The Sun Will Still Shine Tomorrow (7 page)

He hesitated, paused for a second. Ashley noticed his hands trembling as he pressed them into the table.

“But then things escalated out of all proportion. We were getting almost daily reports of incidents from the shops. Bricks were hurled through the plate glass windows every other night. We installed shutters in all the shops but stolen cars and vans ram-raided them before they were even bloody paid for.”

He reached over for the cigarette packet Ashley had slid across the table. The youth nodded his appreciation and, as Ashley struck a match, he bent his head down, cigarette at the ready. He stretched back, took a long pull and blew the smoke high into the air. The nicotine fix hit instantly. He seemed to relax… ready to go again.

“The insurance companies refused to cover us. We were finding it hard to stock the shelves and the takings were dropping almost daily. And then…”

He took another long drag on the cigarette and laughed.

“And then our saviour arrived.”

“Billy Graham,” said Ashley.

The youth nodded. “Correct… He turned up to see Father dressed in a suit and tie. Father said he looked ever the part of a successful businessman.”

Matthewson shook his head, reached for Ashley’s cigarettes and added to the pollution in the small interview room.

“Said he could help, said he’d heard we’d been having trouble but it would stop overnight if we could meet his ‘expenses’ as he called them.”

“Protection money,” Ashley whispered gently.

Rafi shrugged his shoulders, took another pull on the cigarette before exhaling.

“Only it was never called that. Father said that the man claimed he had certain contacts and the perpetrators of these crimes would be taken to one side and warned of the consequences should they shit on the doorstep of the Patel shops.”

Rafi Patel looked at Ash. “He refused. Father knew it was a racket and didn’t want any part of it.”

“So he turned nasty, pulled in the heavies.”

Rafi shook his head. He continued.

“Quite the opposite, Mr Graham couldn’t have been nicer. He shook Father’s hand, thanked him for his time, even left a business card. But as he left he told Father he would implement a month’s trial regardless, at no cost.”

Rafi Patel stood up, stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and turned to look up at the barred window two feet above him.

“And, surprise, surprise, during the month of February 2001 not as much as a single packet of chewing gum was robbed from any of the five Patel shops.”

He turned round to face Ashley and the solicitor.

“A minor miracle, gentlemen. And, of course, Father was delighted. The staff were happy again, takings were up and towards the end of the month we even had a phone call from an insurer offering to quote us again.”

It was old hat to Ashley Clarke. Time and time again he’d seen the same thing happen in Hammersmith and Tottenham and Kilburn and just about every district he’d ever worked in London.

In they’d come: the gangsters, the hard men, Neanderthal Man. Without the intelligence or know-how or confidence or ability to attempt to start a business of their own. They’d latch on like a parasite to an already successful well-established operation and bleed it dry.

Why be judged on their own efforts? Why take a risk to earn a crust? No! Let’s just sink our shit-ridden claws into somebody that has already succeeded. Let’s tell him we want some of his profit. Tell him that if he doesn’t agree we’ll ruin him anyway, and hurt him and his kin into the bargain. It’s a no-brainer, a sure-fire winner.

Ashley felt sick to the core… knew exactly how the poor kid’s story would end.

“Father called his number from the business card. Told Mr Graham he’d like to talk. He arrived suited up the following day and they agreed on a figure amounting to a few hundred pounds a month.” Rafi sighed.

“Father figured it was a fair price to pay.”

“So what went wrong?” Matthewson enquired.

Rafi sighed, glared at Matthewson then turned back to face Ashley.

“What happened?” asked Ashley, already knowing what the answer would be.

“The payments, Mr Clarke. Everything skipped along just fine. But then after a few months Mr Graham pushed up the payments. He doubled them overnight. Within two months he’d increased them again and Father just couldn’t afford it.”

Rafi wiped at a tear in the corner of his eye.

“He missed a payment. Mr Graham visited the shop and Father told him that their arrangement was finished. It was too expensive. Father said Mr Graham just laughed. Mr Graham said he’d be back begging for his security services within the week.” “That’s what he called it? A security service?” Rafi acknowledged Matthewson’s remark but with a look of hostility.

“That’s what his business card said, Mr Clarke:
William Graham, Security Consultant
.”

Matthewson got up from the table.”I think you’ve said enough, Mr Patel. DC Clarke gets the picture. I really —” Rafi ignored him.

“Within two hours our shop in Byker had been petrol bombed. That evening two of our shops were burgled. They left disgusting, filthy messages on the counters.”

“I’m calling this discussion to a close, DC Clarke.” Matthewson stood up, gathered up some papers and made as if getting ready to leave.

Rafi Patel looked up from his chair, glared at his solicitor with a look of disgust.

“You’re fired, Mr Matthewson. I don’t want you to represent me anymore.”

The solicitor froze, open-mouthed, for once speechless.

“You’re as bad as him. You and your firm represent him, you run after him like little sewer rats. Every time he picks the phone up, you look out your running shoes.”

Ashley spoke. “I’m not surprised, he’s one of their best customers, Rafi. If it’s not Billy Graham in the dock it’s one of his little lackeys.”

Rafi nodded. “And when you do represent us, Matthewson, you try to make sure we distance ourselves from him. Only this time he’s screwed up, big time. And still you wanted me to say he was only the driver and didn’t supply us with the drugs. Only when you found out it was his car and he was the driver and his prints were all over the bags did it eventually sink in. He screwed up, Mr Matthewson; even you can’t help him this time.”

He took another drag on his cigarette, inhaled deeply.

“But don’t worry, this is off the record. Tell Mr Graham he’s safe on the protection racket charges at least. My guess is he’ll get enough time anyway without me risking my life.”

He turned back to face Ashley. “As much as I’d love to add a few more years onto his sentence I can’t put my family at risk. His network is big and dangerous and Mr Graham would still send out his orders from his prison cell.”

Ashley looked into the eyes of the prisoner: a mixture of fear, and yet determination.

Rafi Patel turned to his solicitor.

“Didn’t you hear me, Mr Matthewson? I said you’re sacked so please leave me.”

The solicitor remained, motionless.

Ashley spoke. “The door is the brown wooden thing in the wall, Mr Matthewson.”

Matthewson rose to his feet, annoyed, defeated, bitter at the injection of humour by the policeman. His best client had screwed up and this time he couldn’t help him, couldn’t fight his corner, couldn’t shift the blame to anyone else, nor could he get him off on a technicality. Ashley Clarke watched his every step as he left the room. Rafi was the first to speak.

“Mr Graham tries to pretend he’s helping us when we’re in trouble. Sends in the big lawyer, flash suit, Armani briefcase, and money no object. And it dawned on me during the first interview with Matthewson. He isn’t interested in saving our backsides, just saving Billy Graham’s. Why not? He pays the bills after all. The lawyer comes in, paints a bleak picture and tells us Billy Graham will move heaven and earth to help us.”

Ashley stood up, walked around the table.”I’ve seen it a million times before, Rafi, but what I want to know is how you ended up dealing crack to kids.”

The remark brought the youngster back to reality. His two-minute tirade had left him feeling sorry for himself and now Ashley Clarke had brought back the guilt trip. A full minute elapsed in which Ashley stood in a forced silence. He would speak, Ash knew; just stay quiet.

“Father contacted him again. Within the hour, Graham was in father’s office. Father said he seemed sympathetic, understood that retail profits were being squeezed. Graham announced a six-month payment holiday. And again the trouble stopped. Father turned the shops round yet again.”

The youngster fingered the mug of cold tea. Ashley remained quiet.

“Graham didn’t show up again for nearly nine months. Apologised, said he’d been busy. He hit father with a bill for over twenty thousand pounds, the missing monthly payments plus a ridiculously large accrued interest figure.”

Ashley sighed … spoke. “And you had to start working for him to clear the debt.”

Rafi broke down. The tears he’d been fighting since his arrest eventually came and he sobbed like a child.

Ashley was a little concerned as he walked into Rod dam’s office five minutes after his shift began.

He’d been summoned, as Holy John had called it, almost as soon as he’d walked into the station.

“Take a seat, Ashley.” Roddam smiled as he walked into the Chief’s office. A bad sign, he thought.

Roddam dispensed with any niceties, came straight to the point.

“There’s been an allegation, Ashley; an allegation of racism, I’m afraid.”Ashley’s mouth gaped open. There may have been one or two things that people could have said about Ashley Clarke’s police career since he’d stepped off that train at Kings Cross all those years ago. One or two mistakes he’d made along the way, occasionally he could have been accused of being over physical during an arrest. A couple of times he’d been overly keen when carrying out a dawn raid on a known dealer and occasionally he’d accepted the odd free drink at a public house on his beat. But racism? Definitely not.

Ashley stayed composed; he wanted to jump in and tell Roddam there had been some sort of mistake but he bit his lip and let him continue.

“It was during the visit by Chief Superintendent Harrison last week.”

Ashley shook his head. “I’m not with you, sir, I’ve never met a Chief Superintendent Harrison.”

“You didn’t exactly meet him. He was with me last week prior to the interviews. He’s from West Mercia, working on some new fangled management project. He was in the suit, remember?”

“Yes, sir. I remember now, but what does that have to do with me and where does the racism accusation fit in?”

Roddam pawed at a four- or five-page report on his desk. He adjusted his glasses and read.

“It was at nine fifteen exactly when the officer, later identified as DC Ashley Clarke, made an offensive racist statement directed at the prisoner Rafi Patel.”

Ashley took a step forward.”No, sir, not me; he’s mistaken me for someone else, he’s made a mistake.”

Roddam smiled. A strange smile, maybe even sympathetic and he removed his glasses.

“I’m afraid he wasn’t, Ashley. I was there too. I heard you.”

“No, sir. No, I’m not a —”

Roddam held up a hand. “Calm down, Ashley, what you said was an off-the-cuff remark. Certainly not racist, not in my book anyway.”

Ashley’s head was still in turmoil, he hadn’t said anything racist. What on earth was Roddam talking about? He must have mentioned Rafi Patel, they’d picked him up wrong, misheard a word or a phrase perhaps.

“You must have still mistaken me, sir. I—”

“It’s here in black and white, Ashley, and I know what I heard. You called the prisoner a Paki.”

Ashley thought back to the exact incident. Roddam spoke.

“Remember now?”

Ashley nodded. “I remember saying I was going to interview the Paki kid.”

“So you aren’t denying it?”

“That’s the offence, sir? Me saying I was going to interview the Paki kid.”

Roddam nodded. Ashley’s mouth opened wide, he shook his head in disbelief.

“This isn’t happening, sir. Tell me this isn’t happening. It can’t be. It wasn’t racist. If it had been a Glaswegian kid down there I would have called him a Scots kid or if he’d been from Czechoslovakia he would have been the Czech kid.”

Roddam stood up, walked over to where Ashley stood. He leant back and sat on the desk.

“Calling someone a Paki just isn’t done these days, surely you know that?”

“I was shortening the country of his birth, sir. You’re the one being racist if you’re treating him different to someone else.”

As soon as he heard the sentence escape from his mouth, Ashley knew he was in trouble. As soon as he saw the anger in Rod dam’s eyes he just knew. What he didn’t know or expect was what Roddam said next.

“I’m sorry, DC Clarke, you’re suspended.” No, thought Ashley… no.

“Leave the station just as soon as you have got your things together.”

Ashley grinned. He didn’t know why. He almost laughed out loud. This was surely some sort of practical joke. The Chief was in on the ploy, the lads were hiding behind the cupboard ready to jump out at any minute.