“DS Delaney’s secondary function is to act as potential temptation for Graham Radley. His pattern is clear—he tests loyalty through manipulation and boundary violations. Intelligence suggests he routinely coerces domestic staff into providing ‘exclusive services.’” Patel’s tone made the quotation marks cut like glass. “If you catch my drift.”
Warren didn’t soften it. “He’s a rapist.”
Patel’s eyes cut to him. “Legally, he’s a sexual coercer. Without a formal complaint or corroborated victim statement,we stick to what we can evidence. What matters is we know his behaviour, and we anticipate he’ll clock Naomi. That’s by design.”
Naomi crossed her legs. “Let’s hope he doesn’t prefer blondes.”
A few snorts trickled around the room. Warren didn’t laugh.
Patel advanced the slide. “To support cover integrity, DS Delaney and DS Beckford will cohabit in a semi-detached rental in West Worthbridge. Local legend is that Naomi Weeler runs a discreet concierge service. Her partner, Warren Bailey, is a supply PE teacher. Neighbours will know them as a couple recently relocated to town. That narrative provides cover for both interaction and surveillance.”
Warren frowned. “With respect, ma’am—me? House husband? Her safety net?”
Patel didn’t so much as glance his way. She clicked the remote, eyes still on the screen. “For the benefit of anyone not familiar, this is Detective Sergeant Warren Beckford. Seconded from the Met’s Serious Crime Directorate. Three long-term UC deployments in the past five years. Most recently, with the Capgrove Crew in south London.” She paced the pause with precision. “That operation uncovered a county line moving kids between Croydon and Slough. Intelligence Beckford gathered secured twelve arrests and dismantled the network’s logistics. But more importantly—”
Her silence landed like a gavel. Warren felt it in his bones.
“—he understands how victims vanish in plain sight. Even when they’re adults. Even when they believe it’s their choice.”
Warren held his face neutral, jaw clamped. Still raw. Too raw. The file in front of them all said enough. How he’d gone off-script. Some labelled it reckless, and others called it the only humane option. No one raised it. But it sat in the room with him.
Maybe Patel thought she was doing him a favour. Handing him a cover that looked clean. Supply teacher. Cohabiting partner. A role that wouldn’t leave blood on his hands.
Maybe he should’ve thanked her.
Patel clicked forward on the slides where the screen displayed a bird’s-eye view of Worthbridge Academy. Modern brickwork. A stretch of manicured sports fields. Rows of staff cars. A school trying to look both expensive and ordinary. Looked like a newbuild, too.
“You’ll report on-site tomorrow.” Patel spoke to Warren. “Your cover identity is Warren Bailey. You’re a qualified fitness instructor stepping into temporary PE cover at Worthbridge Academy. Lucky for us, you have a PGCE already from your very brief stint teaching before joining the Met. Contract starts with the new term.”
Warren tilted his head. “So I’m babysitting now?”
“You’re embedded. Eyes on the ground. Building trust. Spotting patterns. Some of our strongest intel suggests Radley’s recruiters are shifting strategy. Away from street-level grabs and towards what looks like institutional grooming. Vulnerable but legal. Teenagers who won’t set off amber alerts when they vanish.”
Warren frowned.
Patel tapped a file beside her. “They’re getting smarter. Using school systems. Fake mentorships. And possibly teacher involvement. Your post gives us access to safeguarding intel without raising flags. Suspensions, unexplained bruises, attendance drops. You’ll see what social workers can’t, or are turning a blind eye to, depending on how far Radley’s reach extends.”
Warren nodded, but he gritted his teeth. The idea of a kid being hunted through his own timetable didn’t sit right. “Who’s my line manager?”
“The Head. You’ll meet her on Monday. At the staff training. Your alias has already cleared the DBS and HR systems through SEROCU. Don’t ask how. Call it a small miracle of bureaucracy. But that’s not your primary concern.”
“No?”
Patel advanced the slide. This time it wasn’t a glossy surveillance still. It was a mugshot. A real one.
“Secondary subject: Callum Reid. Released two weeks ago from HMP Winchester on early parole. Previous for coercive control, grooming, multiple GBHs. His ties to the Radley OCG run back more than a decade.”
Warren leaned forward, elbows to knees, locs brushing his collar. Finally, familiar ground. A predator he could circle, strip bare, and gut. “Sounds charming.”
Patel’s mouth ticked, not quite a smile. “He’s dangerous. Charismatic. Calculated.”
“Why’s he out?” Warren asked flatly.
“The board signed off his early release. Officially, overcrowding and good behaviour. Unofficially, we wanted to see who he’d run to. He’s our link to the Radley network, and now we’ve got eyes on him and on anyone he touches.”
Warren gave a short, derisive click of his tongue. “So he thinks he’s free, when really he’s bait. For us.”
“In a word. His release gives us leverage. He’s back in circulation. Which makes him a pressure point.”
