Blazing Obsession (13 page)

RP replied, “No one said this is going to be easy. As I've said before, if you want to pull out of the arrangement at any time that would be perfectly understandable. Right, James?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” I couldn't keep my eyes off Alisha, trying to assimilate the change in her appearance.

Looking at both of us in turn, she said, “No, my mind's made up. Let's get on with it.”

“OK. Well, I think the first thing to deal with is this.” RP handed her a new lightweight digital mobile phone – a far cry from the ‘bricks' we were used to.

These latest mobiles had taken the country by storm – I'd read that over half the population now had one.

“Only use this to keep in regular contact with me and I can update James. It would be too dangerous if Johnson found out you had James on your contact list. You can give the number to Johnson, too. That way, you'll know the only calls you get will be from him or me. OK?”

We both nodded. He continued, “It would be great to have access to his flat. You'd be able to plant a listening device in his home and possibly an intercept on his mobile.” I tried to gauge Alisha's reaction. She looked excited and nodded in agreement.

“Oh, and I placed a tracer on it. We'll know where you are at any time. Make sure you always have it with you.”

RP warmed to the task.

“Once in the flat, you'll be able to access his emails and maybe ‘borrow' the SIM card in Johnson's mobile. A list of his contacts would prove useful.”

“Wouldn't the police have done that?” I asked.

“Almost certainly. But there's no harm in me and my team checking out who he's been in touch with since his acquittal is there? Do you have any questions?”

“Actually, I have two,” Alisha said. “What about Johnson's drug dealing activities? I assume he's still at it. I don't want to be caught up in that. If I get arrested, it's the end.”

“Good point,” RP sounded impressed. “Actually, you could pretend to be a user. Be a great way to get to know him. Just make sure you don't have stacks of the stuff hidden away at your apartment. And your second question?”

“What about this bugging? Is it legal?”

“I've got a top-notch solicitor on my team who tells me it depends; the more critical the issue to proving the case against the defendant, the less likely it is that the court will deem it inadmissible. However, it's not black and white. I wouldn't want to rely on it a hundred percent. But we've been here before, haven't we? The legal system's botched this case once already.”

“You're right,” Alisha said. “I needed to know where I stood. I suppose there is one other problem.”

“Oh, what's that?” said RP, frowning. “I thought I'd covered everything.”

“Suppose Johnson doesn't fancy me?”

“Not a chance,” I said looking her up and down. RP shook his head furiously in agreement.

*

Within the week, Alisha visited the pubs and clubs listed in the dossier RP had produced. Sometimes she took her friend from work with her. She told her she needed to research locations for the criminal elements of a novel she wanted to write.

She told me that, although nervous at first, she enjoyed acting out this fantasy life. I suspected this would change when faced with Johnson's actual presence. I offered to be around in the background. I wanted to be on hand if anything nasty took place.

“Rather defeats the object doesn't it? Suppose Johnson recognises you? That would make it bad for both of us.” I reluctantly agreed.

She told me she received and rejected advances from several men in the pubs they visited. I thought that once she opened her mouth to speak, many would think her too classy for them, out of their league. But then a number would like the idea of pulling a black, middle-class, sexy, well-spoken, attractive thirty-five-year-old.

I expressed my fear on more than one occasion that this might be too dangerous, but she responded in typical fashion.

“Don't worry. I can take care of myself. My contempt for men knows no bounds. I've a good idea how a man's mind works. If it got a bit heavy, I've learnt that a knee in the bollocks can render a man completely useless.”

I winced at the thought and said, “You should carry Mace, or whatever it's called, in your handbag. I'd be a lot happier if you did.” She agreed, I think, just to please me.

*

Meeting Johnson for the first time proved a revelation. It happened in a pub, one of those noted in the dossier, appropriately called,
The Rat's Castle
in Kennington Park Road, near the tube station and frequented by the local lowlife, villains and gangs.

Alisha told us they used the pub as somewhere to network and do business in drugs, contraband cigarettes and counterfeit designer goods.

Surprisingly, the pub had a room they used as a singles club every Tuesday night. Given the name of the pub, I didn't think it would be successful. But Alisha said several men and women attended regularly. She felt comfortable there and went alone. The arrangements were casual; no membership forms or special introductions and you could drop in at any time. She met Johnson there. He unromantically told her later that he often picked up girls at the club.

“Well, how did it go?” I couldn't wait to hear about her first encounter. I'd gone to her flat in Canary Wharf and we were sharing a Chinese takeaway.

She shook her head in contempt and said, “God, this is going to be difficult. He has no conversation except when he's talking about himself. And he's the biggest bullshitter I've ever met. And believe me, I've met a few.” She flicked her head up in derision.

“But do you think he fancied you?”

“I think so. He asked for my number. I gave him the one for the mobile RP gave me. We'll have to wait and see, won't we?”

She didn't have to wait long. The next day Johnson had texted and arranged to meet her for a drink in one of the other pubs on RP's list of his regular haunts the following night.

Now the honey trap had been sprung, I felt nervous. I had every faith in Alisha but she'd entered a different league.

She and Johnson started dating regularly. Access to his flat became the next focus. He lived in Bermondsey, close to Jamaica Road. She told me he'd asked her back a few times, presumably for sex, but Alisha had played hard to get.

RP had told her, “You only need to go as far as you're comfortable with. In fact, the greater the tease, the more likely you are to get the info.”

I asked her, “What do you feel about this, Alisha, the sex thing with Johnson?”

She shuddered. “I like sex… with the right man, of course. I really don't think I can do it with him. But if that's the
only
way we can get the information we want… I've only got to think of those white coffins at the funeral.” She closed her eyes at the memory.

She continued, “He just can't be allowed to get away with what he's done.”

“But you're the one taking the risks. I feel so useless.”

“Yes, but you'll have enough on your plate once we know the score.”

I reiterated, for the umpteenth time, that if she didn't want to go through with the plan she could walk away and we'd think of another way forward.

I asked whether Johnson had offered her any drugs. She said he had – ecstasy tablets and amphetamines. She told him she occasionally used them at weekends and parties. Eventually, she'd have to negotiate that situation too.

She'd followed our plan by not appearing to be too inquisitive for the first few weeks, needing to gain his confidence.

She said he loved showing her off to his cronies, acting and bragging cockily. One of Johnson's gang had told her they'd never known him have a relationship lasting more than a one-night-stand before and most of those were with, in their words, ‘dogs'.

She got the impression his mates regarded her as his ‘posh totty' adding considerably to his status among the rest of the south London gangs.

She said he wore a permanent, supercilious smile. And his jaunty gait drove Alisha mad.

Although pleased we were now getting somewhere with our plan, it was far too slow a process for my liking. It would be another few weeks or possibly months before we could get a fix on the Johnson/Burrows relationship.

My frustration festered like a virulent disease and wasn't helped by the thought of Alisha getting up close and personal with that jerk. I couldn't wait until we had firm evidence, one way or the other, and then she could back off and leave RP and me to deal with the murderers of my family.

*

I found it difficult to move onto the ‘acceptance phase' of my grief.

I did silly things like leaving the radio on when I left for the office each day. When I returned, often with a take-away, I needed to hear sounds in the house. I always had it tuned to either the classical music channel or Radio 4 – I couldn't bear to hear the lyrics of romantic songs.

I swear I heard Lynne call out my name at least once a day. Or, I'd catch a glimpse of her disappearing upstairs or into the kitchen. Occasionally, I could smell her evocative perfume.

With Alisha's help, I faced up, finally, to clearing out Lynne's wardrobe. It had been just over a year since the murder of my family.

Alisha and I tearfully bagged up her clothes, shoes and dressing table contents. A week later we dealt with the toys and other paraphernalia the kids had collected. I stripped Georgie's room of his posters and got a man in to redecorate. But I kept the replica Dennis Berkamp Number 10 Arsenal football shirt I'd given him when we first got together. I felt his change of allegiance from Queen's Park Rangers to my team, Arsenal, marked a significant turning point in our relationship.

Despite clearing the decks, the rawness remained, especially regarding my lovely Emily.

I remembered having her room decorated with pink wallpaper, pink paintwork and pink hanging mobiles over three years ago, before Lynne brought her home from hospital. I left it as a memorial to a remarkable little girl who deserved better than to be callously murdered by that monster, Johnson.

*

Three weeks into the honey trap, Alisha told me Johnson got increasingly frustrated at not having sex with her. It signalled a step up in the relationship.

She visited his flat a few times. I imagined it to be dirty and squalid, but Alisha told me the opposite. She said Johnson suffered from borderline OCD. It manifested itself into an obsession with cleanliness, both personally and in his flat. He washed his hands frequently and everything had to be immaculately clean and in place.

“I can't go on refusing him. I'm running out of excuses.”

The thought of her having sex with Johnson abhorred me too.

I told her, “If you feel that you're getting in over your head, then you're out. You need to get the info soon.”

She told him her job as a sales rep meant her travelling all over the country. This gave her the excuse of having to work odd hours from time to time and gave her some respite.

His chaotic lifestyle helped. He made enough money dealing in drugs and doing an occasional ‘job' to get by. Some weeks he appeared to be flusher with cash than others.

I needed to know whether he knew Nick and asked Alisha several times whether she'd asked him yet.

“That's a big issue. I need a reason. It can't come out of the blue. If he does know him he'll want to know why I ask.”

“I'll think of something,” I said.

Silent and thoughtful for a moment, finally, she said, “Well… Johnson drinks a lot… and I mean a lot. He takes amphetamines too. That's the best time to talk to him. He's bragged about a few of the deals that he's done when he's like that and he often passes out. I'll have to choose my timing carefully.”

*

We mentioned the sex thing to RP at one of our meetings. He understood our concern.

“There is a way we can speed up results from the honey trap, Alisha.” He pulled open a drawer to his desk and produced a small torch.

“Here,” he said. “Keep this in your handbag. It's not unusual for women to carry torches. No one will suspect it has a tape recorder inside. When you push the light switch, the tape starts. Be good to record your conversations.”

“Bit James Bond, isn't it?” she said, picking it up.

RP smiled and replied, “It's got a powerful microphone. You can leave it switched on inside your handbag. Remember to always keep it charged.”

Alisha pressed the switch. Silently the tape started and ten seconds later, she pulled the switch back and we heard RP's voice.

He said, “I picked up a few of these prototypes in the USA. Clever, eh?”

He reiterated that he also wanted Alisha to ‘borrow' Johnson's mobile for a few hours.

She'd already discovered that he had one but didn't use email. He loved texting where spelling and grammar weren't required.

Alisha, at first, thought it too dangerous, but when RP pointed out that these actions may cut short her relationship with Johnson, she agreed.

“In that case, I'll take the risk,” she said.

*

Within the week, she'd succeeded in ‘borrowing' Johnson's mobile. She delivered it to RP the next day. His techies copied the contacts file from the SIM card using a SIM card reader.

She dropped the mobile back in Johnson's jacket when she saw him the next day. He never missed it.

“Easy-peasy,” she told me. “He went out like a light after a heavy drinking session. I hope RP can get something from it. I don't think I can carry on with this much longer. He's still a child in here.” She pointed a manicured, vividly varnished finger to her head and tapped several times.

From the SIM card, RP followed-up Johnson's list of current contacts, about thirty in total. It took his team a week of intensive investigation into their backgrounds, but none of them pointed us in the direction of Nick… except one… someone by the name of Colin Greenland.

RP's thorough research turned up the fact that Greenland had been in Belmarsh prison at the same time as Nick and had been released in December 1997 after serving a four-year sentence for drug dealing. RP called me with the news.

“You're telling me this guy was out of prison at the time of the arson attack and he knew Johnson?”

“It would appear so, yes.”

“He's surely the link we've been looking for, isn't he? Nick could have asked him to find someone like Johnson to carry out the arson attack on the cottage, correct?”

“Yes… he could.” RP implied a note of caution. “But it's not definite. Greenland's a drug dealer, so is Johnson. That may be the only connection, and the fact that Greenland just happened to be in Belmarsh at the same time as Nick could be pure coincidence.”

“Where does that leave us?” I said.

“I'll try to get more information from my contacts. You might want to tell Alisha about this. Perhaps she can find out more from Johnson.”

*

I mentioned Greenland's name to Alisha. She frowned, whilst searching her memory.

“Yes… yes …Colin… Colin Greenland. I think he's the guy I've met a couple of times at the pub we go to. Big guy, not bad-looking, actually. I think he fancies me. Doesn't miss a chance to chat me up. Gets right up Johnson's nose. He's like a horny stag at the moment.”

“Do you think you can talk to Greenland? Find out whether there's more to his link with Nick, other than being in Belmarsh at the same time?”

“I'll try.”

“Don't forget your little friend, the torch. You can use it when you're with Johnson, too. Are you OK with that?”

She nodded in agreement. “OK. I'll have to be bloody careful, though. Johnson's getting to be a bit of a handful.”

“Don't take any undue risks, Alisha. To be honest, if we'd don't make progress soon, I'm all for sorting out Johnson now and wait for Nick to leave prison and deal with him then.”

“Yes, but we'll still be no nearer finding the truth, will we? And we can't be one hundred per cent certain Nick's behind this. I'll do another week, yes?”

Reluctantly, I agreed.

*

Using the torch digital recorder proved a masterstroke. A few days after our conversation, Alisha and I sat in RP's office and listened to a recording between Alisha and Greenland.

Before turning on the tape, Alisha explained that they were in
The Rat's Castle
pub. Johnson conducted most of his business there. He'd left her in the main bar whilst he met up with other villains in a small bar at the rear of the premises known as the ‘Snug'. Greenland, never one to pass up an opportunity to chat up Alisha, had sidled up to her.

Despite clattering glasses, a general hubbub of chatter and the sound of a football match on the TV, we heard the voices distinctly.

Following inane banter, Alisha fast-forwarded to the vital dialogue.

Alisha leaned over and switched off the recorder.

I let out a low whistle. I asked Roger, “What do you make of that?”

“Let's hear it again,” he said, and motioned to Alisha to rewind the tape. This time he listened more intently.

When it had finished, he sat back in his chair and said, “Well, I thought he sounded a bit cagey about knowing Nick. And he appeared to know a lot about the arson attack. I got the impression he didn't rate Johnson much.”

Alisha answered, “No, he doesn't. There's a lot of rivalry there. What do you want me to do next?”

RP thought for a moment and said, “Well what's good about this is that it leaves the way open for you to raise the subject of the arson with Johnson. You can tell him Greenland told you about it.”

He continued, “What we really need to know is whether Burrows got Greenland to approach Johnson.”

I looked at them both and said, “I'm sure he did. Lynne carrying my baby must have screwed him up. So screwed up, he took Georgie three thousand miles away.”

“Could be, James,” RP said. “Are you still happy to carry on, Alisha?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I think we're getting somewhere at last.”

RP replied. “OK. Be careful now.”