Undercover (24 page)

She fiddled with the controls. ‘We'll go over to film now, your actual moving pictures.' And they moved. Belinda said: ‘We're now looking at the rear of the building and Fern emerging from Emblem Court's private underground car park.' She's in a Land Rover.' The clip was too distant and too brief to get much idea of her looks, except that she wore thin-framed glasses, at least for driving, and had her mousy-to-blonde hair to shoulder length. Belinda said: ‘We think a shopping expedition. We're not really interested in that.'

No, but she wanted to boast of ITAR's thoroughness and concealed camera expertise. Was that it? Not exactly. Another piece of film followed, this time at the front of the block again. A red Lexus drew up not far from the entrance and the driver put a prepaid card into the pavement meter. He was about twenty-seven, slightly built, his dark hair close-cut. He might have been a jockey on his day off. He took a trolleyed suitcase from the car and pushed it ahead of him towards the entrance of the apartment block. Belinda said: ‘At this stage, of course, we didn't know who he was or whether he had arrived to trade with Cochrane/Spence and would go to number sixteen. But we thought it might be significant that he showed very shortly after Fern had gone. Timetabled? Get her out of the flat while a deal was done? Actually, there had been a mobile phone call to say OK to come now, but this was something else we didn't know at the time.'

Now, another still shot, once more the front of the building, but taking in a more extensive area of the road. A white van with a company name and a phone number on the side to camera stood next to another meter: ACME LAWN AND GARDEN SERVICES. Near it were a Twingo and a Focus. Belinda said: ‘We were watching front and back from hired office rooms opposite. Not a totally desirable method because of possible leaks. But continuous surveillance from a vehicle could become noticeable, even if the vehicles were constantly swapped. Hogging a meter will get on someone's radar. We routinely called in for a check on anything that parked within fifty metres of the front entrance and stayed more than half an hour. On this day we got names, addresses and occupations for a curtain-maker and fitter as owner of the Twingo, and a maths coach as owner of the Focus. We took these to be genuine and OK.

‘The Lexus registration gave us Claud Norman Rice of twenty-seven Delbert Avenue, businessman. The van registration did not exist, apparently, nor the phone number. This seemed interesting, though we still had no proven link between the Lexus, the van and sixteen Emblem Court and Rob/Rudy. It occurred to me, of course, that the van might be a disguised police surveillance job. Perhaps we weren't the only people who'd targeted Cochrane/Spence.

‘We asked for a voters' list confirmation on the Rice name and address and got a positive. We had two cars on standby, an Astra and a Citroën. I needed to decide whether to concentrate on the Lexus or the van or both. I picked the van only. Sure, if it turned out to be a police unit, I'd look a thicko – an interfering thicko, possibly messing up an operation by allies, nominal allies. But I think I sensed somehow that it probably wasn't a police vehicle. The registration would have been given a proper, concocted, fake, official record at the Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency in Swansea if so, and a woman officer with an attractive voice would have answered to the phone number as Acme Lawn and Garden Services. These would be routine parts of the deception.

‘Anyway, I settled in my head that if the van moved off very soon after the departure of the Lexus this would, in fact, establish a link and I'd commit both standbys to following it – relay tactics. There appeared to be no need to shadow the Lexus because we knew where it would probably be going and could fix a peep duty there without any of-the-moment urgency. The Astra could take the first stint behind the van, with the Citroën lying further back, well out of mirror reach, ready to change positions with the Astra at some point to be agreed by the drivers on mobiles, hands-free mobiles, need I say?'

More film. The visitor came out from the apartment block with his wheeled luggage, glanced about, then went to the Lexus, lifted the trolley in to the rear, got behind the wheel and drove away. The screen blanked. ‘Now, we're at a minute or so later,' Belinda said, and the film began again, the camera on the white van. A man of about thirty-five to forty came from the back of the vehicle and took the driving seat. He started the engine. Harpur recognized him from the Maud material. ‘Sergeant Tom Mallen,' Belinda said, ‘also sometimes Parry.'

‘Dead whichever, now,' Iles said.

The van left, but not in the direction Rice and the Lexus had taken. A blue Astra followed the van, and not long afterwards a Citroën followed the Astra.

Iles said: ‘So, no, the van was not a police gambit? Tom had been pulled into a power fight in one of the firms, hadn't he? This is how it always is in undercover. The seemingly simple process of putting a man or woman into spy is catastrophically affected, catastrophically shoved sideways, by some totally uncatered for, uncaterable for, factor. He should have been pulled out as soon as this fucking van had been identified for what it was.'

‘But I say again, we didn't know at first what exactly it was, except falsely registered,' Belinda replied. ‘And we didn't know, either, that an undercover officer had been placed in one of the firms. None of us could have recognized Tom Mallen, alias Parry, outside Emblem Court.'

‘Of course you didn't know,' Iles said, ‘of course you didn't recognize him. The two parties, police and Customs, worked separately, kept secrets from each other. And this separateness did for Tom eventually, or quicker than eventually, yes?'

Harpur could see that Iles was beginning to irritate Belinda. She kept her cheerfulness, but her voice, already very level, almost throwaway, became cold and super-rational. ‘I'm not a police officer, but I can visualize certain types of crime where only an undercover operation could crack it,' she said.

‘Visualize away,' Iles said.

‘Is it possible that at your high rank, Mr Iles, you've forgotten some of the basic very formidable, very basic, problems that might confront your detectives?' she said.

‘No,' Iles said. ‘I forget nothing. I don't know how to forget.'

She became more aggressively reasonable. Perhaps earlier in her life she'd had to find a way of dealing with racist bullies and did it by intellect, or tried to. Iles was not, was never, racist. But he could bully well enough. Belinda said: ‘I wonder if Mr Harpur – possibly more used to the everyday demands of policing, the, as it were, realities – I wonder if he sees the undercover debate differently.' She paused, obviously waiting for Harpur to say his twopennyworth.

Maud cut in, though. It was as if she wanted to protect Harpur from a dangerous disagreement with the ACC – dangerous for Harpur and his career and general comfort under Iles. Yes, it was obvious she had developed those feelings for him, so forcefully spoken of earlier by Iles. Harpur couldn't respond, though. Perhaps in a way this was his own method of dealing with pressure, almost bullying, by Iles. Harpur would use it to keep himself sort of chaste, the opposite to what Iles intended. ‘Maud said: ‘Tell us about the road trek on the tail of the van, Belinda. I've heard some of it,' she explained, turning to Harpur and Iles. ‘It's fascinating.'

‘Maybe you're easily fascinated,' the Assistant Chief said.

‘Not by you,' she replied.

Belinda gave a little, amused moue. ‘You two been squabbling? Or is this only banter? I love banter. Remember the butler in
The Remains of the Day
, who says he'll have to learn how to banter, so as to keep up with his new boss?' She sounded patient, commanding, bookish, like an elder sister coping with two ill-behaved younger kids. Perhaps the head of ITAR outranked Maud and even Iles and felt entitled to patronize. Or perhaps this was another learned technique for dealing with stroppy people: treat them as harmless, confine them to the jolly old banter department. She got on now with what mattered. ‘I won't do a full reading of the debriefing logs from the Astra and Citroën drivers, just what seem to be the significant bits – or what we can hindsight view as the significant bits. They spoke into recorders. I have transcripts:

‘Astra: “Van pulls in at large cycle store and driver appears to buy a mountain bike. Puts this into van Rear doors open for minutes and I see him roping bike to possible commode chair fixed to right wall of van. Call V.L.J in Citroën and suggest this good moment for position change. Top-up fuel.”

‘Citroën: “Van pulls in to lay-by. Purpose unknown. I have to drive on. Can't stop in lay-by for fear of suspicion as tail. Drive mile to next lay-by ahead and wait for van to pass. Resume position.”

‘Astra: “Mobile message from V.L.J. saying, ‘Van in lay-by.' Drop speed to give van time to clear lay-by. Seems OK.”

‘Citroën: “Van gets local attention parked outside house at Wilton Road (eleven). Driver takes mountain bike into house. A light goes on upstairs and is then extinguished. Neighbour photographs van. Girl, about twelve, arrives at house then group of boys, young teenage. Pizza delivery. Youngsters' party? Astra takes over surveillance while I bring fuel up to full.”

‘Astra: “Van stays two hours then driver and woman about his age get into cabin and drive to lay-by used previously. Purpose unknown. Have to drive on. Roundabout. Return. Van has left lay-by. Is parked at eleven Wilton venue again. It leaves. Tail for forty miles, when Citroën takes over.”

‘Citroën: “Van stops for fuel. I watch from far pump. He puts in minor amount, as if adjusting. Buys three beakers of drinks from twenty-four-hour shop and takes them into rear of van. Doors open. Distant, but appears to pour them into other containers. Texts. Resumes journey and drives to known country house property of Leo Percival Young, Midhurst. House stands apart, so am exposed if watching. Withdraw therefore. Mission concluded. Possible saloon car left property soon after my withdrawal but it would have put security of operation at risk, so unchecked.”'

AFTER

‘“A
s if adjusting,”' Belinda said, in almost that same deadpan tone, but Harpur thought he could detect some special warmth and even excitement there, sort of leadership-speak. ‘This we now believe was an astonishingly sharp interpretation. Indeed, the culmination of an astonishingly fruitful operation.'

‘Yes?' Iles said. ‘The damehood is on its way.'

‘Naturally, we went back to Wilton Road next day and did some inquiries to determine the significance of number eleven,' she said.

‘“Determine the significance?”' Iles said.

‘Well, yes,' Belinda replied. She spoke this with what sounded to Harpur a kind of saintly, forgiving patience, as if even the dullest prick should expect ITAR to go back and systematically try to develop and add to what they'd discovered the day and night before, more or less by chance.

‘What kind of inquiries?' Iles asked.

‘Basics,' Belinda said.

‘Which?' Iles replied.

‘The obvious,' Belinda said. ‘We had the Mallen name, names, from the voting register, of course, and the net, but nothing beyond.'

‘And how did you and yours get
beyond
?' Iles said. ‘Did you knock at number eleven and say, “Good morning, Mrs Mallen, but who are you and your man
beyond
that mere name? And who were all those kids?”'

‘No, not eleven. Even before we'd discovered he was a cop, we knew something pretty complex must be under way and tact would be needed,' Belinda replied. ‘By tailing the van on the return we'd established a link between the driver and Leo Young at Midhurst. And checks had shown the van and Acme horticultural specialists were phoneys. I went with the unit myself to make sure our people were careful.'

‘So how did you get your information?' Iles said.

‘In the normal way for these kinds of delicate inquiries,' Belinda said.

‘Which normal ways?' Iles replied.

‘Oblique rather than head-to-head,' Belinda said.

‘“Oblique” meaning?' Iles said.

‘Not head-to-head,' Belinda said.

‘“Oblique” meaning you asked around,' Iles replied. ‘Neighbours, the local shop, if there is one. The man who did the photographs.'

These were statements, not questions, but Belinda treated them as though they were. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘How else?'

‘And when you were being oblique, how did you explain why you wanted to know about eleven, why you were stalking a police officer? Whom did you say you were?' Iles asked.

‘Admittedly tricky,' Belinda said.

‘Tricky and perilous,' Iles said.

‘Unavoidable,' Belinda said.

‘Oh God, a reproach,' Iles replied.

‘We were TV researchers for a coming programme on neighbourliness. So, for instance, what do you at number seven know about the people at, say, choosing entirely randomly, eleven?

‘God,' Iles said.

‘It worked,' Belinda replied. ‘TV is a magic term. People thought they might get on the screen.'

‘How do you mean, “It worked”?' Iles said.

‘We got some useful stuff. Very useful,' Belinda said.

‘You think everyone swallowed the TV tale?' Iles said.

‘It doesn't matter, does it, if some didn't?' Belinda said.

‘Yes, it matters,' Iles said.

Belinda said: ‘But it's not as if Sergeant Mallen were operating as undercover in that area, was it? He was working a long way from eleven Wilton Road.'

Iles raised both hands in the air and kept them there for half a minute. He might have been trying to get God's attention, to ask Him how much longer he, Iles, had to put up with this crapaloo from Belinda. Iles didn't seem to get an answer, though. He lowered his hands. ‘Scenario,' he said. ‘Someone who doesn't believe the TV yarn – and the list would run into millions – gets on the phone to the local constabulary and reports that a crew of flagrantly bogus buggers have been around the houses asking questions about a police detective who's a neighbour. He adds that the day before, the detective, Tom Mallen, was home, driving a van the joke of the road, with a company name ACME LAWN AND GARDEN SERVICES on it and a phone number which, in his public spirited way, he has tried but which is unobtainable.