Free One Under by Graham Hurley Page A

could spoil his day.
    The waiter gone, he got straight to the point. ‘It’s about Winter,’ he said. ‘And this is in strictest confidence. ’
    ‘Of course, sir.’ Faraday nodded.
    ‘You’re happy with him so far?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘No dramas?’
    ‘None.’
    ‘And he’s doing the business?’
    ‘Yes. There’s been nothing to really stretch him so far but that’s about to change. Coppice is a runner. Intelligence will be key.’
    ‘Good.’ Willard held Faraday’s eyes. ‘I want you to keep an eye on him, a real eye. How much do you know about POCA?’
    POCA was police-speak for the Proceeds of Crime Act. Most working detectives had given up on the small print but in the right hands, according to colleagues whom Faraday respected, it could make life very tough indeed for major criminals.
    ‘Confiscation orders? Tainted funds? Co-mingled assets?’
    ‘That’s it.’ Willard nodded. ‘This is the Exocet missile most lawyers think we can’t even unpack. They’ve got a point. The legislation looks a nightmare but the principle couldn’t be simpler. If a bloke’s life is paid for by crime, we can have it off him, every last button, house, car, bank account, the lot. It’s up to him to show the court how he legally got it all and if he can’t do that, he’s fucked. Beautiful piece of lawmaking. Should be the jewel in our crown.’
    ‘But it isn’t.’
    ‘No, and one reason for that is no one really understands it. We all fight shy. We struggle through the act, all six million clauses, and then we give up and back to business as usual. It’s got to change, Joe. And it will.’
    Faraday nodded. He didn’t doubt Willard for a moment. A while back, Operation Tumbril had tried to take down a drug baron called Bazza Mackenzie, Pompey’s living proof that dealing in cocaine paved the way to serious wealth. Tumbril had been a covert operation, known to just a handful of officers, and both Willard and Faraday had been badly burned when it blew up in their faces. Two years later, from a desk in headquarters, Willard was clearly plotting his revenge.
    Now he was talking about the need for a ‘champion’, a detective who could spend a year or so spreading the word about POCA, getting alongside fellow officers, putting their darkest fears to rest, explaining how the legislation worked. This missionary task, in Willard’s opinion, needed an older man, someone with a record as a good thief-taker, someone indeed with an intimate knowledge of exactly what made criminals like Bazza Mackenzie tick.
    ‘Someone like Winter,’ Faraday murmured.
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘A brave choice.’
    ‘I’d call it controversial, Joe. And so will my colleagues.’ He paused for the lagers to arrive. Then he bent closer. ‘Naturally there’s a procedure to be gone through. There’ll be other applicants, an impartial selection process, but personally I’ve no doubt that Winter is the man for the job. We could argue all night about rights and wrongs but the fact is that the guy delivers. The only thing that bothers me is what’s happened to him since that operation of his. As I understand it, he could have died. That concentrates a man’s mind. People change. Different priorities. A different take on life. What do you think?’
    ‘About Winter?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I haven’t a clue, sir.’
    ‘But you’ll keep an eye on him?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘And you get my drift?’
    ‘Yes.’ He looked up at Willard. ‘The issue with Winter as I see it has always been motivation. With most of us it’s pretty straightforward. We do the best job we can, we try not to get ourselves or anyone else in the shit, and if it all turns out OK, then we like to think it’s a bit of a result. Winter’s not like that at all, never has been. What drives him is the real issue. Some blokes will tell you vanity. Others that he’s just plain bent. Me? I pass.’
    A smile ghosted over Willard’s face. He studied Faraday for a long