Hard Landing (11 page)

Macdonald wondered how she knew about the fight, but guessed that little happened on the wing without the officers finding out.

‘So, what do you think, ma’am?’

She looked at him quizzically, swinging her key chain. ‘Either (a) boarding-school or (b) the army. You’re not intimidated by institutions. Public-school boys and former soldiers always do well in prison.’ She smiled. ‘So, which is it?’

Macdonald grinned. ‘That would be telling.’

‘There’s always C,’ she said.

‘And C would be?’

Lloyd-Davies put the key into the lock and opened the door. ‘
That
would be telling,’ she said.

She let Macdonald through, then followed him and locked the door. She took him along another corridor to a central hallway. For the first time since leaving the remand wing they saw other prisoners escorted by guards.

Lloyd-Davies greeted another female prison officer and stopped to confirm a squash game, then took Macdonald up a flight of stairs. They entered a hallway in which there were four cubicles, each with windows on three sides. She took him to one. The door was unlocked. ‘Wait in here,’ she said.

Macdonald walked into the room. It was about eight feet square with a Formica-topped table and four plastic chairs with metal legs. Macdonald sat down and folded his arms. Lloyd-Davies closed the door.

Another officer appeared at the window to Macdonald’s right. He was in his fifties, almost bald with wisps of grey hair. He looked at Macdonald, then moved away from the window. Macdonald sighed and settled back in his chair. There were no CCTV cameras in the room, and no obvious signs of listening devices. He recalled that conversations between prisoners and their legal advisers were supposed to be sacrosanct.

The door opened again and the grey-haired officer showed in a middle-aged man in a dark blue pinstripe suit carrying a shiny black leather briefcase. He indicated a bell by the door. ‘Ring when you’re finished,’ he said gruffly.

The man thanked him and sat down opposite Macdonald. He swung the briefcase up onto the table and flicked open its two brass combination locks.

The officer closed the door.

Macdonald leaned forward. ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

‘Don’t you mean, “What the fuck’s going on, sir”?’ said the man, adjusting his cuffs. He was wearing gold links in the shape of cricket bats. His hair was greying at the temples and it glistened under the overhead lights. Superintendent Sam Hargrove never spent less than forty pounds on a haircut and, whenever possible, visited an upmarket salon in Mayfair for his monthly trim.

‘Why the fuck am I here?’ said Macdonald.

‘If you calm down, I’ll tell you.’

Macdonald folded his arms again and leaned back. ‘This had better be good.’

‘There was a change of plan, after you went undercover.’

‘And no one thought of telling me?’

‘Spider, I’m as unhappy about this as you are.’

‘Plans aren’t supposed to be changed, not without a full briefing. Have you any idea how dangerous this is for me? There are six hundred men in here, any one of whom might know who I am. I need a legend that’ll stand up to scrutiny. You can’t just expect me to wing it.’

‘We’ve run a check. No one here has crossed paths with you. No one will know you are Dan Shepherd. Your Bob Macdonald cover isn’t in jeopardy. You continue with that.’

‘The legend was set up so I could infiltrate a gang of armed robbers,’ said Shepherd. ‘We knew exactly who I was going to be pitching to. Now I’m on the remand wing and there are new arrivals every day.’

‘We’re watching your back, Spider. You have my word.’

Shepherd took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He had worked in Hargrove’s undercover unit for the best part of five years and in all that time he had never seen the superintendent deliberately put one of his operatives in harm’s way. Except, of course, that every time an undercover policeman went on duty, his life was on the line.

‘I’ve already spoken to Sue and put her in the picture,’ said Hargrove. He held up a hand before Shepherd could speak. ‘She’s fine – but understandably she’s as thrilled about this as you are.’

Shepherd’s face tightened. He would have preferred to explain the situation to his wife himself, but the fact that he was behind bars made that next to impossible.

‘I’ll see what I can do to arrange a visit,’ said the superintendent.

‘I’m staying here, then?’ asked Shepherd.

‘I’m hoping to convince you to,’ said Hargrove, ‘but it’s your call.’

That was par for the course, as Shepherd knew. An undercover cop was never forced to undertake an operation. It was always his choice. It had to be because of the nature of the work.

Hargrove opened his briefcase and took out a manila file. He opened it, extracted a glossy ten-by-eight colour photograph and slid it across the table. ‘Gerald Carpenter,’ he said, ‘presently on remand here at Shelton.’

Shepherd didn’t recognise the man but that was hardly surprising. There were three floors on his spur, plus two more spurs each with three floors. Out of almost a hundred and fifty men in the remand block, Shepherd doubted that he’d come across more than twenty. Then he remembered the incident at the hotplate. Gerry’s sausages.

‘He’s on the threes,’ said Shepherd. ‘Gets special treatment.’

‘Yeah, well, even in here money talks,’ said Hargrove. ‘Carpenter has been charged with bringing just over eight hundred kilos of heroin into the country. He’s facing up to twenty years. The Drugs Squad have been after him for donkeys.’

Shepherd raised his eyebrows. Eight hundred kilos was worth close to eighty million pounds on the street. Even at wholesale prices, Carpenter wouldn’t have got much change from twenty million. The man in the photograph was in his mid-forties, a decade or so older than Shepherd. He had deep frown lines etched into his forehead and pale blue eyes that squinted suspiciously at the camera. He had thin, almost bloodless lips and bullet-grey hair, parted on the left. Shepherd handed it back. He had photographic recall for faces and a brief glance was all he needed to commit it to memory.

‘Carpenter is a millionaire many times over and is very well connected on the outside,’ said Hargrove, as he put the photograph back into the file. ‘He’s pulling all the strings he can to make sure the case doesn’t come to court. The yacht that was used to bring in the drugs went up in flames two weeks ago, although it was under the supposedly watchful eye of HM Customs. A CPS solicitor was mugged at Waterloo last week. Two assailants, both white. They ignored the woman’s Breitling watch and a wallet full of credit cards, just ran off with her briefcase. Which happened to be filled with papers relating to Carpenter’s case.’

Hargrove put the file back into his briefcase. ‘Three days ago an undercover drugs officer, who was pivotal to the case, was murdered. Shot twice in the head by two men on a motorcycle.’

Shepherd pursed his lips. There was no need for the superintendent to spell it out. It had been a professional hit – and killing a cop wasn’t undertaken lightly. Only a man like Carpenter could afford to have it done.

‘Jonathon Elliott. I believe you knew him.’

Shepherd’s eyes widened. It had been a good five years since he’d crossed paths with Elliott, but he’d known him as a probationary officer when he was pounding the beat in south London, a lifetime ago. He was a Spurs fan, a fitness fanatic and a first-rate undercover officer. ‘Yeah, I knew him.’

‘Elliott was one of two undercover operatives preparing to give evidence against Carpenter. The other works for Customs and we’ve got him under wraps.’

‘I’m sure that’s a great comfort to him,’ said Shepherd. ‘Why were the agents giving evidence anyway?’ Usually undercover agents were protected at all costs. They gathered evidence and helped prepare cases but, as a rule, they didn’t appear in court. Once they did, their cover was blown for all time.

‘It was the only way to get Carpenter. Until this case he’s been untouchable. Like you, he has a photographic memory. Nothing is written down – names, addresses, phone numbers, bank details, all in his head. And, like most of the untouchables, he keeps well away from the drugs. Never goes near the money either. His method of bringing the gear into the country was pretty much infallible.’ Hargrove leaned forward. ‘He dealt mainly in cocaine and heroin, bought from a Colombian cartel. They fly their drugs out into the Atlantic and drop them into the sea where they’re picked up by a tanker that spends most of its life in international waters. Buyers sail out to it. Carpenter had a dozen yachts picking up gear and sailing back to the Scottish coast. It was damn near perfect.’

‘Couldn’t have been that perfect or he wouldn’t be in here.’

‘Customs spent almost two million quid,’ said Hargrove, ‘and they’ve got him on conspiracy, but for that to stick they’ll need agents giving evidence.’

‘And the guys are okay with that?’

‘Elliott was. And so is the Cussie. Elliott’s wife had been wanting him to get out of undercover work for some time and he’d said that the Carpenter job was going to be his last. And the Cussie isn’t far off retirement. We’d arranged for them to give evidence via video links with their identities concealed. Best we could do.’

‘Best wasn’t good enough, was it?’ said Shepherd, bitterly. ‘Not for Jonathon.’

‘There’s a bad apple,’ said Hargrove. ‘Has to be. Elliott is one of the squad’s most experienced officers.’ The superintendent grimaced. ‘Was,’ he said. ‘We’re looking for leaks within the Met, Customs and the CPS.’

‘I’m not going to be much good to you in here,’ said Shepherd. ‘You need me on the outside.’

‘Not so,’ said the superintendent. ‘You’re exactly where you’re most needed. Close to Carpenter.’

‘He can’t be doing anything here,’ said Shepherd. ‘This is a Category A prison. Even on the remand wing they’re watched every minute.’

‘Carpenter has never trusted anyone,’ said Hargrove, ‘and he’d never cede control of his organisation – he’s too much of a control freak for that. No, he’s still running things from behind bars. The question is, how? We know he’s not passing anything out on the phone. All conversations are listened to.’

‘What about his legal team?’ said Shepherd.

‘That’s a possibility,’ said the superintendent. ‘We’re also watching his family visits. But there’s a more likely proposition.’

‘A corrupt prison officer?’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ said Hargrove. ‘A man with as much money as Carpenter wouldn’t have any trouble buying help on the inside.’

‘And that’s why I’m in here? To sniff out the inside man?’

‘Assuming you’re up for it, yes.’

Shepherd sighed. ‘What did Sue say?’

Hargrove shifted in his seat. ‘She used a few choice phrases.’

Shepherd could imagine the sort of language his wife would have employed on being told that he was remaining undercover for the foreseeable future. She’d been nagging him to spend more time with their son. ‘I’m going to have to see her,’ said Shepherd. ‘Liam, too. They’ve been through enough over the past few years.’

‘That’s not going to be easy,’ warned Hargrove. ‘Bob Macdonald doesn’t have a wife or child, not with the legend the way it is.’

‘I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s room for flexibility. Have them separated. She’s got the kid. Planning a divorce. It’s not rocket science.’ Although Shepherd was a detective constable and Hargrove a superintendent, they’d worked together long enough not to worry about speaking bluntly. ‘This isn’t going to be an overnighter, is it? There’s no way Carpenter’s going to let me get up close and personal until there’s a degree of trust, and that could take weeks. Months.’

‘It depends on you,’ said Hargrove. ‘I doubt that he’s ever going to tell you how he’s getting his orders to the outside, but you might pick up clues from watching him. That’s all we need. Once we know how he’s doing it we shut down his lines of communication and let the judicial process take its course.’

‘Okay,’ Shepherd said. ‘I’m in.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve just realised that even if I said I didn’t want to do it, I don’t have much choice, do I? You could just leave me here.’

‘You know me better than that,’ said Hargrove. ‘You always get to choose, Spider. It has to be that way. And the moment you think it’s too risky, you bail out. He’s already been responsible for the death of one undercover agent so he’d have no qualms about getting rid of another.’

‘Who would my contact be?’

‘We’ll talk to the governor. He’ll be the only one who knows who you are.’

Shepherd leaned forward over the table. ‘You mean I’m in here alone at the moment? No back-up, no nothing?’

‘We don’t know who the rotten apple is. Any sort of back-up risks blowing your cover. This way, if you turn down the assignment we pull you out and nothing’s lost.’

‘What if the governor doesn’t co-operate?’

‘He won’t have a choice,’ said the superintendent. ‘Besides, it’s in his own best interests to find out who’s helping Carpenter.’

‘And he’ll be the only one who’ll know what I’m doing?’

‘Has to be that way,’ said Hargrove. ‘We’ve no idea who Carpenter’s using. Chances are it’s a prison officer, but it could be anyone in the prison administration. They’re not especially well paid, these days. The fewer people who know the better.’

‘Until it goes pear-shaped,’ said Shepherd. ‘What do I do? Rattle my tin mug against the bars and demand to see the governor?’

‘Haven’t you noticed it’s all plastic in here?’

Shepherd smiled grimly. ‘You know what I mean. Prisoners don’t just get to see the governor. There’s six hundred-odd men in here and they’ve all got grievances. They’d all be in to see the top man, given the chance, but there are procedures in place to stop them. If the shit hits the fan, I won’t have time to start filling out forms in triplicate.’