Turn a Blind Eye

3

In prison, the Jews and the Muslims are the only sects who take their religion seriously. However, it’s the Christians who manage the largest attendance at any service.

Every Sunday morning the prison chapel is packed with sinners, who not only don’t believe in God, but in most cases have never attended a church service before. But since attendance means a prisoner will be out of his cell for over an hour, they see the light and join one of the largest congregations in London that morning.

It takes almost the entire prison staff to accompany the 700 converts from their cells to the chapel in the basement, where the chaplain welcomes his flock of black sheep with the sign of the cross, and doesn’t deliver his bidding prayer until the last inmate has settled.

The chapel is the largest room in the prison: semicircular, with twenty-one banked rows of wooden benches facing an altar dominated by a large wooden cross. Most prisoners know their place. The first two rows are filled with those few white sheep who have actually come to worship. During prayers, they fall on their knees and cry hallelujah whenever the chaplain mentions God. They also pay attention during the sermon. Not so the rest of the flock who make up the vast majority. They also have their own pecking order, and unlike any other place of worship that Sunday morning, the most sought-after seats are at the back.

The most powerful sit in the back row and conduct their business with those seated in front of them. Assem Rashidi sat in the middle of the back row, a position that until recently had been occupied by Miles Faulkner. Tulip sat on his left, with Ross on his right.

Slips of paper were continually being passed to the back, detailing prisoners’ requirements for the coming week: drugs, alcohol and porn magazines being the most popular items, although one prisoner only ever wanted a jar of Marmite.

‘Our first hymn this morning,’ declared the chaplain, ‘is “He who would valiant be”. You’ll find it on page two hundred and eleven of your hymn books.’

The pilgrims in the front two rows stood and sang lustily with heart and voice, while the dealers at the back, whom Christ would certainly have thrown out of the temple, continued trading.

‘Three rocks of crack for cell forty-four,’ said Tulip, unfolding a piece of paper. ‘Thirty quid.’

There wasn’t much Rashidi couldn’t supply, as long as the payments were met by the end of each week. No one gets more than a week’s credit in prison. Three of the guards acted as couriers, which earned them more in a day than they received in their weekly pay packets. Two were responsible for bringing the goods into the prison, while the third, the most trusted, collected the payments from wives, girlfriends, brothers, sisters and even mothers.

‘...to be a pilgrim.’

The congregation sat back down, and a young West Indian prisoner stepped forward to read the first lesson.

‘And I saw the light...’

Tulip handed the boss another order, for a wrap of heroin. ‘The bastard hasn’t coughed up for the past two weeks. Shower job?’

‘No,’ said Rashidi firmly. ‘Just stop supplying him, that way we’ll soon find out if he’s got any money on the outside.’

Tulip looked disappointed.

‘I think one of the couriers must be taking a cut,’ he said, ‘because our profits were down by over two hundred pounds last week. What do you want me to do about it, boss?’

‘Make it clear that if it happens again an anonymous report will land on the governor’s desk and both his sources of income will dry up overnight.’

‘Anything else, boss?’ Tulip asked after he’d taken the last order.

‘Yes. My evening meals last week were lukewarm by the time they arrived in my cell, so change our outside caterers.’

‘Will do,’ said Tulip as the congregation sat back down.

‘The text of my sermon this week,’ intoned the chaplain, ‘is taken from the Book of Exodus, chapter thirty-four. When Moses came down from Mount Sinai...’

‘What’s the latest on Detective Sergeant Warwick?’

‘Not much longer for this world,’ said Tulip. ‘I only wish it was me doin’ the job.’

‘Not until the trial is over. You can then take care of DS Warwick. Make it a slow, painful death so his colleagues will think a second time before they cross me.’

Ross felt sick.

‘Thou shalt not kill,’ said the chaplain.

‘Amen,’ said Ross quietly.

‘Let us pray,’ continued the chaplain. The first two rows fell on their knees. ‘Almighty God...’

‘When the time comes,’ said Rashidi, ‘send a dozen roses to his widow, and leave her in no doubt who sent them.’

Ross listened carefully to every word that passed between them. He would have to get a message through to the Hawk as quickly as possible so Warwick could be warned. Like Rashidi, he also had a prison officer who could be trusted to pass on messages to the outside world, although in his case he didn’t expect to be rewarded. Ross would have to make sure he was cleaning the corridor outside Senior Officer Rose’s office after breakfast tomorrow morning.

‘When they send you to Ford Open next week,’ said Rashidi, breaking into his thoughts, ‘get in touch with Benson, who controls the drug supply there, and warn him that if I don’t get my cut, no more junkies will be transferred to Ford.’

Ross nodded.

‘Anything else, boss?’ asked Tulip.

‘Yes. Have you sorted out my other problem?’ asked Rashidi, turning his attention back to Tulip.

‘Sure, boss, but it won’t come cheap — several of the guards will expect a backhander.’

‘Pay them. That’s one luxury I’m not willing to sacrifice.’

‘Then a hooker will be brought to your cell soon after lights-out.’

‘Any news of Faulkner?’ asked Ross, aware that all the Hawk’s leads had gone cold.

‘They’ve just offered me his cell, so I think we can assume he’s out of the country by now. I’ve got another appointment with his lawyer tomorrow morning, so I may find out more then.’

Having asked his one question, Ross continued to listen.

‘Have they fixed a trial date yet?’ asked Tulip.

‘September 15th. And tomorrow I’ll find out how much evidence they’ve come up with after raiding my apartment.’

Ross knew exactly how much evidence they had, even whose photograph it was in the silver frame.

‘Any hope of me taking over your cell when you move into Faulkner’s?’ asked Tulip.

‘Consider it done,’ said Rashidi, who understood about rewards every bit as much as punishments. He nodded to a prison officer to let him know he would need to see him after the service.

‘The blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.’

‘Amen,’ said all three of them in unison.

‘How are the twins?’ asked Christina.

‘I don’t get much sleep nowadays,’ admitted Beth, who was pushing the pram as they strolled around Hyde Park together. ‘They always seem to work in tandem whenever they want something. I’m perpetually exhausted, and suddenly full of admiration for my parents.’

‘I envy you,’ said Christina, looking down at the twins wistfully. ‘How’s William coping with the added responsibility?’

‘He’s wonderful whenever he’s at home, but if I’m to continue doing my job, we’re going to have to employ a full-time nanny which will cost almost as much as I earn.’

‘Worth every penny,’ said Christina, ‘especially if it gives William more time to track down my husband, who seems to have sailed away for a year and a day.’

‘There’s not a great deal he can do about Miles while he’s preparing for the Rashidi trial.’

‘If half the things the press say about that man are true, I hope he rots in hell.’

‘Where no doubt he’ll once again meet up with Miles,’ said Beth.

‘Do you think their paths crossed in Pentonville?’

‘William’s convinced of it, especially as Booth Watson will be representing Rashidi at his trial. And that’s one man who won’t be allowed to attend his mother’s funeral, not least because she’s very much alive. Though William tells me she hasn’t once visited her son in prison.’

‘Perhaps he’ll find some other way to escape?’

‘Not a chance. You can be sure he’ll be accompanied by a small army on his journey from the prison to the Old Bailey after what Miles got away with.’

‘Miles was always going to be several moves ahead of the police. His escape would have been planned like a military operation, and you can be sure he wouldn’t have left anything to chance.’

Beth didn’t respond. Although she looked upon Christina as a friend, she was well aware that William didn’t trust her. When he’d left for work that morning, he’d suggested she just listen, as Christina might well say something she’d later regret.

‘It wasn’t a coincidence that the day before he escaped from his mother’s funeral,’ continued Christina, ‘Miles’s yacht slipped out of Monte Carlo and headed for the English coast.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘One of his deckhands returned to Monte Carlo after they docked in New York, and later reported back to me. My bet is you won’t be hearing from Miles again.’

Beth recalled that Miles also had an apartment in New York. ‘What about the art collection?’ she asked.

‘Half of which in theory belongs to me. But if I had to guess, I’ll never set eyes on any of those treasures again. I scour every catalogue from all the leading auction houses in case one of them comes up for sale, but so far, nothing.’

‘What about the flat in Eaton Square?’ asked Beth as they reached the Serpentine.

‘The lease runs out in a couple of months, but I intend to renew it.’

‘How can you afford to do that if Miles has run off with everything?’

‘Because my dear husband overlooked a minor detail when he burnt down our country home and thought he’d left me penniless.’

‘I’m lost,’ said Beth as Christina took over pushing the pram down Rotten Row.

‘My estate agent called last week to tell me the local council has granted planning permission to build a dozen houses on the site. He’s already had an offer of half a million pounds for the land, and they haven’t even put it on the market yet.’

‘Well, that should take care of your immediate problems.’

‘Possibly. But I won’t be celebrating until Miles is locked back up, preferably in solitary, and half of the paintings are hanging in my apartment.’

‘Not to mention the Vermeer he stole from the Fitzmolean,’ said Beth. She glanced at her watch when they reached Albert Crescent.

‘Make sure you tell William not to waste his time looking for Miles,’ said Christina as they parted. ‘Concentrate on the paintings. Find them, and you can be sure he won’t be far away.’

Beth brought the pram to a sudden halt, causing Artemisia to burst out crying. Peter joined in moments later. Was that the sentence William had been looking for, which Christina might well later regret?

‘William?’

William looked up to see DS Summers pushing his way through the swing doors of the canteen.

‘Jerry? What are you doing here?’ he asked, knowing only too well.

‘Same as you, I presume. I’m giving a talk on what it’s like being a humble copper in the sticks, rather than a high-flyer at Scotland Yard.’

‘Hardly. I’m giving an introductory talk on drugs, to a lot of raw recruits who are just out of school and wouldn’t know a drug if they saw one.’

William picked up a briefcase and placed it on the table in front of him. He opened it to reveal a dozen small plastic boxes containing samples of every illegal drug from heroin to Ecstasy tablets.

‘Impressive,’ said Summers, helping himself to a cup of tea. ‘But not as impressive as finally catching up with that villain Rashidi and putting him behind bars. I hope you’ve got enough evidence to nail him, because I’m told he’s as slippery as an eel, and you can be sure he’ll employ the best silk money can buy.’

‘You know him?’ asked William.

‘Only by reputation. But a couple of his lowlife scum work Romford and Barking. We’ve noticed that their supply chain has dried up recently, thanks to you and Superintendent Lamont.’

‘How do you know Lamont?’

‘He was my first gaffer when I began life on the beat in Romford. He was transferred to the Yard a couple of years later, so I haven’t come across him since. How is the old bastard?’

‘He took early retirement, so I haven’t seen him recently.’

‘Why would he do that?’ said Summers, almost to himself. ‘He can’t have been more than a year or so away from qualifying for a full pension.’ He dropped a couple of sugar lumps into his tea before asking, ‘So what’s it like being at the sharp end?’

‘I spend half my time filling in forms and arresting junkies who should be in hospital, not prison. But if you come across the new supplier for Romford, please let me know.’

‘You should keep an eye on the Payne family,’ said DS Summers. ‘They control the drugs supply on my patch, but they’re not big enough to take over Rashidi’s empire. In fact, they’ll be praying he gets off. Because without the shark, the minnows don’t get fed.’

William made a written note of something he already knew, and a mental note that Summers hadn’t mentioned the Turner family.

‘And congratulations,’ said Summers, selecting a chocolate biscuit. ‘I hear you’re the first of our intake to be made up to detective inspector. Not that anyone will be surprised.’

‘Promotion has its disadvantages,’ said William with a sigh that he hoped wasn’t too exaggerated.

‘Like what?’ asked Summers, rising to the bait.

‘Not much overtime payment for inspectors, though we’re still expected to put in the same hours.’

‘That’s part of the deal if you want to join the officer class,’ said Summers. ‘Which is one of the many reasons I’m happy to remain in the ranks. Are you married?’

‘Yes, and we have twins, so despite the promotion, we’re only just about making ends meet,’ said William, hoping to tempt him into an indiscretion.

‘That’s why I’m still a bachelor,’ said Summers. ‘Better get going. I’m on in five minutes,’ he added, finishing his tea before grabbing the last chocolate biscuit. ‘If I hear on the grapevine who the new supplier is, I’ll give you a bell.’

The two men shook hands, before Jerry left for the classroom. William wasn’t sure if the supposedly coincidental meeting had served any useful purpose. The Hawk had arranged for both of them to address the new intake at Hendon so that bumping into each other wouldn’t look too obvious. But even then, he’d had to sit in the canteen drinking cold tea for over an hour before Summers had finally appeared, and he wasn’t convinced he’d ever hear from him again.

The Hawk had already allocated DS Paul Adaja and PC Nicky Bailey, a raw recent recruit, to watch Summers around the clock. Bailey was patrolling the streets of Romford as a constable, while Adaja remained undercover. Back at the yard, DS Jackie Roycroft continued to work closely with William, alongside another recruit to the team, DC Rebecca Pankhurst, who kept them all on their toes.

The Hawk wanted to know who Summers’s friends were, who he met up with after work, whether there were any unexplained entries on his crime sheets. Did he have an informer? Who was his latest girlfriend? Was she a WPC?

Adaja and Bailey had been able to answer some of these questions within days, but others remained a mystery.

Summers may have been a bachelor, but when they swapped stories in the canteen PC Bailey had reported that there was no shortage of WPCs who were happy to succumb to the young detective’s charms. She also told William about Summers’s impressive record as a thief catcher, and the fact that his arrest record was second to none. Could they be investigating the wrong man?

William wrote his report on the Summers meeting during the Tube journey back to Victoria, and would leave it on the commander’s desk before he went home.

The Hawk had said just plant the seed. ‘Because if he thinks you might be in financial trouble, he could be back in touch sooner than you think.’

Unlikely, thought William, as it was Jerry Summers who’d originally come up with the nickname Choirboy when they were both at Hendon.

‘Detective Superintendent Lamont?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘DS Jerry Summers, sir. You won’t remember me, but—’

‘Slippery Summers,’ said Lamont, laughing. ‘How could I forget? Thanks to your undercover work, we put most of the Payne gang away. So why the call?’

‘I heard you’d taken early retirement, sir.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘DI Warwick. We were both speaking to the new recruits at Hendon last week.’

‘Were you indeed? And what else did that little prick have to say?’

‘Not a lot. In fact, he clammed up when I told him you were my first gaffer.’

‘You still haven’t answered my question.’

‘I was wondering if you’d already got another job, because you never struck me as the retiring type.’

‘I’ve got a couple of irons in the fire,’ said Lamont, ‘but that doesn’t mean I’m not open to offers.’

‘That’s good to hear, sir. Because I might have something that would appeal to you. Best not discuss it over the phone. Perhaps we could meet somewhere private?’