Turn a Blind Eye

17

‘It is your duty,’ began Mr Justice Whittaker, looking down at the jury, ‘when considering your verdict, to take into account only the evidence you have heard in this court. Anything you’ve read in the press, or opinions expressed by your family or friends, should be ignored. They have not heard all the evidence.

‘You are under no time pressure. A man’s future is in your hands. Once you retire, the only verdict I can accept is a unanimous one. Let me remind you the burden of proof is on the prosecution to show that the defendant is guilty, beyond reasonable doubt.

‘You will now retire to the jury room to consider your verdict.’ He nodded at the clerk of the court, who stood in front of the jury and declared, ‘I swear by Almighty God that I will keep this jury in some private and convenient place. I will not suffer anyone to talk to them nor will I talk to them unless it is to ask whether they have reached a verdict.’

He then led his twelve charges out of the court to the jury room.

The seven men and five women had already spent ten days together, and had got to know each other fairly well. Friendships had developed and rivalries surfaced, not least when it had come to selecting who should be appointed foreman. Mr Anscombe had triumphed over Mrs Parish, but Mrs Parish was turning out to be a sore loser.

Anscombe wasn’t in any doubt that Rashidi was guilty on all three counts. However, he felt as foreman it was his duty not to impose his views on the other members of the jury, but to listen attentively to all their opinions.

He had been a schoolmaster all his working life, ending his career as the headmaster of a local grammar school in Kent. But this wasn’t a staff meeting to decide if a boy should be put in detention, or even expelled. They were about to determine whether a man should be set free or sentenced to a long term of imprisonment.

Once they had all taken their places, he looked around the table, trying to remember everyone’s name, as he’d always done with his boys. Although he’d thought he’d got to know them quite well over the course of the trial, he was about to discover that in fact he didn’t know them at all.

‘It might be helpful,’ he began once they were settled, ‘if we were to take a vote and find out if we are all of one mind, and therefore able to reach a verdict fairly quickly.’

‘Couldn’t agree more, foreman,’ said a voice from the other end of the table. Several other members of the jury nodded, and there was even one ‘Hear, hear!’

‘Then I’ll begin by asking how many of you consider the defendant is guilty,’ said Anscombe. ‘So as not to exert any undue influence as your foreman, I will not vote at this juncture.’ He counted the raised hands and, attempting to conceal his surprise, wrote the number 8 on the pad in front of him. ‘And those who think he is not guilty?’

Two hands immediately shot up. Mrs Parish’s followed a few moments later.

As he wrote the number 3 on his pad he recalled the judge’s words: ‘The only verdict I can consider is a unanimous one.’

‘Shall we begin,’ said Anscombe, ‘by listening to the views of the three of us who consider Mr Rashidi is innocent on all three charges?’

Beth was waiting impatiently by the door when William arrived back from the Old Bailey.

‘Guilty or not guilty?’ she demanded.

‘Do you mean me or Rashidi?’

‘Rashidi, of course.’

‘The jury’s still out.’

‘And you?’

The expression on William’s face left her in no doubt this was not something that could be discussed on the doorstep. He led his wife through to the front room and waited for her to sit down before telling her what had happened in court, and the commander’s decision.

‘But why?’ she protested angrily.

‘He had no choice but to suspend me after Lamont, who was the senior officer in charge of Trojan Horse, all but accused me of stealing seven hundred pounds from a safe in the apartment.’

‘So what happens next?’ asked Beth.

‘My suspension is only temporary, pending an inquiry.’

‘But how long will that take?’

‘Three or four months at the most. And before you ask, I’ll remain on full pay, and the Hawk thinks the whole episode will be laughed out of court long before then.’

‘Perhaps you should take a leaf out of Lamont’s book.’

‘What, become a crook?’ said William wearily.

‘No, resign. Then there wouldn’t be an inquiry, and you could get a job that offers a more realistic wage for the hours you put in, as well as working with colleagues you can trust.’

‘But that would be tantamount to admitting I’m guilty, which wouldn’t make finding another job quite so easy. And what’s more, I’d be crucified in the press.’

‘Are the press going to come after you?’ asked Beth, sounding anxious.

‘It’s unlikely at the moment. The Hawk has issued an internal statement giving me his full support, and has made personal calls to all the leading crime correspondents in Fleet Street leaving them in no doubt which stone they should be looking under, while gently reminding them of the libel laws. And if it turns out that I do have to issue a writ, the Met will pick up the bill. For once, my reputation as a choirboy has worked in my favour.’

‘But surely what Lamont has accused you of is a crime?’

‘The Hawk’s already made it clear that no criminal proceedings are being considered. That’s his way of letting everyone including the press know that I’m innocent, and the finger’s being pointed at the wrong man.’

‘What are you going to do for the next three or four months?’ asked Beth, holding back the tears that had replaced her anger.

‘Finally master the art of changing a nappy, while feeding two human dustbins at the same time.’

‘Fat chance of that,’ said Beth, regaining her composure. ‘You wouldn’t survive three days, let alone three months. But please promise me one thing.’

‘Anything, darling.’

‘You may have forgotten we’re going to the Fitzmolean tomorrow evening for the unveiling of the Vermeer. Please don’t mention your suspension to my parents or yours, otherwise what’s meant to be a joyful occasion could turn into a wake.’

‘I won’t say a word until we have lunch with my parents at the weekend. Although my father and Grace have already worked out I’m likely to be suspended, so it won’t come as much of a surprise to them. In fact, they’ve offered to act as my defence team, with Clare as my solicitor.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ said Beth, sounding even more anxious.

William took her in his arms. How he wished he could tell her the truth.

Commander Hawksby took his place at the top of the table to chair the team’s Monday-morning meeting. Because William was unable to attend he didn’t open with his usual warm greeting.

‘As you all know,’ he said, ‘following ex-superintendent Lamont’s evidence given under oath, Inspector Warwick has been suspended, pending a full inquiry.’

‘It’s a bloody disgrace,’ said Paul. ‘That’s like sacking Churchill after he’d won the Second World War.’

‘Which is exactly what the British people did,’ the Hawk reminded him. ‘But don’t forget, he returned in triumph in 1951, and served for four more years. However, the commissioner has made it clear we are not to continue with our investigation of Lamont and Summers while the Warwick inquiry is ongoing. With that in mind, DC Pankhurst will be transferred to other duties, which I will come to in a moment. PC Bailey will remain in Romford for the time being, until I find an appropriate moment to transfer her back to the Yard.’

‘Perhaps it’s for the best,’ said Nicky, ‘because I’m yet to be convinced Summers is bent. Only last week he made two arrests, including a villain who’s been stealing Jaguars, who our boys have been after for years.’

The rest of the team listened in silence.

‘Rumour is,’ continued Nicky, ‘that Summers is about to be put up for another commendation. I’m beginning to wonder if our informant is just another Lamont, looking for revenge.’

‘Quite possibly,’ said the Hawk. ‘So, I’ll try and get you back to the Yard without it being too obvious what you were up to.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Nicky. ‘I can’t wait to rejoin the team.’

Not everyone smiled.

‘Any more news from court number one?’ asked Jackie, changing the subject.

‘After Lamont’s car crash, I can’t believe it will take the jury that long to reach a verdict. But we still have to plan for the unexpected, so should Rashidi somehow manage to get off, one of you will have to watch him twenty-four/seven because once he’s out I’m sure he’ll lead us straight to the new slaughter. And the same goes for Tony Roberts, or whatever his name is, who I have a feeling has been running Rashidi’s operation in his absence.’

‘He’s not bright enough for that,’ said Paul. ‘At best he could keep it ticking over until Rashidi returns.’

‘If that’s the case,’ said the Hawk, ‘we could end up nabbing them both. If Roberts is even thinking about opening a new slaughter, I’m going to shut it down before it supplies its first customer. We’ll then lock him up in a cell far smaller than the apartment he claims he’s been living in for the past ten years and this time he won’t have a phone number to remember. But now, let’s not waste any more time trying to second-guess the verdict,’ he said as he passed them each a file.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ said Nicky. ‘I ought to get going. I’m expected back in Romford in a couple of hours.’

‘Not for much longer,’ said the Hawk, as she gathered up her files. Once Nicky had closed the door behind her, the Hawk waited for a moment before saying, ‘Now she’s out of the way, let’s get back to our original agenda. To start with, DI Warwick has not been suspended. However, I do need Lamont, Summers and not least PC Bailey to believe he has. With that in mind...’

The foreman checked a chart that showed the name of every juror. He ticked off number seven. ‘Mr Pugh, perhaps I could begin by asking you why you consider Mr Rashidi is innocent?’

The foreman was puzzled as to why Pugh had changed his mind, when earlier in the week he’d told him that life imprisonment was far too good for the likes of Rashidi, and the damn man should be hanged. But he sat back and listened, hoping he would explain his Pauline conversion.

‘I’d like to begin,’ said Pugh, ‘by reminding everyone that all we know for certain about Assem Rashidi is that he’s chairman of a respectable City company, and has never had a conviction of any sort in his life. Not even a parking ticket, as Mr Booth Watson pointed out.’

‘Unlikely when you’ve got a chauffeur?’ suggested another juror.

‘There’s no need to be frivolous,’ snapped Pugh. ‘And I’m bound to add that I found Sangster’s testimony unconvincing, to say the least. Should we allow this case to rest on the word of a convicted drug addict who was struck off the medical register for supplying illegal substances to his patients?’

‘That may well be the case,’ said another juror, ‘but I’m in no doubt he worked for Rashidi.’

‘Whereas,’ continued Pugh, ignoring the interruption, ‘I found Dr Goddard’s heartfelt evidence compelling. A dedicated professional man who told us that Mr Rashidi had donated over a million pounds to his clinic. Hardly the action of a drug lord. And you’ll have noticed that Sir Julian didn’t even bother to cross-examine him.’

‘But what about Roberts? He was obviously lying from the moment he entered the witness box. Didn’t you find it strange that he referred to Rashidi as Assem, when he’d said he didn’t even know him?’

‘Would you condemn a man to spend the rest of his life in jail on such flimsy evidence?’ asked Mrs Parish, weighing in for the first time. ‘My children refer to everyone by their first names, even celebrities they’ve never met.’

‘He didn’t know the telephone number of the flat he claimed he’d lived in for the past ten years!’ chipped in juror number eight.

This silenced Mrs Parish, but only for a moment.

‘Don’t forget,’ she came back, ‘they tried to trap Rashidi on where he bought his suits and that backfired spectacularly.’

‘If Rashidi was innocent,’ asked another woman, ‘why wouldn’t he face Sir Julian in the witness box?’

‘The judge told us to ignore that,’ Pugh reminded her. ‘It’s his legal right not to have to give evidence.’

‘But if he wasn’t in charge of the drugs factory,’ asked juror number two, ‘what was he doing there at midnight?’

Several jurors nodded.

‘I just think he’s a wrong ’un,’ piped up juror number nine, who the foreman had thought was asleep.

‘As the superintendent pointed out,’ said Pugh, ‘he conveniently fitted the profile for a drugs baron.’

‘I’m bound to say,’ said juror number two, ‘I wasn’t convinced that Lamont was telling us the whole truth.’

‘Try not to forget,’ came in Mrs Longstaff, the third dissenter, ‘that he was prepared to sacrifice his career rather than see an innocent man go to jail.’

‘That’s his story, but I’ve got a feeling there’s more to it than that.’

‘Like what?’ demanded Mrs Longstaff.

‘I don’t know,’ admitted juror number six.

‘The judge told us to make our decision on the evidence presented in court, not speculation,’ the foreman reminded them.

This silenced everyone for a few moments, until another juror piped up.

‘If Rashidi was no more than a casual weekend customer, then why pose as an immigrant worker?’

‘I was once caught in a brothel,’ admitted Pugh. ‘I can tell you I would have posed as anything to make sure my wife didn’t find out.’

‘He doesn’t have a wife,’ snapped back the same juror.

‘But he does have a mother,’ Mrs Longstaff countered.

‘Who wasn’t willing to appear in court to even confirm her son lived with her at The Boltons,’ the foreman reminded them.

‘Besides, Rashidi doesn’t look like a drug lord to me,’ Mrs Longstaff added.

Several members of the jury groaned, and the foreman realized that reaching a unanimous verdict might not prove quite as straightforward as he’d originally thought. He didn’t feel any differently after they’d taken a break for lunch. The same arguments were voiced again and again during the afternoon, after the foreman had made it clear that everyone must be allowed to express their personal opinion. However, he hadn’t meant the same opinion several times.

The foreman glanced at his watch and when, an hour later, none of the three dissenters had shown any sign of changing their minds, he suggested they call it a day and resume the following morning. At last he’d found something on which they could all agree.

‘Is it my imagination,’ said Sir Julian, ‘or has William not bothered to shave today?’

‘I think you’ll find it’s called designer stubble, my dear,’ replied his wife. ‘All the rage.’

‘Not in Nettleford, it isn’t. Let’s just be thankful that Commander Hawksby isn’t here.’

‘But he is,’ said Marjorie. ‘He and his wife are on the other side of the gallery admiring the Rembrandt.’

‘Remind me of her name,’ whispered Sir Julian.

‘Josephine. And their children are Ben and Alice.’

‘I don’t know what I’d do—’ Sir Julian began as Beth’s parents joined them.

‘Good evening Arthur, Joanna,’ said Sir Julian, giving Beth’s mother a kiss on the cheek. ‘Have you noticed that William seems to have forgotten to shave today?’

‘Is that a capital offence?’ asked Arthur, grinning.

‘It is in our family,’ said Marjorie. ‘But more important, how’s Beth? She seems to be anxious about something.’

‘And why wouldn’t she be?’ said Sir Julian. ‘It’s not every day the museum unveils a Vermeer, and it was Beth who made it possible.’

‘True,’ said Arthur. ‘But like you, Marjorie, I get the impression there’s something she’s not telling us.’

‘Could she be pregnant again?’ asked Joanna. ‘I do hope so, because I so enjoy being a grandmother.’

‘Me too,’ said Marjorie. ‘The twins are growing up so fast. Only yesterday—’

‘What are you lot plotting behind my back?’ asked Beth as she walked across to join them.

‘Perhaps you can explain why—’ began Sir Julian.

‘Shh,’ said Marjorie, as a waiter handed him a glass of champagne.

‘We were talking about the twins,’ said her mother, ‘and how quickly they’re growing up.’

‘Artemisia is almost crawling, while her brother looks on...’

The sharp tap of a gavel on a lectern caused them all to turn around, to see the museum’s director standing on a raised platform smiling down at them.

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘Thank you for joining us on this auspicious occasion. In a few moments we will unveil the gallery’s latest acquisition, The White Lace Collar by Vermeer, a bequest made possible by our most generous benefactor, Christina Faulkner.’

A warm round of applause followed, and William glanced across the room to see Christina standing next to a distinguished-looking gentleman who must have been a shade over six foot, and considerably older than her usual consorts. His trim white beard, greying hair and tanned face suggested he’d spent more time at sea than on land.

‘But before we unveil this masterpiece, I have an announcement to make. Sam Waterstone, the Keeper of Pictures, will be retiring at the end of the month, having served the Fitzmolean for over thirty years, so I considered it appropriate that he should perform the unveiling ceremony.’

Beth smiled as her head of department ambled up to the microphone, looking like a dishevelled schoolmaster. He turned an academic gaze on the guests as if they were a bunch of unruly students.

‘Thank you, Tim,’ he began. ‘Johannes Vermeer of Delft was unquestionably one of the foremost Dutch masters of the seventeenth century. Sadly, he only lived to the age of forty-three, and just thirty-four of his pictures survive, so we are indeed privileged to own one of them.’

Without another word he stepped back and pulled a cord. A pair of velvet curtains parted to reveal The White Lace Collar.

Gasps were followed by loud applause.

‘Thank you, Sam,’ said the director, and turning to the audience he added, ‘Before I allow you all to continue enjoying this special occasion, I have another announcement to make, and one that I suspect won’t come as a complete surprise to some of you. It gives me great pleasure to tell you that Sam’s successor as Keeper of Pictures will be our very own, and very special, Beth Warwick.’

This time the applause was even louder, and several people turned around to smile at the new Keeper.

‘Beth,’ continued the director, ‘has played a leading role in securing three of the museum’s most treasured masterpieces: the long-lost Rubens, the fabled Rembrandt, and now this magnificent Vermeer. When Sam recommended Betty should take his place, it took me a nanosecond to agree, and the board confirmed her appointment this morning.’

William squeezed Beth’s hand. ‘I’m so proud of you, Keeper,’ he said, as the rest of the family gathered around to congratulate her.

‘I couldn’t have done it without you and Christina,’ she whispered.

‘Not to mention Miles Faulkner,’ said William, ‘who died so conveniently.’

‘I also played a small part,’ Commander Hawksby reminded them, as he shook Beth’s hand and added his congratulations.

‘Or at least that’s what I told the commissioner of the Met,’ said William, in a clipped voice. He immediately regretted his words, until everyone, including the Hawk, burst out laughing.

‘Arsenal versus Chelsea, same time, usual place,’ whispered Hawksby to William, before walking away to take a closer look at the Vermeer.

‘Many congratulations, my darling,’ said a voice coming from behind her. Beth turned to see Christina and the distinguished-looking gentleman sailing towards her.

‘Thank you, Christina. And the gallery will be eternally in debt to its most generous benefactor.’

‘It was all made possible by William,’ she replied. ‘If he hadn’t been able to show that Miles’s paintings weren’t destroyed after he’d burnt down Limpton Hall, I’d be a penniless waif.’

‘And stray, which certainly wouldn’t suit you,’ said William, leaning over and kissing her on both cheeks.

‘I’d like to introduce you to Captain Ralph Neville,’ said Christina. Her companion stepped forward and shook hands with William and Beth rather formally.

‘May I add my congratulations on your appointment, Mrs Warwick,’ he said. ‘But frankly it didn’t come as a great surprise after all Christina has told me about you.’

‘Christina!’ said the director as he bustled over. ‘How do I begin to thank you?’

‘My pleasure, Tim. May I introduce my guest, Captain Ralph Neville.’

‘Good evening, sir,’ said Neville, as William and Beth slipped off to take a closer look at the Vermeer.

‘And I thought it was only me who could keep a secret,’ said William. ‘You didn’t even hint you might be appointed Keeper of Pictures, or that Christina had a new escort.’

‘I wasn’t confident enough to tell you about the promotion, and only found out quite recently about Captain Neville. In fact it’s the first time I’ve met him.’

‘I like the cut of his jib,’ mocked William, stealing one of his father’s expressions.

‘How appropriate. Apparently, Ralph was a captain in the Royal Navy, recently retired.’

‘And he certainly looks as if he’d like to lower his anchor, if he hasn’t already,’ William added.

‘Behave yourself, caveman,’ said Beth, looking around to see Christina and the captain chatting to the director.

‘A bit of a contrast to her late, unlamented husband,’ said William.

‘Not to mention the string of toy boys who’ve been sponging off her recently.’

‘I think she always knew what she was getting in return.’

‘This one looks a little more promising,’ said Beth. ‘So let’s be happy for her.’

‘Dare I ask, as you seem to be keeping me in the dark on so many things, if all the other pictures have also been returned to Christina?’

‘The entire collection, she tells me. I think Christina plans to sell them all and continue to live in a manner few of us can dream of.’

‘Then let’s hope Captain Neville doesn’t turn out to be another gold digger,’ said William, taking a closer look at the new man in Christina’s life.

‘We’re off to Monte Carlo for a few days,’ Christina was telling the director. ‘Ralph is looking forward to seeing my little hideaway.’

‘That isn’t how William described your Monte Carlo home,’ said Tim. ‘More like a palace filled with masterpieces.’

‘Well, I have my dear departed husband to thank for that. As the paintings won’t be around for much longer, you must come and see them while you still have a chance.’

‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure,’ said Tim, who had already been warned by Beth that Christina intended to sell the entire collection.

‘I’m afraid we’ll have to leave fairly soon,’ said Christina. ‘We’re catching an early flight to Nice in the morning and won’t be returning until after Christmas. But early in the New Year I’m planning to give a dinner party for a few friends, and do hope you’ll be able to join us.’

‘I’ll look forward to it,’ said Tim, giving her a slight bow before he left them to mingle with his other guests.

‘Let’s slip away,’ said Christina. ‘We’ve been here quite long enough.’

She and the captain held hands as they walked slowly across the room, left the gallery and made their way down the wide carpeted staircase and out onto the street.

Christina’s chauffeur opened the back door of the Rolls to allow them to climb in, before returning to the driver’s seat. He eased out and joined the early-evening traffic, but it wasn’t until he’d turned the corner that Christina looked at her companion and said, ‘Do you think we got away with it?’