I grew up in a not particularly pleasant part of town, a run down estate on the outskirts of Nottingham where crime, or at least the presence of the perpetrators of crime, was part of everyday life. It was the sort of place where the police rarely visited, and when they did it was always in large groups to cope with the torrent of abuse that they would encounter. For those of us that lived there, crime was not a problem, it was a case of ‘don’t mess on your own doorstep’.

While most of us lived on the breadline, there was an atmosphere of community self-help and we all managed to somehow get by. Joe Chapman, one of our neighbours across the road was one of the few who lived in the area who never seemed short of money, always well-dressed. He always had the new model cars, was the first in our street to have the latest TVs, Phones, and was somehow generally able to help out if anyone was in desperate need. When I was very young I was jealous, why could our family not have things like that, and how could I be like him when I grew up?

Although my Mam and Dad told to keep well away from Joe and the other people who seemed to hang around with him, I was always talking to them or running errands for them, for which they always dropped a few coins in my hand as a thank you. I felt that if I hung around with them often enough that some of their good fortune would rub off on me and I would be able to help my family live a bit more comfortably.

I often delivered letters or parcels from them or collected things for them, and was soon spending a lot of time with Joe and his mates. I didn’t mind running around for them, the money they gave me went straight to my Mam to buy our family extra food or treats. Dad was disabled and unfit for work, Mam had more than enough do looking after him me and my two younger brothers. Other than the little that I brought in by helping Joe, we relied totally on state benefits and charity handouts.

Times were hard for us, we always had second-hand clothes from jumble sales or charity shops, and rarely had enough for any of the modern equipment or appliances that others seemed to have, and even then it was all ‘pre-used’, nothing was ever new. Mam was proud and determined that she would do the best possible for us, she always ensured that the house was clean and tidy, and that there was wholesome home-cooked food on the table. Whenever I could I tried to help her around the house to give her a break. trying to keep the place looking respectable, and helping with the shopping, cooking, and looking after my two kid brothers.

As I got a little older, the errands I had to run for Joe and his friends got more demanding and more frequent, thicker envelopes, heavier parcels, all stuff that they said was to do with the businesses they ran, but they paid me an awful lot more money and my family were able to live a little bit better. Eventually one day a parcel I was carrying got wet as I ran in the rain to the delivery address, and some of the contents, a white powder, spilled out. Joe Chapman not very happy with me. “You have cost me a lot of money boy, that stuff you lost does not come cheap. You are not a kid anymore, Andrew Carmichael, what are you now 11 or 12, you must know what you have been carrying, you need to be more careful.”

“Do you sell drugs?”

“Too right we do, and you are in this up to your neck, you have been carrying stuff for us for years. You need to keep your mouth shut, otherwise you will end up in a Young Offenders Institute, like a prison for kids, and a scrawny small kid for you will suffer all sorts of nasty experiences in there. I’m sure that you wouldn’t want anything like that to happen to you, and what would your Ma and Pa think about it all. You stick with us and just do as you are told and you won’t have any problems.”

Over the years I gradually got sucked further and further in. As I got older, I was regularly delivering drugs to the dealers on the streets and collecting the money from them. The gang bosses played on the fact that that I was an innocent-looking wide-eyed small and slim boy partly as a result of our meagre diet when I was growing up They reckoned that nobody would suspect anyone like me as being up to no good and I would never be stopped by the police or authorities. To make me even more convincing they had me dress in school clothes looking years younger than I actually was. Sometimes, so that I was not seen too regularly talking to the street dealers they even made me wear dresses or skirts to disguise myself as a girl, which was not too difficult as my hair was quite long since we couldn’t afford to waste money on fancy haircuts. One time I went home still dressed as a girl and expected my mum to be annoyed, but she made me stay dressed while I helped her prepare dinner and tidy up the house, That became a regular thing whenever I was out making deliveries dressed as a girl she insisted on calling me Andrea, which started my younger brothers calling me that all the time to wind me up.

When I about sixteen, Spider Abbott, one of the street dealers I had often delivered drugs to, refused to pay me, and walked away laughing. I tried to stop him, but he just shrugged me off, threw me onto the ground and ran away. My bosses were livid. “If you can’t handle yourself you are no good liaising with the street dealers, go out with Harry and Fred, find him, and leave them to sort him out and get my money, Sorting him out turned out to mean him getting beaten so viciously that it led to his to death which Joe insisted would serve as a lesson for the others, I felt physically sick when I saw what had happened. When his body was found the police made a show of trying to find out what had gone on, but as he was a known dealer they did not make too much effort, they had the attitude that the low-life deserved everything that he got which is exactly what Joe Chapman counted on.

As it was felt by Joe and his crew that I couldn’t handle myself physically, I was taken off the street deliveries and learned to deal with others further up the food chain, who were much easier people to deal with, they supplied the drugs, I paid them and took the drugs back to my bosses who passed them on at an inflated cost to the street dealers. My role now was a lot more civilised, if anything on the drugs scene can be described as such. The people I now dealt with were high up on the food chain, living seemingly respectable lives, any nastiness or violence was handled by others further down the ladder. Whilst I knew that what I was doing was illegal and that it was causing misery in peoples lives, it was very well paid and my family were able to live a much more comfortable life on the proceeds, I just pushed my conscience to the back of my mind and got on with my job.

Although I was kept at a distance from the seedier and more violent aspects of the business, I was beginning to fully realise the horrors of what I was involved with. I really wanted to quit and earn an honest living but there was no easy way out for me. I knew too much, too many people including those who were outwardly living respectable lives, and how the gang operated. The final straw which made me determined to get out came for me when my father had a big row with our neighbour, my boss, about what he was turning me into. That night while I was out on working a petrol bomb was put through our letterbox as a warning, but the whole house, which was cheaply and shoddily built, went up in flames, and all my family died in the inferno.

Beatings were one thing in the drug trade, physical punishment was part of the game, but killing people was a different matter altogether My family being burned alive when they had done nothing wrong and were being punished because of me, kicked me over the edge.

I hid myself away for the next few days sleeping tough in abandoned shepherds’ shelters out in the hills, trying to come to terms with what had happened and thinking about how I could get my revenge on Joe and his gang. Forgetting all the unwritten rules about not grassing on your mates, honour amongst thieves, and all that other rubbish, I was so disgusted and angry at what they had done that the next morning I phoned the police station to speak to Detective Chief Inspector Megan Jones, who had previously had me in for questioning a few times, without ever being able to charge me.

“It’s Andrew Carmichael. You’ve no doubt heard what has happened to my family the other night. I am totally sick of it all, you need to put a stop to it. I know a lot about how the drug business is run in this town, enough to bring down all the major players, including many seemingly respectable people in business, local politics and especially the police force. I am willing to work with you you bring down the whole house of cards.”

“Come in and talk to me Andrew, with your assistance we may be able to get this under control and make the streets safe to walk in again.”

“You must be joking, if I’m seen in your station I am dead, even if I don’t tell you anything. There are people in there, colleagues of yours, that are on the payroll of the drugs gangs, and word will soon get out.”

“I have an idea Andrew. I do not live locally, I’m in the next town and very few people there know much about what I do, other than that I am a police officer. Can you get to the theatre there tonight? There is a ballet performance, somehow I don’t think your associates will be queuing up to get in there, it’s not their scene. Arrive at 7:45, it should be easy to spot me, the foyer will be empty, everyone other than the ticket office and bar staff will be in the main auditorium watching the performance. I’ll think of a way to get you out of there safely and unnoticed, but you have to trust me.”

When I arrived, the foyer was almost deserted, she was standing alone in a corner, she waved me over and quickly dragged me through a door.

“What on earth, this looks like the ladies toilets?”

“That’s right, quickly brush down your hair which is quite long, put on this woollen hat and coat and change into these shoes before anyone else comes in. Put this bag over your shoulder and let’s get out of here into my car, we are going to look like two women friends, so put your arm in mine when we leave.”

“Where are we going and why did you have to make me look like a girl.”

“It’s only a coat, hat and shoes so stop whinging, it’s for your protection, you said that you didn’t want to be seen talking to me, and no-one will recognise you. dressed like that. Besides I understand that you often dressed as a girl to do your drug deliveries, and were quite convincing at it, so you needn’t pretend that it is the first time for you, and sound disgusted at the thought. First off we are going to my house to talk, and decide what you have to offer and what we need to do.”

We soon arrived at her house, with nobody obviously following us. Meeting at the ballet, and me leaving apparently as a woman, seemed to have done the trick.

“Ok Andrew, before we start, I could do with a drink, I only have wine, are you ok with that? Despite the fact that the lads at the nick are always trying to drag me down to the pub with them at the end of a shift, beer has never been my thing.”

“Fine by me, it’s not my usual choice, but it will do.”

“Go and make yourself comfortable on the sofa, I’ll bring the wine over and we can have a talk.”

I had a quick look around the room as I was waiting for her, the place seemed clear, no sign or sound of anyone else in her house, and no obvious cameras or microphones to record our conversation.

“What do you want to talk about Andrew, you sounded extremely annoyed and upset when you called me earlier?”

“Of course I’m angry and upset, my whole family has been wiped out in the most horrible manner because of my involvement with Joe Chapman and the drugs trade. I’m sick of it all DCI Jones, the violence, beatings, even killings, the way people are led into drug dependence and the petty crime that follows so that they can feed their habit. What they did to my family was the last straw, although it was probably just meant as a warning and it’s unlikely that it had been the intention to kill them, I want out. I can give you names of people from street dealers up about 5 levels to the people that actually import the stuff and who live seemingly respectable and wealthy business lives. I can give you names of the thugs that have committed beatings and killings for the gang. I can also name people in your station who are on their payroll, tipping them off about raids by your drug squad so that they can clean things up beforehand. DCI Jones, I can help you blow the whole scene apart in your town and the rest of the county.”

“Just for tonight drop the DCI bit, just call me Megan, we aren’t in the office. What do you want out of this Andrew?”

“Immunity from prosecution for any crimes I have committed, protection, a new identity, a safe-house somewhere, a new and better life, that’s what I want Megan, and please call me Andy.”

“I’ll have to speak to my bosses, just tell me something, as far as you know are they all clean.”

“I’m not sure, I know of people at your level and below, but further up the chain I’m not sure. You might be best going as far up the ladder as you can access, even go to County or Regional.”

“Are you safe going back to your flat, obviously after what they did to your family you will not be trusted anymore.”

“It will be best if I just disappear, I have been living off grid for the last few nights, trying to keep out of their way. Even if they don’t know that I am talking to you, If I am seen in this town I’m sure to get at least a punishment beating for what my father said to them. If they get to know I am talking to you, that is a death warrant for me, and probably for you as well.”

“Stay here for tonight, I’m sure that we weren’t seen or followed. If anyone recognised me all they saw was me meeting one of my women friends at the theatre, and incidentally, without trying very hard, with your long hair and slight build you were easily believable as a woman, so there will be no problems there. You never met me and I never met you. If I let you stay here for tonight can I trust you?”

“I need your help Megan, why would I screw that up? The same goes for you, you need my help, this is your chance to really make a name for yourself. Can I trust you?”

“Ok, fair point, we’ll have to work together for the moment. There’s a bed in the spare room which also has an en-suite. If you want to have a shower or anything feel free to use the soaps and things in there. While you’re cleaning yourself up, I’ll rustle up something for us to eat.”

I cleaned myself up, washed and combed out my hair, grabbed a towelling dressing gown from the back of the door, and went out again to rejoin Megan.

“How did you get involved with all this Andy, your family have never caused trouble and have no criminal record.”

Over dinner, a basic Spaghetti Bolognese with focaccia, and another glass of wine, I told her the story of how I started off as a very young child impressed by my neighbours who had a lot of things we couldn’t afford, and gradually over the years got sucked in further and further into a life of crime. “My father warned me lots of times not to get involved with the gangs, but it provided the family with food on the table and occasional luxuries. I’ve never been really comfortable with some of the things I’ve been involved with, but once you start, it’s difficult to stop and get of the merry-go-round.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve heard stories like that, criminal gangs grooming the next generation, and the gang-leaders making sure that they are never caught with anything incriminating in their possession, I don’t think that is ever going to change.”

“We won’t change the world, but with a bit of luck we can at least help to clean up this town by taking Chapman down, at least until someone else muscles in, and I can get revenge on the people that killed my family.”

“It’s time I was in bed, I’ll have a busy day tomorrow trying to sort something out, I’m trusting you a lot more than I should, don’t make me regret it. Goodnight Andy, we’ll talk again in the morning.”

To be continued