Turn a Blind Eye

11

‘Do you wish to cross-examine this witness, Mr Booth Watson?’

‘I most certainly do, m’lud,’ responded defence counsel as he rose from his place. He readjusted his wig and tugged the lapels of his black gown, before looking down at a long list of prepared questions. He took his time before he spoke; an old ruse that guaranteed everyone would be waiting for his first question.

‘Mr Sangster,’ he began, fixing the witness with a gimlet eye. ‘I would like to take you back to the first words you uttered after you delivered your solemn oath, because I’m going to ask you the same question as my learned friend. Would you please state your name and occupation?’

The witness looked puzzled. ‘Gerald Sangster, and I’m currently unemployed.’

‘If I had asked you that same question eighteen months ago, how would you have responded?’

Sangster hesitated for a moment before he said, ‘Dr Gerald Sangster.’

‘When a doctor returns to being Mr, it’s usually because they’ve been appointed a surgeon, or a consultant. Is that what happened in your case?’

‘No.’

‘Then perhaps you’d like to explain to the court why you are no longer entitled to call yourself a doctor.’

‘The court has already been told that the General Medical Council removed my name from the register.’

‘ “Struck off”, I believe, is the correct term. And what was your offence, may I ask?’

Sangster hesitated for a moment before he admitted, ‘I was accused of violating my Hippocratic Oath.’

Booth Watson couldn’t resist another long pause.

‘ “Violating”,’ he repeated. ‘What does that actually mean?’

‘I over-prescribed controlled drugs that proved harmful to some of my patients.’

‘How many patients were involved?’

‘There were three witnesses who gave evidence at the hearing.’

‘That wasn’t the question I asked, Mr Sangster,’ said Booth Watson, as his junior passed him a thick file.

‘Eleven,’ said Sangster, more quietly.

‘Can you tell the court the fate of one particular patient, a Ms Amy Watson?’

‘Sadly, she died.’

‘How did she die?’

‘From an overdose.’

‘Of drugs prescribed by you, Mr Sangster. How old was she?’

‘Twenty-seven.’

‘And another of your patients, a Ms Esther Lockhart. How did she die?’

‘Suicide.’

‘She hanged herself,’ said Booth Watson, before turning another page of the GMC’s report. ‘I won’t go into the details of the other nine unfortunate patients who were in your care, Mr Sangster, unless of course you’d like me to.’

Sir Julian rose from his place. ‘M’lud, I hadn’t realized that Mr Sangster was on trial in this case.’

‘He isn’t, m’lud,’ interjected Booth Watson before the judge could respond, ‘but the credibility of his evidence is, and I’ll leave the jury to decide if they can believe a word this witness says.’

‘You’ve made your point, Mr Booth Watson. Move on.’

‘As Your Lordship pleases,’ said defence counsel, before turning back to face the witness. ‘Mr Sangster, when were you struck off the Medical Register?’

Sangster hesitated again.

‘Come, come. I can’t believe that date isn’t etched in your memory.’

‘July ninth last year.’

‘And how long do you claim that you worked for Mr Rashidi?’

‘I joined him quite recently.’

‘How recently?’

‘A few weeks before the factory was raided.’

‘I think two weeks would be more accurate, wouldn’t it, Mr Sangster? But then, accuracy is not your strong suit.’

‘It was more than two weeks.’

‘Well, let’s say three, shall we? How many times during those three weeks did you come across Mr Rashidi?’

‘Several times.’

‘And was one of those occasions during the police raid?’

‘Yes, it was,’ said Sangster firmly.

‘When you yourself were arrested?’

‘Mr Booth Watson, tread carefully,’ said the judge firmly.

‘I’m simply trying to get at the truth, m’lud. And were you charged on that occasion, Mr Sangster?’

‘Yes.’

‘With what offence?’

‘The supply of illegal substances.’

‘In contravention of the 1971 Misuse of Drugs Act. And when your case came to court, how did you plead?’

‘Guilty,’ said Sangster, so quietly he could barely be heard.

‘Would you repeat that, Mr Sangster? I’m not sure the jury heard you.’

‘Guilty.’

‘And your sentence?’

‘Two years.’

‘Only two years for an offence that usually carries a tariff of seven? That seems an unusually lenient sentence for such a serious crime. Can I presume you’re still in prison?’

‘No, I was released last week.’

‘How convenient. Just in time to give evidence in this trial.’

‘You’ve made your point, Mr Booth Watson,’ repeated the judge. ‘Move on.’

Booth Watson looked at the jury, and had to agree with the judge. He put down one file, picked up another, and turned a few pages before embarking on his next ploy. ‘Mr Sangster, I’m interested to find out how well you know Mr Rashidi. For example, can you tell me the name of the company of which he’s been chairman for the past ten years?’

‘Marcel and Neffe,’ said Sangster, almost in triumph.

‘And what do they do?’

‘Import tea.’

‘Which I don’t think we’ll find is listed as an illegal substance under the 1971 Misuse of Drugs Act.’

Several people smiled, one or two of them on the jury.

‘And where are the offices of Marcel and Neffe?’

‘In the City.’

‘Could you be a little more precise?’

Sangster bit his lip, but didn’t reply.

‘No, of course you can’t, Mr Sangster, because I would suggest that there’s not a lot you do know about Mr Rashidi, other than what you’ve read in the press, or picked up when you were in prison.’

‘I know where his drug factory was, because I worked there.’

‘I don’t doubt you worked there, Mr Sangster, I just doubt you ever saw Mr Rashidi there, other than on the night of the raid.’

‘But I know he had a flat in the same block.’

‘In the same block?’ repeated Booth Watson word for word, to make sure it was on the record.

‘I meant in the adjoining block.’

‘Perhaps it was you who had a flat in the same block,’ suggested Booth Watson, but was met with a stony silence.

Sir Julian frowned and passed a note to Grace.

‘Did you ever visit that flat?’

‘No, I wasn’t a friend of Rashidi’s.’

‘Then how do you know about this supposed flat?’

‘It was common knowledge.’

‘It is common knowledge, Mr Sangster, that Queen Elizabeth the First met Mary Queen of Scots in Fotheringhay Castle, but I can assure you that no such meeting ever took place. I would suggest that you have never met Mr Rashidi, and that your whole story is nothing more than a few scraps of “common knowledge” you picked up in prison, embroidered with some elaborate inventions of your own that would guarantee you a shorter sentence.’

‘That’s not true. I worked for Rashidi.’

‘And was it Mr Rashidi who offered you the job?’

‘No, a dealer recommended me.’

‘Your personal dealer?’

Another long silence followed before Sangster responded. ‘Yes. In the past, as I’ve admitted, I was an occasional user of cocaine, but that’s all behind me now.’

Booth Watson picked up the GMC report once again, and took his time finding the relevant page before he said, ‘ “Occasional” wasn’t the word the chairman of the GMC used to describe your addiction.’

Sangster made no attempt to defend himself.

‘You are clearly someone who has only an occasional association with the truth.’ Sir Julian began to rise from his place. ‘But before my learned friend protests, let me ask if that was the same dealer with whom you shared a cell during your surprisingly brief period in prison?’

This time the hesitation was even longer.

‘And was it during that time he told you the story of a drug dealer who lost his hand?’

‘It might have been.’

‘In which case it would be nothing more than hearsay, and the jury can dismiss it for what it’s worth. And where is this dealer now?’ asked Booth Watson before the witness could recover.

‘He’s still in jail.’

‘Another unreliable witness, who I imagine Sir Julian will not be calling on to give evidence in this trial,’ Booth Watson said as he turned to face the jury. ‘So, allow me to sum up your evidence, Mr Sangster. You were a doctor before you were struck off the Medical Register for violating your professional code of conduct. You’re a drug addict who’s happy to give evidence under oath that turns out to be hearsay picked up from another prisoner while you were in jail. You only worked in the drugs factory for two, possibly three, weeks, yet you claim to have known the defendant for some considerable time. You were struck off for harming your patients by over-prescribing dangerous drugs, and later received a surprisingly lenient two-year sentence, and you somehow ended up serving less than a year. That at least is common knowledge.’

‘You’re twisting my words,’ shouted Sangster.

‘I think they were already twisted, Mr Sangster. But I’m happy to give you a chance to straighten them out before I ask any further questions.’

Booth Watson stared impassively at the Crown’s star witness, waiting for a reply, but none was forthcoming.

‘The truth is, Mr Sangster, that you’re a super-grass with no grass. I can only hope the Crown will be calling on some more reliable witnesses to support their rather weak case.’

The judge didn’t look pleased. ‘Do you have any more questions for this witness, Mr Booth Watson?’ he asked.

‘None that I suspect would elicit an honest answer, m’lud,’ said defence counsel before resuming his place on the bench with an exaggerated sigh.

‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a millionaire,’ said Marty.

Jerry placed an arm around Nicky’s shoulder and pulled her gently towards him.

‘That’s all very well for you to say, but I’m penniless.’

‘Then you’ll have to learn how to steal from the rich, and be sure not to give anything back to the poor.’

Her head rested on his shoulder.

‘But that’s immoral.’

He turned to face her and smiled, not that she could see him in the darkness of the cinema.

‘Where do you draw the line when it comes to breaking the law?’

He leant over and kissed her gently on the lips.

‘I don’t. I leave my lawyer to make those decisions.’

Their tongues touched.

‘So how do I join the greed club?’

She broke off and turned her attention back to the screen, although she’d lost the plot.

‘First you identify a family company with a strong asset base, that’s currently being managed by the third generation.’

He placed a hand on her thigh.

‘What kind of assets?’

She gently removed his hand.

‘Land, property, paintings, jewellery even. Anything you can dispose of quickly.’

He kissed her again with a practised confidence that left her in no doubt this wasn’t the first time he’d sat in the back row. Possibly even in the same seat.

‘What’s my next move?’

His hand slipped under her jumper.

‘Start buying the company’s shares in different names, but not in large amounts or they’ll work out what you’re up to.’

He unclasped her bra.

‘And if you pull that off?’

He began to gently massage her breast.

‘You replace the management and sack all the workers.’

‘How will it end?’

Her nipple hardened.

‘You sell off all the assets and make a killing, before the shareholders find out what you’ve been up to.’

This time she didn’t resist.

‘What’s that called?’

‘Asset stripping.’

‘It could have gone better,’ admitted William.

‘Enlighten me,’ said the commander, as he sank back into his favourite chair by the fireplace and listened carefully.

‘My father began with the forensics specialist, who produced several items from the drugs factory that clearly revealed Rashidi’s fingerprints.’

‘I don’t think Rashidi will be denying he was there,’ said the Hawk.

‘Dr Webb, the government’s drugs supremo, was next up. She was totally convincing and didn’t leave the jury in any doubt about the scale of the operation Rashidi was running. Booth Watson didn’t even bother to cross-examine her.’

‘Sounds as if we’re well ahead—’

‘Until Mr Bennett, the Savile Row tailor, made an appearance. I’m afraid he wasn’t exactly helpful. Said he couldn’t recall ever meeting Rashidi, let alone making a suit for him.’

‘Then he’s got a very selective memory,’ said Hawksby.

‘Especially as I think Rashidi was wearing one of his suits in court.’

‘If that’s the case, he’ll be trapped the moment he enters the witness box.’

‘If he enters the witness box, which is unlikely, as he won’t want to admit whose photograph it was we found on the bedside table in his flat.’

‘He and Booth Watson will have been thinking about that for weeks, so we can assume that by now they’ll have come up with an alternative explanation.’

‘They won’t be able to get away with suggesting I planted the photo. How would I ever have got my hands on it in the first place?’

‘When you visited his mother’s home in The Boltons to question her?’

‘Since his arrest she’s refused to have anything to do with him, so he may not even know I visited her.’

‘She has a chauffeur and a housekeeper, paid for by Rashidi, so he’ll know,’ said the Hawk. ‘But how about Sangster? Surely the jury found his evidence compelling?’

‘After my father had completed his examination, the jury looked as if they weren’t in any doubt that Rashidi was Sangster’s boss. In fact, I thought we were home and dry until Booth Watson got back on his feet.’

‘Not again.’

‘I have to admit his cross-examination was lethal. By the time he sat down, the jury could have been forgiven for wondering if it was Sangster who should have been in the dock.’

The Hawk let out a long sigh. ‘So it will now be up to you, William, to make sure that after you’ve given your evidence tomorrow, the jury will be back on the side of the angels.’

‘On a wing and a prayer,’ said William.

‘Take them through how you found out that Rashidi was leading a double life,’ said the Hawk as if he hadn’t heard the comment, fearing he might be regaled with its derivation. ‘And finish up with what happened on the night of the raid. Then we can leave the jury to decide who they believe — the drug baron or the Choirboy.’

‘If I can pull that off,’ said William, ‘Rashidi might even consider giving evidence in a last desperate attempt to avoid being sent back to prison.’

‘Booth Watson will advise him against doing anything quite that foolish. However I suspect Rashidi might well ignore his advice. He’s a last-throw-of-the-dice man, who’ll believe he can convince the jury of his innocence, whatever the odds.’

‘He can’t be that stupid,’ said William.

‘No, but he might be that arrogant.’

‘Any advice on how I should handle Booth Watson?’

‘If you do your job properly, I suspect he won’t even bother to cross-examine you. He’ll want the Choirboy’s evidence erased from the jurors’ memories as quickly as possible. But be sure you get a good night’s sleep, just in case,’ the commander added, before putting down the phone.

‘Fat chance of that,’ said William as Beth entered the room.

‘Fat chance of what?’ she asked.

Nicky woke just after five the following morning. She blinked as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

After the film, not much of which she could remember, they’d skipped sharing a Margherita at the local pizza house and gone back to his place. Rule number one broken. After a couple of drinks, that turned out to be a bottle of wine, she told him she ought to be leaving, but who was she kidding.

Their first effort at making love, clothes ripped off long before they reached the bedroom, ended up with them lying in each other’s arms exhausted on the floor. Her initial thought afterwards was that she could still catch the last train home, but not long after that she fell asleep in his arms.

She lay there painfully aware that sooner or later she would have to admit what had happened to DI Warwick. She’d not only have to resign, but might well have to look for a job stacking shelves at Tesco. Part of her backstory which might soon be her front story. She didn’t laugh. Nicky didn’t want to admit even to Rebecca that she hadn’t felt this way about anyone for a long time. She hoped it would turn out that Jerry might have taken the occasional risk but couldn’t be thought of as a criminal.

She looked around the room, taking in the large television set resting on a stylish chrome console table that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a West End duplex. Clearly not all the stolen goods Summers had recovered after his impressive number of arrests for burglary had made it to the police-station property store. At least that would be something worthwhile to report when she saw Jackie later that morning, although she wasn’t sure how she would explain ending up in bed with the suspect.

She felt him stir, and a hand moved across and gently pulled her towards him, putting off the decision for a few more minutes.

‘Do you have time for breakfast?’ he asked when she finally climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

‘No, I should go home and change. I can’t turn up for work looking like this.’

‘If you moved in with me that wouldn’t be a problem.’

Nicky couldn’t believe what she’d just heard, and wondered if it was simply a line he used with all his conquests. As she was leaving, he kissed her once again. Not the kiss of a one-night stand. She dreaded the walk of shame from Jerry’s house to the station, and was relieved not to bump into any of her colleagues on the way. She had plenty of time to think about the consequences on the long journey back to Peckham. Had Jerry really meant what he’d said?

When the train finally pulled into her local station, she jumped off and jogged all the way home, arriving outside the front door of her flat just after six. She turned the key slowly in the lock, hoping to make it to her room without Rebecca seeing her. She quietly closed the door behind her, slipped off her heels and padded silently upstairs, relieved to see a light shining under Rebecca’s door. A few more paces and she’d make it. Once safely inside her bedroom, she threw off last night’s clothes and put on her dressing gown. Moments later she was in the bathroom taking a second shower.

They passed each other in the corridor with a breezy ‘Good morning’, before Nicky returned to her bedroom and got dressed. Jerry was constantly in her thoughts.

Over breakfast, they discussed anything but work, a golden rule, before heading off together for the commander’s morning briefing. They were all seated around the boss’s table by 7.55, waiting for the Hawk to open proceedings.

‘Let’s begin with you, PC Bailey,’ said the commander, ‘as I know you have to be back in Romford in time for the afternoon shift. Bring us up to date on your progress with Summers.’

‘Not a great deal to report, sir. He invited me out for a drink last night, but didn’t show up.’

‘Typical,’ said Jackie. ‘But that will just be part of his long-term plan, so hang in there.’

‘How long did he keep you waiting?’ asked Paul.

‘About an hour. Then I called it a day and went home.’

Rebecca was surprised by Nicky’s reply, but decided to say nothing to William until her flatmate had left for Romford. Even then, she was torn.