Hidden in Plain Sight (Detective William Warwick 2)

“We know Rashidi’s a very wealthy man, but he doesn’t turn up to see his mother in a chauffeur-driven car, but in his own anonymous taxi. He has no bodyguards, because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself or make his mother suspicious. Let’s face it, we’re up against a man who could have chaired a public company, been a cabinet minister, or lectured at the LSE, but preferred to pursue a life of crime.”

“More profitable than the other three put together,” said Lamont.

William looked around the table. “Remind you of anyone else we know?”

“We’re up against another Faulkner,” said the Hawk, letting out a deep sigh.

“Let’s hope they never come across each other,” said Jackie.

“Unless it’s in Pentonville.”

7

Every weekday morning around seven thirty, Jackie would take the tube to St. James’s Park station, then walk across the road to Scotland Yard. But not on a Thursday.

On a Thursday, she would get off one stop earlier, at Victoria, and make her way up Victoria Street. After a couple of hundred yards she would turn sharp right and cross an open paved square to the south entrance of Westminster Cathedral. She always followed a small group of tourists inside, to be sure no one noticed her.

This Thursday morning, on entering the cathedral she encountered the usual handful of worshippers scattered around the pews, heads bowed, all praying to a God she no longer believed in. Jackie walked slowly down the left-hand aisle, not wanting to draw attention to herself as she admired Eric Gill’s Stations of the Cross stone reliefs, aware that if the great sculptor were alive today, she would have to arrest him. But as the pope had pardoned Caravaggio for murder, why wouldn’t the Cardinal Archbishop forgive Gill for his indiscretions? After all, there’s no mention of his particular sin in the Commandments.

Jackie stopped when she reached an offertory box placed below a portrait of the Virgin Mary that was illuminated by a dozen recently lit candles. She looked around to make sure no one was watching her before she took a key from her handbag and unlocked the small wooden box, to find a few coins scattered on the bottom. Even less than last week, she thought. Checking once again that no one was watching, she removed an empty Marlboro cigarette packet that was propped up in the corner of the box, and slipped it into her handbag. She then locked the box and strolled on toward the altar. She bowed to the cross, before turning into the right-hand aisle, and passing the remaining Stations of the Cross before she left the cathedral.

Having completed her task, which took less than five minutes, she continued on her way to work. But when she entered the Yard, she didn’t take the lift to her office on the fourth floor, but made her way down to –1, where the darker arts are practiced.

Jackie didn’t break her stride as she walked along a well-lit corridor until she reached a door on which CONSTABLE BECKWORTH was printed in neat black letters on pebbled glass.

Jackie knocked on the door and, not waiting for a response, entered, walked across to join PC Beckworth and placed the cigarette packet on her desk. The young constable looked up, showing no hint of surprise. She said nothing, but simply flicked the packet open, deftly removed the inner layer of silver paper, laid it flat on her desk and carefully smoothed out a few creases with the palm of her hand. She then took it across the room to a machine standing in the corner, the top of which she opened before placing the silver paper onto a copper plate. She closed it, turned on a switch, which caused a bright light to glow inside the machine, and waited for a moment before lifting the top again. She watched patiently, as apparently random letters began to appear on the silver paper. She then copied the short message onto a small white card, slipped it into an envelope, and sealed it before handing it to her once-a-week visitor. Jackie bowed, using the only sign language she knew. PC Beckworth returned the compliment more fluently, before going back to her desk.

As she turned to leave, Jackie gave the young constable a final thumbs-up, but she was already preoccupied, putting the silver paper in a filing cabinet next to her desk.

Jackie took the lift to the fourth floor, where Angela ushered her straight through to the commander’s office. She was surprised to find William already sitting there with the Hawk, both of them clearly waiting for her. She handed the sealed envelope to her boss, who opened it and studied the contents for some time before saying, “Although I can’t share everything that’s on this card, I am able to pass on some information that impacts on a case you’re both working on.”

Jackie sat down next to William.

“Every Thursday morning at around seven our UCO drops an empty cigarette pack in an offertory box at Westminster Cathedral, which Jackie picks up an hour later. That’s how he supplies me with his latest intel.”

“How do you contact him?” asked William.

“Jackie drops an empty Marlboro pack in the same offertory box on her way home on Wednesday evenings. I presume PC Beckworth didn’t show you today’s message?” he said to Jackie.

“No, sir.”

“Six names. But only three of them are directly connected with cases you’re working on. Adrian Heath, us

er, we already knew that. Tulip, dealer, no surprise there. But occasionally the gods give us a small reward: Miles Faulkner, occasional user, does come as a surprise, and could be a real breakthrough. If Faulkner’s hoping to get a supply of drugs for his dinner party at Limpton Hall on the seventeenth, you might need to call your OSC and find out if he can supply us with any details.”

“I can’t call Heath,” said William. “He only ever contacts me.”

“Then we’ll have to wait for him to run out of money,” said the Hawk. “The one thing you can rely on with any drug addict.”

“Heath might be able to find out if Faulkner’s a user, even who his supplier is, but whether he’d be willing to give evidence in court is quite another matter.”

“You told me his girlfriend was desperate to return to Brazil, and he wants to go with her. If we were able to make that possible, maybe he’d agree to turn Queen’s evidence.”

“Then we’d have to hope his love for Maria is greater than his fear of Rashidi.”

* * *

“Now you put the black ball back on its spot,” said William, chalking his cue.