The commander opened the thick file in front of him. “First, and most important, Khalil Rashidi is, as you know, safely locked up in Pentonville. You’ll also be glad to hear he was refused bail, so he’ll spend the next six months or so in jail, waiting for his case to be heard. Until then, his lawyer is the only person who’ll be allowed to visit him.”
“Do we have reliable witnesses this time?” asked Lamont.
“The Crown will produce a doctor who’s already under the witness protection scheme and will give detailed evidence as to what Rashidi’s been up to in exchange for a lighter sentence.”
“That’s good news,” said Lamont. “We don’t need another Adrian Heath.”
“I can assure you,” said the Hawk, “this one will be better protected than the Royal Family. And even if he should change his mind at the last moment, we’ve got two other potential witnesses in reserve, whose lawyers are also trying to make deals with the CPS.”
“What about Rashidi’s mother?” asked William.
“She’s locked herself in her home in The Boltons,” said Jackie, “and won’t open the door to anyone.”
“And who can blame her?” said William. “It must have come as a dreadful shock to discover your only son is a notorious drug dealer, and not the respectable chairman of a successful tea company.”
“Ironic really,” said the commander. “If he hadn’t hugged his mother on her doorstep that Friday evening, we might never have been able to identify him.”
“She betrayed her only begotten son,” said William. “But, unlike Judas, she didn’t mean to.”
The commander turned a page. “A total of twenty-seven other suspects have been arrested and charged, including Marlboro Man and four of Rashidi’s closest associates. One who, as I said, is singing like a canary. An added bonus, Jackie arrested another runner who turned up after the raid was over with enough wraps of cocaine on him to make sure he joined the rest of the villains in Pentonville.”
“Did anyone get away?” asked William.
“Thanks to the carpenter and the counter-terrorism officers, it seems unlikely. But three of those who were arrested have been released on bail and are now threatening to sue the police.”
“Let me guess,” said William. “Three of the lookouts?”
“So, what’s their story?” asked Lamont.
“They claim they were walking home peacefully after enjoying a drink at their local when they were attacked without provocation by the police. Their lawyer is threatening us with unlawful arrest and police brutality.”
“Spare me,” said Lamont.
“But if we were to drop the charges, they won’t take the matter any further.”
“Which means they must have previous as long as your arm,” said Jackie.
“You’re right,” said the Hawk. “But, frankly, they’re pretty low down the food chain. This time we’ve caught the shark, so I think we can allow a few minnows to escape.”
“What about the fourth lookout?” asked Lamont.
“He was stoned out of his mind,” said the commander. “He should be in a hospital bed, not a prison cell.”
“And Donoghue?” said William.
“He’s been charged with assaulting a police officer. He was refused bail, and with his record he’s looking at four to six years at least.”
The banging of palms on the table lasted for some time.
“I do have one piece of sad news to report, however,” continued the Hawk. “The lad who so nearly stopped Donoghue, but managed to get hold of his radio—allowing us those vital forty-two seconds—was badly injured, and may have to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.”
“On a constable’s pension,” said William. “Ending up as just another statistic on an internal report and forgotten by the public in a few days. He should get one of those three holdalls full of cash. That’s the least he deserves.”
“Two holdalls,” said Lamont. “The third one was empty, probably waiting to be filled with the rest of the night’s takings.”
“I didn’t open all three of them,” said William, looking directly at Lamont, “but I picked up the third one, and could have sworn it was just as heavy as the other two.”
An uncomfortable silence descended around the table.