Silent As The Grave. Paul Gitsham
so. There aren’t many deer in that area and he was an experienced driver. I doubt he’d have over-reacted for something like a rabbit.”
“Anything else?”
“Well there is a report of two cars travelling at high speed, very close to one another about a mile prior to the accident; however, the witness herself admits it was very dark and it was hard to judge distances and speed.”
Warren leant back in his chair and tapped his pen against his lip thoughtfully. The evidence pointed towards a tired driver under the influence of alcohol, possibly a little confused from high blood sugar, taking a bend too fast then losing control. But the inconsistencies gnawed at him like a dog with its favourite stick. Were they just the inevitable loose ends from a perfunctory investigation into an apparently clear-cut case, or where they more significant?
They were meeting in a car park again. As before, Sheehy insisted that they drive to a secluded area where they couldn’t be overheard. It wasn’t necessary. Warren had told nobody about this visit.
“So, you’re convinced I’m telling the truth?”
Convinced was too strong a word, Warren decided. However, everything that Sheehy had told him so far had been borne out. Warren admitted as much.
“You said that you had more information for me.”
Sheehy shook his head. “You know the agreement. I’ve given you a show of good faith; now you need to do the same. You need to help me.”
Warren sighed. He still didn’t see what he could do to help the man.
Sheehy had brought another file folder with him. He removed another newspaper clipping and handed it over wordlessly. The clipping was dated the eighth of April the previous year—roughly four weeks before Sheehy’s suspension.
Police sting closes Herts-based drug distribution network
Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire Major Crime Unit, working with colleagues across East Anglia, announced today the results of a series of dawn raids conducted at the weekend. Twelve arrests were made as a result of the months-long investigation, Operation Fahrenheit, into drug production and distribution, mostly centred in North Hertfordshire. The majority of the arrests were for dealing, however, three individuals were charged with production of Class B drugs, including cannabis and ecstasy. Several kilos of crack-cocaine were also retrieved from one of the properties in Middlesbury, along with firearms and an undisclosed quantity of money. A spokesperson for Herts and Beds Major Crime Unit said that the raids had netted a number of known and unknown dealers, as well as the man that they believe is behind the operation.
“Drugs are a scourge in our communities. Illegal drug use is a major contributor to violent assaults, robbery, theft and antisocial behaviour. Hertfordshire prides itself on its comparatively low crime rate and this sends a strong message that the production, distribution and use of illegal drugs in our county will not be tolerated.”
He said that the operation was ongoing and that more details would be revealed in due course.
Warren handed back the piece of paper. “So what has this got to do with you?”
“The man at the centre of the operation was one Billy Obsanjo, a Middlesbury-based gangster wannabe. We’d been watching his operation for about a year, working with the drug squad down in Welwyn. He had big ambitions, but at the time he was still mostly active in this area, hence our involvement. His ‘crew’ as he called it all went to school together and they operated cannabis factories out of terraced houses up on the Westfield estate. We’d closed a few of them down over the past few months and made a couple of arrests, but they were all low-level dealers and it was clear to us that even though the operation was pretty small-scale at the moment, it was well organised. Our biggest worry was that it would gain a real foothold and it’d expand, bringing in undesirables from outside the county. Our aim was to shut it down whilst it was still small.”
“So what went wrong?”
“We’d had an eye on Obsanjo for some time, but we couldn’t ever link him with the operation. Most of the dealers that we arrested were too far down the totem pole to give us a name and those that were more connected wouldn’t say anything. Obsanjo might be small-time but he had convictions for assault and there were unconfirmed rumours that he wasn’t above threatening families and loved ones to ensure people kept quiet.”
“So you had nothing? Why not just fit him up? It’s not like you haven’t done it before.”
Sheehy opened his mouth, before closing it again. After a brief pause, he continued, “He was a slippery bugger. Every time we thought we had him, he’d get away before we could arrest him at the scene. We’d be left with a few pot plants, a couple of wraps of heroin and if we were lucky, some dumb idiot who was too stoned to run away when we bashed the door down.
“Anyhow, it was his own arrogance that got him in the end. He hit his girlfriend one time too many and she reported him for assault. She knew that if he found out she’d been to the police he’d probably kill her, so she gave us details of where and when we could find him with some of his product. This time, when we made the raid we hit seven properties simultaneously. We caught him with his pants down—literally, he was in the back room getting favours off some junkie.”
“OK, so where do you come into all of this?”
Warren had his suspicions, but he wanted Sheehy to spell them out for him.
“I was DCI here in Middlesbury, as you know, and I helped coordinate the investigation and organise the raids in this area. The thing with Obsanjo though was that although he was running this operation, he was a dumb shit. We couldn’t figure out how he kept one step ahead of us. Seriously, he was mean and violent and ambitious, but he wasn’t at all bright. He simply shouldn’t have been able to avoid us like he did.
“Anyhow, we’d finally got him and we charged him with intent to supply, unlawful production, the whole works. Good enough to get him twenty years if the judge and jury saw it our way. We just put his avoidance down to luck—his good luck, our bad luck.
“Anyway, a few weeks after the operation was concluded, we’d all moved on and suddenly Professional Standards arrive at my house. Six a.m. on a Sunday morning, mob-handed, brandishing warrants. I’d come off a night shift and so Judith answered. It frightened the hell out of her. By seven a.m. I was in custody suite one, waiting for my lawyer. I still didn’t know what it was all about.”
Sheehy had stopped pacing and was now grinding his teeth.
“They said that Obsanjo had claimed he was able to avoid arrest for so long because he was getting regular tip-offs about when raids were about to occur. He was bribing a member of Middlesbury police to tell him what our plans were.”
Warren contemplated the man before him.
“And he named you?”
“Not in so many words, but he gave a description that could have been me. He claimed his source would disguise himself or conceal his identity whenever they met. He’d phone him on a Pay-As-You-Go mobile phone.”
“Well they must have had more to go on than that. Trying to get a more lenient sentence by co-operation is hardly a new ploy and claiming to have been helped by some bent copper is old hat.”
“He had copies of internal memos about the operation that he claimed had been passed to him by his source. In return, he handed over bundles of cash. Used notes mostly, wrapped in elastic bands and stuffed in envelopes.” Sheehy paused. “Somebody was dirty, make no mistake about that. But it wasn’t me.”
He continued his story. “Anyway, they interviewed me all day. By mid afternoon, I wasn’t really that concerned any more. Allegations are made all the time. You know that. I figured that Professional Standards were under pressure to put on the whole