Turn a Blind Eye

22

‘Assem Rashidi will be released from Pentonville at ten o’clock tomorrow morning,’ said the Hawk, ‘and I expect a welcoming party to be waiting for him. Three of you will watch him twenty-four/seven. If Rashidi even thinks about going anywhere other than his office in the City, or his mother’s home in The Boltons, I want to be informed immediately. I’ve already briefed Superintendent Watts, the new head of the drugs squad, about our immediate plans. He’ll have sixty officers on standby who can move at a moment’s notice. This time we’ll shut down Rashidi’s operation even before he’s given the chance to poison his first customer.’

‘While at the same time, we must arrest those associates who’ve been keeping the business ticking over in his absence,’ said Paul.

‘We won’t need to mount a Trojan Horse operation to achieve that as we’ll be charging in the front door. Try not to sprain your ankle this time, DS Adaja.’

Paul looked embarrassed.

‘How did you sprain your ankle, sarge?’ asked Rebecca innocently, although she’d been told the tale of the Trojan Horse many times.

Jackie suppressed a grin.

‘Before your time, DC Pankhurst,’ was all Paul had to say on the subject.

‘Superintendent Watts thinks it’s no coincidence that a large shipment of drugs from Colombia arrived at Felixstowe just a few days ago,’ said the Hawk, ‘so he’s issued an all-ports alert.’

‘Any further intel?’ asked Paul, coming in on cue.

‘Only that he thinks Rashidi’s mules will be distributing large amounts of cocaine and heroin across London during the next few days. I have a full list of likely recipients,’ said the Hawk, opening a thick file. ‘One of them is on the Romford patch. A family called Payne. I presume you’ve come across them, PC Bailey.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicky. ‘A right bunch of villains, but thanks to DS Summers, there are more of them in jail than there are on the outside enjoying the comforts of home cooking.’

‘That’s good to hear. Right, let’s make sure we’re all ready for Rashidi when he’s released tomorrow morning, and keep me informed of any developments.’

The team gathered up their files, left the commander’s office, and returned to their desks, except for PC Bailey, who signed off before leaving for Romford. DC Pankhurst had earlier left the building and taken up a position across the road from where she could see the entrance to St James’s Park underground station.

She didn’t have to wait long before Nicky appeared, and jogged down the steps into the station. Rebecca returned to the Yard and reported to DS Adaja. Fifteen minutes later, the team reconvened in the commander’s office where William was waiting for them.

‘The hare has been let out of the trap,’ said the Hawk, ‘but the hounds must allow her to run a couple more circuits around the track before we move in.’

‘What do you have in mind, sir?’ asked Jackie.

‘Marlboro Man will deliver the gear to Reg Payne’s home at one o’clock on Friday morning,’ said the Hawk. ‘No sooner than that, because we don’t want Summers or Bailey to become suspicious.’

‘Do we move in once they’ve gone inside?’ asked Paul.

‘No,’ said the Hawk firmly. ‘If we did, Summers would claim he was just about to arrest Payne when we turned up, and he’s got enough gall to try and take the credit for the ambush. No, we’ll have to let him place the noose around his own neck before we open the trapdoor. Once MM has delivered a kilo of cocaine and ten grand in cash, we’ll wait to see if Summers arrests Payne and takes the merchandise back to the nick. If he hands in less than ten thousand and not a full haul of the drugs we supplied, our suspicions will be confirmed.’

‘Is that when we move in, sir?’ asked Jackie.

‘No,’ said William. ‘We’ll still need to keep our powder dry. I want to find out how many people are involved, and how they distribute the cocaine and dispose of such large amounts of cash. And don’t forget, we have the serial numbers of those banknotes.’

‘What if Summers arrests MM when he comes out of Payne’s house?’ asked Jackie.

‘Then we’ll know he’s straight. But if he’s bent, he won’t be interested in the delivery boy, only what’s being delivered.’

‘He might arrange for someone to follow MM,’ suggested DC Pankhurst, ‘and then he’ll find out he’s one of ours.’

‘Don’t worry about that, Rebecca. MM would lose them before they reached the first corner. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be some surprises along the way, because Summers is a shrewd operator, and he’s certain to have a backup plan that turns him from being a villain into a hero. Be prepared to move at a moment’s notice, even if it’s the middle of the night.’

‘And PC Bailey?’ asked Rebecca.

‘She may get caught up in the crossfire,’ said the Hawk. ‘If so, she’ll have to face the consequences.’

‘There’s something else you should know, sir,’ said Rebecca.

They all turned their attention to DC Pankhurst.

‘Nicky’s pregnant.’

Summers was delighted when Nicky told him her news.

‘The delivery will be early Friday morning, you say?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicky as she turned a steak over in the pan.

‘Where did you pick up such valuable intel?’

‘From a runner on the street, in exchange for turning a blind eye.’

‘You’re learning fast,’ said Summers, sitting down at the kitchen table.

‘Is this one for your snitch?’ Nicky asked as she placed a steak in front of him.

‘God, no,’ said Summers. ‘This one’s for us. That way it’ll be far more profitable.’

Nicky took the seat opposite him and thought about his response. He’d given her another chance to escape, and she might have done, if he hadn’t taken her by surprise.

William sat in the back of a taxi that wasn’t for hire. His eyes never left the front gate of the jail, although he knew the prisoner wouldn’t be released for at least another thirty minutes. He checked his watch every few seconds, but the door at the side of the main gate remained resolutely closed.

A dark blue Mercedes swept past them and came to a halt outside the prison as if it were a country club.

‘Same car?’ asked William.

‘No, sir,’ said Danny. ‘Same number plate, AR1, but that’s the latest model, straight off the production line.’

‘Is it the same driver?’ asked William, trying to get a closer look.

‘I’m a driver,’ replied Danny. ‘If you dress like that, I think you’ll find you’re a chauffeur. But yes, it’s the same man.’

William laughed, although it wasn’t a morning for laughing.

Ten chimes rang out from a nearby church tower, but still the door didn’t open.

‘Perhaps he likes the place so much he doesn’t want to leave.’ Danny’s idea of humour.

Finally the door swung open, and a short, muscle-bound man covered in tattoos and carrying a black leather bag stepped out.

‘Burglary,’ said Danny, without giving him a second look. The newly released prisoner took one look at the Mercedes and gave the driver a V sign, before heading for the nearest bus stop.

Two more prisoners slipped out through the door. William couldn’t help wondering how long their freedom would last. Some of them treated prison like a second home, especially if they were sleeping rough, and a minor crime meant they could spend the winter in a warm cell, with three meals a day and a television.

At last the unmistakable figure of Assem Rashidi appeared. William didn’t need to say, That’s him, as unlike his fellow inmates, he’d lost weight, not put it on. He wore a similar well-tailored suit, white shirt and silk tie as he’d been wearing on the final day of his trial. William wondered if there was a Harrods label on the inside of the jacket. He could have been the prison governor, except that the governor drove himself home each evening in a Morris Minor.

The chauffeur leapt out and opened the back door of the Mercedes for his boss, as if it was a normal Monday morning, and he was being picked up from his country home to be driven to work. He touched the peak of his cap as Rashidi slipped into the back seat. William ducked out of sight as the car moved serenely past the waiting taxi and turned left.

Danny swung the taxi around, and took care to keep his distance. He slipped in behind other black cabs whenever possible so the chauffeur wouldn’t realize he was being tailed.

‘He could be heading for Brixton or The Boltons,’ said William, staring out of the front window as they drove along Upper Street.

The Mercedes never crossed the river, but continued to head east, and thirty minutes later they passed two mounted silver dragons bearing cast-iron shields, indicating they had entered the City of London.

‘It has to be his office,’ said William.

The Mercedes eventually came to a halt outside the headquarters of Marcel and Neffe. Once again the chauffeur jumped out and opened the back door for his boss.

As Rashidi entered the Tea House he received a second salute from another man in a peaked cap, as if he’d never been away.

William didn’t follow him inside, but then he knew he would be going up to his office on the eleventh floor. He was more interested in when and by which exit Rashidi would be leaving the building. The Mercedes drove off.

‘Stay put, Danny,’ said William, ‘and don’t take your eyes off the entrance. If Rashidi reappears, get me on the radio and I’ll nip back out. If you should miss him,’ he added as he opened the cab door and stepped out onto the pavement, ‘start looking for a fare, because it’s the only money you’ll earn this week.’

Danny didn’t laugh as William jogged off in the direction of Moorgate Tube station.

It had been some time since he’d discovered how Rashidi had discreetly left his office without anyone noticing. He took up his preferred vantage point next to a small newsstand, from where he could observe anyone who left the Tea House by the unobtrusive door that few were aware of unless they worked in the building.

He resigned himself to the fact he could be hanging about for some time, if Rashidi was being brought up to date on the company’s affairs during his absence. He might even have become a reformed character, as he’d promised the judge he would, though William thought that was unlikely.

Perhaps Danny would call him at around six o’clock and they’d follow Rashidi to The Boltons, where he would have supper with his mother and spend his first night of liberty, at her home, especially if he thought, even for a moment, he was being watched.

An hour passed, during which time several City workers slipped in or out of the discreet door, but Rashidi was not among them. William was becoming bored, and considered spending a few minutes with Danny in the back of the warm cab, but that would surely be the moment Rashidi would choose to leave his day job in search of alternative employment.

During the third hour, he purchased a copy of the Evening Standard for 20p, but never got far beyond the headline on the front page before once again checking that door.

‘Are you going to be here much longer?’ asked a traffic warden.

‘As long as it takes,’ said Danny, producing his warrant card.

The warden touched the corner of his cap, surprised that the cab driver was Met, not City police.

William remained rooted to the spot for hour upon hour, getting colder and older, until a man appeared through the side door, wearing a baggy grey tracksuit, his head covered in a hood. An outfit William could never forget. He joined the early-evening commuters as they made their way towards the escalators. William might not have been able to see his face, but it was definitely the same tracksuit, and the same walk. But more important, the same black leather gloves.

Rashidi stepped onto the escalator, as William slipped in behind a broad-shouldered man who shielded him from his prey. By the time William reached the bottom step, Rashidi was already out of sight. Not that there was much doubt where he was going. William headed for the Northern line’s southbound platform, and arrived just as a train pulled in. He spotted Rashidi climbing aboard at the other end of the platform, and slipped into the nearest carriage.

Although William was sure he knew where Rashidi would be getting off, he still double-checked at every station. But he was right, because Rashidi didn’t leave the train until it pulled into Stockwell, where he made his way across to the Victoria line for the one-stop journey to Brixton.

William allowed his mark to disappear from sight once again, as he was confident he knew where he was going. When he strolled onto the platform he hung back among the waiting passengers at the far end. He didn’t intend to travel any further. Now the old pattern had been re-established, Paul would take over and be waiting for Rashidi outside the station tomorrow afternoon hoping that he would lead him to the new slaughter.

William glanced to his right to see Rashidi shaking hands with a man he immediately recognized along with two muscle-bound bodyguards, who stood one on either side of him. Rashidi had already returned to his other world.

A rush of wind from inside the dark tunnel announced the arrival of the next train. William was about to return to the Yard, when Rashidi took a step forward, and before he had a chance to react, the two bodyguards grabbed an arm each and with one violent movement hurled him onto the track.

The train screeched to a halt, but it was too late. The horrifying sound of metal and body colliding caused several passengers to scream, while others turned away.

William sprinted towards the three men, but they had chosen their spot next to an exit carefully, and by the time he reached the escalator they were already approaching the top step, barging their way past several startled passengers. He charged on, taking two steps at a time, but by the time he reached the top, they were almost at the exit.

The older man was gasping for breath in an attempt to keep up with the younger, fitter bodyguards. William had nearly caught up with him, and was about to pounce when he felt two arms encircle him and he was tackled before reaching the try line. His arms were thrust behind his back by one man while another handcuffed him.

‘You’re under arrest,’ said a voice.

When William arrived back at the Yard, he immediately briefed the commander on the violent and premeditated murder of Assem Rashidi, and how he’d ended up being arrested by mistake.

‘At least that solves one of our problems,’ said the Hawk, taking William by surprise. ‘Rashidi can no longer harm you. But what I want to know, detective inspector, is did you recognize the man he shook hands with?’

‘Yes, sir. It was Tony Roberts, the owner of eleven newsagents, who claimed at the trial he’d been living in Rashidi’s apartment for the past ten years. He must have been running Rashidi’s empire in his absence, and clearly decided he wanted to take over the business with a sleeping partner.’

‘Foolish mistake,’ said the Hawk. ‘Roberts is only at best a number two, and by killing his paymaster, he’s made it far easier for us to bring down the entire empire.’

‘What do you want me to do next, sir?’

‘Go home, inspector, and leave me to get a Murder Team mobilized.’

William was disappointed not to be the officer who would arrest Roberts. He hoped it would be Paul, so the sprained ankle would be relegated to folklore.

As William sat on the Tube back to Fulham Broadway, he knew the Hawk would already have dispatched a Murder Team to Brixton, with the drugs unit not far behind. By the time he’d written up his report and handed it over to the Hawk’s secretary, it would not only be out of date, but ancient history. He would have to wait for the team meeting in the morning to find out what had happened next.

When he arrived home, he found Beth and the twins in the bathroom, almost as much water on the floor as in the bath. ‘Have you heard about Rashidi?’ were Beth’s first words. His silence told her everything she needed to know.

‘I’ll fill in the details later,’ he said. ‘Not least how I ended up being arrested for the murder,’ he whispered as the phone began to ring. William left Beth with the children splashing around in the bath, and picked up the phone on the landing.

No greeting, no name, no small talk. But he knew who was on the other end of the line.

‘I’ve spoken to the family, and we’re willing to go ahead with your plan. But there’s a condition.’

William didn’t need to be told what that condition was. He could only wonder how the Hawk would react. He returned to the bathroom to find Beth drying the children before putting on their pyjamas.

‘Who was it?’ she asked.

‘I’m going to have to make a phone call,’ William said, not answering her question. He picked up the twins, one under each arm, and carried them giggling to their bedroom, where he tucked them up and turned out the light. He returned to the landing, picked up the phone, and dialled an unlisted number.

‘Commander Hawksby speaking.’