‘It was some while ago. At least two months. I received a distraught call from my sister and I immediately came here.’
‘Can you tell me what your sister was so upset about?’ Jane asked.
Farah waved her hand in the air. ‘Yasmin had been wearing make-up and I believe she had taken money. She had a confused mind and started questioning our care. To begin with, we were lenient. You have to understand that when Yasmin came to this country, she was very young and her mother, my sister, was also very childlike. My brother-in-law was so much older and yet financially dependent upon myself and my husband.’
She turned away from Jane to glance at the clock above the fake fire, and then turned back, her lips drawn in a thin line.
‘Please go on,’ Jane urged, gently.
‘My daughter Midilah is academically bright and obedient and obeys our religious codes, whereas Yasmin had a selfish desire to paint her face and watch Hollywood movies. When she was unsupervised, what unfolded caused us terrible anguish. My husband had no option but to send her back to Pakistan.’
Jane didn’t want to hurry her, but was concerned that Farah was expecting her sister or husband to return and then she would clam up.
‘Do you know where she is in Pakistan?’
Farah shook her head. ‘I was not privy to the arrangements. My husband oversaw all of that.’
Jane nodded. ‘Do you also live with your daughter, above your husband’s business?’ she asked.
There was a flash of anger in Farah’s eyes. ‘That accommodation is used infrequently and only when necessary. My brother-in-law was often away on business at weekends and it was those times when we were concerned about Yasmin’s behavior.’
‘But he worked for Mandy Pilkington as her chauffeur and security guard. Why would it be necessary for him to be away on business at weekends?’
Farah clasped her hands together. ‘I am not privy as to exactly what business he occupied his time with. All I know is he met people to do business for his employer.’
‘Are you aware Ahmed supplied drugs to Miss Pilkington’s clients?’
Farah’s lips tightened and it was a moment before she replied. ‘No, I was not. I really feel that it is time that you leave.’
Jane closed her notebook, as if she was preparing to go. She noticed Farah relax slightly.
‘Did you know Charles Foxley?’ Jane asked.
Farah hesitated a beat too long, before standing up.
‘I am aware of his name, but I never met him. Due to the reports in the newspapers, I obviously know that my brother-in-law has been charged with his murder.’
‘Do you know why Ahmed did what he did?’ Jane asked.
Farah’s composure suddenly seemed to waver. ‘He had no choice. He found out that man defiled his daughter and had paid a considerable amount of money for her to remain silent about it.’
Jane looked up. ‘How did they find out?’
‘Obviously from Yasmin. I don’t know the details, just that my sister was deeply distressed and so I came to see her, as we were both appalled. At this time my husband suggested that perhaps it was time she went back to live with relatives. Now I would really like you to go.’
‘Did Ahmed ever work for your husband in his butcher shop?’
‘Yes, in the beginning. Before he started working for . . . that woman in Clapham. Now that is all I am going to say. I think you should be aware, detective, that Ameer and I are leaving the country and taking my poor sister with us.’
Jane couldn’t conceal her shock. ‘You’re leaving without seeing your brother-in-law again?’
‘That man has only brought shame upon my family,’ she said bitterly. ‘None of us wish to ever see him again.’
‘Are you going to join Yasmin?’ Jane asked.
Farah reached out and touched Jane’s hand with her cold fingers. She then gave her an odd smile.
‘Oh yes, we will all be together again.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jane wanted to be ready in plenty of time so set her alarm for 4:30 a.m. As soon as she woke up, she showered, washed her hair and chose her clothes carefully: her usual tights, black skirt and an underwire bra, as she knew it would assist in hiding the microphone. The white linen shirt had a Peter Pan collar, V-neck and covered buttons, and instead of a fitted suit jacket she chose a heavy wool box-shaped one with pockets. She was made-up, hair perfect, and had even managed to have coffee and toast, with plenty of time to spare, knowing how obsessive Elliott was about time.
Her doorbell rang promptly at 5:45 a.m. She looked out of her bedroom window to check that it was Elliott before pressing the buzzer to open the downstairs door and waiting for him to climb the three flights of stairs to her flat.
Jane opened the flat door and he gave her an appreciative once-over before taking a small plastic case out of his pocket. Inside was a miniature microphone.
‘I need you to find the best position for this to pick up.’
Jane was not surprised when he opened her jacket for her.
‘I already have an underwire bra and I think it would fit between my breasts,’ she said evenly.
He peered at the buttons on her shirt. ‘Good thinking. OK, open your blouse.’
She took the microphone and found the perfect position for it between her breasts.
‘It’s important the small wire hangs loose but isn’t visible.’ He stepped back as Jane carefully buttoned her blouse. He glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Time to go.’
Whatever Jane had expected from her previous experience with surveillance vehicles, she was impressed by the obo van. The large vehicle was disguised as a drainage company van. Inside there was an electronic console, surveillance screens, cameras and three men wearing well-worn overalls with the drainage company logo. There were no windows. The rear entry door into the van was a high step up and Jane was grateful for Elliott, who almost lifted her in. He quickly closed the door behind him.
‘Did you pick up?’ Elliott asked one of the men sitting by the console.
‘Clear as a bell.’
Only then did Jane realize that the microphone she was wearing was live. As she was shown to a seat, she wondered if the men had also overheard Elliott instructing her to unbutton her blouse. He made no introductions, and without any signal, the van took off.
Elliott passed Jane two pages of notes. He spoke very quietly. ‘Just read them through and decide for yourself how you could bring the subject matter up. The priority is that you don’t give the game away. Stay relaxed and be ready for the fact that he will be surprised to see you there. I’ve given you a few notes as to what you could say, or maybe you can come up with something better.’
Jane nodded and concentrated on the notes.
No one spoke throughout the drive to their destination. Then Elliott picked up a set of headphones and started looking at one of the surveillance screens. She could hear the driver saying they were on Rigg Approach. Elliott leaned towards Jane as they listened to the driver tell them the mobile hamburger van was just opening up. He would do a U-turn and park in their prearranged position.
Elliott then showed Jane a small drawing. He pointed to the mobile hamburger van, then to the Rigg Approach offices of the Flying Squad, and then showed where his team would be working on the drainage manhole. Jane remained seated as the back doors were opened and, from beneath the van, a massive pump was hauled out as two men went into the roadway, removing a large manhole cover. It was now almost 7 a.m.
Elliott listened into his headphones. ‘No sign of our suspect yet.’
The waiting was beginning to get to Jane and it didn’t help that she couldn’t see what was happening outside the van, but had to have everything relayed to her via Elliott. She took a deep breath and felt herself relax.
Elliott turned to her and asked her to say a few words. ‘Just to make one hundred percent sure the microphone’s working perfectly.’
‘What is the distance from the burger van to you?’
&nb
sp; ‘It’s quite a distance, Jane. We couldn’t get any closer as the industrial estate is so empty. But what I’m going to give you is a code word. If you feel any kind of threat, use the word “mustard”.’
‘Mustard?’ Jane repeated. ‘Not “help”?’
He gave a soft chuckle, believing if she could make a joke now, she had the nerve to pull it off. ‘Dabs said you were a good ’un.’ He quickly turned his attention back to his headphones. ‘We have eyeballs on target.’
Pulling into the courtyard of Rigg Approach was a dark blue Vauxhall with Murphy at the wheel. He got out and held the car keys in his mouth as he reached over to pick up a duffle bag from the passenger seat and what looked like a file of papers. He then kicked the car door shut, took the keys from his mouth and locked it. On his way to the building he whistled to the burger van owner to get his attention and gave him a thumbs up. The man in the van waved back.
‘Looks like he’s placed his order and is now going into the building. Let’s wait and see how long before he comes out.’
Murphy was out more quickly than they had anticipated.
‘He must be hungry,’ Elliott chuckled. At the same time, an unexpected vehicle drove in. Elliott looked at Jane. ‘We have a male driver in a Ford Cortina.’
Jane nodded. ‘It’s one of the officers, nicknamed the Colonel.’
‘Shit,’ Elliott muttered.
He heard Murphy call across to the Colonel, asking if he wanted breakfast. He was relieved when he saw him shake his head, but then the tension went up a notch as Elliott saw Murphy pointing towards the obo van. The two men were looking directly at them and the open manhole. Then Murphy turned away and headed alone towards the burger van.
‘Stand by, Jane,’ Elliott told her. ‘We just need Murphy to turn his back so you can get out unobserved.’
Murphy greeted the van guy loudly and then they could hear him saying, ‘It’s about time they cleaned the fucking drains. You can’t even flush a toilet around here.’
Elliott nodded. ‘Go.’
Jane was out, heading towards Murphy, as he was handed his large Styrofoam cup of coffee with double cream and two sugars. She waited until she was a few steps away to say anything, but it was the van driver who noticed her first, and said, ‘Blimey, I haven’t seen you for a while. Black coffee, well-done bacon sandwich?’
Murphy turned and looked at her in surprise. ‘Where have you come from?’
‘Well, after all the nasty rumors you’ve spread about me, I thought I’d be lucky to be directing traffic.’
‘I know – I heard you were working out of Belgravia now. What brings you back here?’
Jane waved a hand. ‘We’re searching that warehouse over there for boxes full of goods stolen from Harrods. I’ve come to get some breakfast for the lads.’ Jane turned to the van man. ‘Tommy, I need three hamburgers with bacon and one with an egg sunny-side up.’
Murphy laughed. ‘Theft from Harrods – my, my, you are working some big cases now.’
‘I’m happy in my work and the DCI’s a decent bloke . . . unlike some,’ she said with a frosty smile.
Murphy pretended to look hurt. ‘I hope there’s no hard feelings between us, Jane.’
‘Of course not,’ she said with another brittle smile. ‘But as I’m here, there is something job-related you might be able to help me with.’
Murphy took a gulp of his coffee. ‘I don’t have many dealings with shoplifters these days, I’m afraid, but how do you think I can help you?’
‘I recovered a firearm on a house search. It’s similar to the one I found in George Ripley’s garage and I wondered if you might be interested in getting it checked out by ballistics against any of your outstanding cases.’
Murphy took another sip of his coffee and licked his lips, then rested his cup on the shelf. ‘We haven’t got any outstanding cases.’ He turned to Tommy, who was cooking the burgers. ‘I don’t want my egg runny. Make sure you flip it over.’
‘That’s strange,’ Jane said. ‘I thought you had three outstanding cases.’
‘Well, you thought wrong,’ Murphy replied.
Jane gave him an inquiring look. ‘What about the Daily Express robbery in ’76? Then the Williams & Glyn’s Bank in ’77? Oh, and the Daily Mirror robbery in ’78?’
She noticed his right eye twitch as he licked his lips again.
‘They were investigated by the Flying Squad at Tower Bridge, not Rigg Approach.’
‘Yes, and you were the DI at Tower Bridge and involved in the investigation of all three robberies. You recovered a Smith & Wesson .39 automatic pistol with a walnut inlay on the grip.’
Murphy shook his head. ‘I’ve been involved in hundreds of investigations in my time on the Flying Squad, and seized hundreds of guns, so don’t expect me to be able to remember every one of them.’
‘You submitted a model .39 to the lab, then booked it out for an interview and never returned it to the lab.’
Murphy laughed, then, moving quickly, reached out and placed his pudgy right hand on Jane’s chest between her breasts and moved it down towards her crotch.
Jane stood her ground, glad that she’d secreted the microphone so well inside her bra. She kept her voice low. ‘The only wire on me, sir, is the stuff in my bra holding up my tits.’
In the obo van, Elliott was on his feet, checking his gun in his holster. He inched open the door and could see Jane and Murphy at the hamburger van being handed their orders. He gave a radio signal to the two men working on the drains to be on alert.
‘If you’re not wearing a wire, then why are you really here, Tennison?’ Murphy asked with a glare.
She smiled. ‘Payback.’
He leaned forward so his face was nearly touching hers and whispered in her ear, ‘Listen, you stupid little girl, you’ve got nothing on me and you never will have. I didn’t return the gun to the lab because I gave it to the armorer at Tower Bridge to destroy. I’ve still got the paperwork to prove it.’ He bit into his burger, leaving a residue of tomato ketchup at the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with a napkin.
‘Paperwork can be forged,’ she said. ‘It’s the same gun I found at the Ripley garage.’
‘Then the fucking armorer must be bent and he gave it to a bank robber. Now fuck off back to the hole you crawled out of.’
Jane decided to go for broke. ‘I know you arrested Harry Burton in ’76 on suspicion of the Express robbery and released him without charge so he’d work for you. You helped plan his robberies and gave him the Smith & Wesson.’
Murphy turned sharply to face Jane again. ‘In case it slipped your mind, I shot Harry Burton dead after he tried to kill you.’
‘That’s right. You were scared the gun from the Express robbery could be traced back to Burton and he’d grass on you. That’s why you set him up on a robbery and used it as a way of murdering him.’
Murphy’s eyes started to bulge. ‘Well, he can’t help you now he’s dead, can he?’
Jane smiled. ‘It’ll help when I ask the lab to do ballistics testing with the Ripley revolver and they prove it’s the same gun you seized years ago and was then used in two more robberies – one where a security guard was killed. You’ll be spending the rest of your life in prison where you belong.’
There was a chilling expression on his face as he spoke softly. ‘Your studious homework should have made you realize what I’m capable of . . . and that I’m always one step ahead of the game.’
‘Your arrogance will be your downfall, Murphy.’
‘You better keep your mouth shut, sweetheart, or I will shut it permanently and you won’t be able to tell the lab to do anything.’
Jane could see the two undercover officers in drainage uniforms approaching Murphy from behind, one carrying handcuffs. She knew Murphy had said enough to incriminate himself and Elliott had made the order for him to be arrested.
She leaned forward and whispered in Murphy’s ear, ‘You’re too late, Bill. Operation Count
ryman have already spoken to the lab and you’re fucked.’
Murphy turned and saw the undercover officers. He started swinging wildly, but then Elliott appeared and, with an almighty right-hander to the jaw, knocked him unconscious. He fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.
*
Jane was impressed by how fast it all went down. It seemed only a matter of a minute or so before an unmarked car pulled in and Murphy was pushed roughly into the back seat with his hands cuffed. The two officers had removed their equipment from the manhole and stashed it in the obo van as Elliott took the box of burgers from her and told the men they could have their breakfast.
He touched Jane’s elbow. ‘Get in the van and let’s get that wire off you.’
Elliott helped her inside while Tommy looked on in total amazement, unable to fathom what had just gone down. Shaking his head, he went back to scraping his hot plate.
Inside the obo van, Elliott had turned his back while Jane removed the microphone. She was just buttoning her shirt when he turned with his hand out to retrieve it.
‘What happens now?’ she said, licking her lips. Her mouth felt so dry.
‘Depends on whether Murphy puts his hands up and pleads guilty, which is unlikely. Whatever happens, I’ll make sure you get the credit you deserve. Without your input, we wouldn’t have got an arrest.’
‘You’ll probably need me to give evidence in court, then,’ Jane said.
‘Yes, but we won’t go broadcasting what you did around the Met. There are some officers who would regard you as a turncoat.’
‘Then they’re no better than Murphy.’
He nodded. ‘That’s the attitude.’
There was a tap on the door. Elliott opened it, then turned to Jane. ‘I’ve got a car here to take you home.’
‘But I should be at work at the station.’
‘Up to you, but don’t make it too celebratory. The fireworks may be over, but this is still a covert operation.’
Jane gave him a small nod. ‘Will I see you again?’
‘Sometime, maybe.’
She could feel he was eager for her to leave. There seemed nothing else to say. He passed her her bag as the driver started up the engine.
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