The Jubilee Plot

by David Field

  Chapter Five

  ‘This is a long way from what I expected when I agreed to marry you!’ Esther protested, hands on hips, as Nell scuttled diplomatically out of the kitchen and began dusting the living room carpet for the second time that day. ‘I thought we’d be living quietly in rooms in London,’ she continued as her face reddened further, ‘while you worked harmlessly at the Yard and I spent my days waiting for you to come home and fold me in your arms. Instead you exiled me out here to darkest Essex, uncomfortably close to your mother, and filled me with four children. Now you tell me that you’re deserting me and going back to live with your uncle, as if we’d never been married!’

  ‘I’ll be coming home at weekends,’ Jack reminded her in what he hoped was a pacifying tone, but Esther was not in the mood to be so easily placated.

  ‘If I don’t change the locks on the doors!’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that, surely?’

  ‘And why shouldn’t I? Marriages are seven days a week commitments — not “I’ll pop back at weekends to give you more babies!” You’re seriously suggesting that there’ll be a “welcome home” party every Friday evening, after you’ve spent the week getting into mischief with Uncle Percy, not to mention the danger that he always seems to involve you in? Forget it, Jack! I’m not one of those pathetic little wifeys you can push to one side when it suits you, and I’m bitterly disappointed that you were so weak that you allowed Uncle Percy to talk you into deserting me, leaving me defenceless and lonely, with a desperate feeling of abandonment.’

  ‘I had no choice,’ Jack argued. ‘Uncle Percy was only the messenger — it was the Home Secretary who ordered me back inside the Yard to work with him, and the task I’ve been given may well stand me in good stead for promotion in the near future.’

  ‘So your so-called “police career” means more to you that I do, is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘No, obviously not. I’m just trying to explain that this is not another of Percy’s devious schemes. It’s a direct order from a senior Government minister, and a chance for me to prove that I’m ready to be promoted to “Inspector”.’

  ‘Well, when you deign to come home one Friday afternoon with your dirty laundry for washing, and that “let’s go to bed” look in your eye,’ Esther retorted, angry tears beginning to fill her own eyes, ‘you may find that all you have to inspect is an empty house!’

  Jack abandoned his efforts to talk Esther round, before matters deteriorated any further. He announced that he was going to walk in the garden before supper and let himself out through the scullery door. He kicked a few wilting cabbage stalks in the vegetable garden beyond the lawn and leaned on the boundary fence beyond which the rail line ran into Barking, as he considered his options in the vague hope that he might have any.

  Two days previously he’d been sitting in his office in Chelmsford when Uncle Percy’s familiar figure had appeared in his doorway with his customary cheesy grin.

  ‘How did you get up here, past the front desk, as a mere civilian recently retired from the force?’ Jack asked as he smiled at the prospect of a break from boring paperwork and a dinner companion downstairs in the “Dining Hall”, as it was officially known, where the appetising and heavily subsidised meals were often the only bright spot in a dull day.

  Percy held up his police badge and grinned even more widely.

  ‘I’m so well regarded by the Home Secretary that he begged me to withdraw my resignation in order to assist Special Branch with the security arrangements for the Queen’s Jubilee celebrations next June.’

  ‘I thought she celebrated that ten years ago,’ Jack objected, to a further smile from Percy.

  ‘That was her Golden Jubilee. The one next June will be her Diamond one. Sixty glorious years at the head of the British Empire.’

  ‘And why do they need Percy Enright to look after her security?’ Jack smiled back. ‘She’s greatly loved by all her subjects, or so we’re constantly being informed.’

  Percy’s smile faded somewhat. ‘Not all of them — and certainly not some of her own close family, or so I’ve been informed. Added to which, a lot of foreign Johnnies have been invited to this one, and I’ve been asked to make sure that the Met’s ready for the challenge of policing the thousands who’re expected over here with little command of English, and some rather strange personal habits. That’s where you come in.’

  ‘Because of my familiarity with strange personal habits?’

  ‘No, because you’re a Sergeant with no current position within the Met.’

  ‘Don’t remind me — this place feels like some sort of desert island some days. But since I’m no longer with the Met, what makes you think that I’d be of any use while Her Majesty’s being driven through the streets of London in her open carriage, waving at the great unwashed?’

  ‘Prior to that, we need to assess the readiness of the Met to rise to the challenge. This requires a “systems” review by someone of appropriate rank outside the Met. I immediately thought of you, and the Home Secretary’s approved your temporary transfer back down to Whitehall, working directly under me.’

  ‘What about my duties here?’

  ‘That’s Essex’s problem, but it goes without saying that your current position will still be available to you when you complete your temporary assignment.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘I need someone I can rely on, and it has to be someone of your rank who’s not in the Met. The chances are that you’ll emerge from it with the rank of Inspector, which should be sufficient to placate Esther.’

  ‘And why would I need to do that?’

  ‘Because you can’t be expected to take the train in and out every day, and there may be days when you have to work late. I thought you might like to move back to your old room in Hackney.’

  ‘So I can add Aunt Beattie’s cooking to the normal hazards of the job?’

  ‘Talking of cooking, what’s on today’s dinner menu?’

  ‘Don’t change the subject, but boiled beef and carrots.’

  ‘Excellent. I’m glad we got all that agreed.’

  ‘We agreed only on what’s for dinner,’ Jack reminded him. ‘What will this special assignment involve, exactly?’

  ‘Visiting each divisional lockup to make sure that they have sufficient men and other resources, that they’re adequately trained in crowd control, and that they don’t have any anarchists hiding in the woodwork, that’s all.’

  ‘Will I be able to go home at weekends?’

  ‘Of course. Wouldn’t want Esther to get all riled up, would we?’

  ‘I’m not sure she won’t anyway,’ Jack frowned. ‘I’ll have to pick the right time to tell her.’

  ‘Well make it soon, because we want you to start on Monday. Report to me, and if possible try to avoid Chief Superintendent Bray before you do, since he’s likely to be a bit shirty about my reinstatement.’

  ‘So we’re not reporting directly to him?’

  ‘No, to the Special Branch, who have overall responsibility for security on the big day.’

  ‘And the Home Secretary asked you personally to get involved?’

  ‘He certainly did. Over the dinner table at his country retreat in Chesham, last Monday.’

  ‘And what was Bray’s reaction?’

  ‘I haven’t actually told him yet.’

  ‘So where in the Yard building will we be located on Monday?’

  ‘No idea, at this stage.’

  ‘You haven’t actually shown your face in there yet, have you?’ Jack demanded as several pennies dropped at the same time.

  ‘Guilty as charged. I thought we might stroll in there together, armed with a letter signed by the Home Secretary.’

  Jack sighed. ‘I should have known that it was something not quite above board.’

  ‘And what makes you think that?’

  ‘The fact that you’re involved, for one thing,’ Jack smirked. ‘And the fact that you’re dragging me in with you. A
t least you can’t involve Esther this time.’

  ‘Don’t make that sound so much like a challenge, or I just might,’ Percy threatened him with a knowing smile. ‘I suggest that you plan to arrive at our house in time for tea on Sunday, then we can re-enter the Yard together first thing on Monday morning. Remember to give Esther a lingering goodbye kiss.’

  ‘It may be the last,’ Jack replied ruefully, ‘since I don’t think she’s going to be greatly impressed by my absences through the week, promotion or no promotion.’

  The atmosphere in the Bunting Lane house during the days before Jack was due to depart for Hackney would have been sufficient to preserve sides of meat in a butcher’s back room, and nothing that Jack could do seemed to thaw it to any degree. Meals were a dismal, silent affair in which he soon learned not to look across the table into the accusing eyes of the woman he dearly loved, who was behaving as if his mistress was seated next to him, and who responded to every polite question regarding her health, her happiness, her need for the salt to be passed to her, or the state of the laundry, as if it were a gross and offensive insult. As if he hadn’t been feeling sufficiently undervalued at home, he was made to feel somewhat surplus to requirements when advised by his own superior officer that the Essex Detective Branch could well withstand his absence for an indeterminate period, and all in all it was a considerable relief as he pushed open the front gate to Percy and Beattie’s house in Hackney — the scene of most of his teenage years — strode with his portmanteau up the rose bush-lined front path, and rang the bell.

  ‘Come in, darling boy,’ Aunt Beattie enthused as she wrapped him in a welcoming hug. ‘It’s going to be just like old times having you back here, and it compensates for not going to your mother’s today for the usual Sunday dinner.’

  ‘A kick in the arse would be adequate compensation for that,’ Percy replied with a grin as he waved Jack towards the sitting room door. ‘In there, Jack,’ he requested, ‘since we have a few things to discuss before your aunt cremates the sausages.’

  Once inside the familiar sitting room with its heavy wallpaper and the picture of Her Majesty on the sideboard, Percy’s face lost its eager grin. He opened a drawer to the sideboard with a key that he extracted from his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a bundle of soft files and handed the first of them across to Jack.

  ‘Those are the stations we need to look most closely at, by way of priority.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  Percy nodded. ‘Those are the ones we think are the most corrupted.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Well, Special Branch at this stage.’

  Jack stared back at him accusingly. ‘This isn’t quite as straightforward as you first led me to believe, is it?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, but if I’d given you the full picture you wouldn’t have been so keen to join me.’

  ‘As I recall, I wasn’t,’ Jack pouted, ‘and if you knew just how much trouble I’m in with Esther...’

  Percy raised his hand for silence, and continued in a lowered tone, with a half glance towards the closed door. ‘Not half as much as I’ll be in with both Esther and your Aunt Beattie if they find out what we’re really up to. But this is beyond any personal difficulties we may have to endure — it has to do with the personal safety of the Queen, and the future responsible governance of the nation.’

  ‘You’ve joined Special Branch, haven’t you?’

  ‘Not officially. We’re both still serving Yard officers with the usual authority over the Met in general, but in reality we’ll be snakes in the grass. Foxes in the henhouse. Spies on our own colleagues.’

  ‘Sent in by Special Branch?’

  ‘Precisely. If our true missions are discovered, we’ll be about as popular in police circles as a dose of the clap in a convent.’

  ‘So who will we be spying on, and why?’

  ‘Those police stations mentioned in these files are the first, but we may uncover information that leads us to others. In a few short words, we have reason to believe that “hostile elements” have begun to corrupt the Met from the inside, so that it won’t be functioning at its best when called upon to police the city during the Jubilee festivities.’

  Jack’s jaw dropped open. ‘I suppose it’s too late to refuse?’

  ‘Too late by several days. You’re in this with me, Jack, and if it’s any consolation I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have at my back while I stick my front where it won’t be welcome.’

  ‘Are you going to share these investigations with me, or just send me in and watch carefully where the bullets come from?’

  ‘I’m saddened to learn that you could think of me like that, Jack. Genuinely saddened and disappointed. Have I ever let you down at the critical moment?’

  ‘I need time to think about that.’

  ‘Well while you’re thinking, take a look at these files, which simply stink of corruption. Either that, or a level of incompetence that demands dismissal from the force.’

  He handed the first one over, and allowed Jack to peruse the front page, then raise his eyes to stare back at him in disbelief.

  ‘Were these real police officers raiding a Hatton Garden gem dealer, or robbers posing as police officers? If the latter, where did they get the uniforms from?’

  ‘Two very important questions that may be the strongest lead we have as to how deep the corruption goes already. I’ll be investigating that one, posing as the head of a disciplinary team that’s been sent in by the Yard. You’ll be posing as one of my assistants — in fact my only assistant — and here’s your first assignment.’

  He handed over a thin buff-coloured soft file, which Jack opened with eager eyes. He read what it contained, then looked back up at Percy.

  ‘At least I’m familiar with the location of this one. Those Wapping warehouses were a bleak sight at two in the morning when I was patrolling up and down the High Street on my very first foot beat. I was the most recent recruit in Leman Street, and it was traditional to send the newest bobby down that miserable lonely street. I remember just about pissing my uniform trousers when I passed each of those dark entrance passages.’

  ‘More recently it had become a fixed-point duty,’ Percy advised him, ‘and the fixed point in question was right outside the premises of Bartrams where the uniforms were being stored. As you can read for yourself, the constable appears not to have been on duty when the premises were broken into and then burned almost to the ground.’

  Jack was still reading and felt obliged to ask, ‘Presumably the staff of Bartrams were able to tell us how many uniforms they were storing?’

  ‘Regrettably not,’ Percy told him, ‘but the Army Office reckons that it was close to three thousand. The frightening fact remains that we don’t know if they were all consumed by the fire, or if some were stolen first.’

  ‘They wouldn’t be worth much, surely, except as blankets on cold nights?’

  Percy frowned. ‘You’re missing the point, Jack. How much would they be worth to an Anarchist group seeking to infiltrate an army detachment guarding the Queen? And you haven’t asked the obvious question about the constable who was supposed to be on fixed-point duty.’

  ‘I sought of assumed that he’d been murdered, so that the burglars could gain access without the alarm being raised,’ Jack admitted. Percy remained silent but pierced him with a stare accentuated by raised eyebrows, and Jack continued working his mind through the possibilities, before adding weakly, ‘That is, of course, assuming that he was there in the first place. In my day, even though we had a defined beat, it was rigorously timed, with the local Sergeant making “spot” checks to make sure that we were sticking to the times. The problem was that thieves and other ne’er-do-wells knew where we’d be at any given moment and timed their misdeeds accordingly. All that stopped after the Ripper, because they reckoned that this was how he’d managed to never get caught.’

  ‘And if the constable was required to remain in the same spot all the time �
�� the very spot where burglars needed access?’ Percy prompted him.

  Jack shivered slightly. ‘Either he wasn’t there at all, or they sneaked up on him and killed him. Neither possibility is a very pleasant one.’

  ‘There’s been no sign of his body since,’ Percy advised him, ‘so you work it out.’

  ‘You said this was my first job?’ Jack enquired. ‘How much background information can you give me on this Constable Ainsworth who should have been on duty?’

  ‘None whatsoever,’ Percy replied with a sour grimace, ‘since his Inspector in Leman Street — Inspector Ingram — refused to divulge it, even to Special Branch.’

  ‘Can he get away with that indefinitely?’ Jack asked, remembering his own days in the same police station, when his Inspector had been Edmund Reid. ‘And when was this Ingram first appointed?’

  ‘When Reid retired recently,’ Percy advised him. ‘Previously Ingram had been a Sergeant in Stepney, which will be another of your stations of enquiry. It’s in that second file I gave you, and labelled accordingly, since you need to find out what lay behind the unauthorised release of a prisoner who’d been found in a house full of military grade firearms. While you’re at it, and by way of an encore, you can find out what happened to some eighty Martini Henry rifles that were being stored under the arses of the Yard in one of its Whitehall vaults, and which disappeared at roughly the same time.’

  ‘This man Charles Ingram — previously the Sergeant at Deptford, and then and now Inspector at Leman Street — would seem to be the common link,’ Jack observed in what he hoped was an intelligent contribution to the enquiry.

  Percy smiled condescendingly. ‘Funnily enough, I had thought of that. However, I haven’t had time to pursue any sort of further enquiry in that direction, so be my guest.’

  ‘You’ve only handed me these two files so far,’ Jack observed. ‘Are there any more for me?’

  Percy shook his head. ‘Not at this precise moment in time, no. But it’s my optimistic belief that when you start digging into those two incidents you’ll be led into other enquiries that can become new case files. As you already appear to have instinctively grasped, there may be links between seemingly isolated incidents of corruption. But don’t lose sight of the possibility that some of the lapses you’ll be investigating might be put down to simple incompetence — let’s not jump into wild “conspiracy” conclusions without clear evidence that constabulary cock-ups can be eliminated. As you’ll know from sad experience, the Met is not without its idiots in uniform. Now let’s follow the smell of burning, shall we? I’m quite hungry after all this talking. Oh, and by the way — welcome home.’