Fogarty: A City of London Thriller by J Jackson Bentley Read Free Book Online Page A

probably,” Ben mused. “But when the flats are ruled by sociopaths like Grierson, not to mention the other gang leaders, any initiatives are going to be hard to get going.” Despite his pessimistic words, an Idea was forming in Ben’s mind even as he spoke.
    ***
    Despite the twenty- four hour court sittings, Den Grierson was listed for Sunday afternoon and his lawyer was out of town with his kids. He would be back in the morning. Den declined court appointed counsel and, after an hour of refusing to answer any question, even regarding his name, he was sent back to the cells for the night to await the arrival of his brief. After all, it wasn’t as if the detectives didn’t have enough people to take his place in the interrogation room.
    The cell had blank walls, a stainless steel toilet with no seat and a bed with a thin mattress. It was a single cell and was no more than six feet by eight feet. Den knew he was in trouble when the cell door opened and closed and a huge police office r stood in front of him. Dressed in the usual uniform, his patches had all been removed, leaving their Velcro pads exposed. The patches usually showed which force the officer belonged to; sometimes his name, but always his rank and his number. None of this was visible, and the man had a South Yorkshire accent. The Met boys were letting one of the visitors do their dirty work for them. The policeman had a towel wrapped around his fists in an effort not to leave identifiable bruises.
    There was no point resisting, and so Grierson took his beating. An array of punches crashed into his torso under his ribs, before he was spun around and his kidneys took a pounding. My God, he hurt. The man was a pro. Den had never taken a beating like this in his life, and at fifty-five he was too old for it. He decided, on reflection, that he shouldn’t have done the policewoman. It was bound to rile them up.
    Grierson was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, between the toilet and the bed. He needed to lie down on the bed and so he tried to move, but he couldn’t. It was just too painful. Eventually he fell asleep where he was.
     
    ***
    On Sunday morning Grierson was questioned for thirty minutes in the presence of his lawyer, but said nothing. His lawyer listened to the charges and told Den that if he wanted any chance of bail he must plead not guilty. They’d worry about the additional tariff - extra prison time - for not pleading out if he was ever convicted. Grierson was picked up at the police station in a prison van and delivered to the Magistrates’ court for his remand hearing. He arrived shortly after eleven for a scheduled two o’clock hearing. Time dragged and eventually, at a quarter past six, Den Grierson and his brief entered the courtroom. Den found himself standing behind a perspex screen; in front of him was a microphone.
    Malcolm Penderley was delighted that Den had chosen to say nothing, and he expressed disbelief that his client had been so inconvenienced when he was innocent of all charges. The harried prosecutor found Grierson’s sheet in his pile and quickly scanned it before presenting the information to the magistrate. Penderley, Grierson’s solicitor, stopped speaking after he demanded bail and threatened a writ of habeas corpus if his client was jailed for another second.
    The prosecutor read the charges from the sheet , but something looked wrong. Thinking on his feet, he said the police needed more time as this was an attempted murder and, in any case, Grierson was a flight risk. The hard pressed magistrate should have simply remanded Grierson in custody and set a trial date, but he saw panic in the prosecutor’s eyes.
    “Mr Thompson, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of documentation behind that sheet. I presume we do have evidence that Mr Grierson is the man you are accusing?”
    Thomson quickly ran through the files whilst speaking. “Of course, sir. Mr Grierson has been identified by a witness and from CCTV