‘Fat chance of that,’ said William as Beth entered the room.
‘Fat chance of what?’ she asked.
Nicky woke just after five the following morning. She blinked as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings.
After the film, not much of which she could remember, they’d skipped sharing a Margherita at the local pizza house and gone back to his place. Rule number one broken. After a couple of drinks, that turned out to be a bottle of wine, she told him she ought to be leaving, but who was she kidding.
Their first effort at making love, clothes ripped off long before they reached the bedroom, ended up with them lying in each other’s arms exhausted on the floor. Her initial thought afterwards was that she could still catch the last train home, but not long after that she fell asleep in his arms.
She lay there painfully aware that sooner or later she would have to admit what had happened to DI Warwick. She’d not only have to resign, but might well have to look for a job stacking shelves at Tesco. Part of her backstory which might soon be her front story. She didn’t laugh. Nicky didn’t want to admit even to Rebecca that she hadn’t felt this way about anyone for a long time. She hoped it would turn out that Jerry might have taken the occasional risk but couldn’t be thought of as a criminal.
She looked around the room, taking in the large television set resting on a stylish chrome console table that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a West End duplex. Clearly not all the stolen goods Summers had recovered after his impressive number of arrests for burglary had made it to the police-station property store. At least that would be something worthwhile to report when she saw Jackie later that morning, although she wasn’t sure how she would explain ending up in bed with the suspect.
She felt him stir, and a hand moved across and gently pulled her towards him, putting off the decision for a few more minutes.
‘Do you have time for breakfast?’ he asked when she finally climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
‘No, I should go home and change. I can’t turn up for work looking like this.’
‘If you moved in with me that wouldn’t be a problem.’
Nicky couldn’t believe what she’d just heard, and wondered if it was simply a line he used with all his conquests. As she was leaving, he kissed her once again. Not the kiss of a one-night stand. She dreaded the walk of shame from Jerry’s house to the station, and was relieved not to bump into any of her colleagues on the way. She had plenty of time to think about the consequences on the long journey back to Peckham. Had Jerry really meant what he’d said?
When the train finally pulled into her local station, she jumped off and jogged all the way home, arriving outside the front door of her flat just after six. She turned the key slowly in the lock, hoping to make it to her room without Rebecca seeing her. She quietly closed the door behind her, slipped off her heels and padded silently upstairs, relieved to see a light shining under Rebecca’s door. A few more paces and she’d make it. Once safely inside her bedroom, she threw off last night’s clothes and put on her dressing gown. Moments later she was in the bathroom taking a second shower.
They passed each other in the corridor with a breezy ‘Good morning’, before Nicky returned to her bedroom and got dressed. Jerry was constantly in her thoughts.
Over breakfast, they discussed anything but work, a golden rule, before heading off together for the commander’s morning briefing. They were all seated around the boss’s table by 7.55, waiting for the Hawk to open proceedings.
‘Let’s begin with you, PC Bailey,’ said the commander, ‘as I know you have to be back in Romford in time for the afternoon shift. Bring us up to date on your progress with Summers.’
‘Not a great deal to report, sir. He invited me out for a drink last night, but didn’t show up.’
‘Typical,’ said Jackie. ‘But that will just be part of his long-term plan, so hang in there.’
‘How long did he keep you waiting?’ asked Paul.
‘About an hour. Then I called it a day and went home.’
Rebecca was surprised by Nicky’s reply, but decided to say nothing to William until her flatmate had left for Romford. Even then, she was torn.
12
William took the Bible in his right hand and delivered the oath with a confidence he did not feel.
Grace Warwick rose from her place on the advocates’ bench, tugged at the lapels of her black gown and adjusted her wig, unconsciously imitating her father.
‘Inspector Warwick,’ she began, giving her brother a warm smile, ‘would you tell the court your name and rank for the record.’
‘My name is William Warwick, and I’m a detective inspector attached to Scotland Yard’s drugs squad.’
‘On the night in question, Inspector Warwick, were you the officer who arrested Mr Rashidi, following the raid on his drugs factory in Brixton?’
Booth Watson rose slowly from his place, a look of exasperation on his face, and delivered the words, ‘I must object, m’lud,’ before William had a chance to answer the question. ‘It has yet to be established who owned the property, and my learned friend’s casual assertion might lead the jury to believe it was the defendant, while in fact nothing could be further from the truth.’
‘I apologize, m’lud,’ said Grace, ‘but had I been allowed to continue my line of questioning, the jury would have been left in no doubt who was in charge of the drugs factory that night, and who occupied the spacious apartment in the adjoining block.’
Sir Julian allowed himself a smile, while Booth Watson sank back into his place.
‘DI Warwick,’ continued Grace, looking back at her prepared questions, all of which she was confident she knew the answer to, ‘following the arrest of Mr Rashidi, did you later interview him at Brixton police station?’
‘I did, ma’am,’ replied William, addressing his sister that way for the first time, and wondering if he would ever get used to it. ‘And following that interview, I charged him with three offences under sections four and five of the 1971 Misuse of Drugs Act.’
‘Would you tell the court the substance of those charges?’
‘Section four of the Act covers the production of a controlled drug. Section five relates to the possession of a controlled drug with intent to supply, and the lesser offence of being in possession of a controlled drug.’
‘How did the defendant react when you put these allegations to him?’
‘On the advice of his legal representative, he chose not to respond.’
‘No more than his legal right,’ snorted Booth Watson.
‘And did you find any illegal substances on him?’
William hesitated. ‘A small cache of cannabis.’
‘Nothing more?’
‘Sixteen pounds in cash and a bus ticket.’
Booth Watson smiled and made a note on the yellow pad perched on his leg: Bus ticket.
‘He claimed he was on his way home from work and had dropped by the flat to buy a small quantity of cannabis for his personal use over the weekend, only to find himself caught up in the maelstrom,’ said William, reading directly from his notebook.
‘Did the defendant use the word “maelstrom”?’ asked the judge.
‘He did, my lord,’ said William.
The judge made a note. ‘Please continue, Miss Warwick.’
‘And before the raid took place, inspector, had you already been investigating Mr Rashidi?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Over a period of nearly six months, we had been closely monitoring his daily activities.’
‘We?’
‘At that time I was heading up a small unit of highly trained officers who established in the course of their investigations that the defendant was living a double life. During the day, he posed as the chairman of a respectable family tea company based in the City of London, while at night he was running an illegal drugs factory from the top three floors of a tower block in Brixton.’