Guy looked out of the window as the convoy moved off. He was in the third of three unmarked vans, with two patrol cars in front leading the way, and another two behind bringing up the rear. They were clearly expecting a lot of guests at the party.
The convoy drove silently out of the city, ignoring drunks and vagrants who quickly disappeared down unlit alleys the moment they saw them. And once they’d crossed the city boundary and began to drive through neighboring villages, Guy noticed that few lights were still on, as most civilized people were already in bed, sound asleep.
With about a mile to go, Hendry stood up, turned to face his group, and said, “Look lively, lads, it won’t be long now.”
As they swung off the main road, the two police cars in front turned off their headlights and parked down a narrow lane. Guy looked out of the window to see a vast Georgian mansion lit only by the full moon. In fact the first thing Guy noted was that there wasn’t a light on in the house. If Bernie Mann
ers was holding a party to celebrate his fiftieth birthday, he found it hard to believe the guests had already gone home.
When the convoy came to a halt, Guy and his colleagues sat waiting impatiently for the off. But in which direction, wondered Guy. He assumed the senior officers sitting in the front two cars were discussing whether to go ahead with the operation or slink back to the station, tails between their legs and admit they’d been sold a bum steer. In Guy’s opinion that would have been the most sensible thing to do. But he knew Chief Superintendent Dexter only had a few months to go before he retired, and no doubt that was also being weighed in the balance. What a scalp to end his career with.
And then it became obvious what decision had been made, because the two police cars in front switched their headlights back on and began to move slowly up the drive toward the house. Guy watched as his colleagues poured out of the first van and began to surround the building, while Hendry led his team off the second van and onto the front lawn. He raised an arm and his group stopped, just yards from the front door.
No one moved when the super banged a clenched fist on the door. Moments later, a light shone from a second-floor window, followed by another on the stairs, and finally one in the hallway, before the front door was opened to reveal the massive figure of Bernie Manners framed in the doorway, adorned in a purple silk dressing gown.
“What’s the meaning of this intrusion, Chief Superintendent?” demanded Manners.
Guy’s immediate reaction was, why wasn’t Manners surprised when he saw Dexter standing on his front doorstep? And why no shouting or bad language? Guy was beginning to wonder if the reliable source had always been working for the other side, but it was too late to turn back now.
“I have a warrant to search these premises,” said the superintendent, who handed over a court document for Manners to study, and he didn’t wait to be invited in. Guy knew the warrant would have been issued by a judge earlier that evening, no doubt with a warning of the consequences if they didn’t come up with a substantial cache of drugs that couldn’t be described by a seasoned lawyer as recreational.
A few minutes later, the super reappeared in the doorway and waved a beckoning hand. The sign for the search party to join him in the house.
“OK, lads, let’s get moving,” said Hendry as he led his men across the gravel courtyard and into the house.
Guy and two other officers were ordered to search the drawing room. To start with, they satisfied themselves with checking inside drawers, removing cushions from the sofas and chairs, and pulling books, CDs, and DVDs from the shelves above the widescreen television. Inspector Hendry moved from room to room waiting for the first officer to report a find, while Manners poured himself a drink. An hour later the CO gave the order to move on to what he described as a more thorough search.
“You ain’t gonna find a damn thing,” said Manners. “Not that I have any idea what you’re looking for,” he added as he poured himself another large whiskey.
Guy believed the first statement, but not the second. The young constable switched his attention back to the job in hand, as a sergeant unsheathed a knife and thrust the blade deep into the sofa, causing feathers to fly in every direction. Guy started to remove the few books from the shelves and began to sift through the pages, but all he came up with was a fifty-pound note that had been used as a book mark—not a crime.
The second hour also yielded nothing, except the downstairs rooms now resembled a council rubbish dump, and it worried Guy that Manners didn’t seem to care. In fact he was beginning to wonder just who had planned this whole operation months in advance.
Manners put down his drink, checked his watch, and made a phone call. It wasn’t difficult for Guy to work out who he’d be calling at that time of night, but he was surprised how quickly the phone was answered.
In desperation, the super gave orders for everyone to change floors, and double-check their colleagues hadn’t missed anything.
Guy was allocated the bathroom. He made his way slowly up to the first floor, taking a moment to look at the paintings on the wall that were, with one exception, second-rate dross, probably bought from the railings on Piccadilly by an interior decorator who knew a sucker when he saw one.
He moved into the bathroom, which resembled a rugby changing room after a hard-fought game, and it only took him a few moments to realize his colleagues had done a thorough job, even removing the panels from the side of the bath and checking behind a medicine cabinet filled with drugs from Boots. But search as he might, Guy couldn’t come up with anything stronger than an aspirin.
They all heard the whistle, the sign that the search was being called off. Guy came slowly back down the stairs to see the super looking as if he might be facing an earlier retirement than he had originally anticipated, but Guy now suspected that was all part of Manners’s plan. Bang on cue, a black BMW came up the drive and double-parked outside the front door.
A moment later a tall, elegantly dressed man marched into the house, looking as if he hadn’t been to bed.
“Michael,” said Manners. “I wanted you to see what these bastards have been up to,” he added before he took his lawyer on a tour of the house so he could survey the carnage. When they reappeared, the man walked straight across to the chief superintendent and said, “My name is Michael Carstairs.”
“I know exactly who you are, Mr. Carstairs.”
“And I have the privilege of representing Mr. Manners,” he continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “whose home you have ransacked for no apparent reason, especially as you must be well aware that my client is a respected local businessman, who has resided in the area for many years. So I’m sure you won’t be surprised that I shall be making an official complaint on his behalf, but not before I’ve spoken to the chief constable.”
Guy watched carefully to see how the super would react. Dexter looked as if he couldn’t be sure which of the two men to punch first, the lawyer or his client. At least if he had, he would have something to show for his troubles.
“If you’re not going to charge my client with any offense,” continued Carstairs, “perhaps it’s time for you and your thugs to get out.”
The chief superintendent was about to give the order for his men to leave the premises, when Guy stepped forward.
“And what have we here?” said Carstairs, staring at the fresh-faced young constable standing in front of his client. “Are you by any chance the arresting officer?”