Commander George Hatherill fell asleep soon after they settled into their seats on the train to Paddington, and seemed determined to snooze all the way to London. Billy Naughton was left to gaze out of the window at an astonishingly verdant landscape. The cold winter had given way to a wet spring and now a damp summer. 1963: The Year of Crappy Weather. Farmers and holidaymakers grumbled, but fields and hedgerows seemed to glow a deep, happy green.
Billy tried to digest all that had gone on while he had been in Cornwall. Hatherill had refused to answer questions about how he obtained the Oxo tin, whether Billy had been personally targeted, or if it was a general sweep. He simply said that the 'old way of doing things' was going to come to an end. He didn't want young coppers like Billy caught up in it.
The TM had admitted that his own record was not without blemishes. Apparently, he had been wrong about the Free French in London: he had reported that they had interrogated one of their own men, suspected of being a spy, who subsequently hanged himself. He now believed that the French had had a torture chamber in St James's and had behaved like Nazis. 'But it was war. And they were our allies. What good would the scandal have done? I wanted to believe them, so I didn't follow my instincts. I have regretted that ever since. They murdered some of their own. I am sure of it now.'
He also lamented some of his persecutions of the queers. 'You don't appreciate how angry Burgess and Maclean made us. Those, those… buggers. So we overstepped the mark sometimes, I think. Putting out agents provocateurs, fishing for homos. Not a decent use of police resources, in retrospect. They can't all be Commie spies, can they? The queers, I mean.'
But misjudgements in his own life, he went on, like the
Duke Street torture chamber, meant he always gave coppers such as Trellick a second chance. Never a third, mind. But a good second.
Then he had settled down and fallen asleep, apparently content. Cornwall hadn't given him his Last Big Case, but it had given him the quiet satisfaction of solving a mystery and perhaps that of saving a young policeman's career, too.
Billy had assumed he would be severed from Duke, and said so, but Hatherill had said no. He had to confront temptation and deal with it. Running away was no answer. And Len's turn would come, the day when he had his hand in the wrong till.
Billy took himself off to the dining car for breakfast, treating himself to ham, egg and chips. He felt strangely calm, quietly elated almost. It was as if he, as well as the Cornish PC, had been given a fresh start. From now on, he would be a good copper. From now on, he would do the right thing.
As arranged, Tony dropped off the supplies with Jimmy White, who was acting as quartermaster, storing all the gear they needed in lock-ups across London. They would be taken up, along with some of the team, by lorry once the purchase of the farm was complete. Afterwards, Tony had given Janie a lift to Waterloo, where she would catch a train home, and he carried on north, glad to see the back of her.
When he got to the Holloway Road house, his brother- in-law Geoff was in the kitchen, a mug of tea in his fat hand. He was a big lad, with short ginger-ish hair, a round face and full lips. Tony often wondered if Geoff and his wife were actually biologically related. Because if someone was shuffling the genes, they were playing with a marked deck.
Tony wasn't best pleased to see Geoff. He had to have something to eat then go and meet Jimmy and Roy over in West London They had uncoupling practice. Bruce wanted three people who could unhook the HVP from the rest of the train, just in case. As three who had professed a desire not to wield the coshes, they had nominated themselves.
'All right?' he nodded brusquely.
'Do you want some, love?' asked Marie, rising to her feet with a soft, involuntary groan. 'It's fresh in the pot.'
'Stay there, I'll do it.'
She slumped back down.
'I were just saying, Tony. She's looking well, my sister, isn't she?' said Geoff.
Tony nodded. In fact, she had progressed from being 'blooming' as they said, to the puffy, sweaty when-will-it-be-over stage. Moving was an effort, and her squashed lungs weren't allowing her enough air. And she snored at night. 'Yeah.'
'Tony, I hope you don't mind, but I mentioned that thing to Geoff.'
'What thing to Geoff?' he asked as he checked the contents of the teapot and fetched a mug from the cupboard.
'That thing we talked about the other night.'
He turned and glared at her. Pregnant or not, she was out of order. 'You had no fuckin' right-'
Geoff half-rose from his chair. 'Hold on, mate.'
'Fuck off, Geoff. Stay out of it.'
'I didn't say much, luv. Just that… well, there was this thing.'
Tony put his hand around his forehead and squeezed his temples. 'Jesus.'
Geoff bleated his next words. 'I just haven't got much on, Tony. I said that to Marie, and she said you might have something you could put my way.'
'I don't. I don't have anything.' He looked at his wife, daring her to challenge him. 'It's not mine. Christ, I'm only there as a bloody tent-peg. Sorry, mate, no can do.'
'Tony…' Marie began.
'No can do,' he repeated forcefully, wagging a finger at each of them in turn. 'And if either of you mention this to anyone…' He thought of Charlie Wilson, and what he did to the Jag thieves. They got off lightly compared to anyone who threw a spanner in this works, especially at this stage. 'Look, it's not nursery stuff, all right? Big boys. Some nasty bastards. As I said, I would if I could, Geoff. If it goes off, I'll be able to bung you something, get you on your feet.'
'Yeah.' The big man stood, managing a smile that was a half-grimace. 'No harm done.'
Tony watched him grab his jacket, slip it on and leave, those three final words bouncing round the inside of his head like sub-atomic particles in a cloud chamber, as if there was nothing in there to impede their passage. No harm done.
Bruce clapped his hands to get the meeting started. 'First off, apologies for absence,' he announced. 'Brian Field can't be here. And Stan, the train driver, he isn't here because we didn't ask him. I would like to welcome Bobby again – thanks for the use of this room, Bobby, and we can all get a drink downstairs later – and Jim and Tommy. Some of you won't know Tiny Dave Thompson yet. He was at the airport with us. 'Nuff said.'
Bruce cleared his throat. 'Now the purpose of this meeting is logistics. To make sure we have everything we need to carry this job out and to do it in some comfort.' Roger gave a feeble cheer. 'Tony, here, has been the housewives' choice and done some shopping. He has the canned gear, the tea, the sugar and so on. Bobby has said he'll bring some beers and spirits from the club. And he'll only charge us wholesale. Always have a publican on any job, I say. Nearer the time we'll need perishables. For those of you who don't know, that means things that go off. Like Buster's insides when he's had six pints.' Someone groaned at the thought.
'Jimmy – we don't know how much cutlery and so on is at the farm yet. We need eighteen sets, just to be on the safe side. And light bulbs. You got some ideas about mattresses? And we'll need sleeping bags. Maybe Jimmy and Tommy can help on that score? Lovely. Charlie, being well-connected on The Fruit, can get us some fruit and veg from the market, can't you? I am partial to Cox's Orange Pippins m'self, but whatever. Thing is, we don't know how long the scream will last. Could be a day, could be a week. But if we keep our heads down, that'll be fine.' Bruce looked from face to face to be certain they understood. 'Roger and I have both got Hitachi shortwaves, so we'll keep an ear for what the bastards are up to.'
Bruce consulted his list. 'We need uniforms for the Army disguise – Gordy, Charlie and Roy are on that. Red berets if you can. Parachute Regiment. Who Dares Wins – remember that. Buster is sourcing walkie-talkies so we can communicate up and down the track. Whitey is going to buy one Land Rover and I have found an ex-Army Austin truck for three hundred quid in Edgware. We need another Land Rover. Tony, you got one lying around? Well, can you get me one? Doesn't have to be bought, you can put new plates on it. Ronnie, if you could take charge of making them look like kosher Army trucks. Which doesn't mean like the Israeli army. Like the real thing, serial numbers, badges and all. Stan still OK?' he asked Ronnie. 'Good. I'll meet him later this week. He knows he's on a drink for this, not a whack? Keep reminding him, will you? Roy, you will let Jimmy know anything you need for cutting wires and uncoupling coaches.' Roy said he would. 'And get two of everything. You drop one in the dark, I don't want the whole thing to go tits up because of a pair of missing pliers, understand?