Scrap CH THREE part 12

Scrap CH THREE part 12
There is a buzz of excitement at the Police Station this morning as DS Staples arrives for work wearing his new Burton 3 piece suite with its wide lapels and slightly flared trousers. The half inch platforms on his brown brogues make him feel taller, more confident and he greets the desk sergeant with a cheery smile. ‘Someone waiting for you upstairs,’ says the sergeant without obviously looking up, ‘says he’s a mate of yours from the Met.’ Jim thanks him and takes the stairs two at a time, eager to discover the reason for this unexpected visit.
‘Dick, how are you, what are you doing in this neck of the woods?’ The tall, balding man in the Crombie coat gets up from the chair in Jim’s office and greets him with a handshake. ‘Doing better than you it seems,’ he says, indicating the name plate on the open door, ‘I’m a DI now.’ DS Staples offers his colleague a drink and orders down to the canteen for a tray of coffee and biscuits. ‘I don’t have to stand in line like we used to though,’ he grins. ‘So what brings you to this sleepy backwater?’
Richard Tracey brings out an A4 folder from his briefcase and opens it on the desk. ‘Recognise him?’ He asks, pushing a photograph across the desk, ‘His name is Kenny Kelly and his body was found in your dockyard floating among the rest of the dregs.’ Jim takes a look at the image and says he is glad to know that he now can put a name to it. ‘We’re getting nowhere on this,’ he admits, ‘nobody knows him, nobody saw anything, the usual response you get from people who don’t want to get involved for whatever reason.’
The canteen assistant rattles in with the tray Jim ordered, plonks it down on top of the photo and scowls at the cheek of the cocky young DS. He thanks her and she flounces from the room, slamming the door behind her. She will remind him later that he has no right to expect room service in this nick whatever his rank.
Jim moves the tray to a safer spot on the desk and they sample the weak Nescafe coffee before continuing. ‘Kelly was collecting money for the IRA,’ Tracey begins, ‘he used to go round the pubs in Kilburn and all the other places where Irish congregate. He was a big man, as you will probably have noted, and people felt obliged to donate to ‘The Cause’ when he shoved the hat under their noses. Well it seems that one of the higher ranking ‘Soldiers’ found out he had been skimming off the top and pocketing large sums of money to keep for himself so they decided it was time for him to go.’
For DS Staples this information is beginning to explain a few things. ‘We’ve had our eyes on a man by the name of Danny Casey who runs a scrap metal business on the Island. He came over from the South about a year ago and word has it that he is involved with the IRA. There have been hints that he’s using one of the backwaters to bring in arms and explosives from Libya or some such place but we’ve not been able to prove anything as yet.’ They finish the lukewarm coffee and the Arrowroot biscuits, Jim places the tray on the floor and Tracey spreads the contents of the folder out on the table.
There are several rather badly shot surveillance photographs, which Jim studies at length. ‘Do you recognise any of them?’ Asks the other man as a look of concentration creases his forehead. Jim holds up an image of two men sitting in a pub. The image is rather dark and grainy but the faces are quite clear. ‘I seem to remember one day last summer these two came on to our patch after a tip-off we had from Maidstone. We followed them to Casey’s yard and searched the place from top to bottom looking for the arms and ammo we were told they were carrying but there was no sign of anything so we had to leave it.’ Tracey is pleased that Jim has seen the men before as it gives him an excuse to investigate this Casey fellow. ‘The Tuohy brothers,’ he explains, ‘we’ve been keeping tabs on them for some time but they always seem to get advance notice of our intentions and we haven’t been able to pin anything on them yet. I tell you Jim, this IRA business is getting big and I don’t like where it’s going.’
After further discussion on the matter the two detectives decide to pay a visit to Mr Casey but his mother-in-law tells them that he is away on business. She reluctantly gives them permission to look round the yard, even unlocks the office for them to check that she is telling the truth, but they do not disturb anything. As they are about to leave DI Tracey brings out the photo of the Tuohy brothers; ‘do you know either of these men, Mrs Coward?’ He asks politely. Orla gives nothing away as she takes a long look at the image. ‘Sorry, never seen either of them; why, what have they done?’ Tracey says only that they are wanted in connection with a police investigation but he knows the woman in lying and so does Jim because one of the brothers was living at this very address for several months last winter. They thank Orla for her time and leave her to consider what they have said. She returns to the refuge of her kitchen, locks the door and puts the kettle on for a nice strong cup of tea.
‘Fancy a pint?’ Asks Jim as they drive away from the scrap yard. ‘I could murder one,’ his colleague replies. They settle on a quiet place near the sea front and order two pints of bitter and two toasted cheese sandwiches, which they take to a table out of earshot from the barman. ‘So how is everyone back at the Met?’ ‘There have been drastic changes this past year, with several unexpected retirements,’ Dick begins. ‘Half our old squad were being investigated for taking back handers and took the least risky option of early retirement. That way they avoided further embarrassment to themselves or the Met and still got out of the Job with a decent pension. You would not believe how deep the corruption has gone Jim; it shocked me and I’ve known some dodgy dealing taking place in my time. We can’t afford to turn a blind eye nowadays. The top brass are determined to weed out the bad apples but most of us reckon that if all of them go there won’t be anyone left to man the stations. Reckon you got out in the nick of time, if you’ll pardon the pun.’
Jim finishes his sandwich and leans closer, speaking quietly. ‘I thought I was getting away from all that when I put in for my transfer here but from what I’ve seen and heard things are just as bad as they were in London. If you don’t join in with the way of life you get left behind. Don’t laugh but I’ve had to join the Freemasons.’ Dick can’t help but let out a raucous guffaw at hearing this news. ‘I don’t believe it: you of all people.’ Jim colours up, ‘well I tell you I didn’t have any choice in the matter and coincidentally six weeks later I pass my sergeant’s exams and get promoted. When I had to go through that ridiculous initiation I thought I’d die of embarrassment. It’s costing me a fortune but Louise made it clear she wouldn’t take no for an answer and Roberts pushed me into it. I’m sure he’s on the take: there have been two or three incidents which I have my suspicions about and he’s just taken over and made them go away, if you know what I mean.’
The two men finish their lunch and return to the station, where DI Roberts is waiting to be briefed on the investigation. He is secretly relieved that the men have found no concrete evidence, though he is rather concerned to learn that Kelly’s death is linked to the IRA as even he draws the line somewhere and this is one instance which cannot be smoothed over with a wadge of cash.