William sat in the back of a taxi that wasn’t for hire. His eyes never left the front gate of the jail, although he knew the prisoner wouldn’t be released for at least another thirty minutes. He checked his watch every few seconds, but the door at the side of the main gate remained resolutely closed.
A dark blue Mercedes swept past them and came to a halt outside the prison as if it were a country club.
‘Same car?’ asked William.
‘No, sir,’ said Danny. ‘Same number plate, AR1, but that’s the latest model, straight off the production line.’
‘Is it the same driver?’ asked William, trying to get a closer look.
‘I’m a driver,’ replied Danny. ‘If you dress like that, I think you’ll find you’re a chauffeur. But yes, it’s the same man.’
William laughed, although it wasn’t a morning for laughing.
Ten chimes rang out from a nearby church tower, but still the door didn’t open.
‘Perhaps he likes the place so much he doesn’t want to leave.’ Danny’s idea of humour.
Finally the door swung open, and a short, muscle-bound man covered in tattoos and carrying a black leather bag stepped out.
‘Burglary,’ said Danny, without giving him a second look. The newly released prisoner took one look at the Mercedes and gave the driver a V sign, before heading for the nearest bus stop.
Two more prisoners slipped out through the door. William couldn’t help wondering how long their freedom would last. Some of them treated prison like a second home, especially if they were sleeping rough, and a minor crime meant they could spend the winter in a warm cell, with three meals a day and a television.
At last the unmistakable figure of Assem Rashidi appeared. William didn’t need to say, That’s him, as unlike his fellow inmates, he’d lost weight, not put it on. He wore a similar well-tailored suit, white shirt and silk tie as he’d been wearing on the final day of his trial. William wondered if there was a Harrods label on the inside of the jacket. He could have been the prison governor, except that the governor drove himself home each evening in a Morris Minor.
The chauffeur leapt out and opened the back door of the Mercedes for his boss, as if it was a normal Monday morning, and he was being picked up from his country home to be driven to work. He touched the peak of his cap as Rashidi slipped into the back seat. William ducked out of sight as the car moved serenely past the waiting taxi and turned left.
Danny swung the taxi around, and took care to keep his distance. He slipped in behind other black cabs whenever possible so the chauffeur wouldn’t realize he was being tailed.
‘He could be heading for Brixton or The Boltons,’ said William, staring out of the front window as they drove along Upper Street.
The Mercedes never crossed the river, but continued to head east, and thirty minutes later they passed two mounted silver dragons bearing cast-iron shields, indicating they had entered the City of London.
‘It has to be his office,’ said William.
The Mercedes eventually came to a halt outside the headquarters of Marcel and Neffe. Once again the chauffeur jumped out and opened the back door for his boss.
As Rashidi entered the Tea House he received a second salute from another man in a peaked cap, as if he’d never been away.
William didn’t follow him inside, but then he knew he would be going up to his office on the eleventh floor. He was more interested in when and by which exit Rashidi would be leaving the building. The Mercedes drove off.
‘Stay put, Danny,’ said William, ‘and don’t take your eyes off the entrance. If Rashidi reappears, get me on the radio and I’ll nip back out. If you should miss him,’ he added as he opened the cab door and stepped out onto the pavement, ‘start looking for a fare, because it’s the only money you’ll earn this week.’
Danny didn’t laugh as William jogged off in the direction of Moorgate Tube station.
It had been some time since he’d discovered how Rashidi had discreetly left his office without anyone noticing. He took up his preferred vantage point next to a small newsstand, from where he could observe anyone who left the Tea House by the unobtrusive door that few were aware of unless they worked in the building.
He resigned himself to the fact he could be hanging about for some time, if Rashidi was being brought up to date on the company’s affairs during his absence. He might even have become a reformed character, as he’d promised the judge he would, though William thought that was unlikely.
Perhaps Danny would call him at around six o’clock and they’d follow Rashidi to The Boltons, where he would have supper with his mother and spend his first night of liberty, at her home, especially if he thought, even for a moment, he was being watched.
An hour passed, during which time several City workers slipped in or out of the discreet door, but Rashidi was not among them. William was becoming bored, and considered spending a few minutes with Danny in the back of the warm cab, but that would surely be the moment Rashidi would choose to leave his day job in search of alternative employment.
During the third hour, he purchased a copy of the Evening Standard for 20p, but never got far beyond the headline on the front page before once again checking that door.
‘Are you going to be here much longer?’ asked a traffic warden.
‘As long as it takes,’ said Danny, producing his warrant card.
The warden touched the corner of his cap, surprised that the cab driver was Met, not City police.
William remained rooted to the spot for hour upon hour, getting colder and older, until a man appeared through the side door, wearing a baggy grey tracksuit, his head covered in a hood. An outfit William could never forget. He joined the early-evening commuters as they made their way towards the escalators. William might not have been able to see his face, but it was definitely the same tracksuit, and the same walk. But more important, the same black leather gloves.
Rashidi stepped onto the escalator, as William slipped in behind a broad-shouldered man who shielded him from his prey. By the time William reached the bottom step, Rashidi was already out of sight. Not that there was much doubt where he was going. William headed for the Northern line’s southbound platform, and arrived just as a train pulled in. He spotted Rashidi climbing aboard at the other end of the platform, and slipped into the nearest carriage.
Although William was sure he knew where Rashidi would be getting off, he still double-checked at every station. But he was right, because Rashidi didn’t leave the train until it pulled into Stockwell, where he made his way across to the Victoria line for the one-stop journey to Brixton.
William allowed his mark to disappear from sight once again, as he was confident he knew where he was going. When he strolled onto the platform he hung back among the waiting passengers at the far end. He didn’t intend to travel any further. Now the old pattern had been re-established, Paul would take over and be waiting for Rashidi outside the station tomorrow afternoon hoping that he would lead him to the new slaughter.
William glanced to his right to see Rashidi shaking hands with a man he immediately recognized along with two muscle-bound bodyguards, who stood one on either side of him. Rashidi had already returned to his other world.
A rush of wind from inside the dark tunnel announced the arrival of the next train. William was about to return to the Yard, when Rashidi took a step forward, and before he had a chance to react, the two bodyguards grabbed an arm each and with one violent movement hurled him onto the track.
The train screeched to a halt, but it was too late. The horrifying sound of metal and body colliding caused several passengers to scream, while others turned away.