by Blake Banner
Hastings suddenly spoke up. “Hang on a second. What about these two? They murdered Sadiq. The deal was they kept their mouths shut and we didn’t go after the Je… after Mrs. Stone for killing Sadiq!”
I smiled at Caulfield. “Boy, you are going to be a big loss to the march of civilization.”
He didn’t smile back. “He has a point.”
“What do you suggest, Caulfield?”
He didn’t answer me, he spoke to Chiddester.
“Look, for God’s sake, Chiddester, you’re talking about tearing apart the whole political fabric of the country. Let this couple go home. After all, it seems that Mrs. Stone was in fact acting in self-defense. There is no need to prosecute them, let them have their lives. Sadiq has paid for his crime, Nigel must pay for his, and we’ll see to that. But for God’s sake, let’s do some damage limitation and leave it at that…”
Dehan looked at me. “He wants to let us have our lives, Stone. Is that what they call magnanimity?”
Chiddester spoke before I could answer. “Damage limitation? What I am talking about, you disgusting little man, is uprooting the festering roots of the poisoned ivy you have seeded in our society. I am talking about tearing them up and showing them to the people, in all their horrific ugliness, so that the likes of you will never come to power again!”
He looked at me and I nodded. He stood and walked to the fireplace, where he pressed a bell in the wall. A moment later the door opened and the man who had let us in said, “Yes, M’Lord?”
“Bring him in.”
The door closed and Caulfield looked at me and Dehan, then at Chiddester. “What is this? What are you doing, Chiddester?”
“I am shining a light,” snarled Chiddester, “on the swarming rats and cockroaches that claim to represent the working people of this country!”
A moment later, the door opened and the servant, accompanied by a young man in his early twenties, stepped into the room. Between them, they held Sadiq Hassan.
Hastings’ face crumbled and he began to sob into his hands like a child. Caulfield gaped. “You treacherous…”
“You dare to call me treacherous, you murdering bastard?”
I smiled. “We scared the living daylights out of him and left his ears ringing, Well, Dehan did, but we didn’t shoot him, despite being gun totin’ cowboys. Maybe it’s time you revised some of your stereotypes, huh, Hastings? See, we figured, if you thought you had something over us, if you thought there could be some give and take, you might just give, and you did. You gave your DNA, and you gave a confession.” I held Caulfield’s eye for a long moment, then I said, “So here’s the thing I’m curious about, Caulfield. Here we are, two cops without jurisdiction, a back bench Member of Parliament, a member of a Marxist group who has close ties to Islamic extremists, a prime suspect in Katie Ellis’ murder, and you, a Shadow Cabinet Minister. What do you propose we should do next?”
He returned to his chair and sat staring at the floor, chewing his lip. Hastings looked at me and said, “I swear I did not kill her. I was very fond of her.”
Dehan gave him a look that could have castrated a bull and said, “Shut up, Adolph.”
Caulfield spoke to the carpet, with both hands stuck out like he was holding an invisible box.
“What will it take, Chiddester? Men like us, though we may be bitterly opposed to each other’s ideals, we must see the bigger picture. What happened to your daughter is an outrageous crime, and the man, or men, responsible must and will be brought to justice. But can’t you see the crises that will enfold our society if the Labour party is brought down?” He suddenly looked at me and at Dehan, appealing to us. “Imagine if in the States the entire Democratic Party were brought down. It would be a devastating blow not just to the left, but to the country as a whole!”
I grunted. “So what are you proposing?”
He closed his eyes. “I admit, there has been an issue in the party with anti-Semitism, and I will hold up my hand and say clearly, we should all have been more vigilant, more aware of the problem. I will give you my personal undertaking, my word, that we will address this problem…”
I interrupted him. “What about the ties to Islamic fundamentalism?”
His mouth worked but no words came out. Sadiq was staring at him fixedly. “I am not aware that any such ties…”
I pointed at Sadiq and half shouted. “You’re looking at one right now, Caulfield! This man right here, who tried to murder us, he is a tie between you and Islamic fundamentalism. He was carrying out hits for the Labour Party, for crying out loud!”
“No…” He was shaking his head. “No, no, no! He and Hastings were operating without the sanction of the party!”
I shouted, “Total deniability, huh? Is that what you had? And what did you promise in exchange?”
“No! You can’t do this! We are the Parliamentary Labour Party, for God’s sake! We are the establishment!”
A deathly silence lay on the room. I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed. After a moment, I said, “Harry? We have Hastings here. We’ll hold him till you arrive.” Then I turned to Sadiq. “Get the hell out of here. Try and find the passages in your book that talk about universal love for all people, despite their religion.”
He spat at my feet. “There aren’t any, filthy Jew loving pig!”
He turned and walked out of the room, slamming the doors as he went. Finally, I looked at Caulfield. “Get out, Caulfield. You make me nauseous. It’s depressing that people can be like you. Even if you had no hand in this murder, what Lord Chiddester says is true, you created the conditions for this corruption to flourish. You are beneath contempt. Get out.”
He stood, and his legs were trembling. He walked out of the room with a strange, stiff gait and again we heard the door slam.
Hastings looked at me resentfully. “Why do they get to go home, and I get arrested? You know full well they are as guilty as I am.”
It was Dehan who answered. “That’s what happens to fall guys, schmuck.”
“Besides,” I said, “you really figure Sadiq for the heroic type? We delivered him to Lord Chiddester on the way back from Kent. Before we got there, he was saying he wanted to turn Queen’s evidence. He’s on his way now with a couple of cops to collect all the evidence Katie had put together. He told us he’d collected it from her apartment after…”
Hastings’ eyes were swiveling this way and that like they had a life of their own. He blurted out, “That’s not right, that’s wrong. Why would he have her stuff?”
“Well if he hasn’t, who has?”
The question was obvious and so was the answer, and if he hadn’t been in such a panic, he would have seen he was being led. But he was too scared to see the nose in front of his own face.
“Obviously I have it! I killed her, to shut her up! And I have her stuff! That’s obvious, isn’t it!”
I frowned. “Can you prove that?”
“Of course I can prove it! I have everything—her laptop, her memory sticks, her notebooks. Everything! It’s all at…!” He faltered, realizing too late he had been trapped.
I laughed. “The whole thing, Hastings—calling you to the Ritz, Chiddester’s call to me when you showed up, as you had to—the whole thing was planned. And you walked right in.”
Chiddester looked gray and exhausted. He said suddenly, “All right, Green. You may as well come in now. I think we have everything we need.”
Hastings’ eyes bulged. He scrambled to his feet and ran for the door. Chiddester was quick for a man his size, and strong. He stood, laid the flat of his left hand on Hastings’ chest and stopped him dead in his track. Then he delivered a right hook to his jaw that sent him reeling back across the room, laid him flat on his back, groaning like Sunday morning after Saturday night.
“There’ll be no Queen’s evidence in this case. You’re all going to the fucking wall!”
The doorbell rang and the guys who’d brought Sadiq in went to open in. There was a murmuring
of voices and a rustling of feet and after a moment, the door opened again and Harry came in with two constables.
“Evening, all. Where is he?”
Chiddester pointed and said, “He tried to get away. Had to stop him.” The constables crossed the room and dragged Nigel Hastings to his feet. He was still having trouble focusing his eyes, and he had an ugly, swollen bruise covering the lower left side of his face. The constables cuffed him and Harry intoned, “Nigel Hastings, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Katie Ellison, and conspiring in the attempted murder of Detectives John Stone and Carmen Dehan. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence against you.” He nodded at the constables. “All right, take him away.”
As they walked him past me, Harry said, “Oh, by the way, Stone, the DNA results came in last minute. It was Hastings’ DNA, like you thought.”
He stopped and stared at me with crazy eyes. “You tricked me! You’re all the same! Lying, cheating…”
The rest of it was lost as he was bundled out into the hall. Chiddester frowned down at Dehan, who was still sitting in her chair in her sinful black dress. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, my dear.”
I smiled down at her, wondering if she’d give him a taste of her attitude. But there was only humor in her eyes. She stood and grinned at him and said, “Don’t apologize, Chiddie. I just wish I’d filmed it so I could watch it again.”
She winked and his cheeks flushed. Harry made a ‘crazy Yanks’ face and said, “Right, we’d better be making a move. Lord Chiddester, I’ll leave a car outside and an armed officer inside. Any problem at all…”
“And I’ll shoot the bastard, Green, don’t worry about that.”
I smiled and before Harry could reprimand him, I asked, “Where is your wife, Chiddester?”
“Upstairs in bed. We’ll be fine, now go and do whatever you have to do.”
We stepped out into the balmy night and crossed the garden toward Harry’s car. The street was oddly peaceful, with the ancient, wrought iron streetlamps casting a gentle, green light through the leaves of the giant chestnuts. His car bleeped and flashed and we pulled open the doors. Then he leaned on the roof a moment and looked at me. “Tough old goat, isn’t he? Lost his daughter, obviously shattered by it, and yet there he is, in the thick of it, not flinching, and even decks the fellow who did it.”
I nodded. “A few more like him, huh, Harry?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe you’re right.”
EIGHTEEN
The radio crackled in the darkness of the car:
“Subject moving north along Ladbroke Grove. Over.”
We pulled away and headed toward Holland Park Avenue. Harry took the radio and spoke. “Bravo team, what is the status of your subject? Over.”
“Bound west along the Acton Vale Sir, seems to be headed home to Ealing Common. Over.”
We reached the intersection with Holland Park Avenue and stopped. It was late and there was no traffic. The road was quiet and still.
I said, “Caulfield has gone home. Sadiq is on his way to Villiers Road, in Willesden.”
He looked at me sharply. “How do you know that?”
I sighed. I could explain, but it wouldn’t convince him. I said, “Believe me. Leave the tail on Caulfield, there is an outside chance he’s not involved. We know for a fact Sadiq is. Even if I’m wrong, which, you know, I’m not, we should stay with him.”
He sighed and turned north toward Notting Hill Gate. “Couldn’t you be wrong just sometimes?” he said, with not much humor. He turned left then and we started accelerating down Ladbroke Grove, toward the Harrow Road. It is long and straight, and at that time of night, there were few people about. The luminous shop fronts and kebab parlors gave the street a depressing air of hopelessness. We passed under the metro bridge and the radio crackled again.
“Subject headed for Kensal Rise Station. There is no traffic, sir, we are falling back in case he spots us. Over.”
“Roger that, Sergeant.”
I turned to him. “Kensal Rise is on the way to Willesden, isn’t it?”
He nodded and gave a glance in the mirror. I heard Dehan laugh.
“Left onto Staverton… He’s doing another left onto Willesden Lane, sir. Over.”
Harry sighed. “Be advised, he is probably headed for Villiers Road. Alpha One, stay behind him. Alpha Two, take Belton Road and intercept at the junction with Villiers. Over.”
“Roger that, sir.”
It crackled again almost immediately. “Bravo team, sir. Subject has stopped at the Guilded Lilly on Ealing Broadway. All night bar, sir. Over.”
“Stay with him, Bravo Team, and stay in your vehicles! Over.”
He hit the gas and we crossed the Grand Union Canal doing seventy. We crossed the Harrow Road against the lights and climbed at speed through Kilburn, past the Station and onto Chamberlain Road. Ten minutes later, he slowed as we eased onto Willesden Lane and he pulled up at the corner.
“Stay here, please.”
He got out and crossed the sidewalk, moving along Villiers road. Three cars in, he hunkered down and the driver’s window slid down. Dehan leaned over my right shoulder so we could both look down the street. It was straight for about three hundred yards, then turned left at somewhat less than a right angle. Where it made the bend, on the right, there was a large iron gate that I guessed gave onto a courtyard.
Harry stood and peered down the road. I knew what he was looking for because I had already found it while he was talking. He came back, climbed in and slammed the door.
“He drove into a courtyard, on the bend. It seems there are a couple of warehouses there. The idea of being a consultant, John, is that you share and cooperate, you know.”
“You sacked me, remember? You sent me home.”
“Whatever.”
He fired up the engine and we cruised gently down the road to an empty parking space twenty yards from the gate on the opposite side. There he stopped and killed the engine.
“Now we wait, and pray to God that you’re right.”
We were quiet for a bit, then Dehan asked suddenly, “Since when have British socialists been anti-Semitic? I would never have thought of the British as anti-Semitic, least of all the socialists!”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure they are, but there has been a growing faction in the Labour Party, over the last few decades. It all started at more or less the same time: we joined the EU, EEC as it was back then, there was the big petrol crisis—you’re too young to remember that, but basically OPEC cut off the supply of oil to the U.K., and next thing there were thousands of oil billionaires buying up Britain, everything from Harrods to half the property in Kensington.” He looked in the mirror at her. “I’m not a political animal. I think anyone who wants to be a politician should be automatically disqualified. But barroom politicians, and there are plenty in this country, suspect that they bought up a bit more than just Harrods and Kensington real estate. I couldn’t say, but roughly around that time, there began to be an anti-Israeli feeling in the country; not so much in the pubs, as on the BBC and among certain politicians. Whether they were right or wrong, I couldn’t say, but the consensus at the King’s Arms, my local, is that more than one politician, on both sides of the House, mind, gets his or her orders, and his paycheck, from Riyadh.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “That is dangerous talk for a cop, Harry.”
He shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t know anything about politics. I’m just telling you what the lads down the pub think.”
Half to myself, I asked, “How many uprisings and revolutions started in pubs, I wonder.”
His reply was immediate. “All of them.”
Then he raised his hand and we went silent. Headlamps were approaching down the road. They slowed as they approached the corner, then turned in at the iron gates. I could now make out
it was a dark Mercedes A Class saloon. Nobody got out, but after a moment, the gates began to open, and the car slipped in, parked and killed the lights. Then a figure climbed out and walked to a darkened door, where it knocked and waited.
I suddenly went cold and my skin crawled. Harry was frowning. He grabbed the radio. “Bravo team, what is the status of your subject? Over.”
“He’s still in the club, sir. We have clear eyes on his car and the door, and he hasn’t come out…”
“What was he driving?”
“Audi A8, sir. Over.”
“Who the fuck’s that?”
“Whoever it is, is going to kill Sadiq in the next ten minutes if we don’t do something.”
He stared at me a moment. “A hit man? Called from the club?”
I frowned. “What’s he got, a damned army?”
He grabbed the radio. “Alpha One, move in up to the gates. No lights. Alpha Two, hold your position. Both of you, be prepared to intercept fugitives.”
“Roger!”
“Let’s go.”
We scrambled out of the car. I noticed Dehan had dumped her shoes and was barefoot. I grinned. “When I told you dress for the evening, this isn’t what I meant.”
“I know that now.”
Harry was already loping across the road. Dehan was close behind him. He turned to me. “Now how do we get through the damned gate?”
I was half way across the road, walking. “I know a technique. It’s pretty smart, but I need your permission to try it.”
“Be my guest, only hurry, will you?”
“Give me your car keys.”
He tossed them to me and I ran a couple of steps back to the car. I fired up the engine, put it in reverse and gave the steering wheel full lock. The car whined backward into the middle of the road. I tried not to laugh when I saw Harry’s face. I lined up the trunk with the gate and floored the pedal. The crash and scream of twisted steel was horrific. It made a real mess of the trunk, but it opened the gate and I like to think it may have saved Sadiq’s life.
As I climbed out of the cab and threw him his keys, Harry was shouting at me, “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
