Turn a Blind Eye

8

DC Pankhurst sat in the corner of the crowded bus shelter, but when the No. 72 pulled in, she didn’t climb on board. She had a perfect sightline of Lamont’s front door, and as long as there were enough people hanging around waiting for the next bus, whatever the number, he couldn’t possibly see her.

The front door opened just after seven that morning, and Lamont emerged and began walking towards the bus stop. When a No. 211 appeared in the distance, she decided to take a risk.

As the bus approached the stop, Lamont began to jog, a clue that gave her enough confidence to get on. She climbed the stairs to the upper deck and sat at the back, not wanting to risk sitting downstairs now it was possible he might recognize her.

Rebecca looked out of the window to see Lamont glancing around. Once he was confident she was nowhere to be seen, he climbed aboard. Rebecca smiled. Her ploy had worked. But she was still anxious that her cover had been blown, and they’d have to replace her. She could feel the hand of Emmeline Pankhurst slapping her on the wrist.

Lamont took his usual window seat on the lower deck. Whenever the bus came to a stop, Rebecca checked to see if he got off, although she was fairly confident she knew where he was going.

But today he didn’t get off at his usual stop and head straight for the betting shop. Instead he remained on board until the bus reached Victoria station. Another slap on the wrist — she should have anticipated that. After all, the betting shop didn’t open until nine.

Could he be going to Scotland Yard? she wondered. But no, he headed towards the underground. It had to be the Circle line and another clandestine meeting with Jerry Summers. But she was taken by surprise a second time, when he stopped at a newsstand, bought a packet of cigarettes and a copy of the Daily Mail. He sat on a nearby bench, lit a cigarette and pretended to be reading his paper while regularly glancing across at the steps that led down to the Tube station.

Rebecca slipped into a coffee shop and ordered a cappuccino. She took a seat near the window which gave her a clear view of her mark. She doubted whether he would be able to see her sitting in the crowded cafe, but he never once glanced in her direction. His eyes remained focused on the entrance to the Underground. He was obviously waiting for someone. But who?

And then she spotted Lamont’s prey. Commander Hawksby strode out of the station and began walking up Victoria Street in the direction of Scotland Yard. DC Pankhurst switched her attention back to Lamont, who was stubbing out his cigarette and folding his newspaper. He got up and followed the Hawk, but made no attempt to catch up with him.

Rebecca left the cafe and continued to shadow Lamont. What the hell was he up to? A stalker stalking a stalker.

The Hawk continued towards Scotland Yard at a brisk pace, but to Rebecca’s surprise, about halfway down Victoria Street he turned right and disappeared from sight. Lamont maintained his distance, knowing that he couldn’t risk getting too close.

Rebecca entered the square and tucked in behind a small group of Japanese tourists who were heading towards Westminster Cathedral, umbrellas up even though it wasn’t raining. She was just in time to spot the commander disappearing down the side of the vast building. Lamont didn’t follow him, but entered the cathedral by the main door, leaving Rebecca even more puzzled.

She stuck closely to the tour group as they went inside, and spotted Lamont making his way down the centre aisle. He took a seat near the front, among a few devout worshippers, heads bowed, oblivious to those around them. Shedding the tourists, Rebecca slipped into a pew towards the back, partially obscured by a marble pillar, although she could still just about see Lamont, who was now kneeling, his head bowed and turned slightly to his right. She remained puzzled as to why Lamont had followed his old boss all the way to the cathedral and then let him out of his sight. What did he know that she didn’t?

Then came the third surprise, far more of a jolt, when Rebecca saw a man who looked like the commander walking slowly up the south aisle dressed in holy vestments. She did a double-take, only to confirm it was the Hawk. A quick glance at Lamont showed that she wasn’t the only person observing him carefully. The only difference, he was clearly expecting him.

The priest made his way to a confessional box and stepped inside as if he was going about his clerical duties. A few moments later a man entered by the side door, sat down and drew the curtain.

Rebecca now knew why Lamont was on his knees in the cathedral, pretending to pray. He was there simply to identify the commander’s UCO so he could warn Summers to be on the lookout for a tall, slim, middle-aged man, slightly balding with a brown moustache. She thought about alerting her boss there and then, but realized that would be the last thing he’d want, as all of their covers would then be blown. So she sat and waited to see what would happen next.

Fifteen minutes later the UCO reappeared. He bowed to the cross like a real pro, before making his way towards the west door. Lamont got up off his knees and followed him cautiously out into the square, with Rebecca not far behind. The UCO was good. He stopped several times to look in shop windows, an old trick to check if he was being tailed. He then disappeared into a jewellery shop, and when he came back out he was holding a small package. This was followed by his most audacious ploy, entering a discreet boutique hotel with the air of someone who was staying there.

Lamont didn’t follow him inside, too much of a risk. Instead he retraced his steps back to Victoria station, where he disappeared below ground. After all, he now knew what the Hawk’s Marlboro Man informer looked like.

Rebecca didn’t continue to follow Lamont, not just because she knew where he was going, but because she needed to report back to the commander as quickly as possible.

Ross allowed a little time to pass before he made his next move. Once he was satisfied that all three of them had left the cathedral and wouldn’t be returning, he made his way slowly across to the confessional box, and stepped inside.

‘Lamont followed you here, sir,’ were his opening words, after he’d drawn the curtain closed. ‘And when your innocent penitent finally left, he followed him out of the cathedral and hasn’t come back.’

‘Then he’ll have a long journey,’ said the Hawk. ‘He was a businessman from Montreal who wanted to confess about a visit to a strip joint in Soho last night, before returning home to his wife and children in Canada. But from now on, we’re going to have to change our venue and the way we exchange messages in the future.’

‘Understood,’ said Marlboro Man. ‘And by the way, the new girl’s good.’

‘The new girl?’

‘The one that followed Lamont out of the cathedral. I hadn’t spotted her until then. It will be interesting to hear where they all ended up.’

Hawksby smiled, as he expected DC Pankhurst was already sitting outside his office waiting to tell him what she’d just seen.

‘When we next meet,’ he said, ‘I’ll be on the move.’ A coded message MM fully understood. ‘But until then, my son, go in peace, and may the good Lord bless you, because your next mission will be to save a sinner who I fear is beyond redemption.’

It was a fortnight before PC Nicky Bailey came across DS Summers, although she had been regularly dropping into the police canteen given the slightest opportunity. She had begun to form an opinion of the man she was meant to be keeping a close eye on, even though she had to make do with eavesdropping on her colleagues’ conversations whenever his name came up. She never showed the slightest interest in their comments or asked any questions.

The words ‘lucky’, ‘a chancer’, and ‘a good thief catcher’ were common, along with the advice to any new female recruits not to go back to his flat on their own, especially if they’d had one too many. Nicky had formed an opinion of Summers’s character long before he strolled into the canteen that morning, but the reality was something she hadn’t anticipated.

Detective Sergeant Jerry Summers was six foot two, powerfully built, with an unruly mop of fair hair and piercing blue eyes that reminded her of Paul Newman. She tried not to look a second time, but didn’t have much choice when he crossed the room and sat down next to her. Although she was flattered, Nicky knew it was only because she was the new girl on the block. Nevertheless, she was fascinated to find out what his approach would be: subtle, crass, charming? Or perhaps a combination of all three?

DS Roycroft had made it clear she was to find out as much as possible about what Summers was up to without getting too close to him. If she did, Jackie had warned her she would be taken off the assignment, and worse, dropped from William’s team altogether. She would probably end up on traffic duty in an outer borough. Not part of her career plan.

‘Hi. Jerry Summers.’

‘Nicky Bailey,’ she replied, taking care to sound unaware of how important he thought he was.

‘You’re new around here.’

‘But not green,’ she said dismissively.

He laughed. ‘Then I’ll have to watch out, won’t I?’

‘It might be wise. Especially as I’m already in a relationship,’ she said, adding another line to her backstory.

‘Lucky man. Well, I’ve got to run. Criminals to catch. Have a good day, constable.’

Nicky had her next line ready, but he was already halfway to the door before she could deliver it, and he didn’t look back.