He ended the call, fished Caroline Stockmann’s business card out of his wallet, then called her mobile. She was surprised to hear from him, and even more surprised when he asked to meet her. She lived in North London but he figured he had just about enough time to swing by her house on the way out to the airport.
Shepherd’s minicab was waiting outside, and half an hour later he was sitting in Stockmann’s kitchen with a mug of coffee. When he’d told her he wanted to talk about Jimmy Sharpe she’d at first refused to let him into her house, but Shepherd had begged for ten minutes of her time.
‘My report’s done and dusted,’ she said, stirring her coffee. ‘There’s nothing more I can do.’
‘Jimmy Sharpe’s a good cop,’ said Shepherd, ‘one of the best I’ve ever worked with.’
‘I’m not disputing that,’ she said.
‘But you’ve said he’s racist.’
Stockmann frowned. ‘Who said I did?’
‘He did. Charlie’s told him to leave the unit.’
Stockmann stirred her coffee thoughtfully. ‘I hardly think she’s done that on the basis of my evaluation,’ she said.
‘That’s the way Razor tells it,’ said Shepherd. ‘Did you say he was racist?’
‘I said he uses racist language and that could be an indication of underlying racism.’
‘It’s just the way he talks,’ said Shepherd. ‘I know that most of your work has been with MI5, but there’s a world of a difference between the security services and what the cops have to face on the streets.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ said Stockmann.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be patronising, but let me run a few things by you. I’ve gone undercover against big-time cannabis and crack dealers. Now, over the years I’ve been a cop, I’ve never even seen a cannabis dealer with a gun. Cannabis dealing and guns don’t go together. On the other hand, I’ve never seen a crack dealer without a gun and more often than not they come with a complete arsenal. And your average crack dealer only has to think he’s been looked at wrong for him to start shooting. You get the difference?’
‘Yes – though you’re bordering on patronising now. Look, I see where you’re heading. Cannabis dealers are generally white, crack dealers are black. So when you treat them differently it’s because of their profession, not their colour. I understand that. And I understand that street muggers are generally black and serial killers are generally white. But that doesn’t excuse your colleague’s attitude.’
‘He uses antiquated phraseology, I admit.’
Stockmann chuckled. ‘He calls Arabs “ragheads” and Pakistanis “Pakis”. That’s not antiquated, that’s offensive.’
‘He’s not racist,’ said Shepherd. ‘I can unequivocally promise you that Razor is not racist.’
‘Then perhaps you might explain to me what your definition of racist is?’
‘Is this about me, now, or him?’ asked Shepherd, cautiously.
‘We’re talking about him,’ said Stockmann. ‘I’ve already given you a clean bill of health.’
‘Okay. My definition of racism would be treating people differently on the basis of race. Razor doesn’t treat people differently because of their colour. He treats good people with respect and bad people with distrust. Doesn’t matter what colour they are. Now, in these politically correct days, that’s actually not the way to do things. As cops we’re supposed to bend over backwards to be sympathetic towards minorities. In my experience they get cut more slack than the majority. Razor doesn’t see life that way. If you treat him with respect, he’ll treat you the same way. Doesn’t matter who or what you are.’
‘And his language doesn’t bother you?’
‘I find it annoying more than anything. And sometimes he plays on it. But I don’t think his use of language is a good enough reason to take him off the unit.’
‘I’m not the one doing that. It’s Charlotte Button’s decision.’
‘Based on your recommendation.’
‘I make observations rather than recommendations,’ said Stockmann.
‘And your observation is that he’s racist?’
‘That he expresses racist tendencies,’ corrected Stockmann.
‘Razor is a cop,’ said Shepherd, ‘an old-school policeman who spent years pounding the beat. His language is anachronistic at times, but he is the most honest and trustworthy cop I’ve ever met. If he saw anyone in trouble, no matter what race or creed they were, he’d help.’
‘Is his use of racist language common among officers?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘And is it something you approve of?’
‘You said this wasn’t about me,’ said Shepherd.
‘It isn’t. I’m trying to ascertain how you guys think.’
‘Look, it’s all very well saying that everyone deserves to be treated the same, but the real world isn’t like that. People conform to stereotypes. I could stand with you in Oxford Street and pick out the muggers for you, not based on their race but on their attitude and the way they dress. Muggers are predators, and I can spot that. The fact that most muggers are black is incidental. I can also spot the pickpockets, the pimps and the drug dealers. And I can pick out the guys who have been inside. Yes, of course it’s environment, not race, that determines criminality but if I’m kicking down the door of a crack house I’m going to be more nervous than if I’m knocking on the door of a mansion in Mayfair. Does that mean I’m off the unit, too?’
Stockmann smiled. ‘Of course not.’
‘You know, I’m not allowed to use the expression “nitty-gritty” in any report I write. Do you know why that is?’
Stockmann shook her head.
‘Because “nitty-gritty” was the detritus at the bottom of slave ships – the shit, old food, skin cells and all the rest of the stuff that accumulated during the voyages. I’m not allowed to use the phrase in case it causes offence – to whom? To a crack dealer who’s causing misery and death on the streets, who’s put three bullets in a rival dealer and who’s terrorised his neighbourhood? I work undercover against those guys, and you should hear the racial slurs they use about cops. That’s what we mean by racial attacks, these days. It’s not about getting physical, or even about applying mental pressure, it’s about use of English. It’s ridiculous, Caroline. It’s nonsense. And if you start acting like the thought police there isn’t going to be a cop worth his salt left on the force.’
Stockmann wrapped her hands round her mug. ‘Why did you come to me?’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you go to Charlotte?’
‘Because if I went to her, I’d be going above your head, and I didn’t want to do that. It would put her in a bad position. If she agreed with me she’d have to overrule you. This way you can say you’ve reassessed your assessment.’
‘Reassessed my assessment?’ she said, smiling.
‘You know what I mean,’ said Shepherd. He glanced at his wristwatch. He was running late. ‘Look, I know my coming here is unethical but I wanted to plead Razor’s case in person.’
‘Man to man?’
Shepherd laughed, despite the seriousness of the situation. ‘Person to person,’ he said. ‘Please, just think about what I’ve said. I can guarantee one thing. If Razor stays on the unit I will personally give him an attitude adjustment.’ He stood up. ‘Thanks for the coffee, and for breaking the rules for me.’
‘Your boyish charm got you over the threshold,’ she said. ‘Seriously, we’re all on the same team here. My function is purely to help you guys, and girls, do the job to the best of your ability. Let me sleep on it.’
She showed him out and Shepherd hurried back to his waiting minicab.
Wafeeq stripped the Kalashnikov down into its component parts and began to clean and oil them. Kamil sat opposite, watching him work. ‘Where did you learn to do that?’ asked Kamil.
‘Afghanistan,’ said Wafeeq. ‘You can strip a gun, can’t you?’
Kamil shook his head.
‘A gun is a tool,’ said Wafeeq. ‘It has to be looked after if it’s to function properly.’
They were sitting in the kitchen. Rahman and his younger brother Azeem were downstairs, outside the door that led to the room where the infidel was held. Abdul-Nasir was up in the front bedroom that overlooked the road and Sulaymaan was in the main room, sleeping. Wafeeq had known all the men for at least a decade. He never worked with anyone he didn’t know and trust. He had been taught well and he had been taught by the best.