Turn a Blind Eye

14

The taxi turned left out of Scotland Yard and headed towards Westminster. The ‘For Hire’ sign had been switched off, but that didn’t stop one or two hopeful customers from trying to flag him down. The driver ignored them because he already had a booking.

He headed down Victoria Street, with Westminster Abbey on his right and, on his left, the QEII centre which had recently been opened by the Queen. As always, the traffic in Parliament Square was almost at a standstill, but that suited his purpose. He looked up at Big Ben as England’s timekeeper struck twelve times, the chimes echoing around the square.

He eased across to the inside lane and slowed down. His timing needed to be perfect. The lights turned red as he swung left, coming to a halt at the top of Whitehall, allowing a mass of pedestrians to cross the road. There are no zebra crossings in Whitehall, because if there were, the traffic would be at a perpetual standstill, as would the seat of government.

A woman tapped on his side window, having noticed that although the yellow light was off, no one was sitting in the back.

‘Are you free?’

‘No, madam. I have a booking.’

She looked surprised when an unlikely-looking passenger opened the back door of the taxi, and climbed in. The traffic light turned green.

As the driver moved off he glanced in the rear-view mirror to see a scruffy, unshaven individual lounging on the back seat, who most cabbies would have refused to pick up. But not the commander.

‘Good morning, sir,’ his fare said as they drove past the Foreign Office.

‘Good morning Ross,’ replied the Hawk, as he slipped into the bus lane.

‘As instructed, I’ve been keeping a close eye on our former colleague, Superintendent Lamont, and I’m sorry to report that your worst fears have been realized.’

The commander let out a deep sigh as they passed the Cenotaph and headed towards Trafalgar Square. ‘Don’t paper over the cracks, Ross,’ he said.

‘After you put pressure on him to return the cash, or at least most of it, that had been temporarily mislaid following the raid on Rashidi’s slaughter, he decided, as you know, to resign from the force rather than face an inquiry. As a result of that decision he ended up in considerable debt. He even thought about buying a pub in Blackheath, but his wife put a stop to that. I’m afraid he’s in a bad place and Summers found it only too easy to take advantage of the situation.’

‘How come?’

‘A nag problem, sir, caused by a high-maintenance wife and low-maintenance horses.’

‘Don’t spare me the details.’

‘His wife Lauren thinks Harrods is the only store she should be seen frequenting, and the Caprice the only restaurant worthy of her patronage.’

‘Poor man.’

‘And poor is the result, because whenever he does have the occasional win at the races he celebrates, and forgets all about the far more frequent losses. That’s why until recently he was always broke.’

‘Until recently?’

‘In the past couple of weeks he’s paid off all his debts to the bookies, and several other substantial outgoings that aren’t easy to explain,’ said Ross as the taxi swung out of Trafalgar Square and headed down the Mall.

‘Like what?’ asked the Hawk, as Buckingham Palace loomed into sight.

‘He’s recently made a down payment on a bigger house in Fulham, that comes with an even larger mortgage. His wife is kitting it out with furniture from Harrods, and he’s driving a new Audi which he paid for in cash. He’s certainly not getting that sort of money from his pension pot.’

‘We’ve got a pretty good idea who his paymaster is,’ said the Hawk. ‘Lamont’s had three separate meetings with DS Summers during the past month. They get on and off at different stations on the Circle line, and never spend more than a few minutes together. On one occasion our undercover officer saw a bulky brown envelope changing hands. What we don’t know is what Lamont is offering in return, although we strongly suspect he was responsible for switching the photograph that blew a hole through the Crown’s evidence at Rashidi’s trial.’ He threw on his brakes and cursed as a jogger ran in front of the cab. ‘We already knew about the connection between Lamont and Summers,’ the Hawk mused, ‘but what’s the connection between Rashidi and Summers?’

‘That’s easy to explain,’ said Ross. ‘The Turner family. They control the drugs racket in Romford, and were among Rashidi’s best customers. I wouldn’t be surprised if Summers is on their payroll.’

‘Then let’s concentrate on the source of the money as it’s always the best motive. Anything new at the Romford end?’

‘PC Bailey has spent the past three nights at Summers’s home. I’m informed by a reliable source that most of his girlfriends last about a week, two at the most. If it goes into a third week, you might have a more serious problem.’

‘That’s the understatement of the year. An officer on my investigation squad sleeping with the person she’s meant to be investigating. How am I going to explain that to the commissioner?’

Marlboro Man didn’t offer an opinion.

‘Keep an eye on both of them,’ the Hawk eventually managed, ‘and let’s meet up again in a week. Same time, same place. If you find out what Lamont’s up to, get in touch with Jackie and let her know immediately.’

The commander came to a halt at the traffic lights opposite the Army and Navy Store. His passenger hopped out of the cab, fare unpaid, and disappeared among the morning shoppers.

‘Can you take me to the Guards Club, my good man?’ enquired an elderly gentleman, tapping a cane on the side window.

‘No, I can’t,’ said the Hawk, and quickly accelerated away.

‘I don’t know what the country’s coming to,’ growled the old man.

The Hawk turned into Victoria Street, still trying to work out what Summers was expecting from Lamont in return for the latest bulky brown envelope. As he parked in his reserved space at Scotland Yard, he said out loud, ‘I can’t believe he’d sink that low.’

‘Dr Goddard, would you please tell the court your occupation?’ said Booth Watson, smiling warmly at his next witness.

‘I am the clinical director of a drugs rehabilitation centre in Bromsgrove.’

‘And how do you know the defendant?’

‘He was a patient of mine at one time, but I am happy to say he is now fully recovered.’

‘Dr Goddard, for how long was Mr Rashidi a patient at your clinic?’

‘He was in rehab for a couple of months.’

‘And during that time did you ever see a photograph on his bedside table?’

‘Yes, a silver-framed photo of his mother, who regularly visited him at the clinic.’

‘And was there a large “A” engraved on the top of the frame?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Goddard, looking surprised.

‘Do you know what the A stood for?’

‘Asprey. But I only discovered that when his mother told me she had purchased the frame in Bond Street.’

‘And when Mr Rashidi left your care, did he take the photograph with him?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because I saw it again when I had tea with him at his mother’s home in The Boltons.’

‘After being discharged, did Mr Rashidi continue to take an interest in your clinic’s invaluable work?’

‘More than an interest. I would describe him as one of our most committed supporters. Not only does he visit the clinic on a regular basis, but for the past ten years his family company has made an annual donation of a hundred thousand pounds in support of our work.’

‘Just the price of another get-out-of-jail-free card,’ muttered Sir Julian, sotto voce, while Clare wrote down the words Ten years. Another coincidence?

‘So, over a number of years,’ continued Booth Watson, ‘your clinic has benefited to the tune of around a million pounds thanks to Mr Rashidi’s generosity.’

‘Over a million,’ said Goddard, ‘as he recently made a one-off donation when we needed to build a new ward.’

‘After he was arrested no doubt,’ said Sir Julian not so sotto voce.

‘What was your reaction, Dr Goddard, when you heard that Mr Rashidi had been arrested and charged with being a drug trafficker?’

‘I assumed the police would quickly realize they’d arrested the wrong man and release him. After all, no one could have done more to assist the unfortunate victims of drugs.’

‘And no one could have done more to put them there in the first place,’ murmured Sir Julian.

‘You say Mr Rashidi has fully recovered from his addiction, but when he was arrested, he was found in possession of a small quantity of cannabis.’

‘Assem has always been quite open about the fact that he enjoys the occasional marijuana cigarette at weekends, but then so do over five million people in this country. Perhaps they should all be locked up? However, I can assure you, Mr Booth Watson, he hasn’t touched anything more serious for over ten years.’

‘Just sold it to the highest bidder,’ muttered Sir Julian under his breath.

‘I have no further questions, Dr Goddard, and I’m sure we are all grateful for your contribution. But could you remain in the witness box, as I suspect my learned friend will want to question you further, having made so many observations from a sedentary position.’

‘I most certainly do, m’lud,’ said Sir Julian and was about to rise when Grace placed a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t go there, Father,’ she whispered. ‘He’s just an innocent bystander, and unlike Tony Roberts, nothing will be gained by cross-examining him.’

‘But what about the silver frame, it must be the same one—’

‘Possibly,’ said Clare, leaning forward from the row behind, ‘but the manager of Asprey told me that it’s one of their most popular items. They sold more than two hundred of them last year.’

‘But how could Rashidi possibly afford to pay out over a million pounds to Goddard’s clinic when his only official source of income is his declared profits from a small tea-importing company.’

‘Goddard can’t possibly know the answer to that question,’ said Grace.

‘But at least I’d get it on the record,’ insisted Sir Julian.

‘Save your firepower for Rashidi, when it will be far more effective.’

‘That’s assuming Booth Watson allows him to set foot in the witness box.’

‘He’s bound to,’ said Grace, ‘if he’s to have any hope of turning the tables after Roberts’s disastrous testimony.’

Sir Julian sank back onto the bench. ‘I can only wonder where you get your wisdom from,’ he remarked, with the suggestion of a smile.

‘Will you be cross-examining this witness, Sir Julian?’ asked the judge.

‘No, m’lud,’ said the prosecution counsel, bobbing up briefly from his place.

Marlboro Man drove down to Romford soon after he’d left the commander.

He couldn’t risk taking the train, even though he knew exactly where Lamont, Summers and Bailey were at that moment. Lamont was sitting at the back of the public gallery in court number one at the Old Bailey making notes, although Ross still couldn’t work out why. Summers was interviewing a petty crook who specialized in stealing Jaguars, while PC Bailey was out on the beat and wouldn’t be reporting back to the nick much before six.

For the fourth day in a row he parked just down the road from Romford police station. It wasn’t a perfect view, but it had the advantage that he was unlikely to be spotted.

PC Bailey arrived back at the nick just after six o’clock, and reappeared fifteen minutes later, dressed in her civilian clothes. He climbed out of his car and began to follow her, while keeping a safe distance. First surprise, she didn’t head for the station, but their favourite pub.

He crossed the road and slipped into a small cafe, where he bought a black coffee and a cheese-and-tomato baguette. Always grab some grub whenever you can, his old SAS training sergeant used to say. He took a seat near the window that gave him a clear view of the pub. He ate his sandwich a little too quickly, but then, he couldn’t be sure when he’d be on the move again.

Summers swaggered into the pub about fifteen minutes later. Ross assumed Jaguar Man must be safely locked up in a cell for the night.

Another twenty minutes passed before they reappeared, holding hands, and headed off in the direction of Summers’s flat. Marlboro Man returned to his car and selected another spot from where he had a clear view of the fourth-floor window. Despite it being his job, he still felt like a peeping Tom, especially when it came to spying on a colleague. He didn’t switch the ignition back on until just after eleven, when the bedroom light finally went out.

He would normally have gone home and tried to grab a few hours’ sleep, but instead he decided to head for Jackie’s flat in Lambeth so he could pass on the latest intel. He hoped she’d be tucked up in bed — alone.

He parked in a side street just after midnight and for a moment considered not waking her, but he knew the commander wouldn’t want to wait a week to discover that PC Bailey now appeared to be a permanent fixture in DS Summers’ household. Or at least that was his excuse.

He climbed up the fire escape like a professional burglar: slowly, silently. When he reached the third floor he peered through a tiny gap in the curtain. He could see her, but couldn’t make out if she was alone.

He tapped gently on the window, three one three, to let her know it was him. A few moments later a sleepy figure appeared, drew the curtains and pulled up the window.

‘Business or pleasure?’ Jackie asked, managing a smile.

‘I was hoping we might manage both,’ her UCO replied.

‘There’s not a lot more we can do tonight,’ said Sir Julian as the clock on a nearby church tower struck midnight.

‘Or even this morning,’ remarked Grace, looking down at the long list of questions they’d prepared in the hope of trapping Rashidi.

‘Booth Watson would be pleased to know we’ve been up half the night preparing to cross-examine a defendant he’s probably no intention of putting on the stand.’

‘But surely after Tony Roberts’s dismal contribution, he’ll have no choice but to want to tell the jury his side of the story, however improbable.’

Sir Julian shook his head. ‘Roberts may not have helped their chances, but Dr Goddard was convincing, and it doesn’t help that the one piece of evidence we had that would have left the jury in no doubt of Rashidi’s guilt conveniently disappeared into thin air. All I can say is, if Rashidi was my client, I wouldn’t allow him anywhere near the witness box.’

‘But don’t forget,’ Grace reminded him, ‘BW told the judge after Goddard stood down, that he would be calling his final witness in the morning. So if it’s not Rashidi, who could it possibly be?’

‘Rashidi’s mother?’

‘No, she’s on the side of the angels, so he won’t risk calling her.’

‘Then I agree, it has to be Rashidi.’

‘If it is, I can’t wait to find out where he’s been sleeping during the week for the past ten years if it wasn’t in the apartment in Brixton.’

‘In a suite at the Savoy would be my bet,’ said Sir Julian. ‘And you can be sure Booth Watson will produce all the necessary bills and receipts to prove it. Just another get-out clause in his fully paid up comprehensive insurance policy.’

He rose from behind his desk, gathered up his papers and headed for the door.

‘Booth Watson will still have to explain what his client was doing in Brixton that night, because it can hardly be described as on the way back to his country home in Oxfordshire, and it’s a long way to go and pick up a couple of joints when there’s a dozen pubs in the City that would happily supply them over the counter,’ Grace remarked as her father helped her on with her coat.

‘Don’t tell William that,’ said Julian, ‘or he’ll set the dogs on them.’

‘Have you decided what to do if Rashidi is wearing the same suit tomorrow as he did on the first day of the trial?’ she asked as they began walking down the creaky wooden staircase.

‘I may not do anything,’ said Sir Julian. ‘Frankly, I don’t think it’s a risk worth taking.’

‘But Clare spotted a red label with the initials A.R. on the inside of his jacket.’

‘Which Booth Watson and Rashidi might well have intended her to see,’ said Sir Julian. ‘Never ask a question unless you can be sure of the answer,’ he reminded her as they strolled across Lincoln’s Inn Fields. ‘Let’s meet up and go over the questions one more time later this morning,’ he suggested. ‘You can be Rashidi, and I’ll cross-examine you.’

‘But that man is so devious, I can’t begin to imagine what he’s likely to come up with.’

‘Try to think like him, although I’m still not convinced Booth Watson will risk putting him in the witness box.’

‘Then who else can it be?’ said Grace as she shivered and buttoned up her coat against the cold night air.

‘Remember to bring a flask of black coffee and a bacon butty. And don’t even think about telling your mother.’

Grace laughed as her father headed off to his flat on the other side of the square, while she went in search of a taxi. Rashidi and Booth Watson accompanied her all the way back to west London. In her thoughts.