Turn a Blind Eye

23

The Hawk glanced at the front page of the Daily Mail before tossing it aside.

‘Yesterday’s news,’ he declared. ‘Tony Roberts and his two sidekicks were arrested last night, and all three will be charged with Rashidi’s murder later today. As a bonus, the drugs squad moved in and were able to shut down another slaughter in a different part of Brixton that looked as if it had recently been set up in preparation for Rashidi’s return.’

‘Can’t wait to read the headlines in tomorrow’s papers,’ said Jackie.

‘I’ve already briefed the commissioner on what to expect, and taken all the credit. None of you got a mention.’

Laughter broke out among the team, as they banged the palms of their hands on the table in approval.

‘As you were responsible for arresting Roberts, DS Adaja, perhaps you could bring us all up to date.’

‘A murder team moved in immediately after the senior investigating officer’s call,’ began Paul. ‘The eleven newsagents purportedly owned by Roberts were, as you always suspected, sir, nothing more than an elaborate front to launder Rashidi’s drugs money. Although most of Roberts’s employees kept shtum, one of them broke down when it was suggested she might be charged with assisting an offender. Her information led us to a local brothel, where we found Roberts on the job. He made no attempt to resist arrest. The young woman who was with him, well, on top of him, was a fount of information once we’d promised to keep her name out of the papers. It seems her mother is chairman of the local Conservative Association.’

‘Everyone has their price,’ said the Hawk. ‘What about Roberts’s two accomplices?’

‘Not the sharpest tools in the box, sir. They were found celebrating in a local pub. They put up a fight, but not much of one. They’ll be appearing in front of the magistrate this morning along with Roberts, all three of them will be charged with murder.’

‘I hear you had an equally worthwhile evening, DS Roycroft,’ said the Hawk, switching his attention to Jackie.

‘As Paul pointed out, sir, Roberts is no Rashidi. Once he’d been charged with murder he broke down, blamed it on the two thugs, and even told us where Rashidi’s latest drug factory was. Claimed he was nothing more than a fall guy who’d been paid to say he lived in Rashidi’s flat. When I mentioned the words life imprisonment, he offered to turn Queen’s evidence in return for the possibility of a shorter sentence.’

‘I’m sure we can get a couple of years knocked off,’ said the Hawk, ‘so that he’s released in time to go straight in to an old people’s home.’

More banging of palms on the table.

‘Following Roberts’s revelations,’ said the Hawk, ‘I can report that Superintendent Watts and sixty of his men swept through Brixton last night and netted a shoal of minnows, a dozen runners and more important, a couple of leading dealers who we’ve been after for years. Second only to Trojan Horse, is how I described it to the commissioner.’

‘Did they find enough evidence to back up their charges?’ asked Paul.

‘Seven kilos of coke, three of heroin, and countless bags of marijuana,’ said the Hawk. ‘I’ll be issuing photographs of the haul to the press later today.’

‘However,’ said Jackie, ‘Superintendent Watts is convinced this was only a small part of a larger consignment that was recently shipped in from Colombia, and the rest of the haul has already been distributed across London.’

‘Has any of it turned up in Romford?’ asked the Hawk, looking across the table at PC Bailey.

‘Not that I’m aware of, sir,’ said Nicky. ‘There’s nothing in Book 66 to suggest it has, no significant drugs arrests have been made during the past week and nothing’s been handed in.’

‘Remind me,’ said the Hawk. ‘Isn’t it the Turner family who would be the most likely recipients of any drugs being distributed in Romford?’

‘No, sir, the Paynes. The Turners haven’t been causing any trouble lately.’

Either she’s lying, thought Rebecca, or Summers doesn’t trust her enough to tell her what he’s up to. The detective in her suspected the first, while the friend wanted to believe the second.

‘I expect all of you to have your reports on my desk by midday,’ said the Hawk. ‘What do you have to say for yourself, DC Pankhurst?’ he asked the one person who had remained resolutely silent.

‘The extended liquor licence application for the strip club in Soho has been turned down, sir, and the officer concerned has had to unpick his three stripes and is back on the beat.’

A coded message that her latest intel would have to wait until they reconvened in an hour’s time, after Nicky had left for Romford.

The Hawk nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to look at PC Bailey, and wondered how much longer it would be before she had to admit who was the father of her unborn child, because he certainly didn’t move from Croydon.

Funerals, they say, are how the departed discover how popular they were. Just a pity they’re not present to find out.

The attendance at Assem Rashidi’s funeral might have been described as meagre at best. His mother was the only one who shed a tear when the body of her only child, or what was left of it, was lowered into the ground. The Catholic priest who presided over the service had never met him, and wouldn’t have agreed to perform the ceremony had Rashidi’s mother not been a regular attendee at the Brompton Oratory and, more important, one of the parish’s more generous benefactors.

Booth Watson stood a pace back from the small group of mourners, dressed in suitably sombre attire, head bowed, representing his client for the last time. Although he had hopes that Rashidi’s only known living relative might soon find herself in need of his services.

Two heavily built men, squeezed into tight-fitting suits, observed the burial from afar, looking as if their only purpose was to make sure the body didn’t miraculously rise from the dead. The little gathering was immediately doubled by the presence of four gravediggers.

Even further back stood William, shielded from view by a vast memorial statue of three angels, while behind him was a photographer who would have pictures of everyone present on the commander’s desk by noon.

The priest delivered the final blessing, followed by the sign of the cross. Not that he believed this particular sinner had much chance of entering the Kingdom of Heaven.

A few spots of rain began to fall. Booth Watson raised his umbrella and accompanied Mrs Rashidi back to her waiting car.

‘It was kind of you to attend Assem’s funeral, Mr Booth Watson,’ she said almost in a whisper.

‘A much-misunderstood man,’ he said gravely. ‘If there is anything I can do to assist you in the future, madam, please don’t hesitate to call upon my services.’ He handed her one of his embossed cards.

‘As it happens, Mr Booth Watson,’ she replied, ‘I do need advice on a private matter. My son died intestate, and I want someone to advise me on how to handle his—’ she hesitated — ‘somewhat complicated estate.’

Booth Watson opened the back door of a black Mercedes, lowered his umbrella and stood aside to allow his new client to climb in.

‘I shall wait for a suitable time to pass, Mrs Rashidi, to allow you to mourn, before I get back in touch.’

‘Don’t leave it too long,’ she said as he closed the door.

‘Always follow the money,’ said the commander when the team reconvened after PC Bailey had left for Romford. ‘But first, let’s recap on our most recent intel. At one o’clock last Friday morning, Marlboro Man visited the Paynes’ residence. He observed two men watching him from a parked car about a hundred yards away.

‘Once MM was inside the house, he handed Payne’s father, Reg, one kilo of cocaine, half a kilo of heroin and ten thousand pounds in marked notes, all delivered in a Sainsbury’s bag. I have receipts for all of them, and they were authorized by the assistant commissioner.

‘After leaving the house, MM drove off, but when it was clear no one was following him, he doubled back, and returned to a spot he’d identified earlier from which he could remain out of sight, but still have a clear view of Payne’s front door.

‘A few minutes later, two men got out of the parked car and entered Reg Payne’s house.’ The Hawk handed around several photographs. ‘You will note that MM is no David Bailey, but to be fair, he couldn’t use a flash, and he was some way off.’

The officers studied the pictures for some time before the Hawk asked, ‘Any observations?’

‘The tall one is Summers,’ said Jackie. ‘Could the other one, in the raincoat, be his partner in crime, DI Castle?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said William. ‘Castle is a lot older than that. But what’s he holding in his right hand?’

‘It’s Lamont,’ said Paul, who was examining one of the photographs through a magnifying glass.

‘What makes you think that, DS Adaja?’ asked the Hawk.

‘It’s a police cap. And if I’m not mistaken, that looks like silver braid on the peak.’

‘Impersonating a police officer may turn out to be the least of Lamont’s problems. However, it’s still a mistake he might live to regret,’ said the Hawk as he handed round another set of photographs of the two men coming out of the house twenty minutes later.

‘Can you spot the difference?’

‘Summers is now carrying the Sainsbury’s bag MM took in earlier,’ said Jackie.

‘And what does that tell us, DS Roycroft?’

‘They are now in possession of the drugs and the money.’

‘And more important?’

‘No one’s been arrested,’ said Rebecca. ‘So they must have made a deal.’

‘Don’t forget that PC Bailey told us nothing was recorded in Book 66, and Summers turned up at the nick the following morning empty-handed,’ said the Hawk.

‘So now we have three bent coppers — if you include Lamont,’ said William. ‘But the fourth is nowhere to be seen.’

‘Perhaps Nicky was unaware of what was going on?’ suggested Rebecca.

‘Seems unlikely, as MM has confirmed she spent Friday night at Summers’s home. But let’s give her the benefit of the doubt for the time being,’ said the Hawk, sounding unconvinced. ‘Who’s got the next question?’

‘Where did Summers and Lamont go after they left Payne’s house, if it wasn’t back to the nick?’ asked Rebecca.

‘Good thinking,’ said the commander, handing out another set of photographs.

‘MM followed them to the home of Jimmy Turner, the head of the family who lives on the other side of the patch. They were clearly expected, because the ground-floor light was on, and the front door was opened even before Summers knocked.’

‘Then what happened?’ asked Paul.

‘The two of them emerged about half an hour later, without the Sainsbury’s bag. So what can we assume from that, even though it wouldn’t stand up as evidence in court?’

‘They handed over the drugs to the Turner family, but held on to the cash?’

‘Which is why I emphasized at the beginning of this meeting that you must always follow the money,’ said the Hawk. ‘We now know they’re in possession of our original ten thousand, and in time can also expect their cut on the drugs money. But what they don’t know is that we have the serial numbers of every one of those banknotes, so the minute they try to spend any of the money, we’ll be on to them.’

‘They’re unlikely to go on a spending spree immediately,’ said William. ‘Lamont’s far too canny to allow them to do anything that crass. Don’t forget, the only reason you were able to get the holdall full of cash back after the drugs raid was because he hadn’t started spending it.’

‘Summers might not be quite as patient, so he could still be our best bet.’

‘I think Summers has already done something even more stupid,’ said Rebecca, who couldn’t resist pausing for a moment to ensure she had everyone’s attention.

‘Spit it out, DC Pankhurst,’ said the Hawk.

‘When Nicky came down to breakfast on Sunday morning, she was wearing a diamond ring.’

‘Sunday morning?’ repeated the Hawk. ‘But that was five days before they got their hands on the money.’

‘So it’s still possible she wasn’t involved in the raid,’ said Rebecca. ‘However, there’s something else I think you ought to know, sir. The ring Nicky was wearing was a diamond solitaire. If it’s real, it would have cost far more than a detective sergeant earns in a year.’

‘I suspect the ring went missing after a recent burglary when Summers was the arresting officer,’ said William. ‘In which case it shouldn’t be difficult to trace, and we’ll have them both bang to rights.’

‘How can you be sure it was a diamond solitaire?’ asked the Hawk, switching his attention back to DC Pankhurst.

‘It’s not dissimilar to my mother’s engagement ring,’ she said, looking embarrassed.

‘We’ll make a detective of you yet, DC Pankhurst,’ said the commander. ‘But on which finger is PC Bailey wearing the ring?’

Rebecca held up the third finger of her left hand.

‘Poor girl,’ said the Hawk, sounding unusually sympathetic. ‘But we still can’t afford to make a move yet. Any other developments on that front?’

‘Yes,’ said Jackie. ‘Lamont has asked to see me again. We’re having a drink on Saturday night.’

‘What does he want?’ said Paul.

‘After my lapse on the Tube,’ said Rebecca, ‘I expect he wants to find out if he’s being followed.’

‘So what do I tell him?’ asked Jackie.

‘What he wants to hear — no, he isn’t,’ said William.

‘Mind you,’ said the Hawk, ‘there will come a time when I want him to know he’s under surveillance, but not quite yet.’

William smiled, while Jackie looked puzzled, but neither of them asked the obvious question, because they knew they wouldn’t get an answer.

‘If Lamont gives you another brown envelope,’ said the Hawk, ‘we’ll know he still thinks you’re as bent as he is.’

‘Dare I ask how much was in the first one?’ asked Jackie.

‘No idea,’ said William. ‘I handed it straight in to the property store. But I’m looking forward to getting another one.’

Jackie had the grace to smile.

‘You have to understand, Mr Booth Watson, I had no idea my son was a drug dealer. I thought he was the chairman of a small, reputable tea company. When he was arrested, it was as much of a shock to me as it was to my friends that he had been leading a double life.’

Booth Watson steepled his hands as if in prayer but said nothing.

‘I appreciate, Mr Booth Watson, that you succeeded in having him cleared of the most serious charges, but I should tell you that I prayed he would be found guilty, and punished for his sins.’

Booth Watson looked suitably contrite, but still made no attempt to interrupt his client while she was in a confessional mood.

‘I’m sure you will recall my telling you at the time that I was loath to give evidence at the trial, as I would have had to admit I only saw Assem once a week on a Friday afternoon, and then just for a couple of hours.’ She paused for a moment before adding, ‘I confess that his death came as a blessed relief.’

Booth Watson bowed his head.

‘Most of my friends have deserted me,’ she continued, ‘so there’s no longer any reason for me to remain in this country. I intend to move back to France as soon as possible. I pray that our Lord will not extend my life on this earth for much longer.’

Booth Watson smiled at his client like a benign spider that had caught a large fly in its web, and had no intention of letting it escape. The last thing he wanted was for Mrs Rashidi to die.

‘With that in mind, I’m asking you to put my affairs in order, so I can return to my native Lyons.’

‘Be assured, madam,’ said Booth Watson, ‘I have been working night and day on your behalf, with that single purpose in mind. But your affairs, I fear, are somewhat complex. However, as time is of the essence, I may have come up with a solution to your problem.’

‘Which is, Mr Booth Watson?’

The benign smile returned, the spider having spun some more threads in its web. ‘You could leave for Lyons whenever you wished, if—’

‘If what?’

‘If you felt able to grant me power of attorney over your affairs in your absence. I would be honoured to represent you to the best of my ability. Of course, I would be only too happy to visit you in Lyons from time to time to keep you up to date.’

‘What would I have to do to make that happen?’

‘If you sign this document, Mrs Rashidi,’ he said, placing two sheets of paper in front of her, ‘your problems will become mine, and you can rest easy in the knowledge that I will always have your best interests at heart.’

He handed his client a pen, and guided her to two pencilled crosses. Mrs Rashidi didn’t spend a great deal of time reading the document before she signed it.

BW waited for the ink to dry before saying, ‘I remain your humble servant, madam,’ while giving her a slight bow.

‘No, no, Mr Booth Watson. It is I who should thank you.’

Nicky came off duty just after four. She had decided the time had come to tell people she was pregnant, as it wouldn’t be much longer before her condition was blindingly obvious. She glanced at her ring and smiled. She intended to take advantage of the three months’ fully paid maternity leave offered to WPCs, after which she would decide whether to return to work or resign. One copper in the family was quite enough, in her opinion.

She let herself into the flat, and wasn’t surprised to find it was in a mess. After all, she’d been away for the weekend. A stack of washing-up had been left in the sink, food still stuck to the plates. Rinsing was clearly not an activity Jerry considered a priority. She opened the kitchen window and set about washing up, hoping she would have completed the job before he came off duty.

Once she’d finished in the kitchen, she turned her attention to the bedroom. The bed was unmade, and Jerry’s silk dressing gown had been left strewn on the floor. Just like James Bond, he’d once told her. She hung it on the back of the door before plumping up the pillows and pulling back the top sheet. She just stood there and thought she was going to be sick when she saw a pair of red lacy knickers in the middle of the bed. They certainly weren’t hers. She collapsed on the floor and burst into tears. Had someone left them there deliberately, knowing she would be certain to find them?

How many times had Jerry sworn blind that he’d turned over a new leaf since he’d met her? I’ve found the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, he’d told her often enough. Didn’t the ring mean anything at all? Or was it in part exchange, just like her?

It didn’t take long for Nicky’s tears to turn to anger, as she thought about how many risks she’d taken for him, only to be discarded like an empty wrapper. She wanted him to walk in right now, so she could tell him exactly what she thought of him.

After an hour had passed, and he hadn’t come home, she decided it was time to turn her thoughts into actions.

She got up off the floor, walked slowly back into the kitchen and selected a large pair of scissors from a drawer. She returned to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe to find half a dozen suits, a couple of blazers, three pairs of grey flannel trousers and a dozen silk ties.

She took out the first suit and cut off both sleeves of the jacket. The trousers followed, and by the time she’d finished, they could only have been worn by a schoolboy. The other suits were next in line, then the blazers, followed by the grey trousers, and finally the ties. Even a black bow tie, rarely worn, didn’t escape execution.

She surveyed the carnage strewn across the floor, before returning the scissors to the kitchen drawer. She next took a hammer out of the tool kit under the sink before setting about destroying the TV in the lounge. Finally, she turned her attention to the vases, plates, cups and saucers, saving until last the dinner set that was only brought out for special occasions. Jerry had claimed it was a present from his mother. More likely John Smith. When Nicky was finished, she stood back and surveyed the damage. A bull in a china shop would have been proud of her.

Nicky sank to the floor, exhausted but exhilarated. Once she was fully recovered, she decided on her encore.

She sat down at Jerry’s desk in the front room, took a large envelope from the top drawer, and dropped the lacy knickers and the diamond ring inside, before sealing it. She was about to close the drawer when she spotted his diary.

She turned the pages slowly until she was up to date. Seeing the words Playboy Club, Park Lane, underlined, she realized he wouldn’t be back before midnight. She tried not to think about the bunnies.

She took a sheet of paper from the solid silver letter rack in front of her and wrote a short note which she would deliver on her way home that evening in the hope that DI Warwick would be left in no doubt whose side she was on.