Джеффри Арчер - Tell Tale - Stories

“My informant tells me,” continued the super, “that Manners is holding a party in his home tonight to celebrate his fiftieth birthday, and among his guests will be some of the biggest rogues in Christendom, so we’ll never get a better opportunity to give him an unexpected birthday present.”

This time the cheer was even louder.

“All of you will now be divided into three groups with a senior officer in charge of each section. Group one will be under my orders and will act as the lead unit. Group two will consist of twenty-one officers under Chief Inspector Wallis, who will surround the house, and if you find as much as a half-smoked joint on anyone trying to beat a hasty retreat, arrest them, bring them back to the nick, and lock ’em up. Group three, you’re the search party and will be led by Chief Inspector Hendry. Once you get the signal from me, you will enter the house, where you will each be allocated a room, and then I expect you to take the place apart. Any drugs you find must be listed, bagged, and handed over to Inspector Hendry.”

Guy looked around to see that most of his colleagues couldn’t wait to get going. This was the reason they’d joined the police.

“And don’t forget. Every ounce of heroin or coke you find is another year in jail for Manners, and it’s a life sentence if we can prove he’s a dealer. Right, report to your group commanders who will brief you more fully.”

There was almost a stampede toward a large noticeboard where every officer was listed in alphabetical order, showing which group they had been allocated to.

Guy knew he wasn’t senior enough to be a member of the command unit, but he still wanted to be in the search party, and not left standing outside the house hoping someone would try to do a runner.

He let out a muted “Yes!” when he saw the number 3 by his name, and quickly made his way back upstairs and out of the nick. He climbed into a black patrol van, marked only with the number 3, and took a seat near the front. Once the door of the van slid shut, Chief Inspector Hendry began to brief his group.

“Right, pay attention. Like the chief, I’m only going to say this once. Our job will be to search the house from top to bottom, making sure we don’t miss anything, and I mean anything. If you come across any drugs, even marijuana or poppers, bag them up and bring them straight to me. Don’t expect to find everything stacked and labeled neatly on shelves. Manners will have stashed them in places you won’t even have thought of, so make sure you do a thorough job, because we’re not going to get a second chance.”

Guy looked out of the window as the convoy moved off. He was in the third of three unmarked vans, with two patrol cars in front leading the way, and another two behind bringing up the rear. They were clearly expecting a lot of guests at the party.

The convoy drove silently out of the city, ignoring drunks and vagrants who quickly disappeared down unlit alleys the moment they saw them. And once they’d crossed the city boundary and began to drive through neighboring villages, Guy noticed that few lights were still on, as most civilized people were already in bed, sound asleep.

With about a mile to go, Hendry stood up, turned to face his group, and said, “Look lively, lads, it won’t be long now.”

As they swung off the main road, the two police cars in front turned off their headlights and parked down a narrow lane. Guy looked out of the window to see a vast Georgian mansion lit only by the full moon. In fact the first thing Guy noted was that there wasn’t a light on in the house. If Bernie Manners was holding a party to celebrate his fiftieth birthday, he found it hard to believe the guests had already gone home.

When the convoy came to a halt, Guy and his colleagues sat waiting impatiently for the off. But in which direction, wondered Guy. He assumed the senior officers sitting in the front two cars were discussing whether to go ahead with the operation or slink back to the station, tails between their legs and admit they’d been sold a bum steer. In Guy’s opinion that would have been the most sensible thing to do. But he knew Chief Superintendent Dexter only had a few months to go before he retired, and no doubt that was also being weighed in the balance. What a scalp to end his career with.

And then it became obvious what decision had been made, because the two police cars in front switched their headlights back on and began to move slowly up the drive toward the house. Guy watched as his colleagues poured out of the first van and began to surround the building, while Hendry led his team off the second van and onto the front lawn. He raised an arm and his group stopped, just yards from the front door.

No one moved when the super banged a clenched fist on the door. Moments later, a light shone from a second-floor window, followed by another on the stairs, and finally one in the hallway, before the front door was opened to reveal the massive figure of Bernie Manners framed in the doorway, adorned in a purple silk dressing gown.

“What’s the meaning of this intrusion, Chief Superintendent?” demanded Manners.

Guy’s immediate reaction was, why wasn’t Manners surprised when he saw Dexter standing on his front doorstep? And why no shouting or bad language? Guy was beginning to wonder if the reliable source had always been working for the other side, but it was too late to turn back now.

“I have a warrant to search these premises,” said the superintendent, who handed over a court document for Manners to study, and he didn’t wait to be invited in. Guy knew the warrant would have been issued by a judge earlier that evening, no doubt with a warning of the consequences if they didn’t come up with a substantial cache of drugs that couldn’t be described by a seasoned lawyer as recreational.

A few minutes later, the super reappeared in the doorway and waved a beckoning hand. The sign for the search party to join him in the house.

“OK, lads, let’s get moving,” said Hendry as he led his men across the gravel courtyard and into the house.

Guy and two other officers were ordered to search the drawing room. To start with, they satisfied themselves with checking inside drawers, removing cushions from the sofas and chairs, and pulling books, CDs, and DVDs from the shelves above the widescreen television. Inspector Hendry moved from room to room waiting for the first officer to report a find, while Manners poured himself a drink. An hour later the CO gave the order to move on to what he described as a more thorough search.

“You ain’t gonna find a damn thing,” said Manners. “Not that I have any idea what you’re looking for,” he added as he poured himself another large whiskey.

Guy believed the first statement, but not the second. The young constable switched his attention back to the job in hand, as a sergeant unsheathed a knife and thrust the blade deep into the sofa, causing feathers to fly in every direction. Guy started to remove the few books from the shelves and began to sift through the pages, but all he came up with was a fifty-pound note that had been used as a book mark — not a crime.

The second hour also yielded nothing, except the downstairs rooms now resembled a council rubbish dump, and it worried Guy that Manners didn’t seem to care. In fact he was beginning to wonder just who had planned this whole operation months in advance.

Manners put down his drink, checked his watch, and made a phone call. It wasn’t difficult for Guy to work out who he’d be calling at that time of night, but he was surprised how quickly the phone was answered.

In desperation, the super gave orders for everyone to change floors, and double-check their colleagues hadn’t missed anything.

Guy was allocated the bathroom. He made his way slowly up to the first floor, taking a moment to look at the paintings on the wall that were, with one exception, second-rate dross, probably bought from the railings on Piccadilly by an interior decorator who knew a sucker when he saw one.