Influence (6 page)

“PC Foster, they're ready for you” the female court clerk declared. 

Foster acknowledged her as the others members of the team looked at him silently, trying to figure out whether he was going to crack under the pressure or not.

“I put it to you officer, that you shot Mr Mahood because you wanted the glory of killing an alleged terrorist, whether he was armed or not, and that you wanted to be famous, a national hero. And your attitude when giving evidence today has clearly shown that you have the total inability to display any sign of remorse or regret” the defence barrister protested from across the court room.

Foster with his lack of a valid or relevant answer during examination had portrayed a sense of arrogance and that his actions were cold and calculated that night. And after he was accused of trying to be a hero and the words 'alleged terrorist' being used, Foster had stared at the barrister with an intimidating expression with his blue eyes almost turning black due to his pupils excessively dilating. As a result the once overly confident barrister seemed to back down in fear as he looked at the judge for support. That, combined with Foster's persistent mutterings during questioning (that required the Judge asking him to speak up and repeat what he'd been saying under his breath) had well and truly painted a very bad picture of him.

“Listen, Mahood was a deranged piece of terrorist scum who was shot because I believed at the time that he posed an immediate threat to my colleagues and me! Haven't I answered that sufficiently already?” Foster snarled which caused the judge to step in and ordered him to answer the question firmly.

After three days of being in the witness box giving evidence, Foster was well and truly done. He had spent the longest time in the box in comparison to his colleagues, which was quite an achievement considering that none of them had been quick. Foster's demeanour during the hearing had also meant that the Prosecution barrister had dragged Inspector Balham to one side to discuss his poor attitude and the problems it was creating for the case. However Balham spoke to him, his words ultimately fell on extremely deaf ears. If there could have ever been a situation where the jury would be anti-police, Foster had tried his damned hardest to create it, without quite being fully aware he was doing so.

The Prosecution laid down their case, the defence theirs, the terror suspects had been examined and examined again and the officers had been publicly torn apart in an attempt by the defence to create compassion for their clients. The Judge had heard enough and adjourned for the day in preparation of a verdict the following day.

“Right, well we can't go back to the hotel and just mope, let tomorrow take care of itself. It's been a rough couple of weeks so let’s go for something to eat and drink. Anthony that means you too mate!” O'Keeffe said trying to make light of the situation and hoping that Foster would get back to being himself now that the stress that lead up to giving evidence had gone. Foster, although looking less than enthused, shrugged his shoulders and agreed to go. Despite some of the hostilities, Conan and the others welcomed his agreement with a round of back slapping and grunts. Foster beamed a slightly forced smile, momentarily appearing like his old self to the others as they left in search of a nearby pub. Inspector Balham jovially told them to behave as they walked to which they all replied “Yes mum!”.

The eleven officers arrived at an old spit and sawdust style Victorian pub which was just a miles walk from the court, and not far away from the City of London's police station which would provide a safe haven if the press learned of their chosen drinking establishment. Simpson, always the most pragmatic of the group had suggested that they get on the tube to travel somewhere far away from the court which would make them less obvious to the locals and at a reduced the risk of being photographed boozing by the lurking paparazzi before the verdict.

“Mate, the paparazzi didn't even see us enter the court so it's highly unlikely they would recognise us, especially now we've changed, and anyway I seriously doubt they'd even bother looking for us. Right! Onto more important business; Harvey's ale all round?!” Allen said in his usual laid back manner.

Two pints into what was meant to be a quiet drink after an uncomfortable day in the stifling court house was now becoming a little louder. Consequently Simpson and MacNeil had started to become concerned that drinking that much before the big day would only lead to bad news; literally. The others had different ideas though, especially Foster who MacNeil believed had already had his fair share of drinks and was hardly someone who should have been allowed to drink so much given his recent behaviour.

“John, do you not think it's time to call it quits? Anthony's getting a little loud and he's hardly well, right!” MacNeil said

“I know.........but it's great to see him enjoying himself with the team again. Even Conan and him are getting on! One more and we'll go for something to eat, I promise!” O'Keeffe replied, interrupting MacNeil before he finished stating that Foster shouldn't be drinking.

Simpson and Arthur finished their drinks and got up from the table to be joined by Evans, Collins, Moore and Palmer, who all said they'd had enough, with Moore stating that his pain killers didn't mix well with beer too. This left Allen, Jones, Conan, Foster and O'Keeffe, who had always been the team's hell raisers, to carry on. All the nagging in the world wouldn't have made them leave.

Forty minutes later, the combination of an empty stomach and ale meant that the five of them were starting to get more than a little drunk; like Simpson and Arthur had feared. Allen feeling nauseous from dehydration and ale made his excuses and left, causing the others to rib him about being a light weight which was not just a poke at his inability to hold his drink. It wasn't long after his departure that the conversation soon turned from being about the fit scattered female arse inside the pub to reminiscing about the good old days with Marriot. The topic should have been avoided, especially with alcohol involved. Emotions and booze were a highly combustible cocktail and after less than ten minutes of talking about the Sergeant, Foster snapped that the subject should be changed to something less morose.

Conan, who was more than a little drunk and reaching the end of his tether with Foster's attitude, suddenly confronted him about his conduct in the court, stating that he could have ruined them all with his crappy demeanour. He barely finished his tongue lashing before Foster shot up as quick as a lightning bolt and told him to fuck off, knocking a couple of empty pint glasses onto the floor in the process. O'Keeffe looked at Conan in shock and then told him that now was the not the time or place to discuss this stuff. Conan nonchalantly raised his hands up with his head tilted as if to say 'whatever' and looked at Foster with a relaxed expression and said “Let’s leave it Foster, no harm done eh?”.

“Come on then big man, you want to sort this out now do you? Come outside, it's time you learnt how to shut that big mouth of yours! I'm not Adam Jennings, you don't scare me!” Foster snarled at Conan who looked taken aback at how Foster was still being combative after he had backed off. A few heads quickly pirouetted from the bar behind on hearing the names Adam Jennings and Foster. Their fellow drinkers linking the two names with the story that had been dominating the news. Jones noticing the unwanted attention told Foster to sit down and Conan to shut up. Despite Conan being willing to settle it, Foster with his alcohol clouded thought processes, was not.

O'Keeffe sensing something bad was about to happen, suggested they leave the pub and go for dinner somewhere to soak up the misguided amount of alcohol they had consumed. Foster's face began to display the same vacant, aggressive expression he had witnessed in the toilets of the secret debrief location, and numerous occasions since the operation. O'Keeffe recognised it and knew that whatever was going on in Foster's head, it was only going to lead to one thing, and that was trouble.

“What's happened to you anyway Foster, you're a bloody mess? It's about time you started getting your shit together! Do you think you're the only one who's struggling since the operation?!” Conan asked, pissed off at Fosters inability to back off and how he had been acting over the recent months.

“Screw it down Conan you idiot, people can hear you!” O'Keeffe implored him, realising that they were being watched and knowing that Foster was just about to explode.

“Bollocks, I want to know why this little prat has been playing the post-traumatic stress card since that night. Looking for compensation are you?” Conan slurred in drunken defiance of O'Keeffe.

“Just leave it Conan!” Jones said, trying to defuse the situation.

Foster put his palms flat in the middle of the table and leant towards Conan with pupils like they had been in the court room, dilated and fixated. His breathing started to become heavier with a more purposeful, slow rhythm as if he was preparing to do something terrible.

“Do you want to be the next person I kill?” Foster quietly whispered to Conan without a shred of humanity in his voice.

Sensing that Foster was going to go for Conan, O'Keeffe moved between the two men and pleaded with Foster to calm down and leave it. Foster averted his cold gaze from Conan to O'Keeffe before he relaxed and stood up from his chair. Both Conan and Jones let out thankful sighs.

“Aren't you that copper who slotted that unarmed terrorist?” said an overly confident man in his early thirties and wearing a suit with an Essex boy style hair and stubble, naively believing that his question would be well received.

Foster quickly spun around on his heels and grabbed the man by the throat before he rapidly pushed him backwards up against the bar, holding him by the throat and screaming into his face with his fist raised. The man's eyes grew as large as planets as he looked upon the enraged, flushed face of Foster, whose veins looked as big as garden hoses because of the angry adrenaline filled blood pumping around them.

“ANTHONY RELAX! Come on mate, let him go, he's not worth it” O'Keeffe pleaded with Foster who was still gripping the man by his throat and almost forcing him in half over the edge of the bar. The landlord who was standing less than six feet away didn't move an inch; no one did.

O'Keeffe desperately attempted to reason with Foster again, who after a few more seconds of holding him, let go. Foster turned around and began asking O'Keeffe where they were going for something to eat before he noticed that everyone was staring at him with worried expressions on their faces.

“Why are they all looking at me? What's your fucking problem?” asked a puzzled Foster which prompted most of the people within the pub to hastily avert their gaze and look down at the floor. Foster shook his head with confusion and muttered “Pricks!” before he walked out of the main doors in an agitated state.

O'Keeffe raised his palm up at Jones and Conan and told them to leave it before he transferred his attention to the man who Foster had grabbed and apologised profusely for his friend’s behaviour. The landlord behind the bar suddenly piped up, expressing his support for them and remarking how the loss of their colleague must have been very hard on them before he 'eloquently' said in his cockney accent “You're bloody heroes for sorting those bastards out! Scum, they should all be deported!” He then leant forward and put his hand on the man's left shoulder and said “I suggest you keep your mouth shut about this boy! You don't know you're fucking born sunshine!” The stubbly man acknowledging what he said with a nervous nod before repeatedly apologising to the three officers. O'Keeffe thanked the Landlord and they hurriedly left.

Outside Conan turned to O'Keeffe and asked him what the hell was going on and that as Fosters friend, he must have known what was going on with him.

“I don't know! He had a moment like this after the shooting; I thought it was just shock and stress affecting him!” He replied.

“I can't believe this, I thought he was just playing up! I shouldn't have doubted him!” Conan reflected.

“Look, we all should have done something about him earlier, but right now, we just need to find him!” Jones interrupted. The three men looked at each other with concern before they rushed off to search for Foster.

The following morning, after failing to locate Foster, the trio discussed the night before with the others, drawing annoyed responses from Simpson and MacNeil who both stated that it had been obvious that something bad was going to happen. O'Keeffe informed Inspector Balham of what had happened, who shook his head and exclaimed “I knew he wasn't right! That's why I placed him on non-operational duties and removed his firearms permit, maybe I should have done more too. OK we'll sort this out when we get back!”.

Just as the team were about to walk into the court for the verdict, Foster appeared smiling and apologising for his lateness as if everything was normal. Jones was just about to ask him where he had been since the pub but Balham tapped him on the shoulder and shook his head implying that he should leave it for now.

Twenty minutes later, the Judge asked the Jury for their verdict, causing the butterflies to flutter around each of the firearms officers stomachs. As the Jury returned a guilty verdict against the five defendants, Jennings screamed out “They're are the murderers. They're the ones who killed an unarmed man!” before he was restrained by one of the court's bailiffs. The other four defendants remained silent and forlorn as they had done throughout the hearing.

After the Judge had finished shouting for order to be restored, he finally gave his verdict, “I find the defendants guilty of planning and making preparations to commit mass murder, and hereby sentence them to fifteen years imprisonment!”, the five men's faces dropped. “And as for you Mr Jennings, I also find you guilty of the murder of City police officer Sergeant Kevin Marriot and the attempt murder of PC Alex Moore, in addition I therefore also sentence you to life in prison” The Judge finished with a look of disdain for Jennings in particular which did nothing to quell the temper tantrum he'd had just moments before.”