and supergrasses were big news in the national press, when people said that if the underworld crime bosses managed to bump off just one of them, it would be enough of a warning to stop any others turning informant. But in my experience the fear of assassination is considerably weaker than the lure of what they see as easy money from the police and a nice protection package for themslves. Far from diminishing, the number of informants, and above all, the quality of informants, has continued unabated over the years. They are crucial to keeping the lid on organised crime.
If you were a gangster thinking of killing an informant, you’d need to be very sure of covering your tracks because you can be absolutely certain that the police are going to leave no stone unturned to find out who’s done it. The big boys probably think it’s not worth the risk of a life sentence for wiping out a heap of shit and simply write it off to experience. They’ll be more careful in future. I’ve never shed a tear for any misfortune that’s happened to any grass I’ve known. They play at Judas, they take the consequences.
I’ve been severely warned off talking about David Norris by a senior Scotland Yard police officer. It was made clear to me in no uncertain terms that I shouldn’t drag all this up again. It’s always going to be a sensitive issue within the police force but I’m afraid the Norris incident is relevant and material to my life and I refuse to be gagged over it. Norris was a top-grade informant and his story is a first-class illustration of the level of informing the police now handle, as well as all its complexities, its dangers, and its consequences. Norris is dead, but there’ll be someone to fill his shoes.
I have spent many hours with many informants of all colours and creeds, male and female. I treated every one of them with the utmost caution, fearful in the knowledge that there are a lot of Old Bill languishing in prison now because of inappropriate relationships with informers. You must never let the tail wag the dog, or be seduced into their clutches by the lure of easy money and a glamorous lifestyle. Discipline is the name of the game; discipline with yourself, an emotional detachment which allows you never to lose sight of the fact that you are doing a job on behalf of the British public who rely on you tosweep the sewers clean.
The style of hit which took out Dave Norris was a classic gangland assassination which originated in Colombia among the feuding drugs cartels. Two men on a powerful bike, the pillion rider to do the hit, the driver skilled enough to be able to make an escape through even the most congested streets.
I had many dealings with various factions of the Colombian drug trade as they targeted European markets in the Eighties. They had emerged as the most powerful and ruthless drugs suppliers anywhere in the world. They protected their empires ruthlessly, killing judges, lawyers, police and rivals with impunity. The US markets were saturated.
The drug barons of Bogota set their sights on other outlets worldwide. They sent various people to Britain looking for fresh buyers, fixers and would-be dealers, to prepare the ground work for the huge surge in cocaine and heroin which was to follow up to epidemic proportions. The advance guard had no real UK base and were probably a little less careful than they would have been if they were established career criminals from this country. They put themselves out on a limb a little bit too often trying to make new contacts in the drug world. So they frequently came to our attention through the informer network. We were able to scoop up several Colombian-linked gangs before they could get established. But we were only stemming the tide if you look at the fantastic amount of cocaine that’s about in London and other parts of Britain today.
Informants came out of the woodwork all the time. It could be from a number of sources; local cops, for example,
If you were a gangster thinking of killing an informant, you’d need to be very sure of covering your tracks because you can be absolutely certain that the police are going to leave no stone unturned to find out who’s done it. The big boys probably think it’s not worth the risk of a life sentence for wiping out a heap of shit and simply write it off to experience. They’ll be more careful in future. I’ve never shed a tear for any misfortune that’s happened to any grass I’ve known. They play at Judas, they take the consequences.
I’ve been severely warned off talking about David Norris by a senior Scotland Yard police officer. It was made clear to me in no uncertain terms that I shouldn’t drag all this up again. It’s always going to be a sensitive issue within the police force but I’m afraid the Norris incident is relevant and material to my life and I refuse to be gagged over it. Norris was a top-grade informant and his story is a first-class illustration of the level of informing the police now handle, as well as all its complexities, its dangers, and its consequences. Norris is dead, but there’ll be someone to fill his shoes.
I have spent many hours with many informants of all colours and creeds, male and female. I treated every one of them with the utmost caution, fearful in the knowledge that there are a lot of Old Bill languishing in prison now because of inappropriate relationships with informers. You must never let the tail wag the dog, or be seduced into their clutches by the lure of easy money and a glamorous lifestyle. Discipline is the name of the game; discipline with yourself, an emotional detachment which allows you never to lose sight of the fact that you are doing a job on behalf of the British public who rely on you tosweep the sewers clean.
The style of hit which took out Dave Norris was a classic gangland assassination which originated in Colombia among the feuding drugs cartels. Two men on a powerful bike, the pillion rider to do the hit, the driver skilled enough to be able to make an escape through even the most congested streets.
I had many dealings with various factions of the Colombian drug trade as they targeted European markets in the Eighties. They had emerged as the most powerful and ruthless drugs suppliers anywhere in the world. They protected their empires ruthlessly, killing judges, lawyers, police and rivals with impunity. The US markets were saturated.
The drug barons of Bogota set their sights on other outlets worldwide. They sent various people to Britain looking for fresh buyers, fixers and would-be dealers, to prepare the ground work for the huge surge in cocaine and heroin which was to follow up to epidemic proportions. The advance guard had no real UK base and were probably a little less careful than they would have been if they were established career criminals from this country. They put themselves out on a limb a little bit too often trying to make new contacts in the drug world. So they frequently came to our attention through the informer network. We were able to scoop up several Colombian-linked gangs before they could get established. But we were only stemming the tide if you look at the fantastic amount of cocaine that’s about in London and other parts of Britain today.
Informants came out of the woodwork all the time. It could be from a number of sources; local cops, for example,
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