‘Glad to be of some use. When are you having the briefing?’
Deckman checked his watch. ‘In forty-five minutes, you will be there?’
Deckman felt an unmistakable relief as he closed the door behind him. For once she had not been suggestive. He detected that she was on edge, and trying hard to hide her apprehension. She had a right to be anxious, he thought, after all it was the most important event since she took office.
*
‘Hi, Jens, fancy entertaining a copper for lunch. It’s going to be a long night and I need to relax for a couple of hours. Good. See you at 12. 30.’
Jenny Deckman had been expecting the call. She knew it was the big day and her husband was concerned that he had put into place all that was necessary. And every time he needs to draw firearms he has to see her before the action starts. Just in case. Although he’s never said as much, she knew. She prepared one of his favourite midday snacks: Spanish tortilla with onion and red peppers. The chips were cut and ready to fry and the salad was on the draining board covered with a clean tea towel. The vinegar and olive oil would be added at the last moment.
‘Thanks, Jens, that was great. Sorry to spring it on you. That tortilla was delicious, a Spanish ‘mujer’ couldn’t have cooked it better.’
‘Thank you, kind Sir, would you care for a cup of coffee to wash it down?’
Before he could answer he felt the tickle of his mobile, on silent mode, vibrating in his shirt pocket. ‘Hello, Miss Lister, any news?’
‘Yes, Inspector, Tom Rawston has told me they will be going out on one of their late fishing trips, departing at 11. 30 tonight. He has asked me to let the marina night shift know.’
‘Okay, Trish, many thanks. Just finish your day as normal and don’t hang around. I have no doubt we shall see each other tomorrow.’ He looked at Jenny. ‘That’s the final confirmation, Jens. No, for the coffee, best be off. Lots to do. Not sure when I’ll be back so don’t wait up. It won’t be tonight, that’s for sure. Say goodnight to the boys for me and tell them I’ll make it up to them tomorrow. I’ll call you when I can.’
He took her in his arms and held her tight. He kissed her as if it could be for the last time. Like a soldier going off to fight a war. ‘Love you, Jens,’ he said as he shut the door. He always closed the door so she wouldn’t stand to wave him off and he always reversed the car into the drive so he didn’t have to see her looking out of the window. She knew his system, but she never said. Jenny Deckman sat down in her chair and reflected. It had been a difficult lunchtime, a quiet lunchtime with neither saying much about anything. Not because they didn’t want to, it was just how it was. How it was last time he drew a gun. She had wanted to tell him how much she, and the boys, loved him and to take great care, for their sakes. But she couldn’t because she didn’t want him to think more about them than the job he had to do. She went up to their bedroom, knelt by the bed and looked up at the crucifix on the wall above the headboard. She prayed in silence. Her own special prayer for moments like these and it would be said at regular intervals until she heard from her husband. She got up and wiped the tears from her eyes, using a tissue she pulled out from the packet she had put in her pocket earlier that morning. She had a number of packets at the ready. For Jenny Deckman it was going to be a long afternoon and evening, but it was going to be the longest and most desperate night of her life.
Chapter 23
At 03. 43am Rawston picked up the handset, already tuned in to channel 80. ‘Marina Control this is Blue Star, do you hear, over.’
‘Loud and clear, Blue Star, pass your message, over.’
‘Blue Star will be entering the marina in ten minutes, over.’
‘Roger, Blue Star, understood. Thank you, out.’
Rawston gave no thought to the ‘night-man’ not asking if the fish were biting well.
The surveillance officer sitting next to the ‘night-man’ in the marina control office logged Rawston’s call and informed DS Fraser of the arrival time. Fraser broadcast one of the most important announcements he had made in all his years in the force.
‘Operation Victoria, final phase, beginning now. Good luck to you all.’
Standing besides Page and Rawston on Blue Star was the replacement of Alan Grimes.
‘You seem to have found your sea legs straight away,’ said Edward Page.
‘Yes, Mr Page. I have always been happy on boats, big and small. No problem for me, rough or calm. By the way, I will be making all deliveries alone. I don’t need any more help from Jim, he’s got enough of his own to do. I went with Alan on a number of occasions so I know all the contacts and Jim has given me all the other information I need.’
*
At 04. 35am the final car entered Page’s garden and the large metal gates closed behind it.
One hour and fifteen minutes later the gates reopened and the departure of the three distributors was logged by the observer hidden amongst the brambles and trees on the opposite side of the road.
‘The three distributors have departed and heading north,’ he confirmed via the discreet channel.
At 06.45am Rawston’s departure was signalled and his surveillance team prepared themselves for the expected journey to London.
Despite working most of the night, Edward Page left for work at his usual time, 08.30am. Within a hundred yards he found himself caught up behind a slower moving car and, on checking his mirror, noticed another some way back. It did not register as anything unusual to Page. It was a busy road at that time of day. The leading car slowed to negotiate a sharp bend only to be waved down by a uniformed policeman controlling traffic at the scene of an accident. Page slowed and stopped with the trailing car getting a little too close for comfort.
Come on in , thought Page. You couldn’t get much closer. But he remained unconcerned. A police patrol car was parked a few yards ahead with indicators and blue light flashing. In front was an unmarked white Ford Transit and, in front of that, he could just make out the back of a car that appeared to be nose down in the ditch running along the side of the road. A car transporter was diagonally across the road being hooked up to the crashed vehicle. The road ahead was blocked. Page saw a young girl being comforted by a WPC to one side and guessed she must have been the driver. Going too fast, lost it on the bend and off she went, he assumed.
The police officer approached the first car and spoke to the driver, after which he moved towards Page who already had his window lowered.
‘Sorry about the hold-up, Sir. Shouldn’t take that much longer, just about to pull the car out of the ditch.’
‘No problem,’ said Page. ‘Hope the driver is alright?’
‘She’s fine, Sir. A little shaken, nothing more. Thanks to her wearing her seat belt. I suggest it might be a good idea if you were to use yours, Sir.’
‘Yes, of course, Officer, sorry.’ Page clicked on his belt as he heard the same story being related to the driver who was trying to climb all over the back of his BMW.
Deckman got out of the lead car, placed his hands on his hips and stretched back as far as he could. ‘Bit of a nuisance, this,’ he said as he walked back towards Page.
‘Can’t be helped,’ said Page. ‘No point in getting angry. You look tired, have you come far?’
‘Not far, but I have been working all night,’ said Deckman who was now by the side of the BMW and making a hurried assessment of what Page could do. ‘What about you?’
‘Just left home, two minutes ago. Back there,’ Page lifted his right hand to his shoulder pointing rearwards with the thumb. ‘Should have had that third coffee,’ he continued, placing both his hands on the top of the steering wheel.
Page had failed to notice that Fraser had got out of the passenger side of the car behind and was now standing alongside his car.
Deckman took a small pace back and raised his warrant card. ‘Mr Page, please do not make any movement, there is a gun looking at you. I’m Detective Inspector Deck
man of Draycliffe CID and my colleague behind you, with the gun, is Detective Sergeant Fraser. You are being arrested in connection with the suspected importation of an illegal substance and you will also be questioned in relation to a number of other offences including murder and prostitution.’ Deckman read out the official caution.
Page tightened his grip on the wheel, his knuckles whitened. He slowly moved his head left until his eyes managed to focus on the gun.
‘Yes, Sir, it is there so it is best you do exactly as I say. I’m now going to open the car door, Mr Page.’ He opened it to its full extent and stepped back again. He had replaced his warrant card and was aiming his gun at Page. First of all, with your right hand, I want you to unbuckle the seat belt the constable so correctly informed you to wear. Now, place your right hand behind your back and turn in your seat to face me, keeping your left hand tightly on the wheel. That’s it, Mr Page, very slowly. Any sudden movement and I might just get the wrong idea. DS Fraser is now going to open your passenger door. Don’t be alarmed and remain perfectly still.’
The door opened and the seat’s leather squeaked as Fraser leant across. Page felt the coldness of metal as it encircled his right wrist.
‘Now your left hand, Mr Page,’ said Fraser. ‘Nice and slow, there’s a good chap,’
‘This is ridiculous,’ said an incensed Page. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about. I demand to see your Chief Constable straight away and the newspapers are going to enjoy hearing about this.’
‘That’s fine by me, Sir. I was speaking with him only an hour or two ago and he knows exactly what is going on, but you can make a complaint if you wish. Later.’
‘This is all a bit theatrical, Inspector, isn’t it?’ complained Page as he saw the car removed from the ditch and being driven away by the ‘shaken’ driver.
‘Maybe, Sir, but it worked out well don’t you think? You, on your own and no danger to the public. I’m satisfied.’ Deckman opened the brief case on the floor in front of the passenger seat. ‘Is it normal for innocent people to carry a firearm, Mr Page?’
‘I have a very good explanation for that, Inspector.’
‘You are going to need it, Sir.’
Page was secured in the back of the waiting police car.
‘Whilst you are on your way to the police station, Mr Page, the Inspector and I are going to see if we can be equally as dramatic with the arrest of your daughter,’ said Fraser. He shut the door and slapped the car’s roof. ‘Have a pleasant journey, Mr Page.’
*
Deckman, Fraser and three armed officers entered the Page’s garden at the side of the house after cutting an opening in the wire fencing. They squeezed through the tightly woven conifers and hugged the wall of the house until they reached the front door. One of the outbuildings had its doors wide open revealing scuba equipment. The front door of the house had been left ajar. They entered a large hall off which all the ground floor rooms were located. The main staircase rose from the centre allowing a right or left turn on to the upstairs landing. A soft humming could be heard. A female voice. Fraser indicated it was coming from upstairs. The ground floor rooms were checked and confirmed as empty. One officer was positioned outside the front door and another at the foot of the stairs. Deckman and the others made their way up the thickly carpeted stairs anticipating a squeak or groan at each step. The humming stopped. They stopped. Waited. There was movement across the room to the left. The humming began again. It was not a tune Deckman recognised. They moved, one at a time, frightened to breath for fear it might be heard. The door was in the corner of the bedroom and was wide open. Deckman eased himself into a position where he could see Sylvia Page standing in front of her dressing table, diagonally opposite from the door. She had her head turned to the right as she fitted one of her earrings.
Sylvia Page stopped humming again. She froze, looking directly into the mirror. She couldn’t see or hear anybody, but she sensed she was not alone. Her right hand reached down to the top drawer of the dressing table and began to ease it open.
‘Don’t move any further, Miss Page,’ instructed Deckman as they moved into view. ‘There are three guns aimed at you.’
She straightened. ‘Who are you? What are you doing in my house?’
‘We are the police, Miss Page. I’m Detective Inspector Deckman and we are taking you to the station so we can have a long talk about your …’
‘What for,’ she interrupted. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong. How dare you break into my house. I’m a good, hard working citizen.’
‘Not so sure about that,’ commented Fraser taking a small gun from the drawer Miss Page was about to open. The gun was placed in a plastic bag and handed to Deckman. ‘Now,’ continued Fraser, ‘please place both hands on the top of your head.’
She didn’t respond.
‘ Now , Miss Page,’ he repeated with greater authority. ‘Now you can take two paces back from the dressing table, just in case you have some other toys tucked away. That’s good. Okay, drop your right hand behind your back. No sudden movements. Remember there are guns aimed at you and we don’t want to damage those pretty clothes do we?’ He secured the cuff around her right wrist. ‘And now the left. Thank you. Miss Page, you are under arrest for your involvement in the importation of illegal substances, illegally bringing women into the country for the purpose of prostitution and for suspicion of murder. I think that’s enough for the moment, but I’m sure we will find more by the time we have finished with you.’
‘Yes, we know all about your activities, MissPage,’ said Deckman. ‘Please, slowly turn around and then we’ll make our way to your new home.’
At this point Sylvia Page broke the most rigid of her rules and cried in public. Something she had never done before and had resolved never to do.
‘Come now, Miss Page, why the tears?’ asked Fraser. ‘Are the cuffs too tight for you? Mr Page didn’t make as much fuss when we arrested him a short while ago.’
She spat in his face, scoring a direct hit below his left eye.
Fraser smiled as he wiped it off with his initialled handkerchief. ‘A pretty good shot, Miss Page, but perhaps not the best thing to have done at this time. Come along now, and accompany me to that luxurious new home the inspector has waiting for you.’
‘Miss Page,’ said Deckman, ‘I am required to inform you that you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’
‘I’ll have you dismissed. This is an outrage,’ shouted Sylvia Page, her face coloured with anger.
‘Good, Lord, Guv, she certainly has a mighty temper,’ said Fraser as he guided her out of the bedroom.
The telephone rang as they reached the bottom of the stairs. They waited as the answer phone clicked in.
‘Hi, Sylvia, it’s Tom. Guess you’re clearing up the scuba room after last night. I’m on my way back, but running a bit late. Going straight to the marina, be there about 11. 30. Can you tell Edward please. Kisses.’
Sylvia Page made an unsuccessful attempt to wriggle free of the restraining hold of Fraser, but made no comment.
‘Whoa, there, Miss Page, no need to get excited,’ said Fraser. ‘Just think what a nice man that Tom Rawston is for letting us know where he’s going. I’ll make sure we have a suitable reception committee waiting for him.’
Sylvia Page made another futile attempt to free herself, screaming in pain as the handcuffs tugged roughly at her wrists.
‘Right, Sergeant, let’s move so we can let the boys give the house and all its grounds a good going over. Especially the scuba store where I suspect the drugs were divided up last night. And …’ He raised a hand to stop Sylvia Page speaking. ‘And I do have all the search warrants I need for your home, Mr Rawston’s home, the Star Boats’ office, Red Star, Blue Star and, as a little surprise, one for every room of every prop
erty owned by Blue Tree Properties.’
Sylvia Page was shaken and trembled with a fear she had not experienced for years. Not since she was hooked to the drug she was now involved in selling to others. She stumbled several times as she was walked down the gravel drive of the house she would not be seeing again. Before getting into the back of the police car parked at the main entrance, she took a final look back at the house.
‘Yes,’ said Fraser, ‘it’s a very nice house, Miss Page, pity it’s only going to be a memory for you from now on.’
‘Will I be able to speak to my father?’ she asked. She had begun to appreciate the depth of information the police appeared to have.
‘No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Miss Page,’ said Deckman.
*
‘Hi, Trish,’ Rawston said as he hurried along the west jetty, towards pontoon eleven and Blue Star. ‘You’re early today?’
‘Yes, only because Greg asked me to cover a sickness. You okay?’
‘Thought I might have found Sylvia and Edward here, don’t suppose you have seen them?’
‘No, Mr Rawston, I haven’t. Mind you I have only just arrived myself.’
‘Look, Trish, I’m expecting three new customers for a fishing trip any time now and I’m running late. If you see them, can you take them to the berth and get them to wait. I’ll be there quick as I can, just going to fill her up.’
A Perfect Likeness Page 23
