THE LONDON DRUG WARS (2 page)

John Horatio Brookes sat in his
favourite armchair nursing an empty whisky glass. His mind was in some faraway
place, grappling with dragons, battling the forces of evil. He was thinking
about a case dealt with by one of his detectives. The young detective constable
had left his investigation report on Brookes’ desk to review before a decision
was made as to further action. Amanda Page, a nineteen-year-old university
student, had died of a heroin overdose. On the face of it death had been at her
own hand, a suicide requiring no further police action.

She had been found lying on the bed
in her room. On the bedside table beside her was a small, clear plastic packet
with traces of heroin in its creases, the stub of a candle, a cigarette
lighter, a spoon with a bent handle, and an empty syringe; the paraphernalia of
the drug addict. On a desk across the room was her laptop computer, on which
had been found a typed note saying: ‘I can’t cope any more, I just want to
die.’

Statements taken from her boyfriend,
housemates and colleagues suggested that she had been ‘feeling down’ lately
with some unidentified problem. The autopsy revealed a needle mark on the
inside of her left elbow and the cause of death as a massive heroin overdose.
The coroner, having heard the evidence and not being satisfied it was suicide,
had declared an open verdict. Although he thought
he thought
that
suicide
was the most likely explanation.

But Brookes was by no means sure.
Having studied the photos of the scene, the statements of the witnesses,
pathologist’s report, and results of forensic tests on everything found at the
scene, it was what wasn’t there that most concerned
him
. First and foremost there were no
‘track marks’ on her arms or anywhere else on her body. None of her friends
were aware that she was an addict; in fact those who commented said she didn’t
take drugs at all.
Why
, Brookes asked himself,
would someone not an
addict commit suicide with an overdose of heroin when there were far less
painful ways to kill oneself?

Then there were some unexplained
discrepancies. There was a small bruise on the inside of her left wrist. The
pathologist had said it had been inflicted ‘shortly’ before she died but
couldn’t say how shortly or what had caused it. The bed on which the body lay
had been made since last slept in but the covers beneath her body were scuffed
as if there had been some kind of struggle. The pathologist had suggested this
may simply have been caused by her body reacting violently to the drug but in
Brookes’ opinion there could be another explanation. A search of the area on
and around the bed had found a human hair and specks of dried skin that were
not from the victim. This, to Brookes, was the clincher. This case definitely
warranted further and deeper investigation.

His thoughts had turned to the
alleged ‘suicide note’ found on the victim’s laptop computer. One of the curses
of modern technology as far as the detective was concerned was that the younger
generation no longer used pen and ink to communicate. Instead they tapped
messages into computers or mobile phones. It made the investigator’s job that
much harder as handwriting is particular to an individual, whereas a note typed
on a computer could have been composed by anyone.

And then there was the format of the
so-called suicide note. So-called because in Brookes’ view the balance of
probability was that it was a forgery. And Brookes’ source was impeccable; the
Federal Bureau of Investigation Academy at Quantico in the US of A. As with
most things of a criminal nature they had made an in-depth study of suicide
notes, with a view to distinguishing those that had been written by the victim
and those that had not.

The Bureau had published their
conclusions and that report had become the authoritative guide to the validity
of such notes. From the available data they had calculated that about 30% of
successful suicides leave notes, which said something about the other 70% who,
presumably, had no-one close enough to care about them taking their own lives.

One of the major conclusions of the
study was that the genuine note differed from the forgery in one important
detail. In genuine cases the writer clearly did not feel the need to justify
his or her action beyond apologising to those dear to them for any pain caused
by their actions. Whereas in forged notes the writer’s motive is to convince
those left behind that it was written by the victim. In this case there was no
hint of apology, simply an attempt to justify the act.

Sadly, whilst this study assists
detectives in drawing conclusions, it is not, nor does it purport to be, hard
evidence of those conclusions. It falls more in the category of ‘tending
towards’. Thus the findings could not be presented to a court of law.

And then there was the so-called
depression she was suffering. There was ample evidence from those close to
Amanda that she was worried about something. But no-one had come up with the
reason for that concern; she had a boyfriend with whom she seemed to have been
getting along with; her university studies were up to date and giving her no
apparent concerns; she had no financial problems; her health was good; and,
whilst sexually active, she was not pregnant, which condition sadly was not
always welcomed by young women. Nor was she someone who let things get on top
of her. According to those who knew her, she was well organised and not
overwhelmed when things went wrong.

All of those things, added to the
fact she had been injected with enough heroin to kill a horse or maybe even an
elephant, was what was keeping Brookes awake. Had she been an addict, then yes,
an overdose would not be at all strange. But there was no evidence that she had
even dabbled in illicit drugs.

So,
if Amanda Page had not taken her own life, who had? It was this dilemma that
had been preventing Brookes from turning the light off and going to bed. But it
was now after midnight and our bodies have the habit of letting us know when
the need for sleep becomes acute, and Brookes eventually found himself nodding
off in his chair. Wearily he got up and made his way to the bedroom where he
stripped to his underpants and flopped into bed. He was sound asleep within
seconds.

Brookes awoke the next morning to the
sound of thunder. A violent storm raged outside his bedroom window. He lay for
a moment thinking of the day ahead. He would need to go over all the evidence
again and re-interview all the witnesses. A task that would require a great
deal of tact as well as determination, as the people close to the deceased would
want to quickly put her death out of their minds and try to get on with their
own lives.

He smiled wanly to himself as the
thought crossed his mind that the storm outside might be some kind of omen. But
he quickly dismissed the thought as he often boasted that he didn’t have a
superstitious bone in his body, so there could be no threat from that quarter.
This in turn led to another thought which his nasty, suspicious mind also
quickly dismissed, the thought being: If he didn’t believe in that rubbish why
did it come to his mind in the first place?

Arriving at his
office on the second floor of Hackney Police Station he spent most of the
morning clearing his desk of the pile of paperwork that had accumulated. He had
responsibility for the squad of twenty detectives on the division which took up
most of his time. But he was still able to choose when to conduct an
investigation himself. His was the highest rank that normally did, which was
why he’d already turned down promotion to Detective Chief Superintendent. Only
when he’d cleared his in-tray was he again able to turn his mind to the death
of Amanda Page.

Twenty-two Margaret Road, the house
where Amanda had lived with five other students, was a fine example of a large
Victorian family dwelling built in the heyday of the British Empire to house a
rich merchant and his family. Far enough away from the docks to be clear of the
hustle and bustle of the busy port yet close enough for the owner to commute.
It stood in a row of similar dwellings facing a park. Six generous-sized rooms
on two floors with servant accommodation in the basement and loft. Sadly not
all of the houses in the row had survived the Blitz of the Second World War and
today the street was a hodgepodge of pleasant, old-fashioned family dwellings
interspersed with blocks of ugly 1950s red-brick flats built to replace the
houses destroyed. The combination was by no means attractive.

The landlord of this particular house
made an excellent return on his investment by renting it as six one-roomed flatlets;
the tenants sharing a common lounge, kitchen and two bathrooms. The students
were happy as each had a degree of privacy and company when they wanted it at a
reasonable rent, and the landlord was more than happy as he got twice the rent
he would from a single family let.

Brookes interviewed Sarah Diamond in
her room on the first floor. She was a slim nineteen-year-old girl with dark
hair, deep brown eyes, and a pretty face. She was in her second year at the
university reading biology. Brookes sat on the only chair in the room and she
sat on the bed. The chair was at right-angles to the bed which suited Brookes
as he did not want her to feel threatened or confronted, nor did he want a
barrier between them.

He’d started the interview by asking
her how her studies were going and about her family. His voice was deliberately
soft and his manner almost fatherly. Only when she was relaxed did he get to
the point. “I know you’ve already been interviewed by another detective but,
with your permission I’d like to go over everything again about Amanda’s
death.” He paused and smiled. “You never know Sarah, you might have remembered
something in the meantime that you didn’t mention to my colleague. Is that OK?”

She nodded, if a little reluctantly.

“OK, remind me, how long had you
known Amanda?”

“Since she moved into the house here.
Last September.”

“So, the beginning of last term; that
would be about six months?”

“Yes, apart from the Christmas
break.”

“And how did the two of you get on?”

“We were friends, I liked her.”

“What kind of girl was she? Did she
party a lot?”

She frowned at the double-edged
question. “No, not really. I’m the same. That’s one of the reason we were
friends.”

“What about boyfriends; did she have
one?”

“Sort of. She was seeing a guy,
Peter; Peter Robbins. He’s not a student, he’s a bit of a computer nerd. They
met in the pub, The Butcher’s Block. But it wasn’t serious.”

“When you say ‘not serious’, do you
mean they were just friends?”

She gave him an old-fashioned look
and said, “They were close, yes, but I don’t think they would have stayed
together long; it was just convenient whilst she was studying, you know.”

“I see,” Brookes said, not really
understanding. “And was he happy with that arrangement?”

“I think so, yes.”

“What about before him; was there
someone else?”

Sarah shook her head. “Not that I
know of.”

“What about back home; Cheltenham
wasn’t it? Did she have someone there?”

“No-one she talked about, no.”

“And did she talk; freely I mean?”

“Oh yes, we were quite close; both
being from the West Country and so far from home. I think I’d have known if
there was someone.”

Brookes was silent for a long moment
looking at the notes he’d made.

The silence went on for some time
before she said, “I know she had something on her mind but I don’t think it was
a boy.”

Brookes was careful not to pounce. In
the same soft voice he asked, “What then, what did you think it might be?”

Sarah shook her head. “I asked her. I
said ‘Is there anything wrong, Amanda?’ She was staring off into space. I don’t
think she heard me. I asked her again. She looked at me then smiled and shook
her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said.”

“And when was this Amanda?”

“A day before she died.”

“Was that just the once you noticed
she wasn’t her usual self?”

“No, there were a couple of other times
she looked distracted. But those times there were other people with us so I
didn’t press her.” She looked at Brookes almost pleadingly. “Perhaps it’s my
fault. Perhaps I should have pressed her.” She began to cry softly.

Brookes looked around for a tissue.
There was a box on the bedside table he got up and passed it to her. “Here,” he
said. “And no, you mustn’t blame yourself. I doubt there’s anything you could
have done.”

Amanda sniffed then blew her nose
into the tissue. “Why did she do it?” She shook her head. “That’s what I don’t
understand.”

“Where might she have got the heroin
from, Amanda? Had she taken it before?”

She made eye contact with him, then
looked away. “I’ve no idea where she got it from. And no, to my knowledge she
never had taken drugs.”

For the first time since the
interview had started Brookes knew she was not being completely forthcoming. He
said, “I’m not talking about smoking the odd reefer, I mean hard drugs. Do any
of the other students in your crowd take the stuff, Sarah?”

“No, none of our crowd; I know they
don’t.” She made eye contact again then added, “A little bit of weed sometimes
at parties. But never the hard drugs.”

“Would you know if any of your
friends were on hard drugs?”

Another hard look. “I’d know about
those living in this house; it’s not something they could easily hide. We do
spend a lot of time together you know, and are in each other’s rooms all the
time.” She paused and smiled. “Not in the way you think; I don’t mean having
sex.”

Brookes smiled with her. “No, I think
I know what you mean.” After a pause he went on, “And you
’
r
e
certain Amanda never took heroin?”

She looked at him. “Yes I’m certain,
she smoked the odd joint but that’s all.”

“What about her boyfriend, Peter, did
he take hard drugs?”

“Not that I know of, no.” She shook
her head and added, “I’m sure he didn’t, Amanda would have said.”

“Now I’ve got to ask you this Sarah
because it could be important. Let me say first that I’m not concerned about a
bit of cannabis. But people who deal in one drug often also deal in the harder
stuff. I need to eliminate that person from our enquiries. Where would those of
you that smoke a bit of weed get it from?”

It was a measure of the confidence
she now had in Brookes that she didn’t hesitate. “The barman at The Butchers
Block in Lauriston Road; Simon I think his name is. But I’ve never known him
sell anything but weed.”

“OK, I’ll have to look into that
Sarah but there’s no way he’ll know it was you that told me. And if it is only
a little bit of weed he deals in, we won’t come down heavily on him. OK?”

She nodded. “OK.”

“Good. Now, if
Amanda did take her own life there had to be a good reason. You say she had no
boyfriend problems; her tutor tells me she was doing fine with her studies.
What else might she have had on her mind, Sarah?”

Sarah shook her head. “I’ve thought
about this and I can’t find anything. Apart from the last few days when she had
something on her mind, she was fine.”

“When you say ‘a few days’, can you
be more precise?”

Sarah frowned. “Maybe three or four
days; no more.”

“Any family problems? Finances?
Anything at all?”

“No, none of those things. Her family
were close and were quite generous; they gave her a good allowance.”

Brookes knew this to be so from
examination of her bank account. He moved on. “Did she ever go off on her own?”

“No, she was very sociable. Except
when she went jogging. She was into keeping fit and used to jog every day if
she could.”

“Was there someone who went with
her?”

Sarah smiled. “No, sadly. She used to
say we were a lazy lot, none of us could be bothered.”

“And where did she go when she
jogged?”

“Around the park or just round the
houses when the park was closed.”

Brookes frowned. “The park closes at
night doesn’t it? So sometimes she went jogging at night?”

“Sometimes, yes, she went whenever
she had the time or the mood took her.”

“Did that include late at night?”

“I think so, yes. She was a bit of a
night-hawk.”

Brookes frowned, realising this could
be important. After a moment he asked, “When she went for a run how long would
she be out?”

“I don’t know really, maybe half an
hour or so.”

“And did she ever talk about where
she’d been on her run?”

Sarah frowned. “Once she talked about
the lake in the park and the swans; oh yes and the canal, sometimes she ran
along the towpath.” She paused then shook her head. “Nothing else I remember
though.”

Brookes frowned, knowing that the
Regents Canal ran nearby. “You say the canal, where exactly, do you know?”

“No.” She pointed vaguely to the west
and added, “You know it runs across the top of the road here. I presumed it was
up that way.”

Brookes paused again as he went
through his notes. Then looking up, he said, “It was you that found her wasn’t
it Sarah?”

She nodded, wiping her nose again
with the tissue.

“That was at what time Sarah?”

“Half-four; that’s when I got home
from uni. I knew she had no classes that afternoon. I went straight to her room
and found her on her bed.”

“And her door wasn’t locked?”

“No. I knocked a couple of times then
tried the handle, it wasn’t locked.”

“Did she usually lock her door?”

“I think she locked it at night and
when she was out but never during the day when she was at home.” Again she
paused then added, “And when she slept out of course; she sometimes spent the
night at Peter’s.”

Brookes looked at his notebook. Then
he said, “He lives in Penshurst Road doesn’t he?”

She nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“Did you see the candle, matches and
the other stuff on the bedside table?”

Sarah nodded. “Yes but I didn’t touch
anything.”

“Had you ever seen that stuff in her
room before?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No. I
know from a film I saw that’s the stuff addicts use when they inject themselves
but I’d never seen it in Amanda’s room.”

Brookes nodded and moved on. “And the
last time you saw her alive?”

“That morning, we got the bus
together. Then she went to the chemistry wing and I went to the biology lab.”

“OK Sarah, I’m very grateful for your
patience.” He paused then added, “You must have wondered this yourself.
Supposing she didn’t kill herself. Is there anyone you know of that might want
her dead?”

She frowned then nodded. “Yes I have
wondered. I know it’s not that unusual for students to get depressed but she
wasn’t that down, she really wasn’t. But who else could have done it? She
didn’t have any enemies, in fact she was very popular. It doesn’t make sense.”