As the suspect had died in custody, Doyle wasn’t certain that congratulations were in order, but accepted the accolade anyway, being as she’d caught him in a good mood. “It was an interestin’ case, sir.”
“And DCI Drake must be very grateful to you.”
“Yes—why yes, of course.” Doyle was suddenly struck by the fact that she hadn’t heard a word from the aforesaid DCI, despite the fact that she’d undoubtedly saved his life. Without her legwork, he’d have gone to meet Maguire all unknowing that he was going to his doom, and she drew the immediate conclusion that Drake was avoiding her because he feared that she knew the reason he had been targeted. Her scalp began to prickle, as it did when her intuition was making a leap—she should keep digging at this; it was important, for some reason.
Habib had asked a question, but she wasn’t paying attention, and so she tried to retrench. “What was that, sir?”
“Your caseload? I understand that you are giving support on the Wexton Prison case.”
On the contrary, it seemed that Acton wanted to keep her well-away from the Wexton Prison case, but she did not disclaim. “And I’m on the SOCO’s case, also, sir. DI Chiu was pulled into the Wexton Prison case, and so I’m doin’ some legwork, there.”
The Pakistani man raised his brows. “DI Chiu is now assigned to the Wexton Prison case?”
Doyle could sense a flare of chagrin from her supervisor, and so assured him, “The suspect was Chinese, and it was thought she might be helpful, in that regard.”
DI Habib, who knew his tribes, nodded in resigned understanding. “Ah—yes, I see.”
Doyle mentally girded her loins. “I wanted you to be aware, sir, that I am goin’ to be havin’ a baby.”
His reaction to this rather bald revelation surprised her; he positively beamed, as he leapt to his feet. “That is indeed wonderful news, DS Doyle. My congratulations to you and to the chief inspector.” She had the impression he almost unbent enough to embrace her, but refrained at the last minute. “You are feeling well, I hope?”
“As well as can be expected,” she hedged.
Still smiling, he nodded in his quick, bird-like manner. “You must not hesitate to let me know if you need to rest. Your health must be a priority.”
“I will, sir.”
Having managed to weasel out of any tedious assignments, Doyle took her leave, and made her way down to meet Williams at the utility garage. Interesting, she thought; Habib was sincerely delighted—she believed he longed to be a father, himself. The man was for all intents married to his job, and if he had a social life, no one knew of it. He had an enormous crush on Munoz, but that didn’t really count, as everyone else did, too. I hope he gets his wish, she thought charitably; I imagine he would be a good father. She thought about Acton, who also seemed delighted in his own way—faith, he’d pulled out the pregnancy treatise yet again last night, and pored over it like a hermit with the holy writ.
Before she’d had the miscarriage—when she was pregnant the first time around—she’d been a bit apprehensive about his reaction, Acton’s being how he was. Apparently, though, her husband did not view the baby as a rival for her affections, and it was not going to be a problem. It was interesting how fatherhood could transform men—why, even Solonik, who’d been a cold-blooded killer, had a weak spot for his son. Acton had taken ruthless advantage of it of course; in his own way, he was as cold-blooded as Solonik. Doyle decided she didn’t want to pursue this line of thought, and therefore was relieved when she spotted Williams, waiting for her near the lifts, with an extra cup of coffee in his hand.
Doyle hesitated, remembering she’d had coffee last night, but decided—as her mother would say—that she may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, and gratefully took it, as they stepped into the lift. “Do we have a protocol?”
“Not as yet; I honestly have no idea what this is about. Percy wanted to meet off- premises, though, so it must be a delicate situation.” He checked his mobile for the time. “She has a court appearance, and then she’ll be waiting at a pastry shop near the Old Bailey.”
As they walked over to the vehicle, Doyle teased, “I’m to stick to you like a burr, and slap her hand away, if she tries anythin’.”
He smiled his rare, lopsided smile as he opened the car door. “I would appreciate it.”
A few months ago, they’d met the junior barrister at the Inns of Court, when they were investigating the Maguire murders. Percy was attractive and competent, and had traded a few jibes with Williams in the time-honored manner of defense personnel when dealing with prosecution personnel. At the time, Doyle had gained the impression she was mightily attracted to her counterpart, and the girl was probably hoping Williams would take this opportunity to further their acquaintanceship. DI Williams, however, was well-experienced in thwarting the best-laid plans of many a maiden. Personally, Doyle thought Percy might be a good match for him, but as she’d not been consulted, she kept this opinion to herself.
As he drove, Williams observed, “You’re beginning to look a little different.”
“Thicker, you mean, but are too nice to say.”
He gave her an assessing glance. “Not very noticeable, as yet.”
She smiled as she sipped her coffee. “I told Habib today. He could have done the deed himself, he was that happy.”
“Now, there’s an image that would have been better left unspoken.”
She chuckled, and looked at the window for a moment, so as to control her queasiness. “I haven’t had a chance to discuss the Drake angle with Acton, but it does seem a little strange that Drake never contacted me, after Maguire was taken down. It’s almost as though he’s worried that I know the reason Maguire wanted to do him in.”
Her companion chose his words carefully. “I was wondering—I was wondering if perhaps there was a Drake connection to the Wexton Prison case, and that’s what Maguire knew.”
Doyle glanced at him in complete surprise, forgetting for the moment that she was queasy. “Truly? D’you think Drake was involved in the corruption scheme? How would that work—he’s prosecution, not defense.”
“I was thinking more about the sex trafficking angle.”
Once again, she stared at him in astonishment. “Is there a sex traffickin’ angle?”
“Acton hasn’t said?”
She lowered her cup to her lap. “Thomas, I am too dense to understand this; please speak plainly.”
But Williams was regretting the disclosure, and said only, “I shouldn’t have mentioned it, Kath. Promise you’ll say nothing; it’s being kept very quiet.”
Frowning, she considered what he’d said for a moment. “I thought the Wexton Prison case had somethin’ to do with embezzlement. Acton was nervous about me doin’ an embezzlement search, and leavin’ a trail so as to alert the villains that we were on to them.”
He glanced over at her in alarm. “Listen to him, Kath; remember these are the people that threaten female relatives.”
“Oh—oh, that’s right; small wonder Acton wants me well-away from it. But what does embezzlement have to do with sex traffickin’?”
“Don’t ask.”
Annoyed, she crossed her arms. “Honestly; everyone thinks I’m a baby.”
“In some ways, you are a baby,” was the unapologetic reply.
Doyle turned her head to gaze out the window at the passing scenery, but decided she couldn’t sulk just yet, as she still needed some questions answered. “Does the sex traffickin’ ring involve immigrant women?” She was thinking about Lestrade, hanging about with the new minister’s people, at the community outreach.
He glanced over at her, wary. “Why? What have you heard?”
But she was annoyed with him, and shrugged a shoulder. “Only that I’ve somethin’ to tell Acton—but don’t worry; I’ll not implicate you and your precious secrets.”
“Kath—”
She retorted hotly, “I can be discreet, y’know; I’m not a constant gabbler, despite all ind
ications.”
“It’s not my place,” he said firmly. “Please don’t put me in the middle, again.”
She was instantly remorseful, and subsided. Whilst Williams was loyal to Acton, he’d helped her out with the Savoie problem without telling her husband, and she could appreciate that he wanted to avoid a similar situation at all costs. Best not mention to Williams that Savoie may be involved in the current sticky situation; mental note. “Sorry,” she apologized. “It’s out of sorts, I am.”
“My fault.” He placed a hand over hers for a moment. “I shouldn’t have said anything to begin with.”
Into the ensuing silence, she suddenly remarked, “He’s worried about this case, you know—the Wexton Prison one.”
But Williams was not going to allow any more insights, and instead observed, “At least we’ve had a breakthrough with Zao; with any luck it will start to unravel, now.”
They parked at their destination, and ventured into the small pastry shop, unpopulated at this time of day, which was undoubtedly why it was chosen for the rendezvous point. A glass case displayed a wide variety of bakery items along one side of the interior, and several small tables lined the opposite wall. Percy was already seated at one of these near the back, and stood to greet them. On shaking Percy’s hand, Doyle caught a small flare of chagrin, but the girl gave no outward sign of her disappointment that Williams was accompanied by a gooseberry.
They settled in across from the junior barrister, and she began without preamble. “Thank you for coming; I felt I needed to come forward, but it is a sensitive subject, and I wasn’t certain how to go about it.”
“What’s happened?” asked Williams.
“The barrister I worked for—Mr. Moran—passed away recently.” She paused. “He’d not been in good health for some time.”
Doyle remembered meeting him; Moran was a well-respected criminal defense barrister with a thriving practice, yet he’d been swilking drunk at ten in the morning. Not a surprise that his health had not been good.
In his best detective manner, Williams asked, “Was there anything unusual about his death?”
“No,” the other said. “I am concerned about something he made reference to—oh, weeks ago.”
Doyle’s ears pricked up. When Percy said there was nothing unusual about Moran’s death, she was not telling the truth.
Percy continued, “Mr. Moran had just won a difficult case—was awarded an acquittal, where it looked unlikely. He was trying fewer and fewer cases, and so it was quite an occasion. We all went over to the pub to celebrate, and Mr. Moran had a few drinks.” She paused and glanced up at Williams. “He turned rather melancholy, and said something about Whitteside treating him like a supplicant, and not being a gentleman about it, like Colcombe was.”
Williams and Doyle digested this disclosure in silence for a moment. Colcombe was the judge, now dead, who’d had the most suspicious record of surprise acquittals and soft sentences. Whitteside, on the other hand, was a brand new judge, recently assigned to the prestigious Crown Court, and handling major crimes.
Williams asked, “And what did you believe he meant when he said this?”
“I think,” she said slowly, “that he was referring to the taking of bribes.”
Mother a’ mercy, thought Doyle in astonishment; while Acton is beating the bushes, I fall into a case-breaker whilst minding Williams’ virtue.
11
“Is it possible,” asked Williams in a level voice, “that you misunderstood? That he meant Judge Whitteside wasn’t as respectful toward him as Judge Colcombe?”
“No,” Percy replied in a quiet voice. “It wasn’t that type of remark.” She paused. “I don’t think he would have said it, except that he was in his cups.”
“And the sensitive part,” inserted Doyle at this point, “is that he implicated himself.”
Percy dropped her gaze to the table. “Yes.”
The last time she and Percy had met, Doyle had been impressed by the girl’s loyalty in what seemed to be a largely disloyal world. She understood the current dilemma; Percy hated to besmirch her former mentor’s reputation, but could not stand by, if she thought she had information that might be important. It was a difficult situation for anyone who wanted to protect the persons involved, but who also wanted to protect the justice system.
“Who was the defendant in Moran’s surprise acquittal—the one you were celebratin’?” Doyle asked. “Was it a woman?”
Both Williams and Percy looked at her in surprise. “It’s a theory,” she offered a bit lamely, hoping that neither would ask exactly what Acton’s theory was, since she didn’t know it, herself. Maybe it was true that she was a gabbler, after all.
“Yes, it was a woman.” Percy paused, and glanced at Williams. “I suppose you will want to know the details.”
The girl’s unhappiness was apparent, and Williams leaned forward, sympathetic. “I don’t know how we can proceed without implicating Moran. I’m sorry; if there’s any way to contain the damage, I’ll do my best.”
The other girl nodded, and Williams continued, “Can you think of another source of information in your chambers—perhaps closed files involving Judge Colcombe? Or other people on staff who might have known about this, or participated?” Williams was following the book, trying to find a trail of hard evidence that would support the dead man’s remark, as the remark alone was probably not enough.
“No.” Percy shook her head.
Again with the lying, thought Doyle in surprise. Merciful mother, what am I to do? Testing it out, she asked, “Do you know of any court personnel who may have been involved?”
“No. I am only allowed to sit second chair on occasion—usually summary offenses—and so I’m not very familiar with court personnel.”
“Have you heard any rumors?” Williams persisted. “If we can track down other concrete leads, it would help us take the onus off Moran.”
Good one, thought Doyle; appeal to the girl’s loyalty.
“It wouldn’t feel right to say,” she replied steadily. “I’d rather deal in evidence, not in rumors.”
“On the other hand, a lot of what we do is based on guesswork,” Williams countered. “Were there any other unexpected acquittals in your chambers? Within—let’s say—the last five years?”
The girl thought about it for a moment, and then seemed to come to a decision. “Let me double-check. I’ll make a list, but I don’t want to send anything electronically.”
“Understood,” Williams agreed. “Let me know when you have it ready, and I’ll meet up with you.”
Ah, thought Doyle; Williams is a wily one—he’s playing the let’s-meet-without-the-Irish-baggage card.
Now that she’d decided to help the enemy, Percy ventured a small smile. “I’ll try to get it to you tomorrow.”
As a course of action had been decided upon, they all rose. “We are grateful that you came forward.” Williams said, offering her his hand. “I know it was difficult.”
“It was,” Percy agreed. “But I’m glad I did; it was bothering me, and I didn’t like having a guilty conscience.” She checked the time, and her eyes could not help straying to him. “Time for lunch. Would you care to join me? There’s a little café a block away—it never takes long.”
But Williams was not going to bestow his presence until he got his list, and so shook his head with regret. “I’m afraid I’m due at an interview.”
Percy courteously included Doyle, who decided it would behoove her to spend some more time with the fair Ms. Percy of the contradictions. “I’ll go with you.”
She could feel Williams’ surprise as they walked toward the door, and he asked, “Do you have any money?” Doyle was notorious for continually being short of cash.
“I do,” she replied, and hoped it was true. “See you later, sir.” After giving her a look, Williams took his leave.
“Let me make a quick call to the Met, to let them know that I’m takin’ a lunch,” Doyle told Per
cy. “It will just take a second.” She walked a few steps away, and called Williams.
“Yeeees?” He was annoyed with her.
“Thomas, it is important you don’t speak to anyone else about this before we’ve had a chance to confer.”
“Oh? What’s up?”
“Can’t talk now, but its inperative.”
“Imperative, Kath. Right then; call me when you’re done, I’ll see where I am.”
Doyle rang off, and walked back to Percy. “Ready to go,” she said brightly.
They walked to the café, and on the way Doyle asked the other girl general questions about her work. She could feel Percy’s wariness relax, and by the time they were seated, the two were conversing in a friendly fashion.
Doyle looked over the menu and tried mightily to find something that sounded remotely appetizing. Percy ordered a watercress salad, and Doyle ordered plain toast, dry. In a sympathetic manner, Percy leaned forward. “If you are short on money, I’ll be happy to lend you some.”
Doyle smiled her appreciation. “Not the problem, I’m afraid. I’m pregnant, and I’ve been sick as a cat; I’ll stick to toast so as not to disgrace myself—here’s hopin’.”
“Oh—oh, congratulations.”
Doyle valiantly sipped some lemon water, and felt Percy’s silent perusal for a few moments. The other girl then asked, “Where are you from?”
“From Dublin, I am.” Can’t hide this accent under a bushel.
“How did you two meet?”
“We met at work,” Doyle replied briefly, and lifted her glass to drink again. She avoided all questions that probed into her courtship with Acton, being as how there really wasn’t one, to speak of.
“Will you marry, do you think?”
Doyle’s gaze snapped to Percy’s in surprise, and she set down the glass. “We are married.”
“Oh.” The other girl was surprised in turn. “Sorry—he doesn’t wear a ring.”
The light dawned, and Doyle explained, “I’m married to DCI Acton.”
Murder in Containment: A Doyle and Acton Mystery Page 7
