prised himself from the desk and at the same time dropped yet another painkiller in his mouth and swilled it down with a mouthful of lukewarm sweet tea. He turned the file around, studied the profiles of the three dealers caught red-handed.
“I’ll try the Paki kid first. My guess is that he’s terrified, never seen the inside of a cell before.”
Within two hours of interviewing Rafi Patel, Ashley Clarke had a confession with more or less everything the Northumbria Police wanted. The other two dealers, when confronted with this information, yielded too and admitted that the notorious Billy Graham had supplied them with crack cocaine to sell for which they received a very handsome hourly rate of pay.
No income tax, no national insurance deductions.
Ashley Clarke wandered back to the cell where the frightened Pakistani youth now sat with his solicitor and the statement that Ashley wanted signed.
Ashley spoke.”Can we talk off the record?”
He looked in the direction of the solicitor, a twenty-something youth not much older than his client.The solicitor shot a glance at his client who shrugged his shoulders. Ashley continued, assuming the gesture as a positive.
“How did you get mixed up with that lot?”
Silence.
“I mean you hardly fit the profile of your two colleagues, do you? They’ve been in trouble with the law since they came out of nappies. They’re both addicts and ideal candidates for Graham and his henchmen to manipulate.”
Ashley sat down at the table, placed his elbows in front of the youth and rested his chin on his fists.
“But not you, Rafi, right?”
A twenty-second pause elapsed.
“You’re from a respectable business family; your father has four shops.”
“Five.”The youth answered with an obvious hint of pride at his father’s business acumen.
“Sorry, Rafi… five.”
At last, a breakthrough, thought Ashley, the guard was slipping.
“From what I’m led to believe, Rafi, you’ve been working those shops a hundred hours a week. Your old man’s ill now, isn’t he; can’t manage the hours he once could. You’re running the show now, aren’t you?”
For the first time the Pakistani youth made eye contact with Ashley. The fear in his eyes had vanished now and instead it was replaced with a realisation.
“So who’s gonna run the empire when you’re in Durham, Rafi?”
Matthewson the solicitor jumped to his feet.”Whooaa… just a second. We’re off the record here, let’s keep it nice, no threats or I call it a day. You’ve had your confession, he’s admitted what you wanted him to admit, end of story.”
Ashley turned away to face the solicitor.
“No threats?” he shouted at the young solicitor. “No threats! Are you kidding me, Matthewson, or are you missing the big picture? This kid has been threatened and bullied by Graham and his gang to stoop so low as to create a whole generation of crack addicts before they can legally vote. What sort of threats do you think it would take to make a decent kid stoop that low?”
Ashley pointed to Matthewson’s client.
“He’s in the gutter, Mr Solicitor. He’s in there with the rats and pieces of shit and used johnnies and, for the first time in my life, I’m getting sympathetic vibes for a dealer.”
He looked at Rafi Patel’s frightened and confused state and the tears gently welling in his eyes. Rafi glanced at his solicitor for help. Matthewson averted his gaze, looked down at the table at his notes, pawed through them with no real purpose, no real direction. It was as if he too wanted his client to speak.
And he did.
“This is off the record, right?”
Ashley nodded his head. The solicitor shrugged his shoulders and cast his eyes in the direction of the frozen tape recorder.
It was Matthewson’s turn to hold up a hand. “I’m not so sure this is—”
Rafi interrupted. “It started about four years ago. I knew nothing about it, of course, I was just a kid. Father explained it to me when the
“I’ll try the Paki kid first. My guess is that he’s terrified, never seen the inside of a cell before.”
Within two hours of interviewing Rafi Patel, Ashley Clarke had a confession with more or less everything the Northumbria Police wanted. The other two dealers, when confronted with this information, yielded too and admitted that the notorious Billy Graham had supplied them with crack cocaine to sell for which they received a very handsome hourly rate of pay.
No income tax, no national insurance deductions.
Ashley Clarke wandered back to the cell where the frightened Pakistani youth now sat with his solicitor and the statement that Ashley wanted signed.
Ashley spoke.”Can we talk off the record?”
He looked in the direction of the solicitor, a twenty-something youth not much older than his client.The solicitor shot a glance at his client who shrugged his shoulders. Ashley continued, assuming the gesture as a positive.
“How did you get mixed up with that lot?”
Silence.
“I mean you hardly fit the profile of your two colleagues, do you? They’ve been in trouble with the law since they came out of nappies. They’re both addicts and ideal candidates for Graham and his henchmen to manipulate.”
Ashley sat down at the table, placed his elbows in front of the youth and rested his chin on his fists.
“But not you, Rafi, right?”
A twenty-second pause elapsed.
“You’re from a respectable business family; your father has four shops.”
“Five.”The youth answered with an obvious hint of pride at his father’s business acumen.
“Sorry, Rafi… five.”
At last, a breakthrough, thought Ashley, the guard was slipping.
“From what I’m led to believe, Rafi, you’ve been working those shops a hundred hours a week. Your old man’s ill now, isn’t he; can’t manage the hours he once could. You’re running the show now, aren’t you?”
For the first time the Pakistani youth made eye contact with Ashley. The fear in his eyes had vanished now and instead it was replaced with a realisation.
“So who’s gonna run the empire when you’re in Durham, Rafi?”
Matthewson the solicitor jumped to his feet.”Whooaa… just a second. We’re off the record here, let’s keep it nice, no threats or I call it a day. You’ve had your confession, he’s admitted what you wanted him to admit, end of story.”
Ashley turned away to face the solicitor.
“No threats?” he shouted at the young solicitor. “No threats! Are you kidding me, Matthewson, or are you missing the big picture? This kid has been threatened and bullied by Graham and his gang to stoop so low as to create a whole generation of crack addicts before they can legally vote. What sort of threats do you think it would take to make a decent kid stoop that low?”
Ashley pointed to Matthewson’s client.
“He’s in the gutter, Mr Solicitor. He’s in there with the rats and pieces of shit and used johnnies and, for the first time in my life, I’m getting sympathetic vibes for a dealer.”
He looked at Rafi Patel’s frightened and confused state and the tears gently welling in his eyes. Rafi glanced at his solicitor for help. Matthewson averted his gaze, looked down at the table at his notes, pawed through them with no real purpose, no real direction. It was as if he too wanted his client to speak.
And he did.
“This is off the record, right?”
Ashley nodded his head. The solicitor shrugged his shoulders and cast his eyes in the direction of the frozen tape recorder.
It was Matthewson’s turn to hold up a hand. “I’m not so sure this is—”
Rafi interrupted. “It started about four years ago. I knew nothing about it, of course, I was just a kid. Father explained it to me when the
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