The Maggie Bainbridge Box Set

by Rob Wyllie

  'I don't believe you.'

  'Well that's up to you. But what really puzzles me is the obvious thing that you and your genius Scotsman haven't worked out yet.'

  She looked him straight in the eye. 'What thing?'

  'You mean you don't know?'

  'What thing?'

  She could feel the anger and loathing burning her up. How could she have ever loved this man? All through their relationship he had revelled in his ability to wound her, exploiting her weak spots like a mediaeval swordsman finding gaps in the armour, and now she could spot the signs of another attack.

  'How a useless barrister like you got to defend Alzahrani in the first place. Forty-two years old, still not a Queens Council, and a variable record at trial to put it mildly. Just saying.'

  He snatched his son's hand and with a terse 'Come on Ollie, we're going now,' swept out of the restaurant.

  What did he mean by that? Nigel Redmond, the Clerk at Drake Chambers, had been straight with her when the brief came her way. Normally one for a QC, this one, that was what he said. She remembered how her initial reaction was utter astonishment and disbelief, that it must be a mistake and that he had meant it to go to one of the more illustrious members of their chambers. But no, he had confirmed that the CPS were happy for her to defend the case. He offered no further explanation and she did not ask for any, accepting it as a gift of fate, a wonderful gift that she meant to take full advantage of. But now the nagging doubts she had at the time began to resurface. Did Philip know something that she didn't? But forget all of that for now. Because there was no doubt about the look on his face when she had showed him the photograph. He had been scared shitless, not to put too fine a point on it.

  She shouldn't have shown him it, she knew that the second she had done it, but it was done now and shortly, she assumed, a huge dollop of dung was going to hit a bloody great spinning fan.

  Chapter 15

  The phone calls and messages started within seconds of him leaving the fast-food restaurant, setting off a wave of panic, anger, recrimination and fear. For the first time for many of them came the stomach-churning realisation that because of that damn dinner, careers might be ruined and lives trashed. But who would succumb meekly to the inevitability of being unmasked, and who was prepared to fight to the death, that was the question. And who could be trusted to keep their mouth shut?

  Meanwhile, in an exclusive gentlemen's club on Pall Mall, the distinguished member relaxed in a comfortable leather armchair, sipping on a fine malt and coolly contemplating how to react to this interesting news. There had always been a risk of it getting out and it was as well he had made plans to deal with the eventuality. A bit of a shame of course, much better if they could have kept it under wraps, but he had no doubt his associates would do a tidy job and nothing would connect it back to him.

  It needed only a simple encrypted text and the operation was up and running. Plan B. Signalling the waiter to fetch him another whisky, he gave a wry smile and returned to his copy of the Guardian.

  Chapter 16

  'What are you drinking Maggie?' They were back in Frank's surrogate office at the Old King's Head, quieter on an early Wednesday evening than on their last visit but still buzzing.

  'I'll just have a lime and soda please,' Maggie shouted over the hubbub, 'it's my new regime, I mean, have you seen the size of my bum right now?'

  Just in time, Frank remembered the two-day 'ethics at work' training course he had been recently forced to attend. Generally, he had thought it was a load of bollocks, but even he could see that the first response that had come into his head - 'actually Maggie, you've got a lovely arse' - was probably inappropriate, if unarguably true. This evening he was in high spirits because the sainted DCI Jill Smart had quietly and efficiently worked the system to gain permission to access the precious MI5 database, and what she had discovered from no more than a cursory search was absolute pure gold.

  'And I'm going to start running again. Jimmy said he would be my personal trainer. He said I should start with just half a mile but I'm aiming to do a 5k.'

  'Aye, well rather you than me.'

  'You should try it,' Jimmy said. 'You look like you're carrying a bit of timber at the moment.'

  'Bugger off.'

  'Boys, boys,' Maggie said, smiling. 'Anyway, I bet your days weren't as interesting as mine. Wait to you hear this.' And then she launched into a colourful dramatisation of the earlier events in the fast-food restaurant.

  '...so in the end I just lost it you see. Went completely mental. You should have seen his face afterwards though. It was priceless.'

  'Interesting day right enough,' Frank said, draining his pint.

  'Good for you,' Jimmy laughed. 'That arse had it coming to him. I wish I'd been there.'

  'Aye, but I wish you hadn't shown him the photo,' Frank said, more seriously. 'I did say not to, didn't I?'

  'Yes, I know Frank, I'm sorry, but I was just so bloody angry.'

  'Aye, well I can understand that. It's done now.'

  'Yes, look I knew you might not be too pleased, but it just sort of happened.'

  'I'm not really angry Maggie, it just makes things a bit more difficult, that's all. Anyway, let me bring you up to speed with what I found out yesterday. You're going to love this, believe you me. But before that, I think another drink is called for. You still on the orange juice?'

  Her resolve to go easy on the alcohol had lasted all of five minutes.

  'Chardonnay please Frank. Large one if you don't mind.'

  'Aye, no bother. Jimmy, your round I think.'

  'What a cheek,' Jimmy protested, but he set off in the direction of the crowded bar nonetheless. It was nearly ten minutes before he returned.

  Frank took his drink and raised the glass in silent appreciation. 'So, here's what happened. It's about three years ago, Cheltenham Spa railway station. It's about eight o' clock in the evening and one of the ticket office staff is just about to knock off for the night. Then he realises he's pretty desperate for a crap so heads along to the gents at the end of platform one. Pushes open the door of the first stall, which he assumes to be empty, and is surprised to find a bloke sitting on the bog with his pants around his ankles whilst a young lad kneels in front of him giving him a nice wee blow job. Taken by surprise, the lad jumps up, barges past the railway guy and disappears off into the night. The ticket officer is of upstanding morals and so calls the police, who arrive five minutes later and arrest Dr Tariq Khan under the Sexual Offence Act 2003, which has a lot to say specifically about acts of indecency in a public convenience. Under questioning the ticket guy, who's a racist bastard, says he's pretty sure that the lad pleasuring the good doctor couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen. Suddenly it's all got a lot more serious, and Khan is in deep shit. Sex with a minor, I mean, that's a life sentence potentially. Not to mention the shame in his community.'

  'Bloody hell,' Maggie said.

  'Aye, exactly, bloody hell. But it turns out that Dr Khan is working on some very important stuff for the government, top security, very hush-hush and it's not really the kind of work he could do from a cell in Belmarsh Prison. Furthermore, the police aren't able to find the youth, and the station's CCTV footage which caught both his arrival and his escape, is inconclusive with regard to his age. Naturally he's wearing a hoodie, so he could be fourteen, he could be twenty-four, it's impossible to tell. What's more, Khan says it had been purely a commercial transaction, arranged over some dodgy gay encounters website. Cost him fifty quid apparently.'

  'Rent boys in leafy Cheltenham?' Maggie smiled. 'Who would have thought it?'

  'Yes I know. But anyway, it's not long until there are a few discreet phone calls, quiet words in the ears of some of the CPS bigwigs, a rubber-stamp from the Home Office and suddenly it's all conveniently swept under the carpet. Khan gets away with a caution and two weeks later he's back at work as if nothing's happened.'

  'He must be pretty good at his job then,' Jimmy said.


  'Yeah, I think we can assume that's the case. He manages to avoid an entry on the Sex Offenders Register too. Of course, he's now got an MI5 file as thick as a telephone directory but only a wee caution on the criminal records system.'

  He took a large swig of his pint then emitted a loud burp.

  'Ah, that's better.'

  'Pure class,' laughed his brother.

  'Anyway, this brings us neatly on to that report of his. I think I might have told you about Eleanor Campbell, that wee girl that's been helping us with my bent copper enquiry? She knows a bit about facial recognition herself and not surprisingly, she also knows all about Dr Khan and his reputation too. I ask her to take a look at the report, and about an hour later she's on the phone, bamboozling me with techno-speak about how this AFR works - that's what we experts call it, by the way, automatic facial recognition to you lesser mortals. You probably don't know this, but it's all about facial landmarks and geometry and stuff like that.'

  'Stuff like that,' Jimmy said, grinning. 'Stuff like what, exactly?'

  'Eh, how big your eyes are, the size of your nose, that kind of stuff.'

  'Oh yes, that's very clear.'

  'Shut up will you? Anyroads the thing is, whilst the report undoubtedly dishes the dirt on the evidence that Professor Walker produced in court, Eleanor thinks the actual science behind Khan's conclusion is a bit suspect. As if he was trying to make the facts fit the conclusion that he wanted. Which is damned annoying, because it's all the wrong way round if it's going to fit in with a half-arsed theory I've got spinning around my head.'

  Jimmy frowned. 'So?...I don't think I get this at all.'

  'I don't get it either,' Maggie said. 'It's just.. well, weird.'

  'No I didn't at first either,' Frank said, 'but just an hour ago I learned something from my boss Jill Smart that perhaps made some sense of it. Well I think so at least. Or maybe not, I'm not sure.'

  'Come on then, tell us,' Jimmy said.

  'Patience Jimmy, patience. Before we start, I sense we are in need of further refreshment. Toddle off to the bar will you, and refresh our glasses, there's a good lad.'

  'I got the last one, you cheeky bugger.'

  Frank looked at him deadpan. 'Aye but this information I'm about to share with you is worth it. At least two drinks' worth, if not three.'

  Maggie laughed. 'Now then boys, don't make me tell you again. Actually, I think it's my shout. Same again?' They nodded in unison as she left for the bar.

  Frank glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was out of earshot. 'She's nice Jimmy, is she not?'

  'What, fancy her do you?'

  'Who wouldn't brother, who wouldn't? But do you fancy her, that's what I want to know'

  'Think I'd tell you if I did pal? No chance. But what's this all about then? You suddenly fallen in love or something?'

  Before he could answer, Maggie returned with the tray of drinks. They fell into an awkward silence.

  'What's going on here?' She laid the tray down on the table.

  'Nothing, nothing.' It wasn't exactly convincing.

  Frank raised his glass. 'Cheers Maggie. So, let me tell you what I found out from my boss just a wee while ago. She's brilliant Jill Smart, so she is.'

  'Fancy her too, do you?' Jimmy said.

  Frank glared at him. Jill was nice but he wasn't going to give his bloody brother any more ammunition to work with. 'No, being serious for once. As I said, Jill's brilliant and it only took her about an hour to get the green light from her boss to look at the MI5 database...'

  'Which database is that?' Jimmy said.

  'You don't want to know brother, believe me. You don't even want to know that it exists at all. Which in fact it doesn't, officially, if you know what I'm saying. Anyway, if you don't mind me continuing...'

  'Please do.'

  'So Jill's rooting around the database looking for anything on our persons of interest. Naturally, she starts with our excellent Home Secretary, the Right Honourable Gerrard Saddleworth MP, and low and behold comes across a heavily-redacted MI5 file marked 'Top Secret'...'

  Jimmy was unable to help himself. 'Ooh, top secret, so that means she couldn't look at it. That's a shame.'

  'Will you shut the bleep up please, if you'll pardon my bleeping French. So it turns out that just six weeks before the start of the Alzahrani trial, Gerrard Saddleworth is in Moscow in a seemingly unofficial capacity, purpose unknown. Naturally, an MI6 agent on the ground over there is given a surveillance brief, that's standard procedure for something like this apparently.'

  Maggie raised an eyebrow. 'You mean our security services are spying on our own government? And that's standard procedure?'

  'As Frank said, standard procedure,' Jimmy said, 'I know this from my army days. These MI5 and MI6 guys are still mainly public school, Eton and Oxbridge all that, and they're still expecting to uncover reds under the beds, even thirty years after the fall of the iron curtain.'

  'Exactly as Jimmy says. Anyway, for the first day or two, there's nothing much of interest, just a few meetings with some low-level government officials and the like. But then on the day that Saddleworth's due to return to London, he's whisked off early doors in a government limo to a dacha about thirty miles from the city. Naturally, he's tailed by our agent who on reaching the dacha, parks his car out of sight and settles himself down behind a convenient tree with a pair of high-powered binoculars and a camera fitted with a telescopic lens. Fifteen minutes later another black Mercedes turns up, and who should emerge but Miss Fadwa Ziadeh, who had not long before been anointed as leader of Hamas following the retirement or resignation, call it what you want, of her father Yasser.'

  'Ziadeh?' Jimmy said. 'She's the woman who's coming here soon for that peace conference, isn't she?'

  'Exactly. So Saddleworth and Ziadeh are in there for about an hour or so, topic of conversation unknown, then our agent snaps them leaving, exchanging a polite handshake on the porch. Saddleworth is then whisked off straight to the airport and returns to London that evening, where he attends the House of Commons to support some big three-line whip.'

  'The thing I don't get is that Saddleworth's never been a big supporter of the Palestinian cause,' Maggie said. 'In fact, he's been pretty scathing about the Party's fixation on it over the years. Says it doesn't play well on the doorsteps in his constituency. So how come he suddenly becomes all matey-matey with Miss Ziadeh?'

  'Well I don't know,' Jimmy said. 'Maybe it's not such big news that he's meeting with her. I guess it could be something to do with the peace conference that's coming up.'

  'Well yes possibly, but why a secret meeting in Moscow? No, I don't think so. You see, I've got a theory - a crazy theory - which I think might explain why they were meeting and also might explain what was going on at that Cathedral Close dinner.'

  Frank knew his idea was a bit left-field, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't think what else it could be. With a bit more time and a bit more information, he might be able to come up with something better, but for now, this was the best he could do. But probably better to run it pass Maggie and Jimmy before making himself look a pure idiot in front of the professional cynic that was DCI Jill Smart. There was only one problem, a big problem that he would have to face up to in the next minute or so. It was absolutely certain that Maggie Bainbridge was not going to like what he had to say.

  'All right then, tell us,' Jimmy asked for the second time that evening.

  Frank inhaled deeply. 'Ok, what I think is... and I emphasize, it's only a half-cocked idea at this moment ...what I think is that this was all about making sure Dena Alzahrani definitely was found guilty. An insurance policy if you will.'

  'Explain,' Maggie said, looking puzzled. 'I'm struggling a bit at the moment.'

  'So, we've read a lot about how Fadwa Ziadeh seems to be wanting to take Hamas in a new direction. No more rockets being fired into the West Bank, no more suicide bombers on Jerusalem buses. She seems to be offering an olive b
ranch to the Israelis in return for financial investment and greater self-determination for her people. But after decades of murder, or freedom fighting, depending on your viewpoint, the organisation is not trusted in the West and certainly not in Israel. Given this background, the last thing she needs is a notorious terrorist like Alzahrani getting off. No, she wants her found guilty and locked away for life so she can condemn her barbarous act publicly in the world's media and give full support for the punishment that's been dished out.'

  'I think I see where you're going with this,' Jimmy said.

  'Yeah, so what if Ziadeh arranges to meet with her old friend Saddleworth, and says Gerrard, what can you do to make sure the case is as tight as it can be? Saddleworth's not a fanatic but he's broadly sympathetic to the cause, so he agrees to help. When he gets back, he talks to Lady Rooke, big boss at the CPS, he talks to his old mate Philip Brooks. He says, guys, have you any ideas what we could do to make this happen?'

  And now it was time to bring the elephant into the room.

  'So perhaps somebody asks, who's in line to prosecute, and Rooke tells them that Adam Cameron's the favourite for the job. Who, by the way, also has a wee secret that he might want to keep well-buried. But anyway, he's a top man they say, with a brilliant track-record, never loses a case and everyone's happy with that. Thank god he's not defending then, someone laughs. And that puts an idea into their head.'

  Frank paused for a moment, conscious that he had better choose his words carefully. But there was no way to sweeten the pill.

  'It would be better, someone says, if we can steer the defence to someone well, a bit more plodding, a bit more average...'

  He looked at her, seeing the anger in her expression as she began to understand.

  'So they picked me. Because they thought I was rubbish.'

  'Sorry Maggie, but I think that's maybe what happened.' His tone was sympathetic.