Williams said.
‘Morrison doesn’t care about rules and sayings,’ King told them. ‘He only has one rule – steal it if you can. He doesn’t care from who.’
‘Why don’t the locals just give him a good kicking and teach him a lesson?’ Renita asked.
‘Because they’re all as bad as each other,’ Brown explained. ‘All fucking thieving from each other – all fucking each other over.’
‘Probably,’ King agreed, ‘but the fact remains this kid is a one-man crime wave, so let’s bring an end to it.’ He stuck another photograph of a similarly unpleasant-looking youth to the board. ‘Justin Harris. Another residential burglar and sometime partner-in-crime of the before-mentioned Morrison and just as prolific.’ Yet another photograph was stuck to the board, this time of a black youth in his late teens. ‘Everton Watson,’ King explained. ‘The last of our residential burglars, only he strictly works solo and is notoriously slippery.’
‘I’ve dealt with that slag,’ Renita told them. ‘Nicked him for screwing a car. Looks like he’s moved up to bigger and better things.’
‘He has,’ King agreed, ‘and now he needs to be stopped. But speaking of screwing cars,’ he continued, sticking two more photographs on the board, ‘we shouldn’t forget these two – Craig Rowsell and Harrison Clarke – a salt-and-pepper team specializing in theft from motor vehicles. Where you find one you’ll usually find the other. Prolific isn’t the word for these two. Next time you feel broken glass from a smashed car window under your feet, you can be sure it’s probably down to these two clowns. They’ll think nothing of breaking into a car just to see if there’s anything worth nicking. They’re looking for satnavs people have been stupid enough to leave inside or mobiles, but they’ll take absolutely anything: loose change, adaptors, chargers, pens, CDs, even lighters in the past. If they had a motto it’d be “steal first – think later” and they are causing havoc to the borough motor vehicle crime figures.’
‘Well now,’ Brown added sarcastically, ‘we can’t have that, can we.’
‘No we can’t,’ King reprimanded him. ‘And then there’s those who are slightly further up the food chain. As I’ve said, they’re not our immediate problem, but you should be aware of who they are.’
The first mugshot was of an overweight man about thirty-four years old, with oily olive skin and hair pulled back in a ponytail. He was smiling in the photo, revealing his heavily stained teeth. ‘This is Arman Baroyan,’ King told them. ‘By all accounts he’s a proper Fagin – the main dealer in stolen goods on the estate, but judging by his lack of arrests he’s no fool.’
Next he slapped a photo of a man in his mid-twenties to the rogues’ gallery – tall and skinny with a poor pox-marked complexion, his head shaved, dead blue eyes staring from his skull-like face. ‘Micky Astill’s our main local heroin and crack dealer, selling out of his secured flat in The Meadows. He never seems to get turned over by any bigger or more violent dealers, so assume he’s getting protection from somewhere.’
‘Probably the Campbells,’ Renita offered, referring to the area’s most notorious crime family.
‘Probably,’ King agreed, ‘but the Campbells neither live on the estate nor commit the sorts of crimes we’re interested in.’
‘More’s the pity,’ Brown snarled.
‘And last but not least,’ King ignored him, sticking his final photo to the board, ‘Susie Ubana – our primary local cannabis dealer.’ He tapped the photograph of the attractive black woman in her early thirties. ‘If it’s cannabis you want she’s your girl. She deals from her heavily fortified maisonette in Millander Walk. Drug Squad have hit it before, but by the time they got through the metal grates any drugs had been long flushed or so well hidden they couldn’t find them.’
‘If we’re not going to hit them, why we talking about them?’ Brown demanded to know.
‘Because they’re a good source of arrests,’ King told him. ‘You see any local toe-rags coming from any of these addresses there’s a strong chance they’ll be carrying drugs or stolen goods. Never look a gift horse in the mouth – wasn’t that what you said?’
‘Aye, well,’ Brown struggled for an answer.
King pressed on. ‘And remember – in amongst the scum there’ll be a lot of decent folk just trying to live their lives quietly. Treat them with respect when you’re dealing with them and we might just win their support and confidence. We’re there to police by consent – not just force. Everyone understand?’
Renita and Williams nodded, whereas Brown just shrugged.
‘Now, most of the people we’re interested in don’t even get out of their beds till midday, lazy bastards, so there’s no point us wandering around the estate at seven in the morning. We’ll work two shifts between ten am and six pm and six pm till two in the morning – two of us per shift. You don’t have to walk around holding hands, although sometimes we’ll need to stick together. Any questions?’
‘Aye,’ Brown asked. ‘When do we get started?’
‘Right now,’ King told him, clipping on his utility belt and pulling his body armour from his bag. ‘The Grove Wood Estate’s crawling with criminality. It’s time to restore the rule of law.’
The small meeting began to break up before King stopped them. ‘One more thing, before I forget.’ The others stopped what they were doing and turned back to look at him. ‘Apart from the before-mentioned rogues’ gallery, the Grove Wood has an additional and very unwelcome problem.’
‘Such as?’ Renita asked.
‘Some animal messing with the local kids,’ King explained.
‘The fucking kiddie fiddler?’ Brown jumped in. ‘CID still not caught the bastard?’
‘Yes, the kiddie fiddler and, no, the CID still haven’t caught him,’ King answered. ‘But this one’s already up to half-a-dozen attacks to date and doesn’t look like stopping until he’s stopped. I spoke with DS Marino about it and he’s convinced whoever’s doing it is already escalating. Only a matter of time before he commits a serious sexual assault on a child. We have to stop him before that happens.’
‘That’s a lot of attacks in a relatively small area,’ Renita questioned. ‘How come he keeps getting away with it?’
‘CID have had the Crime Squad down there a few times,’ King explained, ‘but he never attacks out in the open, so observation posts haven’t worked. They tried to put plain-clothed units on the ground, but you know what it’s like on the Grove Wood – strangers stand out a mile and Old Bill even more so. As soon as the Crime Squad moved onto the estate the local slags put the alarm up – warning whoever we’re looking for, even if they didn’t mean to.’
‘Forensics?’ Williams asked.
‘No forensics,’ King answered. ‘He’s real careful. Uses his hands and hands only. Never leaves any body fluids behind for DNA.’
‘And identification?’ Williams tried again.
King just shook his head. ‘We have little or no chance of that. He uses the oldest disguise in the book: a baseball
