Rebecca picked up the phone after a couple of rings.
‘She’s on her way back into London,’ said William. ‘She should be with you long before I can make it.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Rebecca. ‘Nicky thinks I’m off today, so she won’t be surprised to find me at home.’
‘Meanwhile you’re going to have to keep an even closer eye on Lamont. Jackie’s just phoned in to tell Paul that following her meeting with him last night, he now believes he’s in the clear. She got a thick brown envelope for her trouble, which she’s left on my desk.’
‘Jackie’s the best,’ said Rebecca. ‘I only wish I could say the same about Nicky.’
‘Don’t give up on her. She may yet come to her senses,’ said William before ringing off.
He returned to the car and made a final entry in his logbook. Surely another five nights in a row would be enough to convince the commander that Nicky had switched sides. But he accepted that the Hawk must have his reasons for not wanting to break cover yet. William closed his notebook, turned the key in the ignition, and headed back into London. He was passing the Tower Hotel when Nicky put her key in the front door, and Beth was woken by the twins.
Rebecca was doing the washing-up when she heard the front door open.
‘Do you want some breakfast?’ she asked as Nicky joined her in the kitchen.
‘No, thanks, I’ll just grab a bowl of cornflakes before I go off to see Mum.’
‘Dare I ask?’ said Rebecca, giving her a grin.
‘I think this one could be a bit special. I’ve never felt this way before.’
‘Details, details,’ pleaded Rebecca, not turning around to face her.
‘He’s an estate agent, looking after mainly rented property, shops and offices in the Croydon area, and he’s just been made a junior partner.’
Too much detail, too carefully thought out, and too smoothly delivered, thought Rebecca. ‘Does Mr Perfect have a name?’
‘Alan Mitchell. He’s from Nottingham originally, but he’s now living in Romford.’
‘When do I get to meet him?’ ventured Rebecca.
‘Not just yet,’ said Nicky. ‘I want to be absolutely sure. While we’re on the subject, how’s your love life?’
‘What can I tell you? I’m the original wallflower. I’m surprised you don’t water me once a week.’
‘How about work? Has the Hawk given you something interesting to do, now you’re no longer shadowing Lamont?’
‘I’m investigating a sergeant from West End Central. We think he may be taking backhanders from the owner of a local strip joint, who’s hoping to get a liquor licence in return.’
‘That sounds interesting,’ said Nicky, as she poured some milk on her cornflakes.
‘Actually, it’s rather sad and a bit sordid, if the truth be known.’ Rebecca couldn’t help feeling that her cover story was more credible than Alan, an estate agent who worked in Croydon, who had just been made a junior partner, and happened to live in Romford.
‘Will the defendant please rise?’
Assem Rashidi rose from his place in the dock, and faced the judge, a look of studied indifference on his face.
Mr Justice Whittaker opened his red leather folder, and looked down at the words he’d written earlier that morning. ‘Mr Rashidi, you have been found guilty of possession of five ounces of marijuana, and I sentence you to two years in prison, the maximum the law permits for this offence,’ he added, unable to hide his contempt for a man he would happily have sent down for life.
The judge closed his folder and was about to leave the court when Rashidi said, ‘Thank you, m’lud. Do pass on my best wishes to your son.’
‘Send the prisoner down,’ growled the judge.
19
‘It’s the pride of the Fitzmolean’s collection,’ said Beth as they both stood there admiring the Vermeer.
‘And it couldn’t have found a better home,’ said Christina. ‘But I have to tell you that since Miles’s death, art dealers and auction houses have been beating a path to my door wanting to know what I intend to do with the rest of the collection.’
‘If you ever decide to sell any of your paintings, we’d be happy to advise you. It’s the least we could do in return for your generosity.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ said Christina, ‘but that’s not why I invited you to lunch.’
‘Monte Carlo?’ asked Beth, raising an eyebrow.
‘Couldn’t have been more perfect,’ purred Christina. ‘Ralph was so kind and considerate, and such good company. Between us girls, the sex isn’t bad either.’
‘Well, I’m pleased for you. William was a little worried that—’
‘Ralph might only be interested in my money?’
Beth looked embarrassed.
‘Why don’t you both come over for dinner one evening, then you can get to know him a little better.’
‘I didn’t mean to imply...’ began Beth. ‘It’s just that William always—’
‘Thinks like a policeman. How is he, by the way?’
‘He’s up to something,’ Beth replied, trying to get off the hook. ‘But I’m not sure what.’
‘Another woman?’ suggested Christina, laughing.
‘Not the way he’s looking at the moment, unless she’s sleeping rough. Are you still thinking of moving to Florida?’ asked Beth, keen to change the subject.
‘I no longer need to. I’ve ended up with the apartment in Mayfair, the villa and a yacht, not to mention a captain who can’t wait to sail her.’
‘You sound quite serious about Ralph.’
‘Yes, I am. He’s changed my whole life. Sinatra was right, love’s much lovelier the second time around. But I’ll tell you everything over lunch,’ Christina said as she linked arms with Beth and they left the gallery together.
He checked his watch: 2.20 p.m. Kick-off at 3.00. Forty thousand fans were all heading in the same direction. The majority were wearing red-and-white scarves, although a large contingent wore blue-and-white. The two rival tribes had only one thing in common: each were convinced they were supporting the winning team.
A lone figure, in a red-and-white scarf, strolled past Arsenal Tube station, as even more supporters poured out onto Gillespie Road. Moments later he was joined by another red-and-white scarf.
‘I’m listening,’ said the commander, to a scruffy-looking young man who might have just been released from prison, rather than being a recently promoted inspector with the Anti-Corruption Unit.
‘If you only consider his record,’ said William, ‘Summers is doing an impressive job. Just a shame he’s as crooked as a corkscrew.’
‘Are he and PC Bailey still an item?’
‘Rebecca certainly thinks so, but who knows how much longer it will last? On Summers’s previous form, she’s well past her sell-by date.’
‘I imagine that like most gamblers, he has a system he considers infallible.’
‘Until he has to double up.’
‘Enlighten me.’
‘There are two major criminal gangs who work out of Romford: the Turners and the Paynes. I’m convinced DS Summers is in the pay of the Turners, not least because half the Payne family are currently locked up in Wormwood Scrubs, while the Turners only make an occasional appearance at the local magistrates’ court, and rarely come away with more than a fine or a suspended sentence,’ William said as Highbury loomed up in front of them and the prejudices of the vast crowd became even more vocal with each stride they took.
‘Is there any chance we could infiltrate the Payne hierarchy, and play Summers at his own game?’ asked the Hawk.