He crossed the road and slipped into a small cafe, where he bought a black coffee and a cheese-and-tomato baguette. Always grab some grub whenever you can, his old SAS training sergeant used to say. He took a seat near the window that gave him a clear view of the pub. He ate his sandwich a little too quickly, but then, he couldn’t be sure when he’d be on the move again.
Summers swaggered into the pub about fifteen minutes later. Ross assumed Jaguar Man must be safely locked up in a cell for the night.
Another twenty minutes passed before they reappeared, holding hands, and headed off in the direction of Summers’s flat. Marlboro Man returned to his car and selected another spot from where he had a clear view of the fourth-floor window. Despite it being his job, he still felt like a peeping Tom, especially when it came to spying on a colleague. He didn’t switch the ignition back on until just after eleven, when the bedroom light finally went out.
He would normally have gone home and tried to grab a few hours’ sleep, but instead he decided to head for Jackie’s flat in Lambeth so he could pass on the latest intel. He hoped she’d be tucked up in bed — alone.
He parked in a side street just after midnight and for a moment considered not waking her, but he knew the commander wouldn’t want to wait a week to discover that PC Bailey now appeared to be a permanent fixture in DS Summers’ household. Or at least that was his excuse.
He climbed up the fire escape like a professional burglar: slowly, silently. When he reached the third floor he peered through a tiny gap in the curtain. He could see her, but couldn’t make out if she was alone.
He tapped gently on the window, three one three, to let her know it was him. A few moments later a sleepy figure appeared, drew the curtains and pulled up the window.
‘Business or pleasure?’ Jackie asked, managing a smile.
‘I was hoping we might manage both,’ her UCO replied.
‘There’s not a lot more we can do tonight,’ said Sir Julian as the clock on a nearby church tower struck midnight.
‘Or even this morning,’ remarked Grace, looking down at the long list of questions they’d prepared in the hope of trapping Rashidi.
‘Booth Watson would be pleased to know we’ve been up half the night preparing to cross-examine a defendant he’s probably no intention of putting on the stand.’
‘But surely after Tony Roberts’s dismal contribution, he’ll have no choice but to want to tell the jury his side of the story, however improbable.’
Sir Julian shook his head. ‘Roberts may not have helped their chances, but Dr Goddard was convincing, and it doesn’t help that the one piece of evidence we had that would have left the jury in no doubt of Rashidi’s guilt conveniently disappeared into thin air. All I can say is, if Rashidi was my client, I wouldn’t allow him anywhere near the witness box.’
‘But don’t forget,’ Grace reminded him, ‘BW told the judge after Goddard stood down, that he would be calling his final witness in the morning. So if it’s not Rashidi, who could it possibly be?’
‘Rashidi’s mother?’
‘No, she’s on the side of the angels, so he won’t risk calling her.’
‘Then I agree, it has to be Rashidi.’
‘If it is, I can’t wait to find out where he’s been sleeping during the week for the past ten years if it wasn’t in the apartment in Brixton.’
‘In a suite at the Savoy would be my bet,’ said Sir Julian. ‘And you can be sure Booth Watson will produce all the necessary bills and receipts to prove it. Just another get-out clause in his fully paid up comprehensive insurance policy.’
He rose from behind his desk, gathered up his papers and headed for the door.
‘Booth Watson will still have to explain what his client was doing in Brixton that night, because it can hardly be described as on the way back to his country home in Oxfordshire, and it’s a long way to go and pick up a couple of joints when there’s a dozen pubs in the City that would happily supply them over the counter,’ Grace remarked as her father helped her on with her coat.
‘Don’t tell William that,’ said Julian, ‘or he’ll set the dogs on them.’
‘Have you decided what to do if Rashidi is wearing the same suit tomorrow as he did on the first day of the trial?’ she asked as they began walking down the creaky wooden staircase.
‘I may not do anything,’ said Sir Julian. ‘Frankly, I don’t think it’s a risk worth taking.’
‘But Clare spotted a red label with the initials A.R. on the inside of his jacket.’
‘Which Booth Watson and Rashidi might well have intended her to see,’ said Sir Julian. ‘Never ask a question unless you can be sure of the answer,’ he reminded her as they strolled across Lincoln’s Inn Fields. ‘Let’s meet up and go over the questions one more time later this morning,’ he suggested. ‘You can be Rashidi, and I’ll cross-examine you.’
‘But that man is so devious, I can’t begin to imagine what he’s likely to come up with.’
‘Try to think like him, although I’m still not convinced Booth Watson will risk putting him in the witness box.’
‘Then who else can it be?’ said Grace as she shivered and buttoned up her coat against the cold night air.
‘Remember to bring a flask of black coffee and a bacon butty. And don’t even think about telling your mother.’
Grace laughed as her father headed off to his flat on the other side of the square, while she went in search of a taxi. Rashidi and Booth Watson accompanied her all the way back to west London. In her thoughts.
15
Sir Julian and Grace arrived at the Old Bailey just after nine that morning.
Overnight, Clare had come up with some more incisive questions that she felt would catch Rashidi off guard, and Sir Julian appeared a bit more hopeful that Booth Watson had been left with no choice but to allow his client to enter the witness box.
By the time they arrived in court, Booth Watson was already setting up his stall in preparation for the final witness. Sir Julian would have liked to have sight of the list of questions he had prepared for Rashidi, but accepted that he would have to wait like everyone else, until the clock struck ten.
When their eyes met the two gladiators barely raised their visors.
Next to enter the arena was the defendant, who took his place in the dock. Booth Watson looked around and gave him a warm smile. If Rashidi was nervous about giving evidence in his own defence, there was no sign of it.
‘I’m pretty sure he’s wearing the same suit as he did on the opening day,’ ventured Grace after a surreptitious glance in Rashidi’s direction.
‘You may be right,’ said Sir Julian, ‘but I’m still not convinced it’s a risk worth taking. After all, BW’s second-guessed everything else we’ve come up with so far.’
Bang on cue the referee entered the arena. Mr Justice Whittaker bowed low before taking his place in the high-backed chair above them, and waited for the seven men and five women to file in and resume their places in the jury box. Grace felt they all looked especially alert that morning, no doubt in anticipation of the main attraction.
William slipped in a few moments later and took a seat at the back of the court, just as proceedings were about to begin.
‘Mr Booth Watson,’ declared the judge, looking down from on high. ‘You may call your next witness.’
‘Thank you, m’lud,’ said defence counsel, who once again glanced in Rashidi’s direction before saying, ‘I call Mr Bruce Lamont.’
William was momentarily stunned, while everyone around him began talking at once. Even so, he assumed his father wouldn’t have been taken by surprise, until he saw him leap to his feet.