Smokescreen Chapter 2

I drove. Harry sat with the Honourable Member for Chichester West in the back. Around 70 per cent of the street-lighting was working and would continue to do so until 3 a.m. After that the power to the city went off until 8 in the morning. The government said it was part of its overall ecology strategy. It was an effort to make demand meet the supply. We were lucky in London. In Oxford, Edinburgh and Cardiff the power had been off since 11 p.m.

‘Always smoked, sir?’

‘Since Fettes.’

I laughed: ‘Do they have bike sheds there? That’s where I smoked: at Maryhill Comp.’

‘England and the English, Inspector: nothing without the Scots, are they?’

‘Nothing much with them now, sir, are they?’

He bit his lip, coloured a little:

‘And that’s why-‘ but he stopped. He’d not had to appear on Newsnight for years: I wondered what Paxman and the like were doing now.

Harry let out a snore as we pulled into the station car park. He woke with a jolt, blinked a few times. We all got out of the car. The Home Secretary appeared to be looking round for photographers. I put my arm through his and dragged him up the steps.

Jerry Patel was on the desk. He was reading a novel. The Impressionist or something, it was called. Didn’t know he was interested in art.

‘Jerry! Interview room 3 free?’

‘Yeah, shall I book him in n-.’ He broke off when he looked up from the book and clocked who we had.

‘No, just get on with your reading, hey.’

But he turned the book over and began shaking his head slowly. I sat the politician in the chair, told Harry to stand by the door. I walked over to the 3 drawer metal filing cabinet in the corner. Picked up an old twin deck cassette recorder. Checked it was loaded. Amazingly it was. I started a sneezing fit from the dust disturbed when I moved it. The player sat on the table, for a few moments the for a few moments the tired spindles whirr was the only sound in the room.

‘Memory Lane sir, hey? Before PACE Code X. This is the last tape recorder in the building you know. Still, you know the tape’s not for your protection, don’t you? The prisoner will identify himself for the tape.’

He said nothing. Harry gave him a slap on the back of the head.

‘Ah well, some of Code X applies at least…’ I observed.

The voice was shaky as he gave the name at last: that gave me some satisfaction.

‘Did you buy an illegal substance - that is tobacco - tonight sir?’

‘You know the answer to that.’

‘Don’t hit him so hard, Harry. They’ll hear it on the tape.’

I laughed. Nobody would ever hear it, if I could help it.

‘Just answer yes or no, sir.’

‘Yes, yes I did.’

‘And how many cigarettes was it sir?’

‘2000.’

‘Were they for personal use?’

‘Of course… Of course they were.’

‘That’s quite a lot of cigarettes. I’m on 10 a day. That’s a lot nowadays. That’s nearly 9 months supply for me, isn’t it, Harry?’

Harry laughed: ‘It would be unless you count all the ones you smoke of mine.’

‘You see, sir, I just don’t think they were all for you. That means possession with intent to sell. That’s not a cautionable, sir.’

He was silent.

‘Well were they?’

‘I wasn’t aware you’d asked a question, Inspector.’

‘Were the fags just for you or not?’ I spat.

‘No,’ he said. ‘They were for the PM, all of them. I don’t smoke now myself.’

Harry spat on the floor: ‘Fucking great!’ he said.

The minister looked surprised at his own admission.

‘Late night sitting was it, in the House?’ I asked him.

‘I was in the House of Commons bar, with the PM.’

‘Won’t he be waiting for you?’

‘No, I don’t think he will.’ He smiled, more twitched a mouth corner, really.

‘Interview terminated at 02.30 17 April 2013.’ I clicked the recorder off.

‘You didn’t signal the start of the interview, Inspector.’ Some of the sang-froid had returned.

‘No, I don’t believe I did. Doesn’t take long to forget how it’s done, does it?’

‘What?’

‘Any number of things, police work, justice, civil liberty… you choose.’

He had the grace not to reply. We took him out front. Jerry must have been in the bog. The custody desk wasn’t manned. Naughty.

'You have about 25 minutes before the lights go out, Minister. Best get moving.’

‘Better had.’

He strode out of the station yard as if he owned the city. Perhaps he did.

'I didn’t know the PM smoked, did you?’ Harry wanted to know.

‘I don’t even know if my wife does, and she’s about as likely to turn up in Number Six as the Prime Minister.’

‘Speaking of which, you going home tonight?’

‘No, won’t make it before lights out. I’m going to doss here, one of the cells.’

‘You don’t mind if I take the works vehicle? I’ll blues and twos the last few miles. I’ll get most of the way… before.’

‘Keep the shotgun in the front with you. Be careful out there.’

We sniggered: before satellite went we used to laugh at the repeats of old cop shows, especially the Yank ones. Rumour had it Sat TV would have gone in 2010 if it hadn’t been for the Olympics. In the end it made no difference: the Yanks getting their arse kicked in Iran was the spectator sport of choice in 2012. And London and the UK was flat broke as a consequence. I waved Harry off. Went back to interview room 3, switched the tape to play. Something bothered me about the interview. I listened to it 3 or 4 times. No, it wouldn’t come. I put the tape in my pocket.

Out front Jerry Patel was still ignoring his book, the one he had been so interested in, before.

‘Hey, Jerry. Quiet night, eh?’

‘It was… That was-‘

‘Yes, it was. You’ll never guess. Some army blokes were flogging fags over at Vauxhall Bridge. Chummy came running up and joined the queue for ciggies. We just pulled him in for the fun of it. I wacked him one you know.’

‘I can think of a few of them I’d want to lump.’ He allowed.

‘Yeah well… Listen Jerry, Mum’s the word, right?’