Page 147 - Once a copper 10 03 2020

to attend and even organise inter-agency meetings with social services,
education managers, councillors and the local MP, immersed in
bureaucracy, politics and meetings for ‘meetings-sake’. This was a far cry
from what I joined the job for and was taking me in a direction I didn’t feel
comfortable with. All credit to those who would bring about social change
and improvement over time, but this wasn’t for me. I hungered for more
immediate and direct action, for opportunities to investigate and solve more
serious crime. As I saw it there was only one target for me to aim for, a
Detective role on the CID.

There are times in life when, even when we are unsure of our ability and
experience, that we must look for a new fork in the road to keep the flames
of passion for our purpose burning.

As I considered my options over the summer months, several incidents
reinforced the realisation that I needed greater stimulation from my daily and
long-term contribution.

From day 1 on beat 33, I had made a point of making regular visits to the
collators (local intelligence) office at Erdington. This was a two-way thing,
with me submitting and absorbing information about criminals on my patch.
The intelligence team consisted of a collator, a uniform pc approaching
retirement, suited to the admin role. He was comically nicknamed ‘Flash’ as
speedy was probably the last word anyone would use to describe him. There
was also a detective intelligence officer DC John Raby, to whom I would
frequently pass information, and who was a font of knowledge.

John had taken me to one side early in my beat career, to give me the run
down of a few serious criminals who lived on or near my patch. One of these
was a real villain in every sense.

I cannot reveal the identity of any criminals that were of interest, whom I
either merely observed or even arrested, so whilst not seeking to afford this
man celebrity status, I’ll use a James Bond nom-de-plume to preserve his
identity and will refer to him as Blofeld.
Blofeld was an elusive career criminal with a steely expression, notorious as
one of the most feared gangsters and hardmen in the west midlands. Often
under police suspicion for serious offences, he rarely left enough evidence to
arrest him let alone prosecute. He had earned the reputation of Force Target
Criminal, which meant he was of intelligence interest on a force-wide basis
not just on the D Division. His mugshot appeared on the wall in the collators
office and his face was burned into my memory such that it remains there to
this day, over 30 years later.

He lived in a privately-owned house in one of the nicest roads on my beat Page147
which added to the mystery that surrounded him. To afford to live in the