Джеффри Арчер - Hidden in Plain Sight

‘Will do,’ said William, as the desk sergeant handed him a large key and said, ‘He’s all yours.’

William took the key, walked along the corridor and stopped in front of cell No. 2. He peered through the grille to see Adrian lying down, a glazed expression on his face, and looking as if he hadn’t moved since last night. He turned the key in the lock, pulled open the heavy door and walked in. Adrian opened his eyes, looked up and said, ‘This place isn’t much better than our old prep school.’

William laughed as he sat down next to him on the thin, urine-stained mattress. I’m innocent , had been scratched on the wall above Adrian’s head by a previous prisoner.

‘I’d offer you tea and biscuits,’ said Adrian, ‘but I’m afraid room service isn’t that reliable.’

‘I see you haven’t lost your sense of humour,’ said William.

‘Nor you your quest to be Sir Galahad. So, have you come to rescue me, or to lock me up for the rest of my life?’

‘Neither. But I might be able to help you if you felt willing to cooperate.’

‘What would you expect in return? Because I’ve never believed in the old boys’ network.’

‘Me neither,’ said William. ‘But I might have something to offer that could prove mutually beneficial.’

‘You’re going to supply me with drugs for the rest of my life?’

‘You know that’s not going to happen, Adrian. But I could ask the magistrate to be lenient when your case comes up this afternoon, despite this not being your first appearance in the dock.’

‘That’s not much of an offer. I’ll probably only get six months anyway, and there are worse places to be than holed up in your own cell with a TV, central heating, and three meals a day, not to mention a ready supply of drugs.’

‘As this is your third offence, you’re more likely to be spending Christmas sharing a cell in Pentonville with a murderer, which might not be quite so much fun.’

‘Come on then, Choirboy, surprise me.’

It was William who was surprised. ‘Choirboy,’ he repeated.

‘That’s what my old friend Sergeant Roycroft called you last night. A great improvement on Sherlock, I thought.’

William tried to regain the initiative. ‘As you clearly know what I’ve been up to since we last met, how about you?’

Adrian stared up at the ceiling for a long time, as if his interrogator wasn’t there. An old con’s trick, William knew. He was about to give up and leave when suddenly a torrent of words came flooding out.

‘After my expulsion from Somerton, thanks to you, my old man used his influence to get me into one of the minor public schools. They were willing to turn a blind eye whenever I needed a quick drag behind the bicycle shed, but they drew the line when I moved on to cannabis. Can’t say I blame them.’ He paused, but still didn’t look at William, who had taken out his pocket book and begun to make notes.

‘After that my father sent me to a crammer, and I somehow got offered a place at a university a long way from home. Heaven knows how much the old man had to stump up for that little favour.’ Another long pause. ‘Unfortunately, I didn’t get beyond my freshman year after one of the post grads introduced me to heroin. It wasn’t too long before I was hooked, and spent most days in bed, and most nights wondering how I’d get my next fix. After I was rusticated, my tutor told me I could resume my studies if I kicked the habit, so my father sent me off to one of those rehab centres that are full of do-gooders who want to save your soul. Frankly, my soul was no longer worth saving, so I signed myself out at the end of the first week, and I haven’t spoken to the old man since. I stayed in touch with my mother, and she kept me afloat for a couple of years. But even her patience eventually ran out, and probably her money, so I had to find other ways to get hold of the cash I needed to survive. It’s quite difficult to continually try and borrow money from your friends, when they know you have no intention of ever paying them back.’

William continued to take notes.

‘But after I met Maria I checked myself back into the clinic, and tried a little harder.’

‘Maria?’

‘My girlfriend. But she was never convinced I’d really kicked the habit, and one night she caught me snorting a line of coke and became my ex-girlfriend. She told me she’d had enough and would be going back home to Brazil. Can’t say I blame her. Though I’d do anything to get her back. But I don’t think she’d be willing to give me a third chance.’

The first chink in his armour, thought William. ‘Maybe I could help convince her that this time you’re determined to kick the habit?’

‘How?’ Adrian sounded interested for the first time.

‘Have you ever considered becoming a gamekeeper, rather than a poacher?’

‘Why would I want to be a grass? People are killed for less.’

‘Because together, we might do something worthwhile.’

‘You must be joking, Choirboy.’

‘I couldn’t be more serious. You could help me put the real criminals behind bars. The ones who supply drugs to children in school playgrounds, and ruin young lives. That might convince your girlfriend you’ve turned over a new leaf.’

Another long silence followed. William was beginning to fear his appeal had fallen on deaf ears when Adrian suddenly opened up.

‘What would I have to do?’

‘I need to find out the name of the man who controls all the drug operations south of the river, and where his main factory is.’

‘And I’d like a million pounds in cash and two one-way tickets to Brazil,’ said Adrian.

‘Two one-way tickets to Brazil might be possible,’ said William. ‘Now all we need to discuss is the price.’

‘I’ll let you know just how much I expect, Choirboy, but not before the magistrate lets me off with a warning.’

‘Rocket,’ said a young man who was addressing a small group of schoolchildren gathered around the ancient steam engine, ‘was built in the 1820s by the renowned locomotive engineer Robert Stephenson.’

‘Robert Louis Stevenson?’ enquired a piping voice from the front row.

‘No,’ said the guide. ‘Robert Louis Stevenson was the distinguished children’s author, who wrote Treasure Island and hailed from Edinburgh, not Northumbria.’

William smiled as he stood at the back of the group listening to a lecture he’d first heard twenty years before, when his mother had taken him to the museum.

‘Mr Stephenson won first prize at the locomotive trials held at Rainhill in Lancashire in 1829, when—’

William’s thoughts were interrupted when he felt a gloved hand touch his shoulder. He didn’t look round.

‘Good of you to see me, Rocket Man,’ said a voice he immediately recognized. ‘All things considered.’

‘My boss is still determined to put your husband behind bars,’ replied William, not wasting any time on small talk.

‘Amen to that,’ said Christina. ‘But there’s not a lot I can do while we’re still in the middle of a rather acrimonious divorce, just in case you hadn’t noticed, Detective Constable Warwick.’

William didn’t correct her.

‘Five locomotives competed for the five-hundred-pound prize,’ continued the museum guide. ‘ Cycloped, Novelty, Perseverance, Sans Pareil and, of course, Stephenson’s Rocket . Mr Stephenson’s 0-2-2 engine won by a country mile.’

William turned around to look at Christina. She was dressed in a low-cut cotton dress that stopped well above the knees and left little to the imagination. She was clearly on the lookout for her second husband.

‘Can you think of any other crimes, however minor, that he might have committed during the past five years?’ he asked.