by Mark Timlin
That done, Judith made the call. It took her an age to get put through to the AC. But eventually she spoke his name, and told him that she had some intel about Campbell’s death that she needed to pass on. From what I could gather from the one-sided conversation, he didn’t seem keen on a meet, but eventually gave in. She told him the name of a boozer on the Embankment I’d suggested, and a time she’d be there. Five-thirty that evening.
We shot back to the hotel in a cab, and Pierre himself showed us to the suite. Nice place. Penthouse style with a great view of Hyde Park, and a complimentary bowl of fruit, flowers and champagne. I explained that Judith was my daughter, but I don’t think he believed me. I didn’t care. He accepted a nifty fifty, then stood with his hand out again for another. Once again he didn’t even miss a beat.
My stuff was all lined up in one of the bedrooms, and Judith stashed hers in the other and took a bath. Might as well use the facilities I thought. I sat down and watched a re-run of Midsomer Murders on the big screen TV. Might as well get back into the mood I thought.
At quarter to five I took the laptop in its bag and got it stored in the safe in my bedroom. I wasn’t about to turn up with all the evidence. Just the photos we’d printed off. I left alone and took a cab to the pub, arrived at just after five, got an Evening Standard from a vendor, went inside, ordered a pint and sat at the window watching the river traffic go by.
Judith arrived twenty minutes later, ignored me, bought a gin and tonic and sat a few tables away from mine.
Game on.
At five-thirty on the dot, a dark-haired man I recognised from the photos came in alone, wearing civvies. He quickly saw Judith and headed in her direction. They shook hands in a perfunctory way and he sat. There was a short conversation, and I then thought it was time to join the party, leaving my drink and heading towards them. He looked up as I loomed over the table. ‘Hello Malcolm,’ I said. ‘Want to see some pretty pictures?’
36
The photos were in an eight-by-ten brown envelope that I dropped on the table between Turner and Judith. He looked up at me in surprise, then recognition dawned in his eyes as they moved from me to my daughter and back. ‘It can’t be,’ he said. ‘Nick Sharman. You’re supposed to be dead.’
‘Sorry to spoil a good story. I didn’t think you’d know me, being of a different generation.’
‘My God. Everyone knows you. You’re a bloody legend. The man who gets away with everything and disappears into thin air.’
I shrugged.
‘So where have you been? I see by your tan it wasn’t local.’
‘That’s between me and my travel agent,’ I said.
‘Aren’t you wanted for something?’ he asked. ‘What’s to stop me taking out my phone and getting you nicked?’
‘Perhaps you should look in that envelope first,’ I said.
He pulled out the sheaf of copies of the photographs. His face went stark white as he looked at them.
‘Christ,’ he said. ‘Where the hell did you get these?’
‘You look like you need a drink,’ I said. ‘What’ll you have?’
‘A scotch,’ he replied. ‘A large one.’
I went to the bar, ordered his drink, collected mine on the way back and took a seat at the table. He gulped down a mouthful of whisky and coughed harshly.
‘Still going to have me nicked?’ I asked.
He shook his head slowly. ‘What do you want?’ he asked.
‘A number of things,’ I replied. ‘But it’s not me that wants them. It’s my daughter.’ Judith was silent but I could see the steely determination in her eyes, so like my own.
‘Christ,’ he said again, a little colour having returned to his skin. ‘What a pair you are.’
‘She’s up on a murder charge,’ I said. ‘It needs to go away.’
‘Just like that? It’s not down to me.’
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘The whole thing is a farce.’
‘How do you know? You weren’t there.’
‘Nor was she,’ I said. ‘I know my daughter. And the fact that you’re so quick to deny it means you know there’s more to it. Anyway, he was her snout, and a damn good one by all accounts. Why kill the goose that lays the golden egg?’ I echoed my earlier words to Judith.
‘They’d fallen out, according to her DS,’ said Turner, looking at Judith. ‘He wasn’t coming up with the goods anymore. Right?’
The question was addressed to her, and she spoke for the first time. ‘He was getting sloppy,’ she replied. ‘Leading me on wild goose chases.’
‘So the goose was going off piste instead of laying,’ said Turner. ‘And there was money missing.’
‘She doesn’t need money,’ I said.
‘Due to the fruits of your last little labour I imagine,’ he said, sneering. ‘I remember now. That bank job in the city that destroyed a whole building and killed the perpetrators in the blaze. I always heard it was down to you.’
‘That’s history,’ I said. ‘Nothing proven.’
‘Times change, and so does forensic science. You’d be amazed at what might have turned up in what? Seven, eight years?’
‘Don’t threaten me pal,’ I said, moving closer to him, and tapping my finger on the papers in front of him. ‘I hear you’re “happily married”,’ the implication being clear in my voice, ‘and want to continue climbing the slippery pole of promotion. We have the originals of these, and by God we’ll use them to bring you down unless you pull your finger out.’
‘OK,’ he said, looking as sick as a dog. ‘But it won’t be easy – and what’s to stop you using them anyway?’
‘Trust us, son,’ I said. ‘It’s the only thing you can do.’
37
‘So where are the originals of these?’ asked Turner.
‘Somewhere safe and sound,’ I replied.
‘Where did you get them?’
‘Campbell’s flat,’ I said.
‘How the hell did he get them?’
‘I doubt we’ll ever know,’ I said. ‘Have you been approached before?’
He shook his head.
‘So who’s the girl?’ I asked.
‘I’d rather not say,’ he said, flushing
‘You’ll say what we want to hear,’ I said.
‘Just someone I met. Look, I really...’
‘Spit it out Malcolm,’ I interrupted. ‘Don’t be shy.’
‘At a conference.’
‘I see. A tart,’ I said. ‘Where?’
‘What does it matter?’
‘It might matter to your wife and children.’
‘OK,’ he said, looking shamefaced now. ‘It was at a hotel in the West End. An international conference of top brass officers. I was staying over. It was easier. There was a lot of drinking in the evening after dinner. You know what happens at those sort of things.’
‘I was never a top copper,’ I said. ‘But I can imagine.’
‘She was in the bar,’ he went on. ‘We connected. We went to my room.’
‘Which was all set up with a camera.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘But someone knew you’d be there, and she was sent after you.’
‘Obviously. I was a bloody fool.’
‘And you have had no approaches by anyone for money or a favour?’ I couldn’t work it out. Why would someone go to so much trouble to set him up and then not act on it?
‘Not until now.’
‘Well it wasn’t us who arranged it son. When was this?’
‘Three months ago. Early autumn.’
‘Someone’s patient,’ said Judith. She was obviously thinking on the same lines as I was.
‘Are there others?’ he asked.
‘Others?’ I questioned.
‘Other photographs. Other people
.’
‘Oh yeah,’ I said. ‘Lots. Now. I think it’s time for you to go and have a think about what you’re going to do for Judith. And remember, we’re not in the game of breaking up families. You play ball, and you can have the originals of these.’
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘But are they the originals? Did Campbell have more? Or someone else? Are what you have just copies?’ It all came out in a rush.
I suddenly felt sorry for the bloke. It could have so easily been me twenty years ago, sitting there with evidence of my wrongdoing on the table. ‘No idea,’ I said. ‘Who was originally behind this is a mystery. Campbell himself, accomplices – don’t ask us. Just watch your back. But believe me, Judith is my main concern. And when this is all over, I don’t want to hear that she’s being treated as a scapegoat. I want her fully exonerated and her career restored. If that’s what she wants.’
The look he gave me told me that would never happen. But first things first.
38
Turner got up from the table and said. ‘I’ll be going then.’
I nodded.
He went to leave but I stopped him. ‘I think you’ve forgotten something.’
‘What?’
I tapped the envelope again. ‘Something to remind you of what you’re going to do.’
‘I suppose,’ he said gloomily, picking up the envelope like it contained a live scorpion and exiting the pub.
After he’d left, Judith said, ‘I hated that.’
‘I could tell,’ I said. ‘You hardly said a word.’
‘You made up for it.’
‘Had to be done.’ I wasn’t ashamed of what I’d said to Turner. I’d have done worse to clear my daughter’s name.
‘I don’t like blackmail.’
‘I don’t like you being up on charges.’
‘Do you think he was telling the truth?’ she asked. ‘About not being approached?’
‘He looked pretty shocked when he saw the photos. Could be he was surprised there were more than one lot. Could be he had no idea they existed at all. Who knows? Who cares, as long as he does what he’s told.’
‘It won’t be that easy. Not even for an AC.’
‘Sweetheart,’ I said. ‘He wants to be Commissioner, I could tell. He had ambition coming out of his ears. Did you see him flinch when I mentioned talking to his superiors? He’ll do something, even if it’s only to get some other poor bugger stitched up for the crimes. My bet is you’ll be reinstated within a week. Just in time for new year, if not before.’
‘I hope you’re right Dad. Although I don’t know if I want to go back on the strength. I’m feeling a bit disillusioned at the moment.’
‘That’s your choice love. All I want is for all this to go away, and I can get back to my life, and you to yours – whatever your choice of career.’
‘I’ll miss you.’
‘I’ll miss you too. But London’s not for me anymore. Too big, too cold, too many people and bad memories.’
‘Well, maybe I’ll come back with you this time.’
‘I mean it about you being very welcome.’
She smiled.
I smiled back at my daughter, we finished our drinks and left.
39
We hailed a cab and headed back to the hotel. ‘A drink, then dinner?’ I said.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Judith. ‘But I need some things, a change of clothes and some underwear. Drop me off at Selfridges,’ she said. ‘I’ll walk back.’
I told the cabbie, who took us into Oxford Street where Judith dived out, then through the back doubles into Park Lane and the hotel – and the drink I’d promised myself.
But as soon as I opened the door to the suite’s sitting room, I knew someone else was in there. I could sense it in the changed atmosphere. The lamp I’d left on was still lit, the curtains still drawn, the doors to the bedrooms still shut. Nothing seemed out of place, but I just knew something was deeply wrong.
‘Come in, Mr Stark,’ said a well modulated voice. ‘Or is it Mr Sharman? Don’t be shy.’
I stood in the doorway as a figure got up from the armchair facing away from me, towards the dead TV set on the wall. No one I knew, and no one I wanted to know, I was sure of that.
‘Do close the door,’ he said. ‘Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.’
I did as I was told. The Glock 9 he held loosely in his hand convinced me that he hadn’t come to explain how to work the DVD player. He gestured for me to come further inside. Again, I did as I was told. He was in late middle age, bulky inside a decent suit, with grey hair in a crew cut. Ex-military by his bearing, and bloody dangerous I imagined.
‘Have a seat,’ he said. ‘Make yourself comfortable. And where’s your daughter? I was so looking forward to meeting her.’ There was a faint highland lilt to his voice.
‘Late night shopping,’ I said. ‘You know what women are like. Especially at this time of the year.’
‘No problem. We have plenty of time. And don’t worry Mr Sharman. No one’s going to get hurt. Unless of course you do something stupid.’
‘You’re the one with the gun.’
‘Precisely. Now, I believe you have something I want.’
‘Such as?’
‘Don’t try to play me, Sharman,’ he said. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘I must say he was quick,’ I said. ‘But how did he know where we were?’
‘About whom are we speaking?’ he said, smoothly.
‘As if you don’t know. The Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. Malcolm Turner.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘You’ve got me beat there. I’m afraid we don’t share with the locals.’
It took me a moment to get the picture. ‘So he didn’t send you? And you’re not Job?’
‘Heaven forbid,’ he said. ‘All that walking the streets never appealed to me. Now let’s get down to business before I make life very difficult for you. And your daughter.’
‘Already is for her,’ I said. ‘So who exactly are you?’
‘Let’s just say I work for the government,’ he replied.
‘I gathered that. Five, Six, or are there more numbers these days, in this world of increased security?’
‘It really doesn’t matter does it, Mr Sharman? But believe me I have the power to see you disappear like a puff of smoke. Especially as you’re already travelling on false papers.’
‘Identification?’ I asked. ‘Just for the record.’
He almost laughed, but not quite. ‘Take my word for it.’
I had no choice.
‘So,’ I said. ‘How did you catch on?’
‘When you broke into Campbell’s flat and found what he was hiding, and went looking for the late Mr Campbell’s password.’
‘You knew about his little sideline?’
‘Not his alone I can assure you. And not so little. We knew he had photographs. But we didn’t know where. There was nothing on his home computer.’
‘So you broke the password?’
‘Not us. The Met’s IT boys are hot stuff.’
‘But their search teams aren’t so hot.’
‘Yes. I’ve had to have a word with them.’
‘I thought you didn’t share with the locals?’
‘We don’t. But they share with us. In these times of “increased security” as you so rightly put it yourself.’
‘And they don’t know you’ve found us?’
He nodded. ‘Need to know basis only,’ he said. ‘And they don’t. Not at the moment.’
‘So how did you?’ I asked. ‘Find us, I mean.’
‘Oh do come on Sharman. You can’t go round antagonising half the gay population of north London without someone letting on. It’s not like the old days you know. And impersonating police officer
s. And doing criminal damage to the public house owned by a large chain who pay a lot in taxes. Haven’t you heard of CCTV? You and your daughter weren’t exactly discreet. And there’s facial recognition software that recognised you both. Then we just went through recent arrivals at ports and airports and there you were. Even with that beard and a few years under your belt it only took a moment. I think you’re out of time Mr Sharman.’
He wasn’t the first to point that out. I couldn’t disagree, no matter if I’d wanted to.
Then, without warning, the door to my bedroom opened and another man emerged. Big bloke, dark suit. Another hard ex-military bastard – and this one twenty years younger than me. He was holding my Colt .45 in his hand. The pistol I’d taken from Campbell’s flat was stuck in his belt, and the bag containing my computer was on his shoulder.
‘Bang to rights,’ I said.
‘Too right,’ said my posh friend, who I took to be the boss. ‘Now, may we continue? Looks like you struck gold,’ he said to his subordinate.
‘Two weapons and a laptop complete with memory stick.’
‘And that safe was supposed to be thief proof,’ I said.
‘Piece of piss.’
‘Mandatory five years for the weapons,’ said the man with the Glock.
‘And you’re going to turn me in?’
‘Probably not. As long as you behave. You can go back to your island paradise and live a long and full life.’
‘You know about that – the island?’
‘We know quite a lot, believe me.’
I believed him, but I didn’t like it. Any of it.
‘Well congratulations,’ was all I said.
‘So now all we need is your daughter,’ said the older man, his accent turning more clipped.
Who at that point opened the door to the suite, a yellow Selfridges bag in her hand.
‘Do come in,’ he added, smiling widely. ‘Join the party.’
40
Judith came inside, dropped her bag, and said. ‘Visitors. How nice.’
‘’Fraid not,’ I said. ‘Spooks. And not the friendly kind. Looks like we’re back where we started. They found our little bargaining tool.’