Ten Days (18 page)

Monday

PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL FOR INQUIRY USE ONLY

Submission to the internal inquiry of the Metropolitan Police into Operation Bedrock

Submission 1051/W: camera stills 6473–6503 gathered by Support Unit 31AXZ, call sign India 97, taken between 0:55 and 02:05 on
                              

location: Rockham High Street

subject: continuation of disturbances and community response

Photographs W6473–79 indicate an apparent stand-off on Rockham High Street between alleged looters and Rockham residents, who, it is assumed, are shopkeepers guarding their premises. A variety of weapons – steel poles, sticks, bricks – can be seen in the hands of both opposing sections. A man, IC3, can be seen to the left of the photograph apparently arguing with the alleged rioters.

Photographs W6480–85, show the putative looters dispersing after the ASU hovered directly above them. Photographs W96–98 show the man, IC3, also running away.

Photographs W6499–6503 show the Rockham High Street now calm. The ASU was given instruction to proceed to a location outside of Rockham following reports of new disturbances.

8 a.m.

The line of Joshua Yares's lips tightened as he sped-read his way through that morning's newspapers.

The red-tops had all gone for alliteration, with headlines such as ‘England Explodes' competing with a more punitive ‘Dixon's Disgrace' and what was probably an early edition's ‘Rockham's Ruin'. What the papers also shared, and this included the broadsheets, is that they read like comics, their terse prose outgunned by photographs of buildings burning, people panicking, rioters rioting and crowds of police apparently doing nothing but looking on.

Joshua's lips tightened some more when he saw that, despite the huge variety of available images, every editor had opted to include the identical two: the first was the woman, child in arms, plunging down three floors to escape her burning home; the second was a close-up of the man all the tabloids had nicknamed ‘Molotov Man'.

A rap on his door. He shifted the papers aside. ‘Come,' and then, ‘Come in, Anil. Take a seat,' watching as his deputy plodded over to the desk and gingerly lowered himself into the chair opposite. ‘How are you holding up?'

A weary shrug. ‘I'm afraid it's still an uphill battle, sir. The NPCC organised a couple of TAU coachloads for us – sorely needed. They were on their way when word came that it's about to kick off in Salford, so they had to turn back. We're getting them from further north instead – the Durham and the Scottish chiefs have been helpful – but it's all going to take time.'

‘Until we've got enough bodies to push back, we'll just have to exert as strong a hold as we can,' Joshua said. ‘Meanwhile, did you find a moment to glance through the papers?'

‘I did, sir. Grim reading.'

‘That it is.' Joshua picked up the topmost tabloid, opening it to its centre spread where an oversize picture of the Molotov-throwing man

was surrounded by smaller photos of other kinds of mayhem. ‘You must have seen this.'

‘Couldn't miss it.'

‘Once the press picks its face of evil, they never let go. If we don't find this man, they will – and then they'll throw him in our faces. We need to know everything that can be known about him and then we need to find him.'

‘Yes, sir.'

‘No more surprises. Everything.'

‘I've already put an officer on it.'

‘Put on more if that's what it takes. I want this man found.'

‘Should I issue an APW?'

‘Not at this juncture. We have to assume he's still in Rockham – it's where he'll feel safest – but gone to ground. Tell CS Wright to leave no stone unturned.'

‘Even if it inflames the situation?'

‘I want this man and I want him here, on my carpet, as soon as he is picked up. Is that clear?'

‘Crystal, sir.' Chahda levered himself out of the chair. ‘I'll get on to it right away.'

10 a.m.

Come the hour of the emergency debate, MPs who'd gathered in the Members' corridors to swap horror stories from their constituencies piled into the Chamber, squeezing close on the benches, latecomers jostling each other in their efforts to stay within the lines to give themselves a chance to have their say.

The Prime Minster, who was still in Switzerland, had asked Peter to lead his government's response. Another political miscalculation, Peter thought, and, given that all eyes were now on Parliament, another chance for him to shine.

The Speaker gave him the nod: ‘Home Secretary.'

He got up, slowly, from the front bench and in the same languorous pace stepped forward to lay his notes on the dispatch box, taking a moment then to look around. He could feel the weight of expectation on him, and he felt it not as a burden (the House being for once united) but as an embrace. He took a deep breath in. ‘I am confident that I speak for the House,' and then, conscious that the suspended microphones were picking up his every word and relaying them out to a wider than usual audience, he added, ‘and that I also speak for the nation when I condemn the criminality of the past thirty-six hours. There can be no excuse for the burning of homes, the raiding of shops, the robbery of members of the public and the attack on police officers.' He waited for the rumble of agreement to pass through both front benches and around the House, and even after it was over he let the silence stretch before lowering his voice. ‘We will restore order,' he said. ‘And we will punish the offenders. Make no mistake about it, we stand united in our determination to preserve our way of life.'

As a fresh tide of ‘Hear, hears' died away, he let his voice drop another notch.

‘The police,' he said . . .

‘The police,' Joshua heard, and pumped up the volume on his TV.

‘. . . and especially individual officers, have shown considerable courage against the odds. Twenty-five police officers have so far been treated for their injuries, and we fear that there are likely to be further casualties. I know the House will join me in thanking them, and their fellow officers, for their courage and in wishing the injured a speedy recovery.'

As agreement once again reverberated, Joshua, now watching intently, waited for the ‘but' he knew had to be on its way. And sure enough, after a pause for emphasis followed by a further lowering of the voice (if he went on this way he'd soon be whispering), Whiteley continued: ‘But those at the top of the command structure of the Metropolitan Police bear considerable responsibility for what has happened. They treated the initial flare-up in Rockham as a public-order issue rather than what it was: the starting gun for mass criminality. There were simply not enough officers on the streets. They lost the initiative and because of this they lost control.'

The front bench was all a-nod, their response mirrored by their opponents across the aisle. Having joined them so nicely together, Whiteley ratcheted up his attack.

‘I expected, and I'm sure you did as well, that the lessons of 2011 would have been learnt. I will make it my mission to find out why they were not. I have already begun this process. During the COBRA meeting I yesterday chaired, I informed Metropolitan Commissioner Joshua Yares of my concerns. Among the measures we agreed is the recall from leave of all serving police officers . . .'

The cheek of it, to claim credit for this again, and after Joshua had called him on it yesterday.

‘. . . and that requests for mutual aid be coordinated by the Association of Chief Police Officers . . .'

Another routine step that Whiteley was stealing credit for.

‘I expect to see as well an increase in numbers of officers deployed at all points of disruption or potential disruption.'

As if after all the recent cuts – pushed through by this same Home Secretary – they had the personnel to do this.

‘To this effect, I have offered to the Commissioner each and every measure in our possession, including the deployment of baton rounds, tear gas and water cannon. I am sure the House will join me in urging the Commissioner to give this offer the serious consideration it merits . . .'

Another dig because yesterday Joshua had explained why none of these measures, and especially water cannons, were currently appropriate. But why let a few facts get in the way of a rousing speech, especially when the bastard of a Home Secretary was on a roll?

‘The justice system will play its part in punishing these criminals in the most rigorous manner. Anyone charged with riot-related offences will be kept in custody. Those convicted – and the courts will continue to sit through the night for as long as it takes – will find themselves in jail. I will be reviewing statutory provisions to ensure that the courts have powers appropriate to the scale of this lawlessness. If needs be, I will raise sentencing tariffs. For the present, however . . .'

And now a pause as Whiteley let his gaze travel the full length of the Chamber and once again dropped his voice.

Joshua Yares turned the volume up another notch.

‘. . . we expect the police to ensure security in our streets in every city, in every town, in every village, throughout the land.'

Damaging but not fatal. Joshua breathed some of his tension out.

Prematurely, because . . .

‘Many Members are anxious to raise their constituents' concerns,' Whiteley continued, ‘and so I will give way to my Honourable Friend,' he turned to look up at the ranks of his own backbenchers, ‘the Member for Brancombe Forest, who has been popping up and down like a jack-in-the-box in a bid to attract my attention.'

Not that Yares had noticed.

He was instantly on high alert.

It was a trap.

It had to be. The clue was that the Member for Brancombe Forest was Albion Hind, whose tawdry sex life had been exposed in the press only after he had failed to persuade his local police to arrest a particularly persistent reporter. Since then he had used what little influence remained to him to try to hound his Chief Constable from office. No good could come from any question he asked, especially given that, by the way he now rose to his feet, someone must have made a concerted attempt to sober him up.

His TV being on so loud it was distorting, Joshua turned down the volume.

‘I am grateful to the Home Secretary for giving way,' Hind was saying, ‘and I join him in condemning the criminality of the past few days. There is much to be said and I would like to be the one to say it. But I know that many of my Honourable Friends will also want to have their say, and so I will restrict myself to a single question: would the Home Secretary comment on rumours that the unrest in Rockham was triggered by rogue elements within the Metropolitan Police Service?'

Not something the Minister should comment on. Not when the IPCC had taken on the investigation. ‘IPCC,' Joshua mouthed at the TV, ‘IPCC . . .' and for a moment it seemed as if Whiteley could hear him and was going to do the right thing because . . .

‘Given that the Independent Police Complaints Commission is investigating the death in Rockham,' he said, ‘the House will understand why my answer must be circumspect.'

Not yet the time to relax, since this was Whiteley, who had his eyes on another prize.

‘What I can say,' Whiteley continued, ‘and I can assure the House that I am not here using privileged information, is that I too have heard the rumours that some of the officers involved in the originating incident have been subjected to internal inquiries into possible previous misconduct. As to the content or result of these inquiries I cannot speak, but what I can say . . .'

Joshua Yares did not get to find out, at least not then, what Home Secretary Whiteley felt he could or couldn't say. He was already out of his chair, and past his desk, and at his door, and pushing his head out, and bellowing, ‘Get Deputy Commissioner Chahda back in my office double quick,' before stepping back and closing the door so hard that people on the ground floor must have heard the bang.

10.45 a.m.

Banging and a woman shouting, ‘Open up.'

Cathy, who was sitting on the floor beside a smouldering wastepaper bin, froze.

More banging. ‘Open up. Now.'

If she stayed on the floor and out of sight, Elsie would eventually get bored and go away. She fed the last of the photographs of Banji into the fire.

‘Mrs Mason.'

Elsie never used her surname. Probably didn't even know it.

‘It's the police. Open the door.'

The police?

Lyndall's school, which had also been targeted during the attacks, was closed for repair. And Lyndall was out – she'd needed air, she'd said. Throwing the contents of a glass of water into the bin to make the embers safe, Cathy ran to the front door and wrenched it open.

There were two uniformed officers, a man and a woman, on her doorstep.

‘Mrs Mason?' This from the man, who pressed forward to put his boot inside the door. ‘Mrs Cathy Mason?'

‘Has something happened to my daughter?', thinking that they always sent a woman to break bad news.