Hidden in Plain Sight

by Jeffrey Archer

  The journalists looked delighted with this new piece of information, and their pens scratched away even more enthusiastically. The cacophony of murmured conversations that broke out in the court gave Sir Julian a little time to consider his next question.

  “So, what did you have to offer the police that was worth ten thousand pounds?”

  “I gave them the name of Tulip.”

  “Tulip?”

  “Terry Holland. He’s a big-time London drug dealer. Makes around a hundred grand a year. I also supplied them with the names of sixteen of his best customers, and in return I was promised ten grand and safe passage abroad for me and my girlfriend.”

  The journalists didn’t stop scribbling.

  “And was Mr. Faulkner one of those customers?” asked Sir Julian, trying to recover.

  “No, he was not, sir,” said Heath firmly.

  Grace handed her father another note.

  “You do realize that you’re under oath, Mr. Heath?”

  “I most certainly do, sir. Your daughter told me only this morning when she visited me in my cell how important it was that I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, otherwise I could go to jail for committing perjury. If you doubt my word, Sir Julian, I’m sure that Mr. Faulkner, his butler, and his chef will all confirm my testimony.”

  Faulkner nodded, and this time he noticed that several members of the jury were now looking in his direction. Sir Julian recalled his son’s words when they had discussed Heath soon after he’d been expelled from school. One of the brightest boys in his class, but not to be trusted. He had to accept that Heath would have an answer to every one of his unprepared questions, as he’d obviously been rehearsing his responses for some time.

  “No more questions, m’lud,” Sir Julian managed, before slumping back down on the bench.

  Mr. Justice Baverstock turned his attention to defending counsel. “Do you wish to cross-examine this witness, Mr. Booth Watson?”

  “No, thank you, m’lud. I am quite satisfied with Mr. Heath’s testimony.”

  “I’ll bet you were,” said William, a little too loudly from the back of the court, and although the Hawk frowned, he had to agree with him.

  “Mr. Heath, you are free to leave the court,” said the judge reluctantly.

  “Thank you, m’lud,” said Adrian, before stepping out of the witness box and heading straight for the nearest exit.

  The judge rose and said, “The court is adjourned until two o’clock. However, I would like to see both counsel in my chambers.”

  The two advocates bowed, aware that this was not a request.

  “Warwick,” said Lamont, his eyes fixed on Faulkner, who was stepping down from the dock, “I need to know where Heath’s going. And, Paul, you follow Faulkner. Don’t let either of them out of your sight.”

  “I suspect they’re both going in the same direction,” suggested the Hawk.

  William had to dodge in and out of the bustling crowd heading for the door, while at the same time trying to keep an eye on Heath. Once he was outside in the corridor, he dashed toward the wide sweeping staircase, and didn’t stop running until he was out on the street, his eyes darting in every direction until he finally spotted a familiar figure climbing into the back of a Bentley.

  “Damn,” said William. He began looking around in vain for a taxi, and once again stared at the parked car that hadn’t moved. To his surprise a motorbike screeched to a halt by his side.

  “Jump on, sarge,” said Paul, handing him a crash helmet.

  * * *

  “Good to see you again,” said Faulkner, when Heath joined him in the back of the car.

  “Let’s hope it’s for the last time,” said Heath, as the two men shook hands. “Because I don’t want to be dragged back into the witness box and have to explain how the drugs ended up in your statue, if I didn’t sell them to you.”

  “You won’t be going back,” said Faulkner. “That’s the last thing I need.” He handed Heath two first-class tickets to Rio de Janeiro, a new passport, and a small attaché case. “By this time tomorrow, you and your girlfriend will be on the other side of the world, leaving the Crown with no choice but to drop the case, and my wife will finally be left with no choice but to sign her divorce papers.”

  “Thanks to our mutual friend from Hampshire,” said Heath, as he opened the briefcase and stared down at twenty thousand pounds stacked in neatly wrapped cellophane packets. “You’ve certainly kept your side of the bargain,” he added. “Double what the fuzz were willing to pay me.”

  “Worth every penny,” said Faulkner, “if it’s going to keep me out of jail and Christina unable to cause any more trouble. I can’t afford to hang about. I have to be back in my place by two o’clock, otherwise it will cost me a million pounds. Twenty thousand is one thing, a million is quite another.”

  “Understood,” said Heath, as they shook hands a second time. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks to you I don’t think I’ll need it. Eddie, take my friend to Heathrow, because I wouldn’t want him to miss his flight.”

  * * *

  “Can I offer you a stiff drink, Julian?”

  “A bit early for me, m’lud, but yes, make it a double whiskey,” he said, as Booth Watson entered the room.

  “Same for you, BW?”

  “No, thank you, m’lud,” said Booth Watson, as he removed his wig. “I’m still trying to recover from what just happened out there.”

  “You’re not going to pretend it came as a total surprise, are you?” said Julian, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

  “I was just as shocked as you,” admitted Booth Watson. “Have you forgotten that I called your office only last week to ask if you would consider making a plea bargain, and you turned my request down, quite eloquently if I remember correctly?”

  “Perhaps I might reconsider…” began Sir Julian.

  “It’s a bit late for that now,” said Booth Watson. “I suspect you’ve no choice but to pack up your tent, climb back on your camel, and move your caravan on to a new watering hole.”

  “I shall take instruction from my masters at the CPS,” said Sir Julian, playing for time. “But I fear they may well agree with you and recommend that all the charges be dropped.”

  “And you, BW?” asked the judge.

  “Like Julian, I shall take instructions from my master.”

  18

  The silver-gray Bentley Continental drew up outside terminal three.

  Heath appeared relaxed as he got out of the car clutching firmly onto the briefcase, his only piece of luggage. He was heading toward the terminal entrance when a motorcycle skidded to a halt in the no-parking zone.

  “You go after him,” said Paul. “I’ll catch up.”

  “I’ve seen that bike somewhere before,” said William, as he took off his helmet and pointed to a black Yamaha that had been dumped in the disabled parking area. “But where?”

  “It passed us on the motorway,” said Paul. “The rider slowed down as he drew level with the Bentley, and looked in the back window before taking off again.”

  “No, I’ve seen it somewhere else,” mumbled William, as he set off in pursuit of Heath. Once he was inside the terminal, he quickly checked the departures board. BRITISH AIRWAYS FLIGHT 012 TO RIO DE JANEIRO, 16:20. GATE 27 flicked up on the display. He passed quickly through the crowded concourse, avoiding suitcases and outstretched legs as he headed toward the check-in desks, his eyes continually searching for his quarry. And then he spotted Adrian, still dressed in his smart courtroom-appearance suit, embracing a young woman at the BA counter who he assumed must be Maria Ruiz. He slipped behind a pillar, and waited for Paul to join him.

  William watched as they kissed and began chatting excitedly. He only wished he could overhear their conversation.

  “How did it go?” asked Maria.

  “Exactly as planned, except I ended up with twenty grand, not ten.”

  “Don’t you feel a little guilty ab
out what you’ve done to your old school friend?”

  “Not if his father’s half as bright as the press claim. By this time tomorrow, if not sooner, he’ll have gone over the transcript of my testimony and seen that I’ve handed him a golden opportunity to trap Faulkner. So it’s even more important we’re well out of harm’s way long before Faulkner finds out that I double-crossed him.”

  “Our flight leaves in forty minutes,” said Maria, checking the departure board.

  “Perfect. But it would be better if we split up, and meet again on board the plane. There might be someone looking out for us. You take this,” he said, handing over the briefcase and her ticket.

  Maria embraced him again, before reluctantly leaving to climb onto the escalator leading to departures. After waving to her, Adrian headed toward the men’s room.

  William watched as Maria disappeared from view. His instructions had made no mention of her. He was simply to arrest Heath and bring him back to the Old Bailey.

  “On what charge?” he’d asked Lamont.

  “My bet is he’ll be traveling on a false passport, and there’ll be enough evidence in that briefcase to prove his testimony was bought. Don’t be surprised if you find it’s a lot more than ten thousand.”

  A few moments later a voice said, “Do you want me to follow her, sarge?”

  “No. We’ll arrest Heath first and then go after her. She won’t be going anywhere without him.”

  They both kept their eyes on the men’s room, as they waited for Heath to reappear.

  “He’s taking his time,” said Paul. “A change of clothes perhaps?”

  “No, he didn’t have anything with him when he went inside. My bet is they’ve agreed to meet up again on the plane.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “She’s got the money.”

  “Should I go and check he’s still in there?”

  “Where else could he be?” said William, as a man they both recognized immediately came running out of the men’s room.

  “So now we know who was on the other bike,” said Paul. “Which one do you want me to go after?”

  “Tulip,” said William, remembering where he’d last seen the black Yamaha. “And make sure you arrest him.”

  “On what charge?”

  “I have a feeling I’m about to find out,” said William, as he headed for the men’s room. “Get going!”

  Paul took off after Tulip, no longer caring about stray bags or stretched-out legs, and just as William had reached the entrance to the men’s room another man came rushing out, shouting, “Help, somebody call the police, help!”

  As William was about to go inside, a third man burst past him, struggling to do up his zip while on the move. William pushed open the door and tentatively entered the washroom. He came to a sudden halt, momentarily paralyzed by what he saw in front of him. During his time on the force, he had encountered several dead bodies: old people who’d died peacefully in their homes, drug addicts with needles sticking out of their arms, even a battered wife who’d hanged herself in front of her young children. But nothing could have prepared him for this.

  Sprawled across the floor was the lifeless body of Adrian Heath, surrounded by a pool of blood. Only moments before he’d been looking forward to starting a new life with his girlfriend in Rio. Adrian’s throat had been cut in one clean movement by someone who knew what he was doing, and his right eye had been gouged from its socket and left by the body as a warning to any other dealer who might even think about becoming an informer.

  “Don’t move!” shouted a voice from behind him.

  William raised his arms and said firmly, “I’m a police officer. I’m going to show you my warrant card.”

  “Slowly,” said the voice.

  William extracted his card from an inside pocket and held it up for the officer to see.

  He heard footsteps advancing toward him, followed by the words, “OK, sergeant, you can turn around.”

  William swung around to see an older police sergeant, trying to remain calm, accompanied by a young constable who couldn’t stop shaking. Airport police usually deal with illegal immigrants, the occasional pickpocket, sometimes a passenger who has removed a bag from the carousel that isn’t theirs. This certainly wasn’t part of their job description. William accepted he would have to take charge.

  “Listen carefully,” he said. “The first thing I need you to do is cordon off the whole area. Make sure no members of the public are allowed anywhere near this washroom.”

  The young constable quickly left the room, a look of relief on his face suggesting he was glad to escape.

  “Sergeant, I want you to phone Detective Superintendent Lamont at Scotland Yard. Tell him Adrian Heath has been murdered, and DC Adaja is in pursuit of the suspect, known as Tulip.” William made him repeat the message, as another officer appeared. He turned away the moment he saw the body.

  “I need you to inform the airport’s duty officer and take control of the crime scene,” said William to the third officer. “The body is not to be moved until officers from the murder squad authorize it.”

  “Yes, sir,” said another man who was only too happy to obey orders.

  William squatted on one knee next to Heath’s body and extracted a boarding card and passport from an inside pocket. The photograph was of Heath, although the name wasn’t.

  “Sorry, old friend,” said William. “God knows, you didn’t deserve this.”

  When William emerged from the men’s room, he found two more policemen cordoning off the crime scene, while a group of exasperated passengers were demanding to know why they couldn’t use the washroom. If he’d told them, they would have peed in their pants.

  The older sergeant hurried back to join him.

  “The forensic medical examiner should be with us fairly soon. I wasn’t able to get through to Superintendent Lamont because he’s been called to give evidence at the Old Bailey. A Commander Hawksby says you’re to take over until a crime scene manager arrives.”

  “Understood. Make sure—”

  “This is the last call for BA flight 012 to Rio de Janeiro. Will all remaining passengers please make their way to gate twenty-seven, as the plane is about to depart?”

  “—that no one other than the lab liaison sergeant and the FME are allowed anywhere near the body. And one more thing—”

  “You’re leaving me in charge?” said the officer.

  “Yes, but not for long,” said William, as the sound of blaring sirens grew louder and louder. “There’s someone I have to question before her plane takes off.” Without another word he began running toward the escalator, taking the steps two at a time.

  The officer at passport control looked up in alarm at the bloodstained, breathless man who’d jumped the queue. He was about to press the panic button below the counter when William produced his warrant card, shouting, “Rio?”

  “The gate’s about to close, sergeant,” he said. “I’ll call ahead and warn them you’re on your way. I hope you catch the bastard.”

  William took off once again. Two ground staff were waiting for him by gate 27, and after a cursory check of his warrant card he was ushered down the walkway and onto the waiting aircraft, where he joined the last of the passengers looking for their seats. He checked the seat number on Adrian’s boarding pass, before making his way down the aisle searching for a woman he’d never met. He came to a halt when he saw Maria Ruiz clutching on to a briefcase, anxiously searching for a different face.

  William changed his mind. He turned around, walked back along the aisle to the exit, thanked the stewardess, and returned to the terminal.

  BA flight 012 to Rio de Janeiro took off on time, although one of the passengers was a no-show.

  * * *

  “That was the Director of Public Prosecutions,” said Sir Julian, putting the phone down.

  “It’s not hard to guess what they’ll be recommending,” said Grace.

  “Following Heath’
s evidence this morning, they’re advising me to contact Booth Watson and try to make a deal.”

  “I know exactly what two words I’d say to that suggestion if I was BW,” said Grace, “and one of them would have four letters. What sort of deal did the DPP have in mind?”

  “We agree to drop the charge of intent to supply, in exchange for Faulkner pleading guilty to possession. He’ll have to pay a heavy fine, but will only be given a two-year suspended sentence. However, typical of the DPP, they say they’ll leave the final decision to us.”

  “That’s why they’re known as the Department of Pontius Pilate,” remarked Grace. “So Faulkner will get away with it yet again. If he goes on like this, he’ll be on suspended sentences for the rest of his life, and never see the inside of a prison cell.”

  “What would you do, Grace, if you were my leader on this case, and I were your junior?”

  Grace was taken aback for a moment, as her father had never before sought her advice on such a major call. She thought about his question for some time, because although she was flattered, the look on his face left her in no doubt that he was waiting to hear her opinion before he came to a decision.

  “I wouldn’t let Faulkner off the hook quite that easily,” she said. “He still has to explain away the twelve grams of cocaine that the police found in his home, and even if he could convince the jury that he didn’t know how it got there, he won’t find it easy to account for the twenty-pound note, which William’s convinced is the one question he won’t be able to answer.”

  “I agree with William. But we’ll still need Faulkner to give evidence before we can raise the subject of the twenty-pound note. If I were representing him, I’d advise him strongly against going anywhere near the witness box. That will leave us with the task of having to prove him guilty beyond reasonable doubt, which will be nigh on impossible after Heath’s evidence this morning.”

  “Then we’ll have to try and appeal to Faulkner’s vanity,” said Grace, “and make it impossible for him to resist taking us on.”