‘Our first hymn this morning,’ declared the chaplain, ‘is “He who would valiant be”. You’ll find it on page two hundred and eleven of your hymn books.’
The pilgrims in the front two rows stood and sang lustily with heart and voice, while the dealers at the back, whom Christ would certainly have thrown out of the temple, continued trading.
‘Three rocks of crack for cell forty-four,’ said Tulip, unfolding a piece of paper. ‘Thirty quid.’
There wasn’t much Rashidi couldn’t supply, as long as the payments were met by the end of each week. No one gets more than a week’s credit in prison. Three of the guards acted as couriers, which earned them more in a day than they received in their weekly pay packets. Two were responsible for bringing the goods into the prison, while the third, the most trusted, collected the payments from wives, girlfriends, brothers, sisters and even mothers.
‘...to be a pilgrim.’
The congregation sat back down, and a young West Indian prisoner stepped forward to read the first lesson.
‘And I saw the light...’
Tulip handed the boss another order, for a wrap of heroin. ‘The bastard hasn’t coughed up for the past two weeks. Shower job?’
‘No,’ said Rashidi firmly. ‘Just stop supplying him, that way we’ll soon find out if he’s got any money on the outside.’
Tulip looked disappointed.
‘I think one of the couriers must be taking a cut,’ he said, ‘because our profits were down by over two hundred pounds last week. What do you want me to do about it, boss?’
‘Make it clear that if it happens again an anonymous report will land on the governor’s desk and both his sources of income will dry up overnight.’
‘Anything else, boss?’ Tulip asked after he’d taken the last order.
‘Yes. My evening meals last week were lukewarm by the time they arrived in my cell, so change our outside caterers.’
‘Will do,’ said Tulip as the congregation sat back down.
‘The text of my sermon this week,’ intoned the chaplain, ‘is taken from the Book of Exodus, chapter thirty-four. When Moses came down from Mount Sinai...’
‘What’s the latest on Detective Sergeant Warwick?’
‘Not much longer for this world,’ said Tulip. ‘I only wish it was me doin’ the job.’
‘Not until the trial is over. You can then take care of DS Warwick. Make it a slow, painful death so his colleagues will think a second time before they cross me.’
Ross felt sick.
‘Thou shalt not kill,’ said the chaplain.
‘Amen,’ said Ross quietly.
‘Let us pray,’ continued the chaplain. The first two rows fell on their knees. ‘Almighty God...’
‘When the time comes,’ said Rashidi, ‘send a dozen roses to his widow, and leave her in no doubt who sent them.’
Ross listened carefully to every word that passed between them. He would have to get a message through to the Hawk as quickly as possible so Warwick could be warned. Like Rashidi, he also had a prison officer who could be trusted to pass on messages to the outside world, although in his case he didn’t expect to be rewarded. Ross would have to make sure he was cleaning the corridor outside Senior Officer Rose’s office after breakfast tomorrow morning.
‘When they send you to Ford Open next week,’ said Rashidi, breaking into his thoughts, ‘get in touch with Benson, who controls the drug supply there, and warn him that if I don’t get my cut, no more junkies will be transferred to Ford.’
Ross nodded.
‘Anything else, boss?’ asked Tulip.
‘Yes. Have you sorted out my other problem?’ asked Rashidi, turning his attention back to Tulip.
‘Sure, boss, but it won’t come cheap — several of the guards will expect a backhander.’
‘Pay them. That’s one luxury I’m not willing to sacrifice.’
‘Then a hooker will be brought to your cell soon after lights-out.’
‘Any news of Faulkner?’ asked Ross, aware that all the Hawk’s leads had gone cold.
‘They’ve just offered me his cell, so I think we can assume he’s out of the country by now. I’ve got another appointment with his lawyer tomorrow morning, so I may find out more then.’
Having asked his one question, Ross continued to listen.
‘Have they fixed a trial date yet?’ asked Tulip.
‘September 15th. And tomorrow I’ll find out how much evidence they’ve come up with after raiding my apartment.’
Ross knew exactly how much evidence they had, even whose photograph it was in the silver frame.
‘Any hope of me taking over your cell when you move into Faulkner’s?’ asked Tulip.
‘Consider it done,’ said Rashidi, who understood about rewards every bit as much as punishments. He nodded to a prison officer to let him know he would need to see him after the service.
‘The blessing of God Almighty, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.’
‘Amen,’ said all three of them in unison.
‘How are the twins?’ asked Christina.
‘I don’t get much sleep nowadays,’ admitted Beth, who was pushing the pram as they strolled around Hyde Park together. ‘They always seem to work in tandem whenever they want something. I’m perpetually exhausted, and suddenly full of admiration for my parents.’
‘I envy you,’ said Christina, looking down at the twins wistfully. ‘How’s William coping with the added responsibility?’
‘He’s wonderful whenever he’s at home, but if I’m to continue doing my job, we’re going to have to employ a full-time nanny which will cost almost as much as I earn.’
‘Worth every penny,’ said Christina, ‘especially if it gives William more time to track down my husband, who seems to have sailed away for a year and a day.’
‘There’s not a great deal he can do about Miles while he’s preparing for the Rashidi trial.’
‘If half the things the press say about that man are true, I hope he rots in hell.’
‘Where no doubt he’ll once again meet up with Miles,’ said Beth.
‘Do you think their paths crossed in Pentonville?’
‘William’s convinced of it, especially as Booth Watson will be representing Rashidi at his trial. And that’s one man who won’t be allowed to attend his mother’s funeral, not least because she’s very much alive. Though William tells me she hasn’t once visited her son in prison.’
‘Perhaps he’ll find some other way to escape?’
‘Not a chance. You can be sure he’ll be accompanied by a small army on his journey from the prison to the Old Bailey after what Miles got away with.’
‘Miles was always going to be several moves ahead of the police. His escape would have been planned like a military operation, and you can be sure he wouldn’t have left anything to chance.’
Beth didn’t respond. Although she looked upon Christina as a friend, she was well aware that William didn’t trust her. When he’d left for work that morning, he’d suggested she just listen, as Christina might well say something she’d later regret.
‘It wasn’t a coincidence that the day before he escaped from his mother’s funeral,’ continued Christina, ‘Miles’s yacht slipped out of Monte Carlo and headed for the English coast.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘One of his deckhands returned to Monte Carlo after they docked in New York, and later reported back to me. My bet is you won’t be hearing from Miles again.’
Beth recalled that Miles also had an apartment in New York. ‘What about the art collection?’ she asked.
‘Half of which in theory belongs to me. But if I had to guess, I’ll never set eyes on any of those treasures again. I scour every catalogue from all the leading auction houses in case one of them comes up for sale, but so far, nothing.’