Greater Good

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Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Scunthorpe, June 2011.

The morning after the night before. Stu sat at the table in the dining room with his old mate Pol. They looked passively down the garden without speaking. Di brought through a pot of coffee and sat it down on the table between the two men. She put three mugs down on the table with them and sat with the men. The coffee was strong, dark and with a rich aroma that filled the room with a glow.

They sipped the coffee from Help for Heroes mugs.

“I have these cups at home.” Said Pol.

“Yeah, we were given them a few years ago, I did some stuff for them.” Stu replied.

“Actually he ran the Marathon Des Sables for them, raised over ten grand in sponsorship for them, so yeah he did some stuff”. Di was fiercely proud of her man’s accomplishments. He was fiercely proud of her.

“All my souvenirs were in the shed, Pol.” Stu looked down into his coffee as he spoke quietly. “There were photos and all sorts of things in there”. Snap shots of my life.

“I know mate.” Pol replied. He understood that those souvenirs were the only tangible link to some of the things that now started to fade into one another in Stu’s memory.

“They are cunts” Stu said.

“Yeah” both Pol and Di agreed with him.

The trio discussed the run in with the boys from the Acheron Street Crew in the garden the day before.

“Did anyone see what happened?” Asked Pol.

“I don’t know, maybe. I don’t want them nicking for this”. Replied Stu.

“It’s not about that mate, we have got a young lad with a smashed elbow. He might say that you assaulted him and try to get you locked up”. Said Pol.

“Yeah, I had thought about that. It is a worry for me”. Said Di.

“For fuck sake, I don’t think he will do that because he wants to be the hard man. He won’t want to admit that an old boy like me kicked his arse, will he?” Stu doubted his own assertion.

“Mate, these little fuckers will do whatever they can to keep control of the streets and if that means using the cops to their advantage then they will do.” Said Pol.

“The court will believe me, I will tell the truth and they won’t be able to prove it. It didn’t happen for fuck sake.”

“Stu, they will report it as a racially aggravated assault and you will get nailed out for it. They will cook up their stories, no fucker will back you up and then you will be getting shafted in the showers at the scrubs before you know it”.

Di put down her coffee. She looked directly at the cop. She knew all about him. Stu had told her about the sort of ma that he was and she knew that they could trust him. “Tell us what we should do Pol”.

Pol looked up at his friend’s wife, he looked her straight in the eye and said to her. “Ok this is the deal. You both need to call the police anonymously and report that you have seen an incident in the street and tell them what has happened. Then there will be a bit of doubt in the case. If it goes to court then those two anonymous calls will give the court enough to doubt what the prosecution say in their bollocks witness statements.”

Pol looked out of the window and saw a young blackbird perched on the wall between the houses. He wondered if the bird he had seen the previous night was the parent of this bird and was the young blackbird waiting for his breakfast. It wasn’t singing.

“You know that you can’t disclose this conversation. I will get fucked if you do.” Pol added.

“Really? You don’t say soft lad” Hicks laughed as he spoke to his old brother in arms.

Their eyes met over the table. There was an unspoken understanding and the shared memory of Tanjoc was a bond stronger than words ever could be.



Special branch did not operate out of normal police buildings. The Humberside and South Yorkshire teams had been merged and found residence in a nameless office building on an industrial estate in Doncaster.

Detective Inspector Steve Day was the senior officer of this team. He was a solid time served detective with only three years left to serve. He followed orders to the letter. He believed in what he did. He knew that the world was full of bad people and the good people of England needed his protection to keep on living the lives they did. He was a very intelligent man who followed his orders, but not blindly. He had an intuition and an understanding of people that quickly took him to Inspector rank but a resistance to follow corporate direction that meant he would never make Chief inspector. He said it was bullshit and he would rather spend his time catching villains and putting them in gaol.

He was early in the office, as always. On a Monday he liked to get a head start before his staff landed in the office. He wanted to get a look at any new developments and decide how best to allocate the jobs. He knew once the others came into the office he would not be able to concentrate properly. So he followed his routine. He sat at his desk, plugged his laptop into the secure server and whilst it warmed up he went for a piss and got himself a mug of strong Yorkshire tea.

The stack of emails in his inbox sapped his moral the second he looked at them. He followed a few simple rules. Anything from his boss he opened and scanned through to make sure that there was no immediate taskings. The emails from the admin assistants could wait until he had dealt with the serious business of fighting criminality. Most of their stuff would be leave requests and similar trivia.

Then he would get into the bones of the emails. The electronic intel reports. He liked to ‘keep his finger on the pulse’. His team worshipped the ground he walked on. They thought of him as a copper’s cop. They saw he was a bit of a Jack the lad and a bit of an old school detective. What they struggled to see was the razor sharp mind and steely determination.

At half past seven the team started to roll in. The teams briefing and official start time was nine but most of these guys also liked to be ahead of the game. Special Branch was staffed by officers who routinely went far and beyond the call of duty, the cream of the CID departments across the country. Dc Dom Watson was one of those detectives. He wasn’t like the younger and flasher looking cops he worked with. He wore an old green coat, not a traditional detectives Macintosh. He was old and unfashionable. But he was in special branch because, like his boss, he had a nose for crime.

“Dom, come to my office please”.

“Right Guv’nor, I will be right there.”

Dom walked into the DI’s office and was shown a chair. He sat and looked at the boss waiting for the briefing.

“Dom, there is something going on n Scunny. I am not sure quite what it is but it fucking smells. I know that much.”

“Ok, Boss, What do we have?”

The DI placed a piece of yellow paper on the desk, an intrep.

“Crimestoppers call, says that Asian men are grooming white girls for sex.”

The DI placed another report on the table.

“Report of a racially aggravated assault on a kid leaving him with a smashed elbow. The kid reporting it is, according to the force’s intelligence, the local gang’s enforcer.”

The DI Placed two more reports on the table.

“Two calls to crime stoppers, reporting a local man has defended himself against a youth with a knife hurting the youth’s arm, relates to the report of assault I have just mentioned, the dialogue is so similar it is believed they are related. It’s almost like they are scripted”.

The DI placed five or six reports on the table.

“A load of intreps from the local NPT Sergeant. Talking about the gang that the youth with the broken arm belongs too”

“Ok, what do you want me to do with it?” asked the detective.

“Go over there and weave all this bullshit into something that makes sense”.

“Ok boss, what have we got on the two related Crimestoppers calls?”

“Not much really, checks have been done on the phone numbers that made the calls. Pay as you go, Tesco network”.

“Alright then boss, I will have a look at it”.

Dom Watson returned to his desk and logged onto his computer. There was little to go on. The call records from the two mobiles had been checked and on one phone there was a call to a local number and on the other mobile there was also a call to a mobile number. It was a start. Dom then searched on the two numbers he had come up with. The landline number was the number for a local pizza delivery service but the other one was more interesting. It was the number of the local neighbourhood sergeant.

A little over an hour later Dc Dom Watson was parking his car at the front of Scunthorpe North Police station. He was there to see Sgt Pol Winchester.

Pol and Dom sat in Pol’s office drinking coffee.

“So what is it that I can do for you?” Asked Pol.

“A call was made to you the other day from a mobile number, 07852278934, to you. Who was it from?”

“I don’t know off hand, let me check my call list”. Pol replied. “Give me the number again”

“07852278934”

As Dom recited the numbers Pol searched through his phone history. He found the number. He realised what the special branch detective had come for. The number was Stu Hicks’. He put his mobile phone down on the table and looked up at the special branch man.

“Where is this going?” Pol sat still and spoke quietly maintaining eye contact with Dom. He knew he was compromised. His pulse raced in his head. He took a breath, refocused. This could be the end of his career. This potentially could mean time in jail for him.

Watson saw the split second of realisation in the eyes of Pol. He knew that he needed to act quickly or the sergeant would shut up shop and stop talking to him. “This intelligence is for use by special branch alone.” Watson, dunked his hobnob. “You understand what that means?” he spoke quietly, he did not look at Pol, he changed his posture and opened to Pol, he looked him in the eye. He knew this would appear conspiratorial to Pol.

“Yeah, I think so”, Pol replied tentatively.

“It means that the information will not be passed outside of the special branch. It means that it won’t get back to division and won’t get back to discipline and complaints”. Watson ate his hobnob and watched Pol. He had collected himself and had started to think more clearly. The brief break in the man’s poise was over. Dom didn’t think there had been many and he certainly would not see another.

“Do I get that in writing?” Pol asked.

“Do you fuck as like.” Watson replied. Both men laughed and a connection was made between them.

“Ok, I will give you it all,” Pol said, his mind stepping ahead. “But not here, I don’t trust that D and C haven’t got this place bugged”. Pol wanted control, he wanted a venue that he could set up. He wanted to record the conversation. Nothing would be in writing but he wanted some sort of insurance.

“Alright, Pol. Here is my card. Text me where you want to meet.” Watson got up. The men shook hands and parted. Later they met. Pol gave Watson everything he wanted. He told him about Stu Hicks. He told him about his fears and about what he suspected was going on with the vulnerable young girls of the town. He didn’t tell him about Tanjoc.

He knocked at the door and was greeted by a tall, handsome woman and a big fierce looking dog. “My name is DC Watson, are you Mrs Hicks?”

“Yes, I am. Please come in officer.” Di invited Watson into the house.

“Is Mr Hicks home?”

“No he is out training at the moment but he will be home pretty soon. Can I make you a coffee officer?” Di showed Watson into the lounge and gestured for him to sit.

“Thank you, Mrs Hicks. That would be lovely. White with no sugar please.” The detective sat down and stroked Winston who had also made his way into the lounge and sat beside Watson but on the floor. He was big enough that his head could rest on the arm of the chair.

Some minutes later Di carried through a mug of coffee for her guest. They talked about the weather and about the state of the town but Watson avoided anything about the local gang or the problems that Hicks had confronted just a couple of days before in his back garden.

Hicks came into the house through the back door. He was sweaty and heaving for breath. His training regime had really stepped up in the last week and he was starting to look and feel like his old self again.

“Stu, this gentleman is from special branch”. As Hicks walked into the room Watson stood up. He extended his hand and Hicks shook it.

“How is it that I can help you?” Hicks asked.

“Well actually it might be better to say how can I help you”. Watson said.

“Really?” Stu had been towelling himself down but now had stopped and watched the detective sip his coffee.

Watson was uncomfortable around Hicks, there was something about him that he could not quite quantify. Winchester had seemed tough but measured and controlled but Hicks just felt dangerous and explosive. Watson sipped his coffee and used it as a prop to hide his nervousness behind. Hicks recognised what he was doing and took a step towards him further pressurising him.

“How is it that you can help me then?” he said.

Watson put down his coffee. “Well we operate a scheme where in exchange for certain information we might be able to authorise cash payments. The payments can be quite big depending on what the information is”.

“Like the grass system from Ireland?”

“Yeah, that’s the scheme.”

“I don’t think I know very much though. Well not much that can be of assistance to you anyway” Hicks continued to towel himself down.

“You know Sergeant Winchester?”

“Yeah, I have known him for many years. We did a bit of soldiering together. Back in the day.” Hicks sat down in the armchair opposite the detective. He studied the shabby, middle aged man. He watched him sip his coffee nervously. He saw the crumbs on his coat and the stains on his tie. He also sensed the sharp mind and the will to succeed that the man possessed. Watson told Hicks there were concerns about Winchester’s performance and that they needed someone close to him to try to gather information about him. Hicks agreed to help Watson. Hicks talked to Watson about Pol’s growing hatred of the Acheron street gang and that he felt that Pol would become so focussed on them he easily could cross into the realms of obsession. When asked Hicks told Watson that he didn’t think that Pol would take the law into his own hands, he was far too disciplined to allow that to happen.

“So what does Pol tell you about this gang then?” Watson asked seemingly casually. Hicks knew this sort of man too well to believe that anything he ever said or did was casual.

“He doesn’t give me specifics and he never names names but he opens up and shares his frustrations with the law and the processes that bind him.”

“If he gives you names I need to know, we are worried about the security of the information he possesses”. The detective knew that the ex-special forces soldier was lying to protect his friend. He might be trained in resistance to interrogation and torture but the cop knew for sure he was a liar.

Their conversation moved on to talk about Stu and Pol’s time in the jungle before the detective handed a mobile phone to Stu.

“There is one number stored in the memory, it is under Mum. If you need me call me on that number. If it’s urgent then you can call me whenever. It will only ever be me that answers. Do not text any information and don’t leave a message on the voice mail.” Stu took the phone from Dom and put it in his pocket.

When Dom left the house there were a couple of lads in the street near his car. He turned to Stu and said “If you want to discuss the claim for your shed any further please call the customer compliance department”.

Stu immediately picked it up. “Thanks for coming round Mr Joyce, loss adjuster, my fucking arse!” he shouted and slammed the door.

He went straight in and picked up his phone, the same one he used to call Crimestoppers and text Pol. Pol replied almost straight away.

SMS CONVERSATION

Stu: We need a chat

Pol: Ok

Stu: Meet at Brigg swimming pool. 6pm. Bring your speedos

Pol: Ok.

By the time that Dom reached his office a copy of the text conversation was waiting for him on his desk. Exactly as he planned.



She looked like just another bag of rubbish laying in the alleyway. People walked around her on their way to work at the chicken processing factory or in the dwindling steelworks. She was just another piece of shit littering the shitty alleyway. With the burst black bags of rubbish and detritus. Her blue jeans bloomed into a darker shade where she had lost control. Her wild black hair was plastered to her face with mucus and vomit. The hoody she was wearing was covering much of her face. If the passers-by, had not been absorbed in the bubbles of their own lives, looked at her face they would have seen the pretty eyes of the fourteen year old. They would have seen the unblinking lifeless gaze of the girl as they started to cloud as the chill of death seeped into her. Finally at peace Jasmin Peters, fourteen years old. Abused by her stepfather and her own mother. Taken into care. Looked after by corporate institutions and professionals. Found comfort in the street gangs, finally she felt like she belonged. What did she know? She belonged to them. They possessed her, betrayed her, violated her and threw her away. Discarded and wasted, like any other commodity when its exploitation is complete.

The police received an anonymous call about her. They arrived a little after eight o’clock. After briefing and after a coffee. The marked Proton drove down the alleyway and stopped just short of the small figure laying in the gutter. The officers climbed out and walked over to the girl.

Pc Tommo Tomlinson and Pc Sarah Pyke approached the girl.

“Wake up!” Tommo shouted at her as he approached her.

Of course Jasmin did not respond.

“She’s still pissed as a fucking bandit”. Sarah muttered at a volume that only Tommo could hear.

Tommo bent down beside her and listened for her breathing. Of course Jasmin was not breathing.

“Sarah, she’s not fucking breathing!” Tommo said to his colleague as he easily turned the small lifeless frame of the girl over. They both were trained to a good level in first aid but as they turned her onto her back they felt the stiffness in her limbs. Her lifeless eyes stared skywards. Of course she could not see the clear blue summer skies above her. She could not see the swifts and swallows as they wheeled and turned between the houses on scimitar wings.

Sarah looked down on her face and recognised her. “It’s Jasmin Peters.” She was difficult to recognise. Her face was distorted and misshapen, flat on the left where it had been in contact with the cold pavement as she had lay there in the alleyway. Her blood had pooled in that side of the face with post mortem lividity making the flat area from her nose, cheek and towards her ear blossom into a deep dark purple. Blood streaked mucous had dried in a slight trail from her nostril and its passage could be traced across to the distended, distorted and disfigured side. Her left eye was heavily bloodshot whist the white of her right eye remained clear and open.

“Control from Bravo Mike One Three,” Tommo called up on the radio.

“Go ahead, BM13”. The distant radio operator answered.

“Yeah, I can confirm we have a Sierra Delta, here”. Can I have supervision please?”

“Roger, any ID on the SD?”

“Yes, I can identify her as the misper Jasmin Peters”.

Whilst this radio conversation was taking place Sarah had taken a roll of police tape and closed off the ends of the alleyway. She had put her hat on and stood smartly about thirty yards from Tommo and the dead child. She looked down at the scene of her colleague crouching over the dead girl, he could see he was talking to her. She knew he had kids of about that. For fuck sake, she was only a kid. As she looked at them a woman walked up to the tape on the far side of Tommo and Jasmin. She lifted the tape and started to walk down the alley way. Sarah could not believe what she was seeing, she walked quickly back towards the woman and stopped her. By the time they met they were adjacent to Tommo and Jasmin.

“What on earth are you doing? Didn’t you see the tape?” Sarah was incredulous.

“I need to get to work” The woman said.

“This is a police cordon, you can’t just walk through”

“This is the way I walk to work every day, why should I change my route?” She was edging to walk past the constable.

“There is a dead girl there,” Sarah pointed at Jasmin and Tommo.

“Yeah, so? It’s got fuck all to do with me now are you going to let me past or I will be late?” The woman asked Sarah.

Sarah was an experienced and professional officer. This was the first time in her eleven years of service that she felt like assaulting a member of the public.

“Walk back the way you came or I will lock you up and make sure you don’t get dealt with until tomorrow, then you will be two days late for work”. Sarah spoke in a quiet controlled manner.

The woman turned and walked back up the alleyway as she did she said “Power mad pig bitch!” despite herself Sarah responded. “Fuck you low life”. How could she have known that six months and an investigation later those four words would cost her career?

She turned to Tommo. He sat on the ground beside Jasmine, he was crying.

“Come on Jasmin, wake up.”

Of course Jasmin would never wake up.



At 1500hrs that afternoon Pol attended the afternoon Divisional management meeting. He sat round the table and represented neighbourhood policing. The Detective Inspector chairing the meeting moved his way through the agenda and came onto the commercial burglary section.

“Pol, we have had a further instruction from the Detective Super for you to focus your guys efforts in the area of Commercial burglary.”

“Yeah, no problem sir, we have made some large scale reductions in that area previously by targeting the most prolific offenders with diversionary strategies”. Pol knew how to talk the talk.

“Yes and that has been noticed and recognised. But the pressure is on to increase detection rates and lower offences. This is an area that, because of your previous success, has been earmarked as statistically crucial for the division. Can you pop to the office, after this briefing, and discuss the tactics that you intent to deploy on this please Pol.”

“Yeah, no probs, Guv”.

Pol knew that he was going to be tuned in by the DI about his persistence in targeting the Acheron street gang. It would be explained to him that the direction that they are given is determined by the division policing plan that is partly set at the home office.

The meeting progressed through the normal categories and each department made their normal contributions to them. Pol thought to himself that he could almost write the script for this meeting day in day out.

He was waiting for the final section. The missing persons section. He was keen to hear any update on the vulnerable missing girl Jasmine. The DI gave the meeting the update on all outstanding mispers. There was no mention of Jasmine.

Pol interrupted the DI.

“Excuse me boss, any news on Peters?”

“No longer a misper it seems Pol.” The DI replied curtly.

“Oh good, when did she get back?” Pol asked.

The Intelligence Bureau sergeant laughed and said, “Just another weed in God’s garden, heroin works its magic again”.

Pol looked directly at the still grinning sergeant and sad to him “Mark, you are a true wanker, she was just a kid.”

The DI stepped in immediately. “Pol, that’s enough, please keep your language civil”

“Civil? What’s civil about laughing at a child’s death?” Pol growled, never taking his glare away from Mark Sandford, the detective sergeant from the intelligence team.

The colour was rising in the cheeks of the DI he was angry. Pol was not sure what he was angry about. He knew that Sandford was his blue eyed boy. Pol guessed that the anger would be directed his way. Sandford could do no wrong.

“Leave the meeting Pol. We will talk afterwards and I will be making your inspector aware of your unprofessional outburst.

Pol stood up and picked up his note book and pen. He slowly placed them in the pocket of his Kevlar body armour and pushed in his chair. He looked the DI in the eye and said “Thank you sir”. He said it in a way that made the ‘sir’ sound like an insult. The meeting was silent, the other staff sat and looked at their notebooks or their pens. No one gave any sign off support to Pol, even the Child Protection Unit officer kept her head down and looked away from Pol.

Pol stalked back to his patrol car, he didn’t stop for a coffee with the drug team sergeant. He went back to his station and awaited the storm he had just stirred up.

On his arrival at the station George greeted him. “Hello young man, who have you been upsetting now?”

“Bloody hell George, how do you know already?” Pol replied.

“I know fuck all mate, but it’s written all over your face”.

Pol told George what had happened. George laughed and said to him, “When are you going to learn? For fuck sake Pol, you want to be an inspector? You have no chance they will make you leave”

“I know mate.” Pol replied.

“I will make you a brew and then I will show that bloke from the college into see you.”

“Yeah, good call mate. I didn’t know Charlie was coming in today?”

George looked after the admin and would often make appointments for Pol and put them in his diary.

“Neither did I, Sarge, he just rocked up.” Pol walked off to his office and threw his body armour into the corner of his office. Pol thought that Sandford was a knob. It would be nice to see Charlie today. But the visit was not expected.

George came through and put the coffees on the table in front of the Pol. He showed Jackman in and directed him to a chair. George also put a small plate down with some home baked fruit cake on it. “My wife baked this for you, Pol. She said it would do you good. I say it could sink ducks”.

“Thanks mate.”

George left them to their coffee and slice of cake.

“What can I do for you today, Mr Jackman?”

“Well, you can start off by calling me Charlie.” Replied the lecturer.

“Sorry mate, what’s up?”

“You know I came in a little while ago and we spoke about Rhianna. Well she has had lots more problems at college of late. Her attendance has gone to rat shit and her attitude stinks. I am starting to think that she is kicking about with the Acheron street crew.”

“Ok, that’s, not good at all”

“No and Kharon is round at the college all of the time. He is in and out of the class rooms and workshops and he is causing a real problem. The other staff are too scared to say anything to him and he struts about like he owns he place”.

“What do the college security do about him?” asked Pol.

“Them? Security, they call themselves. A crock of shit. They won’t go anywhere near him.”

“Oh, I see. So you don’t have all that much faith in their performance?”

Both men laughed, both understood how serious the issues they discussed were but found each other’s company could bring the humour out in both of them.

“You know, when she started she was obviously very bright but had come from quite a troubled background. I had hoped that we would be able to progress and really give her some direction in her life. To be fair she was a good engineer too.” Jackman continued to enthuse about Rhianna. “Now, well I don’t know how to reach her. She has changed. When she comes in she comes in late and without an apology, her attitude sucks now.”

Pol and Charlie discussed options whilst they drunk their coffee. It was difficult for Pol to advise Charlie. Both men knew that without some sort of intervention the future of the girl was starting to look bleak. Pol knew just how bleak as he remembered young Jasmine as he had seen her when he loaded her into the ambulance; torn, broken.

When Jackman finally left the building Pol stayed in his office and looked out of the window. The summer evening was drawing in and the sodium light above his office window had just come on. It was on some kind of automatic device that detected the daylight.

Kids were playing football in the park and he could hear their laughter and shouts in the dusk. Moths and bugs had started to emerge and seemed to make their way toward the sodium light from all over the town. He watched them turn and circle attracted to the light’s intense glow and butt against the lens. Time and again they would fly into the glass, they would turn around and then fly straight back into it, the glow of the light irresistible to them. Pol watched one of the bigger, clumsier moths carry out this circuit. He studied the insect in its flight, studied the angle and arcs it could turn whilst always striving to attain the collision with the glass covered sodium orange glow. The moth reached the apex of one of its arcs and turned to head back to the light. Out of the surrounding increasing dark a bat appeared. Within a fraction of a second it had swept, on its black blurred wings, through the light and back into the gloaming. It had gathered up and devoured the moth. Pol had seen this happen many times and he knew the bat would be back and would take the next moth, then the next and then the next. Moths would keep coming to the light and the bats would keep coming for the moths from the darkness. He had no choice. He picked up his mobile phone.

SMS Conversation.

Pol: Mate your Rhianna is in trouble?

Stu: What has she done?

Pol: The fuckers from the gang are after her.

Stu: Like what?

Pol: They want her like that poor kid I told you about.

Stu: Thanks buddy. I will sort it.



A transcript of the conversation was automatically emailed to DC Dom Watson. He had finished work and was at home enjoying a scotch when he received the email to his mobile phone. He quickly read the text, immediately understood the gravity of what he had seen. He emailed his boss.



Unit 21 Kings Cliffe Industrial Estate, Peterborough.

Meeting between Mr Green and Mr White.

Both men carried out the prescribed security checks before entering the office. When Mr White arrived Mr Green had already set up the projector and had opened his secure BlockMaster drive. But according to protocol he had closed it back down until the duress procedure was complete and he was satisfied. This was the biggest job that he had been involved in. He wanted to get this right, not let some minor procedural mistake detract from the work that he had done.

“Things are gathering momentum at Scunthorpe. Fortunately we have a source close to the Mosque where it seems that most of the transactions take place.” Explained Mr Green. “There was a girl taken to Sheffield last week. Fourteen year old Jasmine Peters. She is dead. Heroin overdose”

“Ok, please continue.” Said Mr White.

“They are looking at taking another girl. Our source is talking about it happening soon”.

“Right, is that copper, Winchester, causing any more problems?” Asked Mr White.

“Well, not per se, but this came in through a technical channel” Mr Green, projected the conversation between Pol and Stu onto the wall.

“Mmm, this is interesting. Who is the other party?” Mr White’s façade slipped slightly with some excitement.

“It is a former SBS trooper, Stuart Hicks. Served with Winchester. We have recruited him, he is an asset.”

Mr Green projected a large photograph of Pol and Stu walking into Brigg swimming pool together onto the screen.

“Let’s run with this and see how it develops. These two could resolve our head ache. Update me on all developments immediately”. Mr White directed.

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