Hidden in Plain Sight (Detective William Warwick 2)

“Are we any nearer to locating his factory?” asked the Hawk.

“So near, and yet so far,” said Lamont. “All I can tell you for certain, sir, is that it’s not at Charlbury Manor. A police helicopter flew me over the estate last Friday, and there was no sign of any vehicles other than a dark blue Mercedes parked in the drive and a post office van making a delivery.”

“Paul?” said the Hawk.

“I’ve spent the last few days nosing around the village,” said Adaja, “and the post mistress told me Rashidi keeps himself to himself. Attends the occasional village fete to which he donates generously, but is otherwise rarely seen in public. It’s beginning to look as

if he leads two completely separate lives. He poses as the country squire at weekends, while becoming a ruthless drug baron during the week. The transformation from Hyde to Jekyll seems to take place on a Friday afternoon when he visits his mother.” Paul paused for a moment, to make sure he had the full attention of the team.

“Stop grandstanding,” said Lamont, “and get on with it.”

“Every Monday morning he’s driven by his chauffeur from Charlbury Manor to an office in the City. He arrives around eight, and spends the morning carrying out his responsibilities as chairman of Marcel and Neffe, a small but reputable tea company that had a turnover last year of just over four million pounds, and declared a profit of three hundred forty-two thousand six hundred pounds.”

Paul handed out copies of Marcel and Neffe’s annual report to the rest of the team.

“Marcel and Neffe is the perfect front for Rashidi,” said William, “because it allows him to live a lifestyle that a casual observer wouldn’t question while he can travel to countries where tea isn’t their main export.”

“However,” continued Paul, “his home in the country is lavish by any standards, but because it’s surrounded by a thousand-acre estate, few people know just how lavish. And that’s only for starters.”

“At Heathrow,” said William, picking up the story, “he has a Gulf Stream jet with two pilots on standby night and day so he could disappear at a moment’s notice. He has a seventy-meter yacht called Sumaya, named after his mother, with a crew of eighteen, moored at Cannes, as well as homes in Saint-Tropez, Davos, and a duplex apartment on Fifth Avenue in New York overlooking Central Park. He retains a large staff in each of the residences to look after his every need.”

“Which he couldn’t possibly afford on three hundred forty-two thousand six hundred pounds a year,” commented Lamont.

“Well done, DC Adaja,” said the Hawk. “Dare I ask how you came across such a fund of information?”

“I applied for a job as a second gardener on the estate, which was advertised in the village post office. I learned more about what goes on behind those walls than they did about me. But in truth, I discovered little of interest because that’s his ‘on the record’ life. I even had a pub lunch with the head gardener to discuss my salary, and when I’d be able to start.”

“Did they offer you the job?” asked the Hawk.

“Yes, sir. I promised I’d get back to them.”

“What do you know about gardening, Paul?” chuckled Lamont.

“Only what I picked up in last month’s copy of Gardener’s Weekly, but they still offered me a better starting salary than I’m getting here, more days off and three weeks’ holiday a year.”

“We’ll miss you,” said the Hawk. “DS Warwick, perhaps you could tell us what you’ve been up to this week.”

“While Paul was gallivanting around the countryside, I’ve been concentrating on Rashidi’s office in the City. As we know, he arrives there on a Monday morning at eight, but then disappears around midday, and doesn’t return to Marcel and Neffe until Friday afternoon, just before leaving to visit his mother in The Boltons. Like Paul, I’m none the wiser as to his movements in between.”

“At least we now know where his workplace is, even if it’s only a front.”

“Which floor is Marcel and Neffe on?” asked Lamont.

“The tenth and eleventh. I’ve visited the company offices a couple of times, but I’ve never got past reception. What makes it worse,” continued William, “is that I’m not wholly convinced that the man who leaves the building at midday on Mondays is the same person who’s picked up outside the entrance of Tea House by his personal black cab on Friday afternoons.”

“Do you think he has a double?”

“No, I think he must be well disguised. Either that, or he’s entering and leaving Tea House by an exit I haven’t come across. For all I know, he could be abseiling out of the building.”

“What a pro,” said Lamont, a hint of admiration in his voice.

“You have to be if you’re making over a hundred thousand pounds a week in cash, breaking every law in the book, while not bothering to pay any tax.”

“That’s how they ended up nailing Al Capone,” Lamont reminded them.

“There has to be a fault in his routine,” said William, “but I haven’t identified it yet.”

“Don’t sleep until you do,” said the Hawk. “Right, unless there are any more questions, let’s all get back to work.”