Roller Coaster

by Michael Gilbert

  Geoff Tasker was a full-jowled, black-haired character who conducted a one-man solicitor’s practice near the Oval cricket ground. He worked a twelve-hour day for most of the year and closed his office for the complete period of the London Test Matches. He did a lot of police-court work, appearing indiscriminately for and against the police. Petrella knew him well.

  He spent ten minutes looking at the papers and photographs Petrella had produced and at the end of it said, “Your father’s right.

  Most of this is piss and wind. The only points of substance are the photographs and the share transaction. We shall have to decide what line we’re going to take about those.”

  “I think,” said Petrella carefully, “that the line has been indicated to us by the opposition. Let me explain.”

  He spoke for ten minutes and produced two further documents.

  Mr Tasker rarely smiled, but at one point he actually laughed out loud. When Petrella had finished he said, “One thing puzzles me. Instead of all this share pushing why didn’t they just pay money into your bank?”

  “It wouldn’t work. Nothing can be paid into my account until I’ve signed the paying-in slip. I imagine that’s why they rigged this share business. It might have come off too, if they hadn’t run up against my father.”

  “Yes,” said Mr Tasker thoughtfully, “I suppose it might.”

  Lovell, although he approved in principle of Morrissey’s reticence, felt that, on this occasion, he was carrying it too far. He summoned him to his office and put the matter to him squarely.

  Morrissey said, “Of course you’re right, sir. The difficulty is that my tactics hinge on one fact that I’m not, even now, quite certain about. Though I’m taking steps to remedy this.”

  As he spoke Lovell’s face grew grimmer and grimmer. He said, “When are you going to know the truth?”

  “If all goes as I expect, I’ll know by tomorrow evening.”

  “What really worries me,” said Lovell, “is the fact that you’re doing all this yourself. I appreciate your reasons. We don’t want a repeat of the Ernie Flower balls-up. And the less people who know a secret the likelier it is to stay secret. But suppose something had happened to you. Suppose you were run over by a bus.”

  “I look both ways before I cross any road.”

  “Maybe. But all the same I’d like you to bring Frank Watterson in on it.”

  “No objection,” said Morrissey. “In fact, while I’m at it, I’ll brief both him and Kay.”

  Lovell thought about this for quite a long time before he said, “Yes. That might be the best way.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  On the Tuesday afternoon, when Petrella and Mr Tasker were shown into Chief Superintendent Watterson’s office, they found four men there. In addition to Watterson they were Liversedge, Chief Superintendent Roper, head of MS 15, the Police Disciplinary and Complaints Section, and, to Petrella’s surprise, Mr Batson, QC. As soon as they were seated he scribbled a note for Mr Tasker, who read it impassively and added it to his other papers.

  Watterson opened the batting.

  He said, “This is a new procedure. You might call it an experiment. It is designed to sort out those cases – we’ve had far too many of them – where some member of the public blows off steam against a police officer, maybe justified and something in it; but maybe out of spite and nothing in it, resulting in a smeared policeman and a waste of everyone’s time. However, since we have stated, more than once, that all complaints against the police would be looked into, we have designed the PDE as a sieve, through which complaints can be passed. A quick and simple hearing, in private, to arrive at a speedy conclusion. The proceedings are recorded on tape.”

  Petrella had already noticed the squat boxes, one on each side of the table, and had guessed their purpose.

  “If we conclude that there is substance in the allegations, then the recording goes forward to the disciplinary hearing which will follow. If we conclude that there is no real substance, then the complainer is so informed, the tape is destroyed and the matter is concluded. All clear so far?”

  Petrella and Mr Tasker nodded.

  “The other point which I have to make is that this is not a court of law. We keep it simple. No speeches, no examination and cross-examination of witnesses. The procedure we have developed is that the complaint, and all evidence in support of it, is supplied to the person complained of, in writing. He is invited to give such explanation as he thinks necessary and we, or any one of us, can question that explanation or ask for further details. Whilst no witnesses are called, it is open to the accused to put forward what his witness would have said in the form of a written statement signed by that witness. If the matter does go further, then that witness can be called and examined and cross-examined in the usual way. Over to you, Mr Tasker.”

  Mr Tasker swivelled round, looking at all four men in turn, focusing finally on the lawyer. He said, “Before I start I’d like to clear up one point. Who does Mr Batson represent?”

  Batson said, “I represent the police and am instructed by MS 15.”

  “And were you instructed by them also at the inquest on Poston-Pirrie?”

  A flush of annoyance appeared on Mr Batson’s face and he said, “Certainly not.”

  “Then might I ask who instructed you on that occasion?”

  “The question is irrelevant and I decline to answer it.”

  Mr Tasker raised one of his heavy eyebrows and looked at Watterson, who said, “Really, Mr Batson. Even if the question is irrelevant I see no reason why you shouldn’t answer it.”

  Mr Batson was clearly tempted to ignore this suggestion, but he may have reflected that it was bad tactics to start by upsetting the chairman. Also he suspected that Geoff Tasker had raised the matter simply to needle him, a tactic for which he was notorious.

  He said, “If you so rule, sir. I have no objection to stating that on that occasion I was instructed by the Sentinel newspaper. I still fail to see the relevance of this line of enquiry.”

  “Surely it is relevant,” said Mr Tasker. “We are dealing here with complaints that originated from the Sentinel. If you were instructed by them so recently, would it not have been preferable for the police to instruct some other barrister to take part in this enquiry?”

  Mr Batson looked at Watterson, who said, with a smile, “You yourself, Mr Tasker, appear one day for the police and the next day against them. I think we must allow Mr Batson to be similarly dispassionate.”

  Mr Tasker said, “Very well, sir. I’m sure he’ll do his best to be dispassionate. Now, I do not propose to trouble the tribunal about the first part of this case. I refer to the vague and unauthenticated items”—he examined the document in his hand with evident distaste—“which, we are told, one Ted Lewis passed to one Roy Saunders, or which one Arthur Basset heard from one Frank Cole and passed on to one Sam Levy. If these gentlemen ultimately appear to enlarge on these titbits of gossip we may find out who they are, where they come from and what weight is to be attached to their table talk – or should I say their public bar talk? If, and when, they are called I shall be delighted to cross-examine them on these matters. Until then I submit that their evidence is worth less than the paper it is written on.” He then placed the document at the bottom of the pile of papers he had in front of him.

  Mr Batson said, “If I might, sir. I would agree with my friend that if the two main charges fail, then these preliminary matters, which he is lightly dismissing, cannot stand by themselves. I would submit, however, that if the main charges are substantiated these auxiliary matters lend a certain weight and colour to the allegations affecting, as they do, the general repute of the officer in question.”

  “When you say colour,” said Mr Tasker, “I imagine you refer to the redness of our old friend the red herring. However, since I am confident that what you call the two main charges will both be dismissed, I am more than happy to go forward on that basis. These two photographs show Superintendent Petrella,
in a club of dubious repute, in the company of a man identified as Mai Martiennsen, a printer and distributor of pornography. They show other things which I shall come to in a moment. However, I will now ask the superintendent to tell us how he came to be there.”

  Petrella explained the message he had had from Superintendent Kay. Mr Batson said, “I should like to be clear about this. Did Kay suggest the meeting, or did Martiennsen suggest it?”

  “The suggestion came from Martiennsen. Kay passed it on.”

  “And when you decided to act on this suggestion,” said Mr Tasker, “what did you do?”

  “I made an entry in the station Occurrences Book.”

  This reply was so unexpected that it produced a moment of silence.

  “I have here a photocopy of the relevant page,” said Mr Tasker. “As you will see, it records that the superintendent would be away from the station for about an hour to meet a Mr Martiennsen who might have some information for him. This does not tell us anything we didn’t know already, but it does at least demonstrate that there was no secrecy about the meeting. Please note that the entry is timed six-thirty. So, what happened next?”

  “The suggested time of the meeting was six-thirty and I was already late. So I grabbed a taxi and went right along. Arriving, I suppose, around seven o’clock. Perhaps a little earlier.”

  “And then?”

  “The meeting was brief and I suppose I was back in my office not much later than half past seven.”

  “Again by taxi?”

  “Yes. This one was a bit faster as the rush hour was easing up.”

  Mr Tasker said, “Since these timings are important, I shall be confirming them from a number of different sources later. For the moment I suggest that you examine the photographs. You all have copies? Good. The first point, again, is one of timing. If you look closely you will see that there is a man in the background lighting a cigarette. In photograph number one he is clicking on his lighter. In number two he is applying it to his cigarette. Suggested interval, not more than five seconds. I make the point since otherwise it might be supposed that there was a considerable interval between the photographs and that they record a conversation of some length. They do no such thing. They record the opening moment of an extremely brief conversation.”

  “Where are these photographs taken from?” said Watterson.

  “It seems, sir, that the whole business is controlled from behind the bar. At intervals brighter lighting is switched on and the cameras, which are in a gallery beside the lights, come into action.”

  Watterson made a note on the pad in front of him. The silence whilst he did so had a hint of storm weather behind it. When he had finished he said, “Please continue, Mr Tasker.”

  “You said, Superintendent, that the interview was brief.”

  “Brief and unsatisfactory. I wanted to know who was behind a company called ‘Intriguing Publications’. After fluffing around he said that he might be able to find out, but it would cost me money. Upon which I gave him up and departed.”

  “Leaving your drink behind you?” said Watterson. “Do you know what it was?”

  “Allegedly white wine, sir. He pushed it at me. I pushed it back and it finished up in no-man’s-land.”

  There was a further brief silence, broken by Roper, who said, “The story from the Sentinel which accompanied these pictures is, as you will have seen from the documents supplied to you, radically different. It is based on the testimony of Martiennsen. In his version you had a friendly talk, which lasted for more than an hour, accompanied by a number of drinks, of which the one on the table was only the first. And that, at the conclusion of it, he promised you a substantial sum of money if you would drop your enquiries into this company, ‘Intriguing Publications’.”

  “And what did I do?” said Petrella, who seemed to be more amused than alarmed.

  “You promised to consider the matter.” Turning to Watterson, Roper added, “So far, this seems to me to be one man’s word against another’s.”

  “Fortunately,” said Mr Tasker, “that is not so. Other men were involved. In one case, quite closely involved. Two of them were playing a game of draughts at a table not more than a yard away. Statements which have been taken from them are practically identical, so I will only trouble you for the moment with one of them.” He read from a sheet of notepaper which was scrawled across with crabbed writing. “’I observed the curious conduct of the two men at the table behind us. On account of the general din, which seemed to be a permanent feature of that place, I was unable to hear much of their conversation, but the black-haired man seemed to be making the running. He pushed a drink towards Superintendent Petrella, who pushed it back again. Their subsequent exchanges were brief and, I thought, rather bad tempered. After about five minutes the superintendent got up and left. Our table was so close to his that he accidentally knocked it over when squeezing his way out.’”

  “Who are these men?” said Watterson.

  “One of them, sir, was Lieutenant-Colonel Peter Winchip, late of the Indian Army, now standing adviser to the British Museum on Indian manuscripts and illustrated missals. The other was a Mr Wilfred Wetherall—”

  “Good heavens!” said Watterson. “Is he still alive?”

  “You knew him?”

  “If you mean the man who was once head of the South Borough Secondary School, certainly I knew him. Both my sons were there. The boys used to call him Wellington Wetherall, on account of the shape of his nose and a certain rigidity of character.”

  Mr Tasker said, “I hope I am right in assuming that you would place more reliance on the evidence of two men like that than on the unsupported testimony of a self-confessed pornographer.”

  “Certainly,” said Watterson, turning to Roper. “Quite apart from the character of the witnesses, I make the odds three to one.”

  “You will find,” said Mr Tasker smoothly, “that the odds are even longer than that.” He picked up another piece of paper. “For some time Superintendent Morrissey has been suspicious of the Quartermass Club. Some of the villains he was particularly interested in – among others Leonard Farmer and Andy Hicks – were known to frequent it and he had put the club under surveillance. Two of his men were on duty that evening. They both knew Superintendent Petrella by sight. In their report there is a note of his time of arrival – six-fifty-five – and his departure – seven-fifteen.”

  “Five to one. Game, set and match,” said Watterson. Liversedge nodded. Roper said, “Then this means that Martiennsen was lying.”

  “It means,” said Watterson coldly, “that if he dares to repeat his statement on oath he will be in very bad trouble indeed.”

  Speaking for the first time Liversedge said to Petrella, “I assume that you knew Winchip and Wetherall and that they knew you. Was it a coincidence that they should happen to have been there?”

  “Certainly not. In the ordinary way neither of them would have been seen dead in a place like that. They went there to oblige me.”

  “Fortunately, as it turned out. But why did you ask them?”

  “When I heard the name of the club, I remembered that it was the place where those photographs were taken that weighed so heavily against Superintendent Hood.”

  No one seemed anxious to break the silence which followed. Eventually, speaking slowly, as if he was dictating an official report, Roper said, “Superintendent Hood was investigated by my office. It is true that the evidence against him did contain photographs taken at that club. But they were only a small part of the total evidence.”

  “Just so,” said Watterson hastily. “I think we are being led off the track. Please proceed, Mr Tasker.”

  “About what has been referred to as the second main charge, I have very little to say. It seems to have been totally misconceived. The principal document in support of it is, as you have seen, a photocopy of a board minute of Intriguing Publications. It runs: ‘The directors considered an application for shares from Pedro Casimir Petrella
of Flat B, 27 Grove Road, El4. Resolved: in view of the services the applicant had rendered to the company that 2,000 ordinary shares be allotted to him gratuitously. The secretary to be instructed to forward the relevant share certificate in due course.’ And there is a note dated August 30th that the certificate was duly despatched.”

  “I was given to understand,” said Roper, “that Pedro Casimir was the correct form in Spanish of your given name and that this is your address.”

  “Half right,” said Petrella. “This is my address, but not my name. I am, and always have been, Patrick. Pedro Casimir is my cousin, the son of my father’s younger brother. A letter which arrived recently and which I forwarded to him contained, I understand, the share certificate referred to.”

  Mr Batson, who had been silent for some time, looked up from leafing through a sheaf of memoranda. He said, “I find this puzzling. I know, of course, that the superintendent is commonly referred to as Patrick, but in the light of this document I, too, supposed that it was the English form of his name.”

  “Not so,” said Petrella. “If Pedro had to be reproduced in English it would surely be Peter, not Patrick. In any event, it does not arise. Mr Tasker has all the relevant documents.”

  “Dealing first with the cousin,” said Mr Tasker. “His birth was registered, in the normal way, in Spain. I have here a faxed copy of the original certificate showing the names, as you can see, Pedro Casimir. With regard to the superintendent, the situation is rather more complicated. He was born when his parents were, temporarily, in Beirut. In accordance with local regulations, his birth was registered at the Spanish Consulate. Unfortunately, this building, like so many others in Beirut, was totally destroyed in the subsequent fighting and its records perished with it. However, when the family, which seems to have been continually on the move, arrived in England, the superintendent’s mother, an Englishwoman, insisted that the child should be baptised and this was carried out at St Michael’s Church, Portsmouth. I have the baptismal certificate here, signed by the rector. It shows the child’s name as Patrick. No other names.”