Turn a Blind Eye

10

‘You may call your next witness, Sir Julian.’

‘Thank you, m’lud. I call Mr Gerald Sangster.’

‘Call Gerald Sangster!’ roared the clerk of the court, and moments later his words were echoed in the corridor outside.

The door swung open and a slightly stooped, middle-aged man, whose hair and tightly clipped beard were prematurely grey. He entered the court and made his way slowly across to the witness box. He was wearing a navy-blue blazer, his old school tie, and neatly pressed grey flannel trousers, giving the impression of a professional man who’d recently retired. Booth Watson considered him far too young for that.

The clerk held up a card, and the witness delivered the oath with a confidence that belied his self-effacing demeanour. Booth Watson made a note on his yellow pad and passed it to his junior, who quickly scurried out of court.

‘Would you please state your name and occupation for the record,’ said Sir Julian.

‘My name is Gerald Sangster, and I’m currently unemployed.’

Booth Watson made a second note.

‘Can I get on the record, Mr Sangster, that in the past you have been a drug addict?’

‘That’s true, sir, but I’m clean now. I’ve been through rehab, and haven’t touched a drug for months.’

‘And before that, you were a doctor,’ said Sir Julian, ‘with a successful practice in Harley Street?’

‘That is correct.’

‘But as a result of your addiction your name was removed from the Medical Register, and not long after that sadly your marriage broke down.’

Sangster bowed his head.

‘Bring on the violins,’ said Booth Watson, and not to himself.

‘That was when you went to work for Mr Rashidi.’

‘Something I will regret for the rest of my life.’

‘I won’t be waiting that long,’ said Booth Watson.

‘Do you see Mr Rashidi in the courtroom today?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Sangster, pointing towards the dock.

Rashidi stared blankly back at him as though they had never met.

‘May I ask what role you played in Mr Rashidi’s empire?’

‘I have a degree in chemistry, and was able to advise Mr Rashidi on the strength and make-up of the drugs he distributed, particularly cocaine.’

‘Would you please go into a little more detail, Mr Sangster, as I expect the jury, like myself, are swimming in unfamiliar waters.’

‘A wrap of cocaine, probably two grams, would be of a higher quality and would cost more for a wealthy customer in Mayfair, than an inferior wrap sold to a junkie on a street corner in the East End. I was in charge of quality control. I checked each batch, after which the dealers, like any salesmen, decided on the price, according to their knowledge of the customer.’

‘Could you be more specific as to how you went about that?’

‘I would take the finest Colombian cocaine, which is usually around ninety per cent pure, and then mix it with baking powder to make it go further, while still looking like the real thing. The more sophisticated customers would taste a sample and reject it if it wasn’t of the highest quality. I was also responsible for the quality control of heroin, crack cocaine, methamphetamine and marijuana. Occasionally we gave some of our stock away for free.’

‘Why would you do that?’ asked Sir Julian, well aware what the answer would be.

‘You give a child a week’s supply and they’ll become hooked. That’s when you start charging.’

‘Who are the dealers in these cases?’

‘Usually other kids, who give away the gear in school playgrounds.’

‘And do these children go on to become fully fledged drug dealers after they leave school?’

‘It doesn’t take them long to work out they’re already earning more than their parents, besides which, it’s often the only work they can get. There’s never been a better example of a womb-to-tomb job.’

‘Your own child,’ repeated Sir Julian, looking directly at the jury, before he moved on. ‘And where did you carry out this work, Mr Sangster?’

‘In Mr Rashidi’s drug factory.’

‘Could you be more specific?’

‘His factory was on the twenty-third, twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth floors of a tower block in Brixton.’

Grace walked across to a plan of the block resting on an easel, and pointed to each floor as Sangster mentioned it.

‘And how often was Mr Rashidi on the premises?’

‘Most of the time. He oversaw the entire operation from his office on the twenty-third floor when he wasn’t in his apartment.’

‘He had an apartment in the same building?’

‘No, it was in the adjoining block. But there was a walkway linking the two buildings, which was his escape route should the factory ever be raided.’

‘Did he attempt to use that exit on the night of the raid?’

‘Yes, sir. But it must have been blocked, because a couple of minutes later I saw him rush back into the room accompanied by his two bodyguards. But he didn’t have time to get out of the front door before the police turned up.’

‘When did you next see him?’

‘He was on his knees in the middle of the room pretending to be one of the workers.’

‘Were you there when he was arrested?’

‘No, I wasn’t.’

Why not? Booth Watson wrote on his pad before Sir Julian moved on.

‘Which floor did you work on?’

‘Number twenty-four. The one where the drugs were prepared for distribution.’

Grace pointed to the twenty-fourth floor.

‘How were you paid?’

‘In cash at the end of every working day.’

‘And how much could you earn in a week?’

‘At least a grand. Sometimes more.’

‘Over fifty thousand pounds a year,’ said Sir Julian, emphasizing each word. ‘More than six times the average annual wage for a working man in this country. And who was your paymaster?’

‘It was always Assem Rashidi. No one else was allowed to handle payments.’

‘Could you earn extra for overtime?’

‘Of course. The key hours for any drug dealer are between ten at night and four in the morning. If you were willing to work through the night and at weekends, you could double your income.’

‘So how much could an experienced dealer hope to make in a week?’

‘A couple of grand.’

‘Over a hundred thousand pounds a year,’ said Sir Julian, feigning disbelief.

‘Even a runner still at school can make two or three hundred pounds a week. But if you got hooked on the stuff yourself, you didn’t last too long. And if you were caught skimming the goods, or with your hand in the till, they cut it off.’

‘I presume you don’t mean literally,’ said Sir Julian.

‘Quite literally,’ said Sangster. ‘On the dealers’ floor, with all the other dealers present to witness the punishment.’

Sir Julian remained silent for some time to allow the jury to take in what they’d just heard.

‘Did any of the victims ever report these barbaric atrocities to the police?’

‘Only one that I know of.’

‘And where is he now?’

‘I never seen or heard of him since.’

Sir Julian turned to look at the jury to see that several heads were bowed, but not the foreman’s; he was staring directly at the defendant in the dock.

‘Would it be fair to say that you are risking far more than losing a hand by agreeing to give evidence in this trial?’

‘I’m currently under police protection,’ said Sangster, ‘so I feel relatively safe while Rashidi’s in jail. But if he was released,’ he added, looking directly at the defendant, ‘I’d be on the first plane out of the country.’

‘And who could blame you?’ said Sir Julian. ‘I’m sure we all salute your courageous decision to give evidence in this trial, Mr Sangster, considering what the consequences might be should the defendant be set free.’

‘It’s the least I could do,’ said Sangster, turning to face Rashidi. ‘I only hope that by giving evidence today I’ll have played a small part in ensuring that justice is finally done for all those helpless victims, young and old, who have suffered at the hands of this monster.’

‘A little over-rehearsed,’ said Booth Watson, just loud enough for the jury to hear.

Sir Julian ignored the comment as Booth Watson’s junior rushed back into the court and handed his leader a note. Booth Watson smiled as Sir Julian looked up at the judge and said, ‘No more questions, m’lud.’

What’s your poison?’ he asked as he climbed on the stool next to her.

‘Half a shandy,’ said Nicky. She would normally have ordered a pint of bitter if she’d been out drinking with the team. But not this evening.

Jackie had warned her to be cautious, because it wouldn’t be too long before he made his first move. The Jerry Summerses of this world, Jackie had assured her, don’t hang about. They consider anything in a skirt is fair game. It was legendary at the Yard that when Jackie was a trainee constable an inspector had once placed a hand on her thigh, and she’d knocked him out with one punch. While it hadn’t helped her chances of promotion, that was the first and last time she’d suffered wandering hands.

‘Let him do the talking,’ Jackie had advised. ‘If he’s hoping to get you in the sack, he’ll start showing off, exaggerating his exploits. But if you think even for a moment that he suspects you’re working undercover, report back to me immediately and I’ll have you out of there the same day.’

‘A pint of bitter and half a shandy,’ said Summers, giving the barman a wink. ‘So how are you enjoying life on the beat?’ he asked.

‘Great fun,’ said Nicky, not wanting to admit that she hated being back in uniform.

‘And Liz?’ he asked tentatively.

‘I’m lucky to have her as my constable mentor.’

‘Just be careful. She’s not quite as friendly as she appears.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She’s bound to see you as a rival when it comes to promotion.’

‘But she’s got three years’ service under her belt.’

‘True, but unlike you, those three years weren’t spent at university. With a degree, you have a far better chance of accelerated promotion.’

Nicky had forgotten just how much of her backstory she’d already told him.

‘What’s it like being a detective?’ she asked, changing the subject.

‘Never a dull moment. You should think about taking the exam. You’d make a great detective.’

‘I’ve only been on the beat for a couple of months, but I must admit I have thought about it,’ she said as she took a sip of her shandy.

‘You know Liz failed the detective’s exam, so don’t raise the subject with her.’

Nicky did know, and hadn’t. ‘So, what have you been up to today?’ she asked.

‘Arrested a drug dealer outside the Midland Bank. Right little villain. Didn’t see me coming.’

‘On the high street?’ said Nicky.

‘Yeah. He tried to slip out of sight when he saw you and Liz coming down the road and walked straight into my arms.’

‘Good work,’ said Nicky. ‘We had to be satisfied with a shoplifter who’d stolen a tin of salmon.’

‘Life imprisonment,’ said Summers after a long gulp of bitter.

Nicky laughed. ‘Did your dealer put up a fight?’

‘No. Only wish he had, because I’ve got a black belt, so he would have soon discovered it doesn’t pay to mess with me.’

Nicky looked suitably impressed, even though she knew black was in fact brown. ‘It must be exciting never knowing what or who you’ll be facing tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow,’ said Summers, ‘I’m going to arrest a car thief who’s stolen one Jag too many.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I’ve had him under surveillance for several days. Even know the garage, the model and the exact time he intends to strike,’ Summers said as he downed his pint. ‘Got time for another?’

‘No, thanks. I ought to be getting home. I’m on the early-morning shift tomorrow.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Peckham. I share a flat with a friend.’

‘A girlfriend, I hope?’

Nicky nodded as she finished her drink.

‘Is she one of us?’

‘No, Rebecca’s far too sensible for that,’ she said, immediately regretting her slip of the tongue. ‘She’s a librarian in Hammersmith. We were at school together,’ she added, delivering another snippet of her backstory. ‘Perhaps I’ll see you in the morning,’ Nicky said as she got up to leave.

‘I know where I’d like to see you in the morning,’ said Summers, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Nicky didn’t respond. But as she made her way to the station she couldn’t help wondering...