LIVING IN FEAR

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22540, 3 October 1936, Page 2 (Supplement)

LIVING IN FEAR

POLICE INFORMERS VENGEANCE OF UNDERWORLD AWFUL PUNISHMENT INFLICTED The night silenco is broken only by the footsteps of a mau walking along a mean street in London's East End. He reaches a point whore it is darkest, ( midway between two dim lamps. Suddenly, as ho passes the black mouth of an alley, four shadows leap out. His cry is smothered by a heavy hand bofore it is half-uttered. Ho is on the ground, fighting for his lifo, kicked and beaten as he lies there. When ho becomes quiet, as furtively as they appeared, his assailants melt into the darkness. Their victim is still upon tho ground, bleeding and bruised, maybe unconscious, maybe dead. He is an informer. The informer has a useful, though dishonourable, part in modern crime detection. The average criminal cannot for long avoid him, and the detective saves days or weeks of work by his aid. But, just as tho secrets of the crook who does not play a lone hand sooner or later comes to the ears of tho informer, so rumours of his own activities circulate among the men he betrays and ho is branded " copper's nark." No expression of tho underworld carries with it more hatred Case ol " Max tlie Rod " In the recent case of tho murder of " Max the lied," tho police were helped to a great extent by informers. " Max tho Keel " was probably a white-slaver. In London were scores of people who knew the murdered man or his friends; every day ho was adding to their number, and when the time came that the police needed help, some of them were willing to talk. Their individual contributions to tho official dossier may have been small, but they led to further discoveries. In real life, outside the pages of detective stories, few crimes can be solved by pure deduction. The modern crook is careful; he plans his coups, leaves few or no clues, and, by tho use of a car, can be miles away shortly after the crime. But he has associates, lie has to make contacts in order to dispose of his booty, and all tho time, among the disreputable circlo in which the crook moves, the informerlurks, sharp-eyed and alert. A chance word, a visit paid by tho crook to a known "fence," may be enough for the " nark " to build tho story of a crime upon, and ho is off with tho talo to convert it into hard cash —a police reward. No Courage or Wita The informer is not actuated by love of the community when he pulls the lever that puts the law into motion. Usually, he is a common, petty thief, without the courage or the wits to bo even a "successful" crook. He ekes out a fairly miserable existence by selling the information that fato puts in his way. Often, he is, as it were, the unofficial aide of a certain detective. In cases where it is reasonable to suppose that tho informer may have alliniportant information, the detective will depend upon him almost as a matter of routine. Soon each knows where he may find the other when the need arises. Usually it is in a restaurant. The shadier parts of London hold several of these, and their names are bywords in the underworld. Thither goes the informer with tho knowledge on his mind that may put a man in prison; thither, also, goes the detective when ho wants to know, " Who pulled the so-and-so job?" Perhaps both are unlucky and the " nark " can tell nothing; if he holds tho key to tho unravelling of a crime, he goes home a little richer and the detective is nearer the completion of his job. Not Worth the Candle But often, as tho " nark " fingers the silver in his pocket, he is cold with fear, for each time he " splits," as he has just done, ho makes life-long enemies, and dangerous ones, should his part in the drama ever be divulged. A very little thing may expose him. If, by chance, he is seen talking to a detective, and circumstances connect his conversation with a subsequent arrest, he is a marked man. Every crook he knows fears and hates him and will plan to " get " him, and to terrorise him into silence. For if he will betray one, he will betray all whom he cari. At some time, he must come to tho conclusion that the game is not worth the candle, but by then, unless he can disappear and start lifo afresh elsewhere, it is impossible for him to withdraw. The " nark " does not get much for his tip. For useful information dealing with a small burglary, smash-and-grab raid, or theft from a warehouse he may receive five or ten shillings. If ho is fortunate and the owners of stolen goods offer a reward, the knowledge ho passes on may bring him in anything up to, say, £2OO. A Fractured Skull lint he is fearful of advertised rewards, for the larger the number of people who know tho part ho has played, the greater is his danger. Recently, a furrier in thg East "End of London oflered £25 for information leading to the recovery of valuable furs stolen from his premises, and the arrest of tho thieves. A young Jew, svlio had himself served several sentences for minor crimes, knew who had broken into the shop. The crooks were three men, acquaintances of his, whom he used to meet in cafes and gambling saloons. He went to tho police with his story; the men were arrested and the furs discovered in a garage owned by one of them. In view of the informer's difficult position, tho police quietly negotiated the payment of the reward. But word must have leaked out somewhere. In the early morning following, tho young Jew was discovered in an entry, unconscious, and with a fractured skull. —L.I.P. (Copyright.)