Undercover by Bill James Page B

around. Rice wouldn’t want the police brought into things. That’s not how matters are handled in the gangs, is it? They deal with the situation privately.’
    Iles crooned with feeling and unsoftly, in fact, little short of a bellow, an updated version of the 1930s’ song ‘Marta’: ‘Omertà, rambling rose of the wildwood; Omertà, with your shtum code malign.’
    Maud said: ‘Yep. So we’re guessing a bit, presuming a bit. Tom had been back to Hilston to get kitted out with a car. I’ve seen their records for that. He could hardly use his own vehicle when working his way into the firm. They’d be routinely suspicious of him, wouldn’t they? All right, he’s from another police outfit, not local and not recognized, but they’d be routinely suspicious of
anyone
new, and on guard non-stop against possible infiltration. There’s been so much publicity about undercover that all criminal outfits are
qui viving
. Most likely the firm has a paid voice inside the Licensing Authority who could do a check on his registration and come up with a name and address – Tom’s real name and address. Not good. That’s only one step away from a visit to neighbours and discovery he’s a cop; confirmation he’s a cop. “Oh, yes, Sergeant Tom Mallen and his family live there. Why do you ask?” They’d ask because they wanted to expose a snoop, but they wouldn’t say that.
    â€˜For the Hilston BMW, though, we could arrange for a number plate tied to Thomas Derek Parry, born twenty-seventh of April 1974, and living at the time of registration in West Ham, London. The actual address was a big, old multi-flatted house where there’d be continual occupant changes, making a trace of some ex-resident more or less impossible. Hilston gave him a familiarizing pack on the district, including, of course, popular drug-pushing spots, to help Tom manufacture a recent background scene in case of questions. It would be reasonably credible that he’d forgotten to, or neglected to, inform the Authority of a new address.
    â€˜We think Tom chauffeured the people who’d been instructed to clobber Rice. Hilston did consider a location bug for the BMW so its whereabouts would be always known and logged and fast-aided in case of trouble. But this idea was ditched because in any vetting of Tom by the firm they’d search the vehicle as a basic ploy and find his seven/twenty-four little telltale. From your points of view, Desmond, Colin, what you might wish to establish is whether Tom’s behaviour on the Rice operation produced doubts of his genuineness. You’ve heard of that call in some US jails – “Dead man walking” – when a prisoner’s on his early morning, manacled way to the topping parlour. Was this Rice episode “dead man driving” for Tom – the start of progress towards wipeout on the building site, though it wouldn’t actually come for months ahead? This could have been the first test of his genuineness. Would he seem sufficiently eager as they neared Delbert Avenue? The driving would be a comparatively undemanding job, at a remove from the actual hammering: no blood or screams for pity, no deep involvement. It might be as far as Tom wanted to go. Was the Rice jaunt a giveaway for him?’
    â€˜But even if that’s so, what makes you believe the subsequent wipeout was done by a police officer, officers?’ Harpur asked.
    â€˜I’m suggesting a direction your inquiries might take,’ Maud said.
    â€˜Why do you choose that direction, though?’ Harpur said. ‘What’s the evidence?’
    â€˜There are several directions you’ll want to follow. I’m nominating one, that’s all,’ Maud said.
    â€˜Why though?’ Harpur asked. He knew he sounded like the third degree, maybe on account of the cinema setting: old films on TV sometimes showed US