Turn a Blind Eye

18

‘Good morning, Mrs Faulkner. How nice to see you.’

Christina had to admire the way Booth Watson could lie so unashamedly, while keeping a straight face. She sat down in the seat opposite him, but did not return his salutation.

‘Miles felt we should meet in order to avoid any possible misunderstandings in the future.’

‘How thoughtful of him,’ said Christina.

‘As you know, he is content to make your life as comfortable as possible,’ said Booth Watson, ignoring the barbed remark, ‘but in return, he will expect you to abide by certain rules.’

‘Like what?’

‘He’ll buy you a house in the country, continue to pay the rent on the flat in Chelsea, and supply you with an income of one thousand pounds a week. And of course you’ll be able to keep your car and chauffeur.’

‘What about the half-million we agreed on in the divorce settlement?’

‘An agreement that was unfortunately never formalized. In any case, you’ve recently sold the land on the site of Limpton Hall for—’ he checked the figure — ‘seven hundred and seventy thousand pounds, so you’re not exactly broke,’ he added.

‘I’ll need at least two thousand pounds a week to cover my living expenses. That was also agreed in our divorce settlement, in case you’ve forgotten.’

‘Miles anticipated you might say that, and being a generous man, he will agree to fifteen hundred a week.’

‘What about the paintings? Half of them belong to me.’

‘Possession is nine tenths of the law. And they are now well beyond your reach.’

‘Two thousand a week.’

‘Very well. As long as you make no attempt to reclaim the Vermeer from the Fitzmolean should you for any reason fall upon hard times.’

‘Only if Miles agrees not to steal the painting from the gallery a second time.’

‘He’s unlikely to do that,’ said Booth Watson, ‘as it wouldn’t take the police long to work out that he’s still alive.’

‘If I do agree to his terms, what will he expect in return?’

‘You will keep up the myth that he is dead, especially with your friend Beth Warwick and her husband. As long as they continue to believe he is Captain Ralph Neville, a recently retired naval officer, he’ll be able to go about his business without fear of being exposed.’

‘It wouldn’t take William long to discover that no such Royal Navy officer ever existed.’

‘Ah, but he does,’ said Booth Watson, ‘and he’s recently retired on a far larger pension than he would have thought possible before he met Miles, on the one condition that he never sets foot in England again.’

‘And if I refuse to go along with your plan and decide to expose him?’ said Christina, defiantly.

‘The country house will never be yours, the flat in London will undergo a rent review that you won’t be able to afford, and your weekly allowance will dry up overnight.’

‘You’ve forgotten the car and chauffeur,’ said Christina sarcastically.

‘Your chauffeur would be made redundant, and the Rolls-Royce might just be involved in an unfortunate accident, reminding your friends that after years of having a driver, you were no longer safe on the road.’

Christina gave an involuntary shudder. ‘Even Miles wouldn’t go that far,’ she eventually managed.

‘You may well be right, but you’d certainly have to think about it every time you got into the car.’

Christina tried not to think about it.

‘And there’s something else I should mention, while we’re on the subject of your future. The paintings are no longer in Monte Carlo, and all of Miles’s assets have been deposited in several numbered accounts in Zurich, Geneva and Bern, so if you don’t want to end up living on social security, I suggest you keep to your end of the bargain.’

‘Does that mean I can no longer see Beth Warwick, because she’s about the only friend I’ve got?’

‘On the contrary, we want you to go on seeing Beth Warwick. Just make sure she remains convinced you’re a widow, because the day she isn’t, you may as well be.’

‘Am I also expected to live with Miles?’

‘No, that’s the last thing he wants. He has no objection to you continuing your former lifestyle, as long as you’re discreet. However, there will be occasions when you’ll have to be seen in public together in order to keep up the pretence.’

‘Does Miles actually believe he’ll get away with it?’

‘I hope so, for your sake. He tells me he passed the Vermeer unveiling test with flying colours, so clearly the Swiss plastic surgeon did an excellent job. And don’t forget, no one gave him a second look when he sat in the row behind me at his own funeral. Any more questions?’ he asked abruptly.

‘How will I know when I’m required to play my role?’

‘I’ll be in touch. I’ll try to give you at least twenty-four hours’ notice.’

‘How considerate of you.’

‘I hope you’ll quickly accept, Mrs Faulkner, this is an amicable arrangement that will suit both parties. However, should you ever need any legal advice, do feel free to call on me.’

‘How kind of you, Mr Booth Watson, but fortunately Sir Julian Warwick fulfils that role quite admirably.’

‘Not in the future, he won’t,’ said Booth Watson firmly.

‘You’re frightened of him,’ said Christina, feeling that at last she’d scored a point.

Booth Watson hesitated for a moment. ‘Not frightened,’ he eventually managed, ‘but I do have a certain respect for his professional skills. So, you are never to call on his services again.’

Christina was about to protest when Booth Watson added, ‘It’s a deal-breaker.’ She remained silent.

Booth Watson swivelled the agreement around, offered her a pen and said, ‘You sign here, here and here. By the way,’ he added, ‘I thought your performance at the funeral was quite brilliant. But then, it was always in your best interests to convince Inspector Warwick that Miles was dead.’

The morning session the following day had gone better once Mrs Parish finally accepted that the only reason Rashidi could have been visiting a drugs factory after midnight was to buy some drugs. However, she wouldn’t budge when it came to the main offence, of being a dealer and the mastermind behind the entire operation.

The foreman once again called for a vote on all three counts, and on the lesser charge of possession, he finally secured a guilty verdict of ten to two. But on the two more serious charges, the vote remained nine to three.

The foreman looked around the table, before he suggested to his exhausted cohorts, that ‘Perhaps the time has come for us to send a note to the judge and ask His Lordship if he would consider a majority verdict.’

No one raised an objection.

Mr Justice Whittaker listened carefully to the foreman of the jury and the intractable problem he was facing.

‘I’m going to ask you to retire again, and strive once more to reach a unanimous verdict. If you are unable to do so, I will accept a verdict upon which at least ten of you are agreed.’

The foreman bowed, and the bailiff once again led his charges back to the jury room.

The judge returned to his chambers and scanned a long line of leather-bound volumes on the shelves behind his desk. He extracted one before sitting down and consulting the index. He turned to page 213 and checked the maximum sentence he could impose for the possession of cannabis, and if there were any aggravating circumstances which would allow him to increase the sentence. He frowned. He was re-reading the relevant paragraph, when he was interrupted by a tap on the door, and his clerk entered the room.

‘The jury are returning, m’lud,’ he said, as he held open the door.

PC Bailey was out pounding the streets on the ten-to-six shift when William drove into Romford. She was late returning to the station because she’d had to deal with a traffic accident. It was only a minor prang, but one of the drivers didn’t have a licence, so when she finally got back to the nick, there were several forms to fill in.

She didn’t emerge again until 6.32 p.m. She was dressed in her civilian clothes, and headed in the direction of DS Summers’s flat, stopping on the way to pick up one of his suits from the dry cleaner’s. At 6.58 she let herself into the house.

William put down his biro after completing the latest entry in his logbook. He turned on the radio and listened to the seven o’clock news.

The Rashidi drugs trial was still the lead item, and the only new piece of information was that the judge would pass sentence in the morning.

Two years is the maximum period the judge can impose for possession, his father had reminded him when they had spoken on the phone that afternoon.

‘Which means he’s quite literally got away with murder,’ said William. ‘And remembering he’s already served over six months, he’ll be released in a few weeks’ time, and we still don’t know where his new factory is.’

‘I’m sure he’ll lead you to it on the day he’s released,’ was the Hawk’s opinion.

William’s thoughts turned to Lamont, who was every bit as guilty as Rashidi, having worked hand in glove with Booth Watson to get him off. But one of the ex-superintendent’s favourite bon mots had been, Crime pays, laddie, and William didn’t doubt that Lamont was now earning far more as one of Booth Watson’s lackeys than he ever had in the Met.

He could hear Beth asking once again if the time had come for him to consider resigning, and he still hadn’t come up with a convincing response.

When a light appeared on the third floor, William tried to concentrate. After five nights of surveillance, he had roughly worked out the layout of Summers’s flat. Nicky must now be in the kitchen, probably preparing supper.

The news was followed by The Archers; much more of this and he’d become an addict. He was listening to File on Four, who were debating the removal of hereditary peers from the House of Lords, when he spotted Summers entering the building. A few moments later he watched as the two of them embraced before Nicky drew the curtains. William only wished he could have overheard their conversation.

The Hawk had applied for an order to have the flat bugged, but the application had been rejected by the assistant commissioner Specialist Operations as a fishing trip. ACSO suggested they supply some more convincing corroborating evidence before approaching him again. He referred the commander to the Interception of Communications Act 1985.

A second application just to bug Summers’s phone was also turned down. Britain wasn’t a police state, the Hawk had been reminded by the commissioner. William couldn’t disagree with him, even though it made his job that much more difficult.

‘Supper will be ready in a few minutes,’ said Nicky, as she sat down on the sofa next to Jerry, who was watching an FA Cup match: Aston Villa versus Chelsea. Although Jerry had been born in Birmingham, he’d always wanted to join the Met, so headed down to the smoke the day after he left school. But he still supported Villa.

‘From about the age of five,’ he’d explained to Nicky, ‘you decide which team you support. And you stick with them through thick and thin for the rest of your life.’

She was thinking about the rest of her life as she snuggled up next to him.

‘This is a fantastic TV,’ she said, not interested in the match.

‘Part of a job lot,’ said Summers, putting an arm around her. ‘I arrested this guy a couple of months back who had half a dozen of them in his front room. Only five ended up back in the nick’s property store.’

‘I only saw four.’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if another one went missing before the desk sergeant filled out the charge sheet.’

‘Don’t you ever worry that one day a thief will shop you?’ said Nicky, once again wrestling with her conscience, as she had been doing a lot recently.

‘Unlikely,’ he said, his eyes not leaving the screen. ‘Any sensible villain would rather be charged with stealing four TVs than six, and in any case, it would be his word against mine. Goal!’

William listened to a debate on the future of Trident between Tony Blair and Michael Heseltine — both regarded as potential future leaders of their respective parties — when the lights went out in Summers’s living room at 10.41. He turned the radio off and made another entry in his notebook. A few moments later a light went on in the bedroom. Once again, the curtains were drawn, and once again, he would have liked to be able to hear what they were talking about. Pillow talk might be even more revealing than television banter, and despite the fact William had heard on the news that Chelsea had won 2–1, which pleased him, he thought Summers might become more expansive.

‘Who do we have to thank for the new hi-fi?’ Nicky asked as she began to get undressed, still uncertain whose side she was on.

‘John Smith,’ said Summers, hanging up his suit.

‘The politician?’ asked Nicky, grinning.

‘No, my number one informer, who makes it possible for me to have a few extra luxuries on the side.’

‘He’s a legend in the canteen.’

‘And so he should be. He was responsible for me finally nailing Ted Payne when that shipment of cocaine came in from Brixton.’

‘Now that half of the Payne family are safely locked up, will you be turning your attention to the Turners?’

‘Not while they keep supplying me with information about every other criminal on the patch.’

‘But they’re crooks,’ Nicky said as she climbed into bed.

‘Sometimes you have to turn a blind eye if you want to keep your arrest sheet ticking over.’

‘So is John Smith a member of the Turner family?’

‘Let’s say he’s a close relation,’ Summers replied, as he took her in his arms.

He had chosen the venue. Somewhere she’d never been before. As she pushed her way through the swing doors, she spotted her former boss seated in a dimly lit alcove at the far end of the pub, his back to her. Two pints were on the table in front of him. He didn’t stand up when she joined him.

‘Am I off the hook?’ were Lamont’s first words.

‘Yes,’ she said, after taking a sip of beer. ‘The Hawk told me there’s no point going after you. Thought you’d suffered enough, remembering you returned all of the money that was in the third bag. I like to think I played my part. It was touch and go, because Warwick still thinks you should be arrested and hung out to dry.’

‘Keep trying to convince the little prick otherwise, and I’ll make it worth your while. There’s more than enough money swilling around in that trough for both of us. Unless of course you’re in Warwick’s camp.’

‘Haven’t seen a lot of him lately,’ said Jackie. ‘He’s been suspended while the corruption unit investigate the seven hundred quid that went missing from Roberts’s safe.’

‘Will you be giving evidence?’

‘Probably. But don’t worry, I won’t be helping his cause.’

‘ “I wasn’t in the room at the time” will get you off that hook,’ said Lamont.

‘Don’t forget, it was Warwick who stopped me getting my sergeant’s stripes back.’

‘I would have promoted you ahead of him,’ said Lamont.

‘I know you would, Bruce, which is another reason I wish you were still a member of the team.’

Lamont finished his beer. ‘Let’s continue to meet from time to time so we can keep each other up to date.’

‘Sure. But what’s in it for me?’

He took an envelope out of an inside pocket and pushed it across the table. ‘There’s more where that came from,’ he said.

She slipped the package into her bag and smiled. ‘Better get going,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in touch again when I’ve got anything worthwhile to report.’

The light in the bedroom went out just after 11.30, and William made another entry in his logbook. William didn’t enjoy undercover work, and certainly didn’t like snooping on a colleague. However, the Hawk had pointed out that if he was going to arrest PC Bailey as well as Summers, he would need MM’s reports to be confirmed. William leant back, thought about Beth and the twins, and fell asleep almost immediately.

The sound of a horn in the distance snapped him out of his slumber. He rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. Just after four. He looked up at the third floor, relieved to see the flat was still in darkness. It was another couple of hours before a bedside light was switched on.

‘So what are you up to today?’ asked Nicky, stifling a yawn.

‘I’m due to give evidence in court at ten. Jaguar man is coming up in front of the local magistrate.’

‘How long will he go down for?’

‘It’s his first offence, so he’ll probably get a suspended sentence, while I’ll end up owning a second-hand Jag, with only seven hundred miles on the clock.’

‘Won’t someone want to know how a DS can possibly afford a Jag?’

‘I’ll just remind them it’s second-hand, not unlike the inspector’s Volvo.’

‘You two are quite a double act,’ said Nicky, as she joined him in the shower.

‘If you ever want to join our team, just let me know.’

‘What use would a rookie PC on the beat possibly be?’

‘You’re out on the street, picking up information that could lead to an arrest, and that just might turn out to be profitable, especially if Mr Smith gets to hear it before you make your report.’

Once again, Nicky thought about coming clean, and making a full report on everything she now knew about DS Summers, but realized that if she did, she would lose him, and her job.

‘How about you?’ he asked, as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

‘Day off. I’m going to visit my mother in Tooting, and take her out to lunch. I should be back around six.’

‘When I’ll take you for a spin in my new Jaguar.’

William turned on the seven o’clock news. Not a lot had changed overnight. He made another entry in his logbook when Summers emerged from the building at 7.34, and set off in the direction of the local nick as his radio sprang to life. He listened carefully to what Paul had to report, and said he’d deal with it as soon as he was back in the office.

PC Bailey appeared a few minutes later, and to William’s surprise, she headed in the direction of the railway station. He waited until she’d taken the first train into central London before getting out of the car and walking across to a phone box on the other side of the road.

Rebecca picked up the phone after a couple of rings.

‘She’s on her way back into London,’ said William. ‘She should be with you long before I can make it.’

‘Not a problem,’ said Rebecca. ‘Nicky thinks I’m off today, so she won’t be surprised to find me at home.’

‘Meanwhile you’re going to have to keep an even closer eye on Lamont. Jackie’s just phoned in to tell Paul that following her meeting with him last night, he now believes he’s in the clear. She got a thick brown envelope for her trouble, which she’s left on my desk.’

‘Jackie’s the best,’ said Rebecca. ‘I only wish I could say the same about Nicky.’

‘Don’t give up on her. She may yet come to her senses,’ said William before ringing off.

He returned to the car and made a final entry in his logbook. Surely another five nights in a row would be enough to convince the commander that Nicky had switched sides. But he accepted that the Hawk must have his reasons for not wanting to break cover yet. William closed his notebook, turned the key in the ignition, and headed back into London. He was passing the Tower Hotel when Nicky put her key in the front door, and Beth was woken by the twins.

Rebecca was doing the washing-up when she heard the front door open.

‘Do you want some breakfast?’ she asked as Nicky joined her in the kitchen.

‘No, thanks, I’ll just grab a bowl of cornflakes before I go off to see Mum.’

‘Dare I ask?’ said Rebecca, giving her a grin.

‘I think this one could be a bit special. I’ve never felt this way before.’

‘Details, details,’ pleaded Rebecca, not turning around to face her.

‘He’s an estate agent, looking after mainly rented property, shops and offices in the Croydon area, and he’s just been made a junior partner.’

Too much detail, too carefully thought out, and too smoothly delivered, thought Rebecca. ‘Does Mr Perfect have a name?’

‘Alan Mitchell. He’s from Nottingham originally, but he’s now living in Romford.’

‘When do I get to meet him?’ ventured Rebecca.

‘Not just yet,’ said Nicky. ‘I want to be absolutely sure. While we’re on the subject, how’s your love life?’

‘What can I tell you? I’m the original wallflower. I’m surprised you don’t water me once a week.’

‘How about work? Has the Hawk given you something interesting to do, now you’re no longer shadowing Lamont?’

‘I’m investigating a sergeant from West End Central. We think he may be taking backhanders from the owner of a local strip joint, who’s hoping to get a liquor licence in return.’

‘That sounds interesting,’ said Nicky, as she poured some milk on her cornflakes.

‘Actually, it’s rather sad and a bit sordid, if the truth be known.’ Rebecca couldn’t help feeling that her cover story was more credible than Alan, an estate agent who worked in Croydon, who had just been made a junior partner, and happened to live in Romford.

‘Will the defendant please rise?’

Assem Rashidi rose from his place in the dock, and faced the judge, a look of studied indifference on his face.

Mr Justice Whittaker opened his red leather folder, and looked down at the words he’d written earlier that morning. ‘Mr Rashidi, you have been found guilty of possession of five ounces of marijuana, and I sentence you to two years in prison, the maximum the law permits for this offence,’ he added, unable to hide his contempt for a man he would happily have sent down for life.

The judge closed his folder and was about to leave the court when Rashidi said, ‘Thank you, m’lud. Do pass on my best wishes to your son.’

‘Send the prisoner down,’ growled the judge.