Maitland had not been idle since his interview with Smethwick. Using his unofficial army of colleagues and informers, he had organised an almost faultless spy network to follow the DI and DS.
Maitland and Graham knew that they had interviewed Molloy and Grieves. They guessed that Grieves had told the detectives about Murphy and Cleats.
Murphy was safely away in Dublin. Cleats and Grieves were a problem. Grieves was English, ex-army and had no sympathy for ‘the cause’. He would have to be removed before he made a statement about what he saw.
Cleats was a habitual drunk. He would not last more than a day before telling all. Maitland knew of someone who could be persuaded to do him a favour.
Maitland and Graham agreed on the next steps. Grieves would have an unfortunate accident while on site. Cleats would drink himself to death next week. Satisfied, they put the plan into action.
DI Smethwick had tasked Routledge with finding Cleats. It was clear to the detectives that they were being watched. In many instances, interviews which they had attended, they saw constables that were off their beat, standing nearby.
Smethwick decided to fight back. The senior sergeant at Wood Street was an Englishman who had been stationed in Ireland, when he was an RSM in the Army. He was known to dislike and distrust the Friends of Hibernia and those who associated with it.
Sergeant Smith knew that PC Maitland was likely to be promoted in his place when he retired in two years’ time. Maitland had passed the exams and had fended off any attempts to promote him away from Wood Street.
Smith was getting ready to go on duty when there was a knock on his door. He opened it and saw DI Smethwick standing there with DS Routledge. He saluted the senior officer. He invited them in.
“Sergeant Smith, I need your help,” Smethwick said as he walked in. “What do you know of the Friends of Hibernia?”
“Has been the bane of my life for the last twenty years. They’ve corrupted young officers and sabotaged cases against Fenians. Wood Street is riddled with their corruption, sir.”
Smethwick smiled. “I take it you do not like them?”
“Sir, I’ve seen so many good officers either forced out or deliberately shunted down dead ends. Innocent people found guilty and the guilty found innocent. They are a dark force within the police service, sir.”
“Would you be willing to help me eradicate their evil, sergeant?”
“Others have tried before, sir. Your predecessor tried. He ended up dead. He knew that they engaged in criminality but was stymied at every turn.”
Smith thought for a moment. “Sir, I have two years left before I leave the service. I know that one of the biggest troublemakers will take my position. The FoH will be able to sabotage the police on a different scale. Yes, I will help you.”
Smethwick held his hand out and shook Smith’s hand. “I knew I could rely on you, sergeant.”
“You know you and Sergeant Routledge are being watched?”
“I guessed as much,” said Smethwick.
“I caught a young constable off his beat. His excuse was that PC Graham had told him that the senior PCs were worried that the detectives were in danger, and the constable would be a backup if anything happened. He was to report your whereabouts only to Maitland or Graham. I spoke to Maitland and his excuse was he didn’t want another detective being killed from his station. Said it was bad for all our promotions. Of course, he’s lying.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Smith. Do you know if they are still watching us?” Smethwick enquired.
“I warned off the constables. But knowing Maitland, he’ll get some villain to follow you rather than miss out on decent intelligence.”
DS Routledge pondered whether the FoH knew about his questioning Grieves.
“Sir, based on this information, I wonder if it would be safer to arrest Tim Grieves. We can put him in another station while we try to get a statement.”
“I see, you think his life is at risk?”
“I do, sir. He’s the only evidence we have so far. Murphy’s safely ensconced in Ireland. No one knows where Cleats is. He seems to have vanished.”
“Okay, pick him up. Do you know any trustworthy men in Wood Street, Sergeant Smith?”
“Yes, sir, I’ve a couple of lads that I trust completely.”
“Good, Archie, take the sergeant’s lads and get Grieves. I’ll have a word with a colleague across the Thames. No one will suspect Grieves is at Tower Bridge police station.”
Tim Grieves was supervising the demolition of a warehouse on the Wapping River front. He was watching a newcomer intently. He was not sure that the man was experienced enough to undertake the high work. But he was overruled by his boss.
The man was two stories up, balancing on a brick wall that was, perhaps four or five bricks wide. He was gingerly removing bricks with his pick. He worked slowly and moved forward at a steady pace.
Grieves watched for a few minutes then, satisfied that he was better than he first hoped, walked to the site office.
The man came to a difficult corner. Grieves wanted to see how he would deal with it. There was a right way of removing corners. The man picked away at the top and removed the bricks slowly. He deftly moved to the opposite wall. The corner stack was standing alone.
Tim Grieves was always careful while on site. He avoided standing anywhere near where a wall could collapse or near the brick piles.
He noticed a group of men standing around a fire warming themselves. He strode across to them, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m not paying you to stand around.”
The men quickly ran to their designated jobs. Grieves was fuming. The job was already late. The boss was giving him grief. He turned, returning to the office he heard a shout, looked up and saw the corner stack falling. He tried to run but tripped.
He was covered by the stack of bricks. He died instantly. The newcomer was sitting astride the brick wall in front of the rest of the corner stack. He showed no emotion as many workers tried to dig Grieves out.
It was just another accident in an industry noted for its high death rate. The constable who visited the site, noted that it was an accident. Mr Grieves was standing near a high-risk area. PC Graham closed his notebook. The body was removed, and the demolition continued.
Sergeant Routledge saw the body in the morgue. He was not pleased that he had been outwitted again.
Brendan O’Carroll was patrolling around his building. He saw PC Maitland waiting by the entrance.
“Good evening, officer.”
“We need to talk.” Maitland was terse in his speech.
Brendan opened the door and led the PC into a small office. It had two chairs and a table. It had an electric light, which Brendan flicked on.
“How have you been, Mr O’Carroll?”
“Fine sir, thank you.”
“Good, this is a very good job. You’re lucky to have a job here. Secure work and good wages. Another few years and you could retire. How’s Mrs O’Carroll?”
“She’s a little poorly, but I’m sure she’ll get better; with the right medicines.”
“That’s good, expensive, are they? I mean the medicines.”
“Yes, sir, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help and, of course, the Friends.”
Maitland was smiling. “Yes, a nice little job, speaking of the Friends, I wonder if you would be willing to lend a hand. We’ve a problem that needs your particular skill set?”
“Of course, what can I do to help?”
Smethwick and Routledge were seated in the pie house, Guido was standing over them pointing out the day’s specials. They settled on an oyster and beef pie, split between them.
Smethwick waited until Guido had left. “So, Grieves was killed. Accident, the report said. What do you think, Sergeant?”
“It is a dangerous occupation, demolition. However, it’s too much of a coincidence. And the reporting officer was PC Graham.”
“My feelings exactly. Have we found Cleats yet?”
“No sir, he seems to have vanished. I’ve got a few of my narks trying to find him. Is there any chance we can get Murphy picked up and brought back?”
“I’ve already asked. It seems it’s too expensive, unless I can get real evidence against him the boss will not sanction it.”
The detectives sat quietly pondering what to do next. They left the pie house, feeling very down.