“Bloody stupid berk! Why did I have to kick the kebab shop door in?” he chastised himself aloud. He had been to the Chelsea match in between drinking sessions that ran from eleven in the morning until two o’clock the following morning. He had been out of his head by the time he decided he wanted a kebab. Unfortunately, by the time he arrived at Kebab Heaven the shop had been closed for an hour, and Michael was starving. In his drunken state he saw the light on in the flat above, and he reasoned that if he banged hard enough on the door they would come down and sell him a kebab. So he banged on the door.
Unfortunately for Michael, however, he always seemed to be unlucky with the police, and at that moment a patrol car had been passing by. The policemen, who recognised him, got out of their car to try to persuade him to go home. They were tired of arresting him, but one thing led to another and, in a fury, he kicked the door of the kebab shop, shattering the bottom pane of glass.
Now, three months later, here he was in the modern brick built courthouse with the grey architectural cladding. It was nicer than most of the magistrates’ courts he had been in, but it smelled the same. If there had been a window he could have looked out and watched the traffic going over the Hammersmith Flyover, but the room was windowless.
***
The door opened and a smartly dressed man entered. Michael was puzzled, but he said nothing.
“Hello Michael, I am Detective Inspector Boniface.”
“Detective Inspector, bloody Norah!” Michael exclaimed. “I kicked in a kebab shop door, I didn’t rob a bank. Am I in real trouble this time?”
“On the contrary. I think we could persuade the CPS to drop the case and we could issue you with a conditional caution, if you were to be helpful to me.”
Michael liked the idea of a caution; no jail time, he could keep his nose clean for a few months and he would be clear. He wouldn’t even have to spend his weekends picking up needles and condoms in the park.
“What do I have to do?” he asked.
Chapter 5 4
New Scotland Yard, London. Friday, 3pm.
I was well aware that I would have to be back at work full time from next week, and so this would be my last day of sleuthing on the blackmail case. I was sure that Dee would help the police see it through to its conclusion, but I could take no more time off. I now had a mortgage to pay once again, until I got my money back - if indeed I ever did.
As predicted, Lord Hickstead had been awkward when the police asked him to accompany them to the Yard. He had demanded to speak to the Commissioner, the Home Secretary and his lawyer. By the time His Lordship arrived at Scotland Yard, the Commissioner had already taken calls from the former Labour Home Secretary, as well as one of the candidates in the race for the Labour Party leadership.
It was all to no avail, however, and His Lordship was now in the interview room waiting to take his place in an identification parade. The screen in our room would remain blank until the Peer had been cautioned and told that the session was being videoed and recorded. Apparently, if he objected to the videoing, they would have to resort to audio recording only and we would have to wait for a summary from Boniface or Coombes.
There had evidently been no objection, because within a few moments the screen flickered into life and a wide angled shot of the stark interview room appeared. I was in the Robert Peel Room with Dee, DS Scott and DS Fellowes. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation.
***
“Now that we are recording, I would just like to say that my client is a victim here and he is being treated like a common criminal. Furthermore, we strongly object to his being here at all,” the pompous lawyer bleated, with obvious disdain for the two policemen facing him, both of whom he seemed to regard in much the same way as he might have looked at something stuck to the sole of his shoe.
“Mr Parsons, we aim to treat all suspects the same, whether common or uncommon. Now, shall we begin?” Inspector Boniface was smiling genially. DCI Coombes was not. He took over the interview.
“Lord Hickstead, would you give us permission to open your safety deposit box and examine the contents, please? Our enquiries in this regard relate to the investigation of a serious crime, and we have reason to believe that an examination of your safety deposit box will assist us.”
“No, I most certainly will not give permission. Next question.” Lord Hickstead spoke tersely, without consulting or even looking at his lawyer.
DCI Coombes opened the folder in front of him and extracted a piece of paper.
“This is a warrant which gives us permission to search that safety deposit box, with or without your cooperation.” Coombes smiled unpleasantly.
“This is outrageous,” the lawyer puffed, obviously caught unawares.
Hickstead leaned over to the lawyer and whispered to him for a few seconds.
“My client has papers in that safety deposit box that relate to European Commission business, and as such those documents are to be kept private, even from the police, under the Treaty of Rome. The box has a form of diplomatic immunity, if you like.”
“Nonsense,” Boniface retorted, and the lawyer looked affronted. Boniface continued. “My Masters degree is in European law, and under the Treaty of Rome there is no such restriction. The warrant is valid.”
“This warrant, Inspector Boniface, is issued by an inferior court, and if you wish to terminate the day’s proceedings while I race over to the High Court and obtain an injunction, we will do that. I’m sure that your Master’s degree covered injunctions.” The lawyer looked smug again, but the policemen had anticipated the refusal to allow them access to the box.
“Mr Parsons, we will not execute the warrant until noon on Monday, which gives you an opportunity to apply for an injunction, but I assure you we will be represented at any injunction hearing.”
Lord Hickstead smiled, but the smile disappeared when DCI Coombes spoke.
“We had the box sealed this morning; the depository will not allow it to be opened until Monday at noon, assuming that no injunction is obtained. Furthermore, we have placed a uniformed officer outside the depository to ensure that your client’s important papers are secure.”
The lawyer and his client held a whispered mini conference before the lawyer spoke again.
“My client is most unhappy about the situation and will certainly make a complaint about your precipitate action but, as the papers are safe, he will wait until he has the injunction before opening the box privately and without hindrance.”
“That will be fine,” Boniface said as he lifted the brown leather briefcase onto the table. “For the purposes of the record, this is the briefcase which was shown to Lord Hickstead this morning by DCI Coombes and DS Scott. As agreed this morning, it is the same briefcase that was stolen from Lord Hickstead yesterday. We know this because it contains fingerprints from both the mugger and His Lordship.”
Turning the briefcase to face the lawyer and his client, he asked, “Can you confirm for the record that this is the briefcase that you had with you when you left the depository?” The Peer nodded.
“For the tape, please, Your Lordship.”
“Yes,” the Peer said out loud, a little rattled.
“Turning to the contents, you reported that the briefcase contained only some family papers, is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“That does not conform to what the mugger claims. He says that the contents were quite different. In fact, he is certain that the contents were as you saw them this morning.”
Boniface waited, even though he had not asked a question. The lawyer filled the silence.
“Inspector Boniface, I have to express some surprise that you are prepared to take the word of a criminal over the word of a Peer of the Realm who has served this country with distinction.”