My Name Is Not Jacob Ramsay (11 page)

"Exactly," nodded Michael.

Michael's father glanced at his wrist watch and sighed as he looked at the Volkswagen Passat still parked where it had been for the past half an hour. Inside the Passat, Crowe rubbed his chin as he looked at Michael with a pondering expression.

"So, what kind of crimes are the kids involved in or have possible links to, do you think?"

"What crimes can you name in ten seconds?"

"You being serious?" asked Crowe.

"Shall I start the timer now or five seconds ago when I asked it?" Michael said.

"Fuck me. Really?" replied Crowe.

"Four seconds left," continued Michael.

"Flipping heck. Drug dealing. GBH. ABH. Burglary. Possession of a knife or firearm. Any of those?" Crowe asked, with sheer disbelief. 

"All of the above, as well as sexual assault, rape, kidnapping, attempted murder, murder, attempting to derail a train and a whole lot more," completed Michael.

"Shit, well, OK, I think we have something to go on here. Are you aware of anybody or does any pupil stand out as a particular concern to you?" asked Crowe.

"Anyone at all?" reinforced Cole.

Michael stared ahead at the windscreen of the car. His mind raced with the names and faces of the children he came into contact with.

The Somali, Guled Omar-Ali.

The Iranian boy called Shaheen.

The Afghan pupils, Abdul Rah-Maan, Rabee and Nasif Farah.

The Angolan, Sinatra Umbundo.

The white, working-class boy, Lee Mace.

The Russian girl called Anna appeared in his mind.

The quiet Nigerian girl called Juliet.

The lively, fun Polish girl called Olga. That was just a handful. There were a dozen more as he thought and nodded to himself, looking at the two undercover detectives in front of him. 

"Yeah, all of them," he said, holding his stare. He exhaled.

"OK, this is what we need to do," replied Crowe. "If there is anything you think of that you feel needs police attention, then give us a call. We also need to work out a safe place for you. It's in case you feel unsafe or if you're in danger; if you suspect someone is going to hurt you and we need to pick you up," continued Crowe.

"How'd you mean?" asked Michael.

"Well, say for instance you give us information on a certain pupil and they find out that you did, then that could place you in immediate danger, so we need to get you out of there fast and to a place nobody you're in contact with knows about," explained Cole.

"So, is there a place you'd prefer us to take you to?" asked Crowe.

Michael shrugged. "I... I have no idea. Maybe back home?" he suggested.

"That's not a problem. Maybe we could take you to your parents' house or something like that? We can talk about that and arrange it at a later date maybe. So, we also need to come up with an undercover name for you. We can give you one or you can come up with your own. It's up to you," Crowe continued.

Michael's mind raced. He had suddenly found himself in an incredibly different situation. It was almost like he had signed for a Time Share apartment or something and couldn't get out of it.

The two policemen looked at him. "It may seem a bit heavy going at the moment and a lot to take in, so just relax and take your time to think about it. Weigh it all up," said Crowe, noting Michael's expression.

"So, what are you up to this evening? Watching Neighbours?" asked Cole, flippantly.

"I think that's probably finished now, Jim," chuckled Crowe.

"Maybe he'll need some wine after he finishes with us. Do you drink wine? What's your poison, as it were? French, South African or Aussie wine?"

"Australia has great wine," Michael said, with a blank expression. "Hardy's, Jacob's Creek. Both of those," Michael continued, robotically.

"Bit of an Aussie fan eh? Neighbours, Ramsey Street and Jacob's wine and all that," joked Crowe.

Michael rolled his eyes up to meet DC Malcolm Crowe's.

Michael's father, Edward, sighed and lowered his mobile phone as he watched the car. It was getting darker outside.

Inside the car, Crowe scribbled something down on his A4 pad.

"Works fine for me. Does it work for you, Jim?"

"Works fine for me, Malcolm," replied Cole, who retrieved a brown envelope filled with cash. He counted out sixty pounds and turned to Michael, who frowned as he was passed the money. "This is for you and your time. It might be more or might be less when we see you next, depending on the information and if there's an arrest of charge, that kind of thing."

"What we need now, though, is for your new signature next to this number here," Crowe explained, pointing at a scribbling scrawl of an inky £60.00 on the notepaper.

Michael took the biro offered to him and pressed the ballpoint to the paper, thinking quickly as he instantly made up a signature.

"OK then. Thank you very much. We'll await your call whenever you have any information for us. Next time we meet, we might have a few forms for you to complete. It'll just be your address and place of work. You know? That kind of thing. No biggie," said Crowe, hurriedly, knowing time was getting on.

"We'll see you soon maybe," added Cole.

Michael nodded his head, summing it all up. He raised his eyebrows and clutched the door handle.

"We'll take you back to your car if you want, mate," offered Cole.

"I might have a browse of some shops as I'm here," Michael replied.

The undercover cops nodded their heads. They understood.

Michael shook their hands.

"OK, take care," said Cole.

"Yeah, see you later, mate," chirped Crowe as Michael opened the door and clambered out of the car.

Edward watched carefully as he saw his son close the door to the VW Passat and stand back before walking past a few cars as the Volkswagen started up, reversed and drove back down the ramp, leaving his sight. Edward whistled.

Michael turned and smiled when he saw his dad walk towards him. Edward placed an arm around his shoulders, squeezing his neck gently.

"You all right? That was a long one eh?"

"Yeah, too long," Michael replied.

"Ah, were they a couple of goons?" said his father.

"They were OK. They reminded me of the two detectives from Hot Fuzz."

"Doesn't surprise me," Edward commented.

"We'll go down the stairs, shall we? Tell me all about it then. Did they give you a code name or did you choose it?"

"I chose it," Michael said.

"What's your name then?" asked his father as he and Michael descended the stairs, reaching a new level.

Michael turned to his father and said, "My name is Jacob Ramsay."

Michael pulled his car up in Greenwich Park. There weren't too many vehicles there at all, but there was a healthy number of people on foot.

A few joggers.

An elderly couple.

A yummy mummy with her hands full, pushing a buggy, holding the hand of a three year old and trailing a lead with a Golden Retriever following slowly behind.

Michael took out his little Paperchase notebook and opened it, glancing briefly at one of the pages that revealed the words 'NAME: JACOB RAMSAY. ADDRESS: LUXOR ST NR DENMARK HILL'. He smiled and looked out of his car windows when his iPhone rang. He took the call and brought it to his ear. Still looking through the windows, his eyes searched.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hey, Jacob, how are you, mate? All right?" came the familiar Scottish accent that belonged to DC Malcolm Crowe. He sounded a little out of breath and was possibly outside. It was hard to tell.

Michael's eyes searched the pathways, looking for his contact.

"Hi. I'm good, you?" replied Michael.

"Yeah, not bad, mate. Listen, I'm near the bandstand. D'you wanna make your way over and then you can give us a call when you're there," Crowe instructed.

"Sure. See you in a bit," replied Michael, beeping out as he exited his car.

Upon a pathway, passing a drinking fountain, Michael headed for the bandstand. It was a good few minutes away. His eyes diverted to a young woman.

The woman was dressed in grey jeans, white Reeboks and a black jacket. She was white and walked across the grass.

Michael could see the bandstand wasn't too far away. Nobody was in sight. He pulled his phone and scrolled through his retrieved calls, pressing the name 'Jacob Ramsay'. It rang once and was answered by Crowe.

"Hello," the voice was chirpy.

"Hi, it's Jacob," replied Michael. "I'm at the bandstand." He wasn't at all, but he was close enough for him to say he was. He could still see the young woman twenty feet or so away and then he caught sight of a man, way ahead, on a bench. He was dressed in blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a brown jacket. It was Crowe.

Michael smiled. "I can see you," Michael said.

"What am I wearing?" chuckled Crowe.

"Jeans, a brown jacket and that old white t-shirt you wore when I first met you. Very different to the faded black clothes favoured by the young woman doing her best to follow me," quipped Michael.

Crowe chuckled again. "There's no woman, Jacob. It's just us. OK, if you wanna follow me, keeping about fifteen feet behind, we'll go to the car," instructed Crowe, who walked further up the path and was becoming more and more distant. 

Michael didn't believe that the young woman wasn't part of the undercover police operation and continued to be conscious of her as he walked up the pathway, passing the bandstand that was upon his right hand side.

The beautiful park and greenery was all around him. It was Michael's favourite London park, probably because it was forever part of his childhood memories. He knew this park incredibly well.

After his elder brother, Jason, had passed his driving test, he used to bring Michael skateboarding here. There was a particular favourite pathway that dipped so deeply it enabled Michael the skateboarder and his roller-skating brother to gain great speed and excitement as their wheels roared and raced across the tarmac.

Earlier still, Michael's parents would take Michael and his elder brothers to a part of the park for a picnic or a bike ride and perhaps a view of the Cutty Sark ship upon which Michael would pretend to be a pirate. He recounted a different, happy memory with every step. In his more recent years, when Michael was first dating Rebecca, they would lay out a tartan blanket and sit in the shade of an oak tree as they removed several picnic foods from a cold storage bag. Chicken drumsticks, cocktail sausages, strawberries, crisps and small cheeses. The fair-haired couple, in the first stages of sharing a new love for one another, shielding themselves from the sun yet enjoying the outside fun and nature of a simple pleasurable experience. Michael passed a large, green, practically tree-free area and remembered a time where he sat with Rebecca, viewing Ferris Bueller's Day Off on a large screen with a few hundred other people in the late summer of goodness knows when.

DC Crowe walked along the narrow pathway. He neared an exit of the park, practically hidden within an ancient-looking brick wall. It was like the Secret Garden, and beyond the gate was the so-called normal, outside world. Crowe rounded the corner and disappeared from view as he left the park entirely.

Michael, as instructed, fifteen feet behind. He glanced into the glass screen of his iPhone, holding it steady and tilting it slightly to see the young woman following him close behind. He was indeed his father's son. Michael removed his jacket and slowed his pace. He stopped and diverted to a bench a couple of feet away and sat himself down.

Three or four seconds passed and the woman stepped up, looking a little surprised as she tried her hardest not to look directly at Michael as she walked on. She looked dead ahead as Michael stared at her. She continued out of the park gate, with Michael quickly getting to his feet again to walk up the path.

He glanced behind him, taking in one last view of the park before he stepped beyond the wall, out of what he imagined to be the Secret Garden. The street beyond the wall was Maze Hill and it was deserted. Michael looked left and right and couldn't see any cars he recognised. He looked ahead to Vanbrugh Park and there it was: the silver Volkswagen Passat with tinted rear windows. Michael got the sense that eyes were watching him as he saw the lights of the Passat flash once. He glanced to the right as he crossed the street and saw a figure dart out of sight.

It was the young woman.

Michael frowned as he neared the Volkswagen and grasped the door handle to the rear passenger door. Inside the VW Passat sat the familiar DS James Cole behind the wheel and DC Malcolm Crowe in the passenger seat next to him.

Michael clambered inside onto the rear seat and saw the extended hand of Cole, which he shook, followed by Crowe's.

"All right?" said Crowe as the rear door opened.

Michael swivelled to see the young woman clamber inside to sit next to him on the back seat and close the door.

"How you doing?" Michael asked her.

She released an embarrassed, awkward smile and exchanged a look with Crowe.

"This is DC Jo Blake. Jo's new to the team, so you might see her with us every so often," said Crowe.

"Did I throw you when I sat on the bench?" asked Michael.

"A little," replied DC Blake, unimpressed.

"Did you spot her then?" asked DS Cole, as he glanced up at Michael in the rear view mirror. 

"She was either one of you guys or was going to mug me," sneered Michael, glancing at DC Blake who retrieved a black folder from under the seat in front.

"So you didn't think she was gonna ask you out?" quipped Crowe with a smile on his face. 

"That's what I first thought of you," joked Michael, quick-wittedly.

"I'll hand over to Jo, who's just gonna ask you a few questions and whatnot," replied DC Crowe.

Michael looked at DC Jo Blake. She was attractive in a plain sort of way. A brunette and pear-shaped. She should work out a little more as she was becoming quite dumpy. Maybe the new move in her career was a healthier exercise plan that would keep her trim and fit.

Michael looked at her pale white hands. No rings on her fingers. Fingernails were short, stubby and bitten. She opened the folder containing thirty or so transparent plastic covers. She looked at Michael.

He felt like he was one of them and already believed he had 'got one over' having spotted the new DC Jo Blake in the park. He adopted a slightly superior expression that bordered on the smug side. 

"These are a few CCTV pictures of youths from various boroughs. Some are from shops and street cameras and some are taken from public transport. Buses and underground, so if you would like to look through the booklet and tell us if you recognise any of them." She looked up at Crowe as if for approval.

"Great stuff," Crowe nodded. "Just browse through them, Jacob. It's a big booklet, so flag up any faces that might stand out." 

Michael studied the first sheet. Underneath each photocopied colour photograph was a name, a type of crime and a date. Michael studied the first one. A CCTV image capture depicted a white youth in a cap and white tracksuit on the top deck of a bus, walking down the aisle. The crime stated 'theft/pickpocket'.

He moved on to the next picture: two black youths in a petrol garage aiming a firearm at the cashier.

The next picture was of the inside of a railway station and a collection of youths surrounding another youth lying on the floor, appearing to be protecting himself from the violent kicks of the youths.

"How's the school?" asked DS Cole as Michael turned the page to a similar set of pictures.

"Exhausting," Michael said. "Can't wait for the break really," he continued, looking down at the booklet, turning another page. "Nice looking bunch, aren't they?"

"Oh yeah, they're pretty," chuckled Crowe. "I don't think you'd find their faces on any dating websites."

"D'you have a girlfriend, Jacob?" asked Cole.

Michael looked up at him in the rear view mirror.

"Yeah, I do," replied Michael. "We met on a dating website." He smiled as he turned another page, scanning over the pictures.

"Bet you have some stories from all of that," chipped in DC Crowe.

"Yeah, a few," answered Michael. "Ah, this girl here," he said, pointing to a picture of a large-framed Somali girl. The image was clear and depicted the girl on a street corner. Underneath the photograph was her name, Nadifa Dodi, along with her crimes: 'burglary/street robbery/knife crime'.

"I know this one," Michael stated.

Crowe craned his neck round to see who the face was. "Nadifa Dodi," he said.

"That's not her name though," Michael told him.

"It's not?" Crowe asked, with Cole turning round.

"No, this picture is of Aziza Dodi. Nadifa Dodi is her sister. They're both equally as horrible as one another. Vile girls. They're pretty local actually."

"Oh, right. You don't have an address, do you?" asked Crowe.

"They're Kidbrooke girls. Always hanging out on that estate," Michael confirmed. "There's a number in her family. I remember her mother came into work once, bringing in her daughter for a meeting as she's a threatening, nasty piece of work. You should have seen her. Her mother, who's this big, hefty lump, found it extremely hard to even get up from the chair she was sitting on, let alone reach down between her feet to her handbag where she flicked through different envelopes."

"Envelopes for what?" asked Crowe.

"Each envelope was marked with a different name and address. All benefit entitlements. It was a real eye-opener. Lying, deceitful, violent and just plain horrible. Brothers and sisters. There's a bunch of them," informed Michael, in his element.

"So, the names and addresses?" uttered Crowe again.

"I can get you anything," Michael said.

"I'd like to clarify something?" chipped in Jo Blake.

"What is it, Jo?" muttered Crowe.

"I'd like to ask why you're doing this? Is it a revenge or vengeance thing? Have you been wronged by this kid?" Jo asked Michael, pen poised between her fingers.

Michael rolled his tongue around inside his mouth, filling out his cheeks and gums, thinking. "Why am I doing this? Can you honestly say that you would like these people on our streets? They're dangerous children who will soon become dangerous adults. That, to me, is dangerous times ten. This girl has about four different official ages. Does that mean she's four different people? I don't know. The school certainly doesn't know. The government obviously doesn't know either. I first dealt with her when she was apparently thirteen. She was a massive girl then and she told me she had a twenty-year-old boyfriend and she winked at me, pressing her finger to her lips, like it was a secret. I told her that if they were in a sexual relationship then he was breaking the law. She said it couldn't be illegal if she's eighteen. A year or so later, I saw her again. She was being taught in a different department, separated from her peers. We had a young IT support guy tending to a computer in a room that she was in. This guy was twenty-one years old that day and had a birthday card, with a badge fixed to it, on a nearby desk. This girl, this woman. Her hands picked at the card and she slyly stole the badge just as I was walking into the room. I asked her to put the badge back on the desk and she moaned, saying, 'But I is twenty-one tomorrow init?' I said if she was twenty-one, then due to the health and safety of our children, she couldn't be in this building any longer. She threw the badge across the room. She told me to F off and said she had her eye on a laptop anyway and didn't need no effing badge. This is one of many and this is why I'm doing this. Revenge is Bruce Wayne running about Gotham dressed as Batman. Vengeance is Gladiator. What I'm doing is a moral justice."