Undercover (29 page)

He said: ‘Both Harpur and I thought that not enough attention had been given to Claud Norman Rice. Her Majesty's Customs and Inland Revenue put him under continuous watch for a while following an observed courier job to Robert Hillcrest Cochrane, age thirty-three, at Emblem Court, but he'd become aware of that, decided on precautions, and therefore offered no further leads. The surveillance was abandoned. Harpur considered this slack, almost perverse.'

Actually, it had been Iles who considered it ‘
fucking
slack and almost
fucking
perverse', but, again, Harpur let that go.

‘Accordingly, we went to see Claud Norman at twenty-seven Delbert Avenue. He lived alone, pending release of his partner from Long Lartin. He was cooperative to a degree. He felt reasonably in the clear.'

Iles had recorded this interview and played the tape now on the lecture room machine. ‘Harpur speaks first – as ever,' Iles said. Harpur did, but was soon pushed aside by Iles's genius and relentlessness.

Iles switched off the machine. ‘Meanwhile,' he said, ‘as a result of the Customs sweep up near Wilton Road, Harpur imagines this bolshie neighbour ringing the local police to complain about mysterious, allegedly-media people looking for Mallen. And possibly – separately – including Fern Cochrane. She'd have been around asking questions. Someone high there who knows Tom is undercover on the other ground sees the dangers in this and gets in touch with his handler fifty odd miles away. That's Howard Lambert. He would be shocked and furious, and regard the breach of discipline by Tom as irreparable. But possibly there were no arrangements for a meeting with him, or a safe phoning time, for a few days. And, during those few days and nights, the building site offered its facilities. A mess-up of mess-ups – not at all rare in undercover.

‘We talked to Lambert, obviously. He wouldn't admit he'd been told about Tom and the van. I have to be careful what I say here. There are libel laws. But let's put it in general terms: if a handler is told his man has been blown, that handler ought to disregard any previous agreements for meetings or calls and get to the undercover officer somehow, anyhow, and tell him to disappear. Delay should be unthinkable.

‘Now, I said that the officer from Tom's home force would, in Harpur's scenario, have got in touch with Lambert. We have to ask how he would get in touch. Phone – landline, mobile? Leaks possible?' Iles gave a small, modest, forgive-me-do wave. ‘All this last bit is admittedly a guess. Norm dubbed it “what-ifery”. Or what I called, when talking to Rice, “intuition” – in this part of the narrative, Harpur-type intuition, but very, very feasible, I'd say. My own dogged imaginings about the discovery by Fern, and Harpur's suggestion of the interchange between the two nicks, are what enabled us to take further Maud's belief that the killer might be a police officer, narrowing down the options. There is still a place in detective work for inspired conjecture, thank God.'

There were questions at the end of Iles's address. Another Assistant Chief, hair receding fast, wizened, rasping said: ‘But, excuse me, you were sent there, weren't you, to find out why local inquiries were taking so long – were possibly going to take for ever. The target was not just the detective inspector sniper but someone, or maybe more than one, above the inspector, who had decided to see there was no progress on the Mallen/Parry case because all kinds of disclosures might ensue. Those “let's imagine” games from you and Harpur – are of no real significance, are they? The inference I drew was this: the Home Office considered the corruption went higher than Jaminel and was considerably more ingrained and ranging than could be dealt with by conviction of one middle-rank officer. I heard, didn't I, that the Metropolitan's psychologist, Andrew Rockmain, was brought in early? He's hardly one to be involved in anything of low priority, such as mid-rank corruption. With respect, Iles, would you say you'd caught the sprat but not the mackerel?'

‘Of course I'd say it, cliché or not, baldy,' Iles replied. ‘It's what the fucking tape tells us, isn't it? Weren't you listening, you shagged-out dolt?'

Harpur said: ‘Yes, we couldn't get Jaminel to disclose who had been looking after him, giving him protection – how far up it went, how widespread, what kind of working arrangement with L.P. Young, and which officers were participating. He was more scared of retaliation than of jail. We kept at it, but the confession was as far as he'd go. We failed,' Harpur said.

Iles said: ‘In fact, our evidence against Jaminel wasn't all that strong – the shooting accuracy and the false alibi he presented. But Col's remarkably focused, forceful, though fair interrogation destroyed him.'

In fact it had been Iles's ability to outsmart and confuse Jaminel that had done most to destroy him. Once more, though, Harpur let it go. ‘We had a little success,' he said. ‘On the biggie, we failed.'

‘No, no, you're not one to fail, Col,' Maud cried out. You're not . . . well . . . not built to fail.

‘Thanks, Maud,' Harpur said. ‘It's good to have you on . . .' He'd been going to say ‘on my side'. He changed it, though, to: ‘On our side.'

Perhaps she detected the scurried revamp. Maud gave a small pursing of the lips, a wince, more or less, and turned away in an abrupt move, making her necklace rattle slightly.

‘Col sees everything very straight,' Iles said. ‘It's a tic of his. This time, he's right.'

¹
See
In The Absence Of Iles

²
See
Halo Parade

³
See
Roses, Roses

⁴
See
Halo Parade

⁵
See
Roses, Roses