Influence (21 page)

The ‘Cliffe's’ Edge

Chapter Thirty

Foster pulled up to the car park in West Ording Forest. The killing of Pearson had been surprisingly easy. There were no blood stained clothes to worry about, no stupidly discarded weapon and unlike the Sykes job he had no painful flashbacks or doubts about whether what he had done was right. In fact he almost felt a sense of pride whenever he recalled how he had performed like a highly trained assassin. However Foster was now growing impatient, he wanted to be back in the force and although the past month had been both exciting and terrifying, time was ticking slowly. He may have felt more in control than he had before but the reality was that he wasn't.

He opened the box for what was to be the final time. Within seconds of peering inside, the cold realisation that he had used all the cocaine hit him. He may have believed that he would be able to resist but on seeing that it was all gone, the temptation and addiction flared back up with a vengeance. You always crave what you cannot have. Foster would never be able admit it to himself but it was a habit that would not be so easily conquered. The frustration boiled up inside him, he needed a hit fast and without thinking and being driven by addiction he dropped the box back into the hole and rushed off without remembering to rebury it.

An hour later, he banged on the heavy doors of the Cliffe pub where there was a lock-in being held. When the landlord opened the door to see who was knocking, Foster pushed past him and stormed into the pub to ask whether anyone had some cocaine he could buy. The locals were shocked to see him after his long absence, looking so clean. No one answered which prompted Foster to ask again with a little less politeness. Taking umbrage to the way Foster had spoken to them, a well-built local hard man stood up and approached him with his arms open before asking Foster to meet him outside. No one else got up from their seats or took notice. It was obvious that it wasn't the first time this type of thing had happened in the pub.

The two men arrived outside, and before the largely built man with tattoos running up his neck could say anything, Foster punched him with a powerful right cross. As the man fell against the wall, Foster charged towards him and kneed him in the testicles, causing the man to double over in pain. Foster grabbed him by the sides of his head and thrust it backwards so that it smashed into the pubs window and bent him the wrong way over the window ledge. Within a second of the glass shattering the man fell to the ground and Foster followed up with two kicks to his stomach. He lay there groaning as Foster reached into his pockets and stole his wallet, and to Foster's delight, a gram of cocaine.

As the locals came piling out of the pub after hearing the window smash, Foster was already on his toes and running away towards the railway crossing. They would never catch him. After taking the long way back home to avoid being seen by any of them, Foster walked straight into his kitchen and emptied the contents of the bag he had stolen into a dirty glass and poured half a pint of vodka over it. He downed the cocktail and immediately refilled the glass with more of the spirit. The short lived abstinence had actually made him crave the powder and alcohol even more.

Foster collapsed into a chair in his front room and downed the second glass full which had been a bad idea because of his empty stomach. As the drugs and alcohol began to take hold, helped by the lack of food inside him, Foster recalled that he had forgotten something important, something serious. However as his thoughts jumbled up, he gave up trying to work out what he had forgotten and succumbed to warm feeling washing over him. Time ticked by and just as he was about to fall asleep in a stoop, the image of the red operational box shot through his head. It didn't even register with him as fell asleep oblivious to the fact that he had not looked at the operational pack and worse, not even buried it again.

At six o'clock that evening, Foster awoke to the loud sound of his door being repeatedly banged. He fell out of his bed, struggling to recall how he had ended up in it. The knocking at the door grew louder and louder. Whoever was knocking, it was clear that they desperately wanted to talk to him. Foster quietly moved up to the front room's window and gently peered through a small opening in the curtain. Outside his front door, Foster could see the black uniforms and stab vests of a male and female police officer. Foster dropped down to a seated position in a panic and listened as the officers began shouting out his name and saying that they knew he was in there. But he knew better, it was the oldest trick in the copper's book. They couldn't break down the door unless they knew for sure he was in there and if they were not, there was no way he was going to tell them. After another few minutes the knocking stopped and he peered out of the curtains once more; the officers had gone. Foster let out a huge exhale of relief and began to breathe heavily as his panic stricken mind tried to work out why they had been there, but he could not.

Foster walked into the kitchen as the hunger pangs from not eating for over twenty four hours began to feel incredibly uncomfortable. He searched his nigh on bare cupboards for something to eat without success until he discovered the out of date Pot Noodle he had chosen not to eat a week earlier. Foster ripped off the lid and pondered eating it raw such was the hunger he was suffering with. He controlled himself, picked up the kettle, filled it with water and switched it on. It seemed like the kettle took an eternity to boil due to its lime-scale covered heating element. So with only semi-hot water available, he poured it into the pot and mixed the noodles up into a warm mush before devouring it. Feeling unsatisfied and still hungry Foster checked the china pot where he had stored the operational funds; it was empty. He stood there for a minute trying to search his memory for how he had spent the money but with no luck. He soon gave up and went on a rampage around the house looking for any loose five or ten pound notes. After searching the house high and low, he was still without money. Foster considered going to his bank to withdraw some of his monthly pension money, until he looked at the clock and saw that it was the evening. Just as he was beginning to accept that he would go without food once again, he reached into his pockets and found a wallet which confused him as he had lost his own some time ago. He removed the wallet and did not recognise it. He opened it up. And there inside, was about a hundred and fifty pounds worth of notes inside with five pound coins. Foster was ecstatic although somewhat baffled as to why he had the wallet so he began searching through the cards. He yanked each one out until he found a driver's licence. As his eyes surveyed the photographic licence he saw a man's face which induced a flashback of the owner of the licence walking towards him in the Cliffe pub, but nothing else.

The pleasant surprise of finding the wallet and the money was slightly dampened by Foster's inability to remember most of what had happened over the past twenty four hours. However with the hunger pangs getting worse and the cravings for cocaine developing, Foster grabbed his coat and left his flat, wearing the same clothes as he had done for the past thirty four hours.

An hour later with a bag of fish and chips and two grams of cocaine, he returned to his flat to settle down for the rest of the evening. Foster fought through the urge to snort both grams as he knew that it was better to spread them out due to his lack of funds. He snorted one of the grams and swiftly ate half of the large portion of cod and chips, before sitting down to watch TV. As the high from the drugs began to wear off and the low of the vodka he had drank replaced it, Foster took himself off to bed.

The following morning at nine am, Foster awoke up from a deep sleep and walked into his front room and sat down. He saw the half eaten portion of chips and ate them to distract himself from the temptation of wanting to use the second gram there and then. To help prevent him from using the last remaining gram even more, he licked the inside of the bag of the cocaine he had already taken and went into the kitchen to make a coffee with some slightly soured milk. As Foster searched around for a clean cup to use, he opened a cupboard and staring back at him was a bright red mug. He paused and stared at it for a moment, wondering why it had caught his attention, before suddenly realising that he had forgotten to read the operational brief and left the box exposed in his drug seeking crazed desperation. He slammed the cupboard door and rushed out to his car and pulled out of the car park as fast as he could.

Foster arrived at West Ording Forest an hour later in broad sunny daylight, something Drayson had ordered him never to do. He parked his car next to two unattended vehicles and ran into the forest towards the tree that was a lot easier to find in the daylight. Foster thanked God when he saw that it was still there. He quickly opened the box with the key and removed the operational info pack. As he scrolled though the remaining pages, constantly checking for company around him, he learnt that his final targets would be Cooper and Bradford at the same time, a thought that concerned Foster because of the added risk involved. The time of the assignment was between ten and eleven pm, and location was a warehouse on Basin Road South, the same one where Drayson had always met with his associates on the second and last Wednesday of the month. The page ended with Foster being ordered to return to the car park of the forest the following Sunday for an operational 'debrief'. With the information memorised he hurriedly stashed the remaining ten 9mm rounds into his pocket and checked the box was empty before wiping it down and burying it back in the ground.

He finished hiding the box and picked up the last remaining parts of the operational pack to burn them. He lit the pages with his lighter and threw them onto the dry mud to burn through; the last shred of evidence relating to his assignment. He stood there watching the last pages burn with pleasure, knowing that he would soon be back where he belonged, in the police. No matter how many times he had doubted whether he should have gone through with it or whether he could trust Drayson, he had always held onto the thought of getting his life back and how he was wrong to doubt him.

“I wouldn't burn that there son, lots of dry bracken, ha, ha, ha, you'll burn the whole bloody forest down!” An old sounding voice came from behind Foster which startled him and made him spin around. Although Foster regularly heard voices, this wasn't one he recognised.

“Oh, I apologise if I scared you son,” said an old man in his seventies who appeared, wearing a farmer’s style hat and socks with a walking cane and followed by his Cocker Spaniel dog.

“It's OK” Foster replied looking down at the pack to see if its contents had burned away yet.

“All joking aside though, you really shouldn't burn stuff in a dry forest like this, it could actually start a huge fire. I know it's unlikely, but it happens!” The old man said as he looked down at the burning papers.

Foster began to panic with paranoia as the barely legible remaining paragraphs were slow to burn away. The old man looked at Foster noticing that he was ill at ease and looked as though he hadn't had a wash for a while.

“You alright sonny?” He asked to which Foster just nodded back.

“Well OK then. Don't worry I didn't see what you were burning. Anyway none of my business, it might be a letter from your mistress ha, ha, ha!” The old man said in a friendly and jovial way before he called his dog and gave a wink to Foster. The man left and walked off towards the car park.

Foster sharply inhaled with relief, knowing that if he hadn't have got to the box in time, the old man and his dog may have found it. He smacked his forehead in frustration, cursing himself for making yet another mistake in what had so far been a long list of them. However, the old man hadn't found the box so it was finally time to finish this job once and for all. The following evening at ten pm, he would attend the warehouse and take out Bradford and Cooper, and anyone else that got in his way.

The flames engulfed the remaining pages of the document, destroying the evidence forever. As the pages turned ashes, Foster kicked them around the dry dirt and twigs before walking back to his car and leaving.

Back in Business

Chapter Thirty One

At ten thirty am on the Monday morning, an unmarked police silver Ford Focus pulled up outside a deserted warehouse and out climbed PC Crane and Taggart in plain clothes. They approached a security guard who was parked up outside the building in his employer's livery covered van. This building was the tenth they had visited on Basin Road South that morning and they were fast running out of places to go.

The uniformed guard wound down his window and asked in a suspicious tone how he could help them. Taggart, without identifying himself as a police officer enquired who owned the building to which the security officer asked who wanted to know. Taggart laughed and stated that is wasn't for anything dodgy, it's just that he and his business partner had been looking for a warehouse to run their business from and wanted to find out whether the building was up for rent. The guard asked what type of business they had and why they wanted to use such a run-down building. Crane interjected and replied that they had a storage box company and needed more space to expand their business and that the warehouse was a cheap option allowing higher profit margins. The guard laughed and remarked how their customers would not be happy if they found out that some of their stuff was being stored in a damp warehouse. Taggart smiled and replied “That's business”.

The guard leant out of his window towards the pair of them and told them that the owners rarely used it anyway, although he also exclaimed that they did not hear about it from him.

“There's four owners but the one who does business with our firm is called Ryan Bradford. I've heard he's a bit of a property tycoon. I'm sure if you can track him down he'd be up for making a bit of money from renting it out.” The guard said.

“You said the owners rarely use it, how rarely? I mean I don't want to waste my time contacting them if they still use it on a weekly basis!” Crane enquired, crouching down next to the window, trying to control his urge to smile with satisfaction.

“Rarely!! I've only seen them on a couple of Wednesday evenings a month.

And when they do turn up they tend to tell me or any of the other lads from the firm to piss off until the morning. They're arseholes, but then rich blokes like that usually are!” he replied.

Crane stood back up and gave a beaming smile at Taggart who thanked the security guard for his help and assured him they would not give away his identity as their business source. Crane winked at the guard and then he and Taggart returned to their car feeling chuffed. As they got inside Taggart told Crane to wait until they had pulled away to say anything.

“YES!!” Crane shouted out when they moved out of sight of the guard.

As they drove out of the harbour complex and past the City Lagoon, the two men were both elated inside the car. They had managed to do what Surveillance had been unable to do; place where Cooper had gone that night and learn that it was on a Wednesday evening. It was highly risky work, especially since they gone around most of the buildings asking questions, but with their clever cover story, the risk had paid off. The information that they had acquired meant that they could finally set up an observation post to watch Cooper and the Gangs activities within the Harbour and warehouse. However there was one potential downside, and that was that Crane and Taggart knew only too well that Anaura and Richards were going to hit the roof when they found out what they had done. Op Spear may have been starting to fall apart but with this new intelligence that could change in a very short space of time.

“So who's going to tell the boss and Richards what we've done?” Taggart asked Crane.

“I suppose it will have to be me, it was my idea after all!” Crane said.

“You know he's going to go mental about this, don't you?” Taggart said.

“Yeah, but after he shouts and screams for a bit, he'll realise how important what we've done is. At the end of the day, we needed to find another way in, and we might have just done that!” Crane remarked with a smile.

“I guess we'll find out in half an hour won't we?”

The two men turned right onto Old Sea Road and headed back towards Shoreton Police Station where they would tell Anaura what they had done knowing full well that it would either go brilliantly or he would throw them both off the operation.

Back at the office Anaura was discussing with Richards how he was considering swallowing his pride and requesting Surveillance's support again without discussing the huge elephant that was in the room. They had returned from a weekend off and yet despite being in the office for a number of hours, they were yet to discuss how they would go about sorting out the corrupt officer business. The two detectives finished discussing the Op Spear tactical options and went back to typing and reading through the investigations file.

Ten minutes later, Richards stopped typing and looked at Anaura and said “We need to talk about this, it's been four days!” referring to the murder and their theory on the dirty copper. Anaura huffed, he knew that he could not bury his head in the sand any longer, Drayson would no doubt be visiting the office any day and would go ballistic if he found out that they had kept the information from him. As much as Anaura didn't like him or trust him, he was overseeing the investigation now and could have him removed at a click of his fingers if he did not play ball.

Anaura nodded at Richards and stood up to call Drayson who answered with his usual self-important tone. Anaura told him that he would like to start discussing the details of Op Spear, Drayson replied by telling him that he was only five minutes away from the Shoreton Station before hanging up. Anaura told Richards what was happening and Richards shook his head and said how they should have known that the second they got back from leave, he would be there questioning them about the operation.

Drayson walked into the office and without saying a word to Usher, Valera or the two Intel officers, he made his way directly into the supervisor's office.

“Well, where are we at then?” Drayson enquired in a demanding way.

Anaura had not seen him arrive and swiftly turned his head to face Drayson. For a second he felt like making a sarcastic comment about his manners but thought better of it.

“Well, we're just going through the intelligence logs and past investigations to see what else could turn up, and following some leads that Poultan provided.” Anaura said.

“So in other words you're nowhere! I think it was a bad decision calling off Surveillance, Anaura, a very bad decision! Let me take a look at those files!”

He pulled up a seat next to Anaura and began looking through the open file on his desk whilst belligerently stating how he could not work out how Anaura had landed the job when there were much better qualified SOCU detectives available. Richards glared at Drayson while his head was buried in the file.

Drayson paused from reading the file and abruptly asked Richards to make some coffees for them. Richards forced a smile and walked around to collect Anaura's cup. As Drayson leant across Anaura in a purposefully rude way to grab his mug for Richards, his eyes locked on the Scotland Yard business card that was pinned to the board next to the desk. Just as Anaura was about to look at what was catching his attention, Drayson spilt the dregs of the coffee left in the mug onto Anaura's shirt prompting him to pull away from the desk in an attempt to avoid the rest of the spillage. 

“Sorry mate. Well, as you have to change your shirt, you may as well put a tie on too.” Drayson remarked snidely.

Anaura felt like giving him a left hook but stood up and removed a spare shirt from his locker before going off to the toilets to change, leaving Drayson in the office. As he left the toilets wearing his new shirt, Anaura was met in the corridor by Richards who couldn't help but mention his newly adorned tie.

“Ian, do you still think we should be telling this prick about what Poultan said?” Anaura asked.

“I know the guy is a complete nob Peter, but if we don't we'll be bang in trouble. I mean the guy is going to be Assistant Chief soon, we don't want him as an enemy, he could shut the Vice unit down in a heartbeat!”

“You're right, but I just don't trust him, never have, never will!” Anaura remarked as the two men walked back to the office.

Before they walked back in, Drayson swiftly attempted to remove the business card that he had seen on the board but was unable to in time. As he sat down, he felt a desperate need to find out why Anaura was involved with Scotland Yard and whether it had anything to do with the Gang.  

Richards passed Drayson his drink, feeling regret that he hadn't spat in it when he'd had the chance. Anaura closed the door behind him and the three men began to discuss exactly where they were with everything. A short time later Crane and Taggart walked into the office full with enthusiasm and sat down with Usher, Valera and the others. Crane told them what he and Taggart had achieved, prompting Valera to almost choke on her tuna sandwich.

“Are you mad Mark? What the hell were you thinking? If you had been found out or if the security guard knew the Gang personally you would have blown this entire investigation!!!” Valera declared.

“We know that Jennifer. However, Pearson has been murdered, the operation is going wrong and Drayson is going to take over and get rid of the boss, something had to be done! And besides we got away with it didn't we?” Taggart said defending their actions.

“I agree with what they're saying. I'm not working for that nob head Drayson, no way! And they're right, the investigation is taking a turn for the worst, desperate times call for desperate measures yeah?!” Usher remarked.

The six officers sat huddled around quietly discussing it, with Valera slowly coming around to their way of thinking but still citing that it had been stupid and risky whether it was a good idea or not. She also reminded them that they would still get them chewed out when Anaura found out. Crane shrugged his shoulders and said in a booming comical voice that fortune favoured the bold.  

Inside the supervisor's office, Anaura finished updating Drayson on the state of the investigation and he didn't seem impressed. After making a few unnecessarily unfair comments, Drayson went to leave the office before Anaura asked whether he could have a quiet word with him somewhere private. Drayson checked his watch and pulled an uninterested expression before agreeing to talk to Anaura who led him down to the kitchen area. When they arrived, Anaura took a deep breath, questioning in his head whether he should be talking to Drayson, and then told him that he and Richards had been informed of a corrupt officer working for the Gang and he believed Pearson's murder could somehow be linked to this. Drayson felt a freezing shiver run up his spine with the realisation that he might have been discovered. The panic intensified further when he started to recall the Scotland Yard business card Anaura had, Scotland Yard being the home to specialist teams that looked into high level police corruption.

“Who told you? Did you get a name of the officer?” Drayson asked frantically.

“Jamie Poultan sir. No he didn't have a name, just that it was a City officer.” Anaura answered.

Feeling a small measure of relief that Anauara didn't have a name, Drayson asked “Ok, what other evidence do you have to suggest what Poultan is saying is true?”

“Nothing at the moment sir..............”

“Well then it's a load of bollocks isn't it? It's absolute bullshit! You're telling me that because a little scum bag tells you there's a bent copper, you're going to believe him without evidence, and start trying to link the burglary to a dirty police officer. Don't you think that the SOCU would have heard of something like that when we were after the Gang?!” Drayson snapped.

“Sir, the crime scene at Pearson's house didn't look like any burglary I've seen! It looked like a hit! Are you going to ignore the possibility that something could be going on?” Anaura enquired in exasperation.

“Yes I am, and so are you! In fact I've just about had enough of you and your stupid ideas! The fact that you're believing this crap tells me that you're not suitable to be running this investigation any longer. I am going to speak to Steiner this afternoon, expect to find yourself back on Vice by the end of the week!” Drayson yelled as he stormed out of the office leaving Anaura shocked at how his theory had been received.

After hearing the rear door slam, Richards appeared from around the corner of the corridor. Anaura looked at him and asked if he had heard what Drayson had to say. Richards nodded and explained how Drayson had always been the type of guy to ignore anyone else's ideas and that he probably could not be bothered in making the case any more complicated than it already was. Anaura shook his head and asked why he would shun a valid line of enquiry, especially one that involved a police officer. Richards replied that Drayson would never go after an idea like that unless there was something in it for him, and the fact that there was no hard evidence to go on, he wouldn't touch it with a barge pole. Anaura tended to agree but still reiterated that it was ignorant.

Richards patted him on the shoulder and assured him that Drayson would probably not take him off the case but then joked how they were probably better off going back to Vice anyway. The operation was barely two months old and it had already had them sleeping in the office, and subjected them to huge levels of stress they had never experienced before. Anaura smiled and replied that he had a point; no operation was worth this kind of grief.