The Crime Trade

12

Joey Cloud lived in a bedsit above a row of shops on the Caledonian Road between King’s Cross and Islington. Access was via a set of metal steps round the back that led up to a cramped walkway where the bedsits were all lined up in a row. Darkness had fallen by the time we arrived and there was a light on in number 3.

‘I thought you said he was strictly small-time,’ I said, dodging a pile of rubbish bags as I started up the steps with her behind me, not entirely happy to be there. I consider myself a pretty dedicated copper, but I’d definitely had my fill for the day. ‘What’s he going to know?’

‘He’s been reliable down the years, and occasionally he gets a gem. I’m hoping he’s got one this time.’

I’d met Joey Cloud once, when we’d been setting up the sting on O’Brien, and I’d taken an instant and very natural dislike to him. He looked exactly like you’d expect someone who informs on people for financial gain to look. Late twenties, with the furtive air of a man who’s always on the hunt for the next fix of cash but who also knows what it might cost him, he was also a long-term pipehead and occasional smack user who suffered from the same ailments that many chronic adddicts do: rapid and premature ageing coupled with an inability to wash properly or look anything other than scruffy and unkempt. I remember having to turn my head away on our first meeting to get out of range of the stench of piss and sweat that seemed to come off him in nauseous waves, and it made me think then that I couldn’t understand how he ever got near enough to other people to hear their secrets. In fact, it still amazed me that he’d somehow heard about O’Brien’s efforts to set up a major coke importation ring with the Colombians. I could only put it down to the sort of sheer luck that in the life of a pipehead, even a cunning one, is rarely, if ever, repeated.

‘When was the last time you spoke to him?’ I asked Tina, as I climbed the steps.

‘Months back. Not since the O’Brien sting. He hasn’t had anything for us.’

Which, I thought, went some way to proving my point, although I didn’t say anything.

We walked along the balcony until we got to his front door. It had been painted navy blue, probably when the block was first built, but was now peeling badly to reveal the wood beneath. The outline of a 3 could be made out, but the sign itself had long since fallen off. I could already smell the interior, even from here. It wasn’t pleasant.

There was no doorbell, so I rapped hard on the door. There were the faint strains of music coming from inside so he was probably at home, although what state he was in was another matter.

I gave it ten seconds, then knocked again, harder this time. We hadn’t come all this way on a shitty wet evening for nothing.

I was just about to knock for a third time when I heard the shuffling of feet coming towards the door.

‘Who is it?’ The voice was slurred a little and I wondered if he’d been on the smack, or had just woken up.

‘Police,’ I called through the letterbox. ‘Can you let us in, please.’

‘I’ve got nothing to say to the police, and I ain’t done nothing wrong, so fuck off.’

Tina leant forward so her lips were almost touching the door. ‘This is very important, Mr Cloud,’ she said, hoping that he’d recognize her voice, but not letting on that she knew him, in case anyone else was listening. ‘Can you please let us in? Otherwise we’ll come back with a warrant.’

‘I ain’t done nothing,’ he whined, sounding like a snot-nosed kid. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘Mr Cloud,’ I told him, again speaking through the letterbox. ‘We need to speak to you and we’re not going to go away until we do.’

I heard him curse and then the door was opened a few inches. There was a chain on the latch preventing us from entering. Joey Cloud’s gaunt, unshaven features appeared in the gap looking like the ‘before’ picture in an Alka Seltzer advert. The smell arrived at exactly the same time. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t want to speak to us after all.

‘This is fucking harassment. I told you, I ain’t done nothing. I can’t say fairer than that, can I?’ His eyes were slightly glazed but he appeared reasonably compos mentis. For him, anyway. He stared hard at Tina. ‘I got nothing to say to you. Nothing. You understand? Now, get the fuck out of here or I’ll call my brief.’

‘You haven’t got a brief,’ I told him. ‘With your funds and habits, you wouldn’t be able to retain one for more than ten minutes.’

He turned to me, his face still squeezed in the gap, but this time his defiance had evaporated and been replaced by a pleading expression. ‘Listen,’ he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Leave me alone, please. I’m not in the info game any more. I just want to be left alone. Please.’

I tried to give him a reassuring smile but, amid the BO, I think it must have come out more like a grimace. ‘This won’t take long, I promise.’

His face cracked into a hideous broken-toothed grin, utterly devoid of any humour. ‘Yeah,’ he said, the grin twisting into a sneer, ‘that’s exactly what they told me when they come round before.’

Tina pulled a face. ‘They? Who’s they?’

‘They,’ he answered, the sneer now transforming into a look of anger. ‘They are the people who did this.’

He shifted his weight, moving his head back from the door, then slowly raised his right arm so that it was level with his face.

Straight away, I saw the bandage wrapped round the hand.

‘God almighty,’ hissed Tina, her eyes fixed on the blood-flecked dressing where Cloud’s little and index fingers used to be. ‘Who did that to you?’

For two, maybe three, seconds, he didn’t speak, simply kept the mutilated hand in front of his face for us to see. Finally, he let it drop to his side and out of sight. When he spoke, the words were slow and addressed to both of us.

‘People who told me I shouldn’t be speaking to you,’ he said simply.

Then, with his good hand, he shut the door on us.

When we were back down on the street, standing in the glow of the street lamps and watching the cars drift past in both directions, Tina let out a deep sigh. ‘It feels like someone’s always one step ahead of us.’

I stopped beside her and put an arm on her shoulder. ‘It could be anything, Tina. He might have just upset one of his dealers, or maybe someone found out he was a grass.’

‘Then why did he say the people who’d done it didn’t want him speaking to us?’

‘Because I expect they don’t. If he knows who they are, which he almost certainly does, then they don’t want him going to the police, do they? It doesn’t mean it’s got anything to do with O’Brien and Heathrow.’

Tina shook her head, staring into the evening drizzle. ‘There are too many coincidences, John. He was the one who put us on to O’Brien, and I think someone’s got to him to make sure he keeps his mouth shut. What’s worrying me, though, is the fact that hardly anyone was aware of his existence, let alone his role in setting up Robbie.’

I thought about this for a moment, because I knew what she was going to say next.

‘But one of those people was Stegs Jenner.’

We stood in silence for a few moments, contemplating that particular thought.

‘Come on,’ I said eventually, taking her by the arm. ‘Let’s go get a drink. I think we’ve earned one.’