.’

‘Maybe you’d be better off applying for a job with the Saudi police,’ said Button. ‘These men were assaulted and nearly crippled, and no matter how you cut it, that’s not the role of the police in a civilised society.’

‘Charlie, nothing that you’ve said directly points to the cops,’ said Shepherd.

‘Yeah, it could be the militant wing of Neighbourhood Watch,’ said Sharpe.

Button opened her mouth to snap at Sharpe, but Shepherd put up a hand to interrupt her. ‘Razor actually has a point,’ he said. ‘It could be civilians. There are plenty of anti-drug groups that have got fairly violent in the past. Could be civilian workers within the Met. I don’t see why you’re assuming it’s cops that have gone bad.’

‘The van that was seen near to where the dead paedophile was found. We have a partial number plate.’

‘And how did we get that, pray tell?’

‘A dosser with a pretty good memory, considering he’s an alcoholic who’s been on the streets for going on twenty years,’ said Button. ‘He remembered the first two numbers and there were three letters in the plate that were his daughter’s initials, so that was enough to tie it to one of three vans used by the Territorial Support Group in north-west London.’ She wrote the numbers and letters on the whiteboard and underlined them.

‘The TSG?’ said Sharpe. ‘I remember the good old days when they were the SPG, the Special Patrol Group. A rose by any other name.’

‘The SPG was disbanded in 1987,’ said Button, archly. ‘But, yes, the TSG, or CO20, carries out the same function as the SPG used to, pretty much.’

‘They’re the heavy mob,’ said Sharpe. ‘They go in with shields and truncheons where other bobbies fear to tread.’

‘They have an anti-terrorism role, these days,’ said Button. ‘But you’re right. They are there to provide a level-one response to disorder throughout the capital, and reducing crime that has been determined to be a priority.’

‘Like I said, the heavy mob,’ said Sharpe.

Shepherd nodded thoughtfully. ‘And the plan is to send me and Razor in as cops?’

‘Just you,’ said Button. ‘I doubt we’d get away with two new faces appearing at the same time. I’ll arrange for you to report for duty next Monday so you’ll have the rest of the week off. I’ll talk to Jenny Lock and get a place fixed up for you in north London.’ Jenny Lock was one of SOCA’s dressers, providing the props necessary to back up an undercover legend. Shepherd had met her two years previously when she’d helped provide his background for a job in Belfast. Button slid a sheet of blank paper across the desk. ‘We’ll need a signature for the warrant card and ancillary ID. Name of Terry Halligan.’

‘Terry or Terrence?’

‘Terry,’ said Button.

Shepherd signed the sheet of paper and gave it back to Button. She took a thick file from her briefcase and gave it to him. ‘Some light reading for you,’ she said. ‘There’s a lot to absorb there so take it home with you. I’ll need you back in London on Sunday – bring it with you then. It’s got all the details of the Serials you’ll come across.’

‘Serials?’

‘The operational units of the TSG. Basically three vans each with a sergeant and six constables, all reporting to an inspector. We know that the van seen in Kilburn came from the TSG base at Paddington Green, just down the road from here. We think, because of the operational duties they were on that day, that we can narrow it down to two of the Serials. But in the file I’ve included photos and details on all the TSG staff at the station, plus any other senior officers you might come across. I’ve already checked that there’s no one at Paddington Green that you’ve run into before.’

‘I’m not happy about going under cover against cops,’ said Shepherd.

‘Your legend will be watertight,’ said Button.

‘That’s not what I’m worried about,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re cops, Charlie. We’re on the same side.’

‘They’ve committed assault, GBH, perjury, they’ve faked evidence, and there’s a very good chance that they’ve committed murder,’ said Button.

‘They’ve beaten up Yardies, put a drug-dealer behind bars and maybe killed a paedophile,’ said Shepherd.

‘They’ve broken the law, Spider. We can’t be selective about justice. People either obey the law or they don’t.’

Shepherd tapped the photographs of the three injured Yardies on the airport Tarmac. ‘Don’t tell me you feel sorry for them. We’re better off without them in our country, and if the government was doing its job they wouldn’t be here in the first place. And don’t get me started on paedophiles. You know as well as I do that there’s no curing a paedophile. They’ll keep on offending until they die. The only way of dealing with them is to lock them up so they can’t get near kids.’

‘There’s a few psychologists that would argue with you there’ said Button.

‘Once a nonce, always a nonce,’ said Sharpe. ‘And that’s a fact.’

‘Thank you for your input, Razor,’ said Button. ‘But it’s also a fact that murder is a crime, no matter who the victim is.’

‘You’re a mother, Charlie. How would you feel if someone molested her? Or worse?’ said Shepherd.

‘I’d rather not think about it but, frankly, it’s irrelevant.’

‘I know that if anyone ever deliberately hurt Liam, they’d have me to deal with.’

‘I do hope you’re not condoning vigilantism, Spider.’

‘I’d do what I had to do,’ said Shepherd.

‘Is that what you think these cops have become?’ asked Sharpe. ‘Vigilantes?’

‘That’s exactly what we think,’ said Button.

‘There’s no profit involved? They’re not ripping off their cash or drugs?’

‘There’s no evidence of that, no.’

Sharpe sat back and folded his arms. ‘Then I for one think we should just leave them to it. Or give them a medal.’

‘Well, thankfully, the fate of the British criminal justice system doesn’t rest in your hands,’ said Button.

‘Again, Razor does have a point,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’re SOCA, the Serious Organised Crime Agency. My understanding is that we’d be going after drug-dealers, people-traffickers, armed robbers.’

‘What these guys are doing is serious and organised,’ said Button.

‘But they’re cops. We go after villains.’

‘In this case, the cops are villains,’ said Button.

‘Professional Standards investigate bad cops,’ said Sharpe. ‘That’s what they do.’

‘In this case, the commissioner for the Met has asked for our assistance.’

‘Then you should just say we’re too busy,’ said Shepherd. ‘I didn’t sign up to investigate cops.’

‘Perhaps “asked” is the wrong word,’ said Button. ‘The commissioner spoke to the Home Secretary and the Home Secretary spoke to my boss and my boss spoke to me and now I’m telling you two that your next assignment is to investigate these cops. And you can huff and puff as much as you want but at the end of the day that’s what you’re going to be doing.’

Shepherd sighed. ‘Has anyone looked at the crime stats for the area that these guys work in?’

‘Crime’s down, if that’s what you’re getting at,’ said Button.

‘That’s exactly what I’m getting at,’ said Shepherd. ‘If they’re running drug-dealers out of town and crippling housebreakers and putting bad guys behind bars by whatever means, then I figure all the crime stats will be on the way down.’

‘Please don’t even think about saying that the end justifies the means.’

Shepherd opened his mouth to reply but then thought better of it. There was no point in arguing with Button because basically she was right. It didn’t matter what the profession, a criminal was a criminal and SOCA was in the business of putting away criminals.

‘And what am I doing while Spider’s getting up close and personal with the TSG?’ said Sharpe.

Button flashed him a sarcastic smile. ‘I’m so glad you asked, Razor,’ she said. ‘I’ve got the perfect job for you. Infiltrating a right-wing racist group.’

Sharpe frowned. ‘What?’

‘Do you remember a while back when a membership list of the British National Party was posted on-line and it turned out that there were police officers on it?’

Sharpe nodded.

‘The powers-that-be already had the list, as it happens, but because it was in the public domain we had to act. We’ve been a bit more circumspect with another list that we got our hands on some time ago. It’s an organisation called England First, made up of a lot of the heavies in the National Front who weren’t palatable enough for the BNP. And it looks as if one of the TSG sergeants is a member. Gary Dawson.’ She put a photograph of a grey-haired man in his mid-forties on the whiteboard.

‘How stupid is he to let his name appear on a membership list?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Give him some credit,’ said Button. ‘He used a false name, but there was a pay-as-you-go mobile on the list that we’ve traced to him. Razor, I need you to make contact with England First and worm your way in. With your tendency to make off-the-cuff racist statements, I’m sure you’ll have no problem blending in.’

‘I resemble that remark,’ joked Sharpe. He grinned. ‘You know I’m a changed man after the racial-awareness course you sent me on?’

‘Yes, Razor, we’re all very impressed with how you’ve managed to drag yourself into the third millennium.’

‘But now you want me to undo all that good work by having me pretend to be a dyed-in-the-wool racist?’

Button flashed him another sarcastic smile. ‘I’m sure you’ll do your best,’ she said. ‘I’ll get someone to brief you on England First.’

‘A spook?’ Sharpe grinned again. ‘And by that I mean a member of the Secret Service, of course.’

‘It’ll be an intelligence briefing,’ said Button. ‘And I’m sure it’ll make clear just how dangerous these people are. You’re going to have to watch yourself, Razor. They’re the guys who throw petrol bombs through the windows of Asian families and beat up black kids on the streets.’

‘What are you saying, Charlie?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Are you saying these vigilante cops are racist?’

‘It’s a possibility,’ said Button. ‘A high proportion of the cases we’re looking at involve Afro-Caribbean males.’

‘You’re saying that they’re targeting black criminals? Or is it that the criminals they’re targeting happen to be black?’

‘That’s a question I hope you’ll be able to answer, Spider.’

‘It’s going to be messy, you know that. There’ll be ramifications, either way.’

‘I’m aware of what a can of worms this is,’ said Button. ‘And so’s the commissioner.’

‘Every case they’ve been involved in, any criminal they dealt with, they’re all going to be given get-out-of-jail-free cards.’

‘Probably.’

‘And if it’s racism, it’ll rip the Met apart.’

Button frowned. ‘Are you suggesting that we don’t do anything? Let sleeping dogs lie?’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘Of course not,’ he said. ‘But if you know that Dawson’s rotten, then split him and his team up. Disperse them. That’ll put an end to it.’

‘Or spread the virus throughout the force,’ she said.

‘Service,’ said Sharpe.

‘What?’ said Button.

‘It’s not a police force any more,’ said Sharpe. ‘It’s a service. Which is part of the problem. If the public respected the police the way they used to, and if cops were allowed to deal with villains the way they used to, then there wouldn’t be any need for vigilantes.’

‘Yes, well, we’ve moved on since the glory days of the eighties,’ said Button. ‘We’re now dealing with policing in the third millennium and, be it a force or a service, we can’t afford to let the bad apples infect the whole barrel. We have to find out which ones are rotten and weed them out.’

‘Publicly?’ said Shepherd.

‘That’ll be up to the commissioner and the Crown Prosecution Service,’ said Button.

‘Because the great British public is probably going to think they’re heroes,’ said Shepherd.

‘That’s not our problem,’ said Button. ‘We go in, get the facts, and leave. What happens then is for someone else to decide. And as much as I understand your reservations, we don’t get to pick and choose what we do.’ She waved at the photographs on the whiteboard. ‘These are our targets, and for the foreseeable future, you’ll have them in your sights.’

‘I was hoping for a week or two’s leave,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s been a month since I spent more than one night at home.’

Button sat down and picked up her tea. ‘There’s something else I have to tell you both,’ she said. Shepherd frowned. He could tell from her tone that it was bad news, and even before she spoke he knew what she would say. ‘I’m going to be leaving SOCA before the end of the year,’ she said.

‘Back to Five?’ asked Sharpe, putting into words exactly what Shepherd had been thinking.

Button nodded. ‘I’m to head up the International Counter-terrorism Branch,’ she said.

‘It’s a big job,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’ve earned it.’

‘I’ll miss you guys,’ she said. ‘I mean that.’

‘We were always a stepping-stone,’ said Shepherd. ‘We knew that from the start.’

Button raised her eyebrows. ‘Spider, the job meant more to me than that,’ she said.

Shepherd shrugged. He didn’t want to get into an argument with his boss but he wasn’t happy at her leaving. ‘I’m not saying you weren’t committed or that you weren’t good at the job, I’m just saying that you always saw SOCA as a temporary assignment.’

‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ said Button. ‘But there aren’t the opportunities within SOCA that I’ll get within Five.’