Turn a Blind Eye

20

‘Number twenty-two!’

William stood at the back of the room waiting patiently for the right moment. There were three housing officers available that morning, all seated behind thick glass screens, like bank tellers.

He’d arrived at the Town Hall when the doors opened at nine o’clock, but still had to join a long queue. He’d explained to the woman on the enquiry desk why he was there.

‘Stick to the truth whenever possible,’ the Hawk had advised. ‘That way you’re less likely to be caught out by some silly mistake.’

‘I’m married with two children [true], and currently live in Fulham [true]. I’ve just been offered a job with the Ford Motor Company in Dagenham [untrue], and am looking for accommodation in the area [untrue].’

The woman handed him a long form, a short pencil, and a small wooden disc with the number 26 etched on it.

‘Fill in the form,’ she said, ‘and when your number’s called hand the disc to the next available officer.’

He took a seat in the second row, opposite Adam Payne. After he’d filled in the form, he watched all three officers carefully. He knew he only had a one-in-three chance of ending up at the right window, so tried to work out how he could lower the odds.

‘Number twenty-three.’

William noticed that Payne took his time dealing with clients. He had a kind, reassuring manner that clearly put them at ease as he listened to their problems. He made copious notes, often showed them photographs, and each person left looking satisfied. Would he be able to achieve the same result with William?

‘Number twenty-four.’

A heavily pregnant woman shuffled forward and sat down opposite Payne. She slid her form under the window and began to explain her situation. William had already calculated that on average Payne spent eleven minutes dealing with each application, while the world-weary-looking older woman to his left took around seven, and the younger man on his right took about eight.

‘Number twenty-five.’

A young couple with a baby stood up and walked towards the left-hand cubicle. William checked his watch. He was pretty sure the young man would finish with his client before Payne had dealt with the pregnant woman.

‘Number twenty-six.’

Although it was his turn, he leant across to an elderly gentleman on his left and said, ‘I’m in no hurry, sir, why don’t you take my place?’

‘Thank you,’ he said. They swapped discs, and the old man walked slowly across to the younger officer’s window.

‘Number twenty-seven.’

‘Damn,’ said William under his breath. The older woman had finished far too quickly, and he couldn’t see who had number 28.

‘Number twenty-eight.’

William flew out of the blocks and made his way quickly across to Payne’s window, leaving number 28 with no choice but to join the woman in the end cubicle.

‘Good morning,’ said Payne. ‘How can I help you?’

William handed him his form. Payne read the details slowly before he offered an opinion.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid you can’t be considered a priority, but I can still put you on the council’s waiting list. However, I fear we might not be able to offer you suitable accommodation for at least a year.’ He extracted another form from a drawer below his desk, and began to fill it out.

‘Is there any way I can jump the queue?’ asked William.

‘No, sir,’ said Payne firmly. ‘Each case is assessed on its merit, so like everyone else, you’ll have to wait until the appropriate accommodation becomes available.’

‘Even if I was a friend of your father’s?’

Payne stopped writing, unable to hide his embarrassment. ‘You know my father?

‘No, but I’m keen to meet him.’

‘Then it’s time for you to leave, Mr—’ he looked down and checked the form — ‘Warwick. You’ve picked the wrong man.’

‘It could be mutually beneficial.’

‘If you don’t leave immediately, Mr Warwick, I shall have no choice but to call the police.’ He placed a hand on the phone by his side.

‘I am the police,’ said William, producing his warrant card, which caused the blood to drain from Payne’s face.

‘How can I help, inspector?’ he asked, their roles suddenly reversed.

‘I need to speak to your father on a private matter.’

‘I’m not in contact with him, and haven’t been for years.’

‘I’m aware of that. But you do see your mother every other weekend, so perhaps she could arrange a meeting.’

‘Never,’ said Payne firmly. ‘I don’t want anything to do with my father’s world.’

‘I quite understand, but if you felt able to help, I can assure you it could make a difference.’

‘Two wrongs don’t make a right, detective inspector. I’ll have to ask you once again to leave.’

William took a card from an inside pocket and slid it under the screen. ‘If you change your mind, don’t hesitate to call me at any time.’

‘You won’t be hearing from me.’

William reluctantly rose from his place, as the housing officer tore up his application form and dropped it in the wastepaper basket.

‘Number thirty.’

William made his way out of the crowded town hall, and paused at the top of the steps to consider what had just happened. He wasn’t looking forward to telling the Hawk that his approach to the only law-abiding member of the Payne family had ended in failure. Then he saw her. He slipped behind a pillar until she’d passed by. The Hawk would be disappointed to hear he’d failed to convince Adam Payne to assist him, but to have to admit he’d been spotted by PC Bailey...

‘How are the twins?’ asked Josephine Hawksby after the waitress had served them with afternoon tea.

‘They never stop eating!’ said Beth. ‘William and I live off their leftovers.’

Josephine smiled as she poured her guest a cup of tea.

‘And then there are the clothes. When I was a child, I wore a grey school uniform until I was seventeen, when I got my first pair of jeans, which my father didn’t approve of, and I can’t tell you what he said when I discovered miniskirts.’

‘My first dress almost reached my ankles,’ said Josephine, after she’d selected a cucumber sandwich.

‘Do you remember daps?’ They both laughed. ‘So forgive me if I finish off the sandwiches before I go home to feed the children.’

‘Who takes care of the twins while you’re at work?’ asked Josephine.

‘Both our mothers are wonderful,’ said Beth. ‘We also have a nanny who does so much overtime she earns almost as much as I do.’

‘You’re a thoroughly modern couple,’ commented Josephine as she selected another sandwich. ‘Jack wouldn’t allow me to go back to work.’

‘Do you think there’s anywhere else left on earth where cucumber sandwiches are still on the menu?’

‘Along with scones and clotted cream,’ said Josephine. ‘Probably only Wimbledon, and that’s just for a fortnight. But I have a feeling the menu isn’t why you wanted to see me.’

‘No,’ admitted Beth. ‘I just thought you might be able to fill in one or two missing pieces in the latest jigsaw, and I rather hoped Commander Hawksby might be a little more forthcoming than William.’

‘Not a chance. When Jack’s at home, he leaves Scotland Yard behind him. You wouldn’t even know he was a police officer. But tell me which pieces of the jigsaw you think are missing, and I’ll see if I can help.’

‘I know William’s been temporarily suspended, and can’t return to work until the tribunal clears his name.’

‘Whenever the subject arises, “temporarily” is the word Jack repeats.’

‘That’s a relief,’ said Beth. ‘But can you explain why he’s out most nights, only shaves at the weekends, and dresses like a gardener, when we don’t have a garden?’

Josephine spread some raspberry jam on a scone before she replied. ‘The only time “double-breasted” Jack ever dressed like that was when he was working undercover. Do you have any other clues?’

‘Only that when I was ironing a pair of his trousers last week, I came across a receipt for a meal in Romford.’

‘Can’t help you on that one.’

‘And last Saturday, when he left the house after lunch, he was wearing a red-and-white scarf, which came as a bit of a surprise as he supports Chelsea.’

‘Ah, their first mistake,’ said Josephine, ‘because Jack supports the Gunners, and has done since he was a child.’

‘I’m none the wiser,’ said Beth.

‘He told me all about Bob Wilson and Frank McLintock on our first date.’

‘Now I’m completely lost.’

‘Last Saturday Arsenal were playing Chelsea at home, so now we know where they both spent the afternoon.’

‘But I thought they weren’t allowed to be in contact with each other while William is under investigation?’

‘What proof do you have that he’s even under investigation?’

Beth thought for some time before she replied, ‘None, other than what he’s told me.’

‘Men will always tell you what they think you want to hear, and policemen are even worse. I suspect you’ve just been working on the wrong jigsaw. But if he ever admits he was never under investigation, don’t let him know you already knew. Meanwhile, for an under-fed mother, I can recommend the chocolate gateau.’

‘Right,’ said the commander. ‘As PC Bailey has left for Romford, perhaps someone can bring me up to date on her activities. Let’s start with you, DI Warwick.’

William opened his notebook. ‘PC Bailey spent every night of last week at DS Summers’s flat in Romford. She not only does the shopping and laundry for him, but also has her own latch key. On Thursday, she booked two tickets for a holiday in Malaga next month, so I think we can safely assume they’re an item.’

‘DC Pankhurst, do you have anything to add?’ asked the Hawk, switching his attention to the other side of the table.

Rebecca didn’t need her notebook. ‘Nicky hasn’t slept at our flat for the past fortnight. She made a brief appearance on Saturday morning, when she told me more about her latest boyfriend, who bore no resemblance to DS Summers.’

‘Did you press her for details?’ asked Paul.

‘Yes. She said his name was Alan Mitchell, and that he worked for an estate agent in Croydon, but she didn’t say which one.’

‘Don’t press her any further,’ said Paul. ‘Now we know the truth, we don’t need her to become suspicious.’

‘Understood, sir,’ said Rebecca, looking relieved.

‘Pity Nicky doesn’t know the difference between getting laid and being screwed,’ said Jackie.

‘Right, William,’ said the Hawk without comment, ‘you can come off night duty and turn your attention to DS Summers’s daytime activities. I’m keen to find out more about his informer, John Smith, and if he actually exists.’

‘Surely he exists,’ said Rebecca. ‘Otherwise where’s the money going?’

‘Straight into his back pocket,’ said Jackie, ‘because he’s nothing more than a figment of Summers’s imagination?’

‘How does that work?’ asked Rebecca.

‘It’s not unknown,’ said the Hawk, ‘for a bent copper to invent an informer who regularly comes up with information he already knows about, so when it comes to paying off his snitch, there’s only one pig’s snout in the trough.’

‘I’ve recently come across a variation on that particular scam,’ said Paul. ‘After a major crime has been committed, the bent copper backdates an earlier intelligence report crediting his informer with supplying the original information. It’s a system known as double and quits.’

‘I must be getting old,’ said the Hawk, ‘because I’ve never come across that one before.’

‘As the crooks become more sophisticated,’ said Jackie, ‘so do the bent coppers.’

‘So must we,’ said the Hawk, ‘if we’re to stay ahead of them.’

‘Well, that could explain Summers’s new Jaguar, the flashy suits and a holiday in Malaga,’ said William. ‘But it would certainly help us prove Summers is bent if we were able to show that John Smith doesn’t even exist.’

‘I think I may have come up with how we can do just that,’ said the Hawk. He handed out a single sheet of paper to each member of the team. ‘I’ll allow the three of you a week to take my plan apart, or better still, improve on it, so when we meet again next Monday I can give DI Warwick the authority to set the whole operation in motion. Which reminds me — as far as anyone outside this office is concerned, and that includes PC Bailey, DI Warwick is still suspended, and his tribunal won’t be sitting for at least another six weeks. So you all know exactly how much time you’ve got to nail Rashidi, Lamont, Summers and Roberts. Any questions?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Jackie. ‘If Lamont gives me another brown envelope, can I book a holiday to Malaga?’