Turn a Blind Eye

12

William took the Bible in his right hand and delivered the oath with a confidence he did not feel.

Grace Warwick rose from her place on the advocates’ bench, tugged at the lapels of her black gown and adjusted her wig, unconsciously imitating her father.

‘Inspector Warwick,’ she began, giving her brother a warm smile, ‘would you tell the court your name and rank for the record.’

‘My name is William Warwick, and I’m a detective inspector attached to Scotland Yard’s drugs squad.’

‘On the night in question, Inspector Warwick, were you the officer who arrested Mr Rashidi, following the raid on his drugs factory in Brixton?’

Booth Watson rose slowly from his place, a look of exasperation on his face, and delivered the words, ‘I must object, m’lud,’ before William had a chance to answer the question. ‘It has yet to be established who owned the property, and my learned friend’s casual assertion might lead the jury to believe it was the defendant, while in fact nothing could be further from the truth.’

‘I apologize, m’lud,’ said Grace, ‘but had I been allowed to continue my line of questioning, the jury would have been left in no doubt who was in charge of the drugs factory that night, and who occupied the spacious apartment in the adjoining block.’

Sir Julian allowed himself a smile, while Booth Watson sank back into his place.

‘DI Warwick,’ continued Grace, looking back at her prepared questions, all of which she was confident she knew the answer to, ‘following the arrest of Mr Rashidi, did you later interview him at Brixton police station?’

‘I did, ma’am,’ replied William, addressing his sister that way for the first time, and wondering if he would ever get used to it. ‘And following that interview, I charged him with three offences under sections four and five of the 1971 Misuse of Drugs Act.’

‘Would you tell the court the substance of those charges?’

‘Section four of the Act covers the production of a controlled drug. Section five relates to the possession of a controlled drug with intent to supply, and the lesser offence of being in possession of a controlled drug.’

‘How did the defendant react when you put these allegations to him?’

‘On the advice of his legal representative, he chose not to respond.’

‘No more than his legal right,’ snorted Booth Watson.

‘And did you find any illegal substances on him?’

William hesitated. ‘A small cache of cannabis.’

‘Nothing more?’

‘Sixteen pounds in cash and a bus ticket.’

Booth Watson smiled and made a note on the yellow pad perched on his leg: Bus ticket.

‘He claimed he was on his way home from work and had dropped by the flat to buy a small quantity of cannabis for his personal use over the weekend, only to find himself caught up in the maelstrom,’ said William, reading directly from his notebook.

‘Did the defendant use the word “maelstrom”?’ asked the judge.

‘He did, my lord,’ said William.

The judge made a note. ‘Please continue, Miss Warwick.’

‘And before the raid took place, inspector, had you already been investigating Mr Rashidi?’

‘Yes, ma’am. Over a period of nearly six months, we had been closely monitoring his daily activities.’

‘We?’

‘At that time I was heading up a small unit of highly trained officers who established in the course of their investigations that the defendant was living a double life. During the day, he posed as the chairman of a respectable family tea company based in the City of London, while at night he was running an illegal drugs factory from the top three floors of a tower block in Brixton.’

‘How were you able to raid that factory without Mr Rashidi’s knowledge, given the fact that it was situated on the top three floors of a tower block, and was presumably well protected?’ asked Grace.

‘It was indeed, ma’am, but my team mounted an undercover operation, known as Trojan Horse. We were well aware of the tight security surrounding Block A, the building in which the drugs factory was located. It included four lookouts stationed at ground level outside the entrance to the building, making it almost impossible for any of my officers to reach the upper floors before Mr Rashidi could be warned of our presence, giving him more than enough time to reach the safety of his apartment on the twenty-third floor in the adjoining building, Block B, which is connected to Block A by a walkway on that floor.’

Booth Watson wrote the words Block B on his yellow pad.

‘Taking all this into account, inspector, how could a team of armed police officers hope to reach the twenty-third floor of Block A before the defendant could escape to his apartment in the adjoining block?’

‘My learned friend is at it again, m’lud,’ said Booth Watson, rising more quickly this time. ‘It has not been established that my client had an apartment in the adjoining block. In fact, the Crown’s star witness claimed the defendant lived in the same block — Block A — as I feel sure you recall, m’lud.’

The judge wrote down this observation, as did the foreman of the jury.

‘And my learned friend is at it again,’ said Grace. ‘If he would be a little more patient, I promise to supply him with all the proof he requires.’

Booth Watson sat back down, while Sir Julian could barely stop himself applauding.

‘Having established the existence of an escape route from the drugs factory in Block A to an apartment in Block B, how did you overcome that problem?’

‘Moments before the raid began, a carpenter who was already waiting on the landing of the twenty-third floor of Block B boarded up the entrance to the walkway. That gave my men enough time to reach the drugs factory before Rashidi was able to escape.’

Grace turned to Booth Watson and gave him a warm smile, which he didn’t reciprocate.

‘And having arrested Mr Rashidi on the premises, you took him to Brixton police station where he was held overnight?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘On the following morning, you gained access to an apartment in Block B. What was the purpose of that visit, inspector?’

‘Under section eighteen of PACE, I had the authority to search any apartment in that building in order to establish if it had been Mr Rashidi’s place of residence whenever he was in London.’

Booth Watson smiled as he penned the word, If.

‘And were you able to do so, inspector?’

‘I found a wardrobe in the bedroom full of tailored suits that had been made by Bennett and Reed of Savile Row, along with a dozen hand-made shirts from Pink’s of Jermyn Street that just happened to fit the defendant perfectly.’

‘Fitted up, more like,’ said Booth Watson as he rose to his feet. ‘M’lud, has my learned friend conveniently forgotten that the tailor in question confirmed that Mr Rashidi was not one of his clients?’

‘Let us move on to a piece of evidence that even my learned friend won’t be able to dismiss quite so easily. Inspector,’ said Grace, turning back to face her brother, ‘during your investigation of the luxurious apartment in Block B, did you come across anything that proved beyond reasonable doubt that it was Mr Rashidi who must have spent his nights there during the week?’

‘Yes, ma’am. On a side table in the master bedroom I came across a photograph, the silver frame of which was engraved with the letter A.’

‘And you assumed that the A stood for Assem.’

‘Yes, I did.’

Booth Watson was quickly on his feet, but Grace continued before he could intervene.

‘However, that turned out not to be the case?’

‘That’s correct, ma’am. I later discovered that the A stood for Asprey, the well-known luxury goods company in Bond Street.’

‘Then what led you to believe there was any connection between that photograph and the defendant?’

‘It was a photograph of Mr Rashidi’s mother.’

A tumult of chatter broke out in the court, and Grace had to wait for some time before she was able to ask her next question. ‘The photograph is part of the Crown’s evidence, m’lud, and has been accepted by both sides.’ She gave Booth Watson a warm smile, before adding, ‘And with your permission, I’ll ask the clerk of the court to show it to the witness so he can confirm it was the photo he found on the bedside table of the spacious apartment in Block B.’

The judge nodded, and the clerk extracted a silver-framed photograph from the bundle of evidence, walked across to the witness box and handed it to Detective Inspector Warwick.

‘Inspector,’ said Grace, ‘can you confirm this is the silver frame you found on a bedside table of the apartment in Block B?’

‘Yes, I can.’

‘Do you recognize the woman in the photograph?’

There was total silence as the court waited for William’s reply.

‘No, I don’t,’ he said finally, staring down at the image. ‘Someone must have replaced the original photograph.’

By the time order had been restored, Booth Watson was back on his feet.

‘M’lud, I wonder if the jury, and indeed you and I, might be allowed to see the photograph in question, as the inspector no longer appears to believe it proves my client’s guilt,’ he paused, ‘beyond reasonable doubt.’

Mr Justice Whittaker hesitated before nodding.

The clerk handed the photograph up to the judge, but after studying it, he looked none the wiser. He passed it back to the clerk, who in turn handed it to the foreman of the jury. He took his time looking at the photograph of an elderly lady before showing it to his fellow jurors.

Grace and Sir Julian were the next people to consider the evidence, before it finally reached Mr Booth Watson, who gave the photograph only a cursory glance before giving it back to the clerk of the court. Sir Julian leant across and whispered a clear instruction to his daughter, who carried out his bidding.

‘M’lud,’ she said, ‘I wonder if you would grant us a short recess, in order that the Crown might consider its position.’

‘I will allow you thirty minutes, Ms Warwick,’ said the judge. ‘No more.’ He checked his watch. ‘Counsel will be back in their places by eleven fifteen.’

‘All rise.’

Rebecca couldn’t help thinking about what had happened earlier that morning, when Nicky had crept into the flat just after six, obviously hoping she wouldn’t be seen.

When she’d joined her flatmate for breakfast, Nicky didn’t mention where she’d spent the night. She was usually open about the men in her life and often had Rebecca in fits of laughter about her would-be Romeos. Nicky’s diary was always full, while Rebecca’s was full of blank pages.

Whenever her mother raised the subject of boyfriends, which was almost every other weekend, Rebecca told her it was difficult because of her job and the hours she kept. Most men backed off, she explained, once they discovered she was in the police force. Mind you, that didn’t seem to prevent Nicky from leading a busy social life. Rebecca hoped this was just another one-night stand, and a long way from Romford. But if that was the case, why hadn’t Nicky... Rebecca sat down at her desk and began to write a report...

‘When did you last see the photograph?’ asked Sir Julian, as he closed the door of a private consultation room.

‘A couple of days ago,’ said Grace, ‘in the presence of Booth Watson’s junior and the exhibits officer, when we agreed on the prosecution’s bundle of evidence. Someone must have switched the photographs over the weekend.’

‘Obviously,’ said Sir Julian. ‘But who?’ he demanded, thumping the desk with a clenched fist.

‘Someone in the pay of Rashidi, who was able to get in and out of Scotland Yard unchallenged. I have no idea who the lady is,’ said Grace, looking more closely at the photograph. ‘But I can tell you one thing. It isn’t Mrs Rashidi.’

‘That’s for sure,’ said Sir Julian, ‘but I have a feeling we’re about to find out who it is.’

‘That’s all I need,’ said the Hawk once he’d finished reading Rebecca’s report.

‘Let’s hope I’m wrong, sir.’

‘But if you’re right,’ said Jackie, ‘we’re going to have to play them at their own game.’

‘What do you have in mind, DS Roycroft?’ asked the Hawk.

‘In future, we’ll have to hold two separate meetings. One at which Nicky is present, and another when she isn’t, along with two different agendas.’

‘But how can we keep an eye on her while she’s in Romford,’ interjected Paul, ‘without it being obvious?’

‘I will have to get Marlboro Man to do that job,’ said the Hawk. ‘I’ll leave you to get in touch with him, DS Roycroft, and arrange a meeting as soon as possible.’

Jackie nodded.

‘And DC Pankhurst, I would quite understand if you felt unable to spy on your friend. However, if PC Bailey has switched sides...’

‘I’m still hoping I’ve made a terrible mistake, sir, and that Nicky spent the night with some other bloke. But I fear everything points to Summers.’

‘I agree with you,’ said the Hawk. ‘So we should assume the worst for now. And while we’re on the subject of switching sides, what’s the latest on Lamont?’

Rebecca opened her notebook. ‘Yesterday morning he left home just after nine, and took the Tube to Moorgate, where he spent the day seated in the back row of the public gallery of court number one at the Old Bailey.’

‘What was he doing there?’ asked the Hawk, but no one offered an opinion.

Sir Julian and Grace were back in court only moments before the judge reappeared.

Grace was looking resigned as her brother passed her on his way to the witness box. She waited until everyone had settled before she rose from her place and said, ‘M’lud, the Crown has no further questions for this witness.’

William took a deep breath, and like a heavyweight boxer took up his stance in the middle of the ring and waited for Booth Watson to throw the first punch. It was a sucker punch.

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

Booth Watson took his time before responding.

‘No, thank you, m’lud,’ he said, barely rising from his place.

‘You may step down, Inspector Warwick.’

William left the witness box unsure if he was relieved to have escaped unscathed, or annoyed he hadn’t even been allowed to put up a fight.

Grace rose again, but waited for her brother to leave before she addressed the court. ‘M’lud, we will not be calling any further witnesses, so that completes the case for the prosecution.’

‘Thank you, Miss Warwick.’ The judge switched his attention to the other end of the bench. ‘You may call your first witness, Mr Booth Watson.’

‘Thank you, m’lud.’ Defence counsel took his time studying a list of names before he said, ‘I call Mr Tony Roberts.’

William couldn’t hide his anger as he walked out of court number one and headed for the nearest telephone. Someone, somehow, had switched the one piece of evidence that would have left the jury in no doubt of Rashidi’s guilt, and put him behind bars with a life sentence.

As he picked up the phone and dialled the commander’s number, he was still trying to figure out who could possibly be the latest recruit on his payroll. Which of Rashidi’s henchmen had access to Scotland Yard or the Old Bailey?

‘Hawksby,’ announced the familiar voice.

‘We’ve been snookered,’ said William.

He didn’t need to refer to his notebook to repeat verbatim what had taken place in court number one earlier that morning.

‘It would seem that Rashidi is every bit as resourceful as Faulkner,’ said the commander, ‘and has found his own way of escaping.’

‘He also has Booth Watson on his side, so switching the photo may turn out to be the least of our problems.’

‘Then you’d better get back and find out who Tony Roberts is. Call me the moment court is adjourned for the day, because another problem has arisen that could blow up in our faces.’

‘A clue, sir?’

‘No. I want you to find out who Tony Roberts is, before I share that piece of news with you.’

The commander put the phone down, opened the file in front of him and re-read DC Pankhurst’s report. A frown didn’t leave his face.