Archer, Jeffrey - Hidden in Plain Sight

He strode into the slaughter as one of Rashidi’s lieutenants was being led away, shouting and cursing, but not before he was able to throw a punch at William that landed a passing blow and stunned him for a moment. He quickly recovered as another officer slapped a pair of handcuffs on his assailant. As the smoke from the stun grenade attack began to clear, he turned to survey the carnage of what was left of Rashidi’s empire. A dozen or so menial workers wearing face masks and rubber gloves were kneeling on the floor. No doubt most of them were illegal immigrants who hadn’t been working there by choice, and who might even be relieved to have been rescued. The lower ranks of the drugs world always ended up carrying the can for their masters, and they knew they could never open their mouths. There was always another Tulip, always another gouged eye.

William was sure he hadn’t passed Rashidi as he came up the stairs, and Jackie had informed him on the radio that he wasn’t among the frightened passengers in the lift who had been rounded up as soon as they reached the ground floor. As there was no other way out, he began to look more closely at the pathetic rabble who remained in the slaughter. And then he noticed a couple of them were stealing fearful glances at one particular worker. William took a closer look, but could see no difference between him and the others kneeling in front of him. But he tapped him on the shoulder and told him to stand up. He didn’t move.

‘Probably doesn’t speak English, sarge,’ said a young constable, yanking the man to his feet.

‘I think he speaks several languages,’ said William. He removed the man’s mask, but even then he couldn’t be certain.

‘What are you looking for, sarge?’

‘The Viper,’ said William, but not a flicker of recognition crossed the man’s face. ‘Take the glove off your left hand,’ he said slowly and clearly. Again, no response.

The constable ripped the man’s glove off, to reveal that part of the third finger was missing. ‘How did you know that, sarge?’ he said.

‘His mother told me.’

The man continued to stare blankly at William, as if he didn’t understand a word he was saying.

‘If you hadn’t hugged her, Mr Rashidi, I might never have known you were her son.’

Still not a flicker of comprehension.

‘I wonder how she’ll react when I visit her in The Boltons tomorrow morning to tell her what her son really imports from Colombia, and then exports onto the streets of London, not from an oak-panelled office in the City as the respected chairman of Marcel and Neffe, but from a depraved drugs den in Brixton, where he’s known as the Viper.’

The man continued to stand there impassively, not even blinking.

‘The attentive son, who never misses an appointment with his mother on a Friday afternoon but doesn’t care how many young lives he destroys, as long as he makes a profit week in and week out.’

Still nothing.

‘One thing’s for certain, Rashidi. After I’ve told your mother where she’ll be able to find you for the next ten years, hopefully longer, don’t expect her to visit you in prison, because she’ll be too ashamed to admit to her friends at the Brompton Oratory that the real reason they haven’t seen Assem recently is because he’s brought a new meaning to the word evil.’

Rashidi leant forward and spat in William’s face.

‘I’ve never been more flattered in my life, Mr Rashidi,’ he said. The constable stepped forward, thrust Rashidi’s arms behind his back and handcuffed him as William read him his rights. He still didn’t speak.

‘Don’t let him out of your sight,’ said William. ‘There’s an armoured van waiting outside for Mr Rashidi, and a cell awaits him at Brixton police station. It may not need fumigating now, but it certainly will after he’s spent the night there.’

Rashidi leant forward and said, ‘Your days are numbered, sergeant. And I’ll be the one to tell your mother.’

‘No, Mr Rashidi, it’s you whose days are numbered, and I’ll be telling your mother why in the morning.’ Rashidi was unceremoniously led out of the room by two armed officers and escorted to the lift he hadn’t quite reached in time.

When he heard the noise of a helicopter somewhere above him, William walked across to the smashed window and looked out to see a chopper disappearing into the clouds. The colonel would be pleased to have it confirmed that the new lot were indeed every bit as good as the old.

He turned his attention back to the room, now a crime scene that had already been taken over by a different breed of policeman: an exhibits officer, who wouldn’t be joining his wife for dinner, and probably not for breakfast; photographers who were snapping anything that didn’t move; and the scene of crime officers in their white boiler suits and latex gloves, who were carefully collecting evidence and depositing it into plastic bags. Even a Polo mint would be taken back to the labs for closer examination. A cocaine press, scales, sieves, rubber gloves and face masks awaited inspection by the backroom boys and girls, who would be among the last to take the lift back down to the ground floor.

After writing down Rashidi’s words in his notebook – not something he’d be telling Beth – William went through to the next room, which could only have been Rashidi’s office. Three bulky sports bags were lined up against the far wall. He picked one up, and was surprised at how heavy it was. He put it back on the floor and unzipped it.

He wouldn’t have thought that anything could surprise him after what he’d just witnessed, but the sight of so much money, probably just a single day’s takings, reminded him why modern criminals no longer bother to rob banks, when their victims will hand the cash over to them willingly.

He unzipped the second bag to see still more fifties, twenties and tens neatly stacked in large bundles. He was about to unzip the third when a voice behind him said, ‘I’ll take care of that, DS Warwick.’

He turned to see Superintendent Lamont standing in the doorway.

‘Meanwhile, the commander wants you to report to him immediately.’

‘Of course, sir,’ said William, trying to hide his surprise.

‘And well done, DS Warwick. I know you’ll be pleased to hear that Rashidi’s already on his way to the nearest nick, where a welcoming party awaits him.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said William, as Jackie entered the room.

‘Congratulations, sarge,’ she said. ‘A triumphant night for everyone.’ She paused. ‘Well, everyone except DC Adaja.’

‘Why, what happened to him?’

‘I think it might be better if he told you himself.’

William took one last look at the havoc and squalor of what had once been the heart of Rashidi’s empire. He reluctantly left the boiler room and began to jog down the stone steps, past graffiti-covered walls where one word was repeated again and again. He ignored the stench of urine as he continued on down to the ground floor, passing several handcuffed prisoners who would not be profiting from the drugs trade for a long time, if ever again.

When he emerged onto the street, he took a deep breath of fresh air and watched as another Black Maria that couldn’t accommodate any more occupants was driven away. He walked over to the bus and made his way upstairs to the command centre.

‘What are you doing here, DS Warwick?’ snapped the Hawk. ‘I made it clear that you were not to leave the crime scene until the job was done.’

‘The super has taken over, sir, and he said you wanted to see me.’

‘Did he indeed?’

27

Saturday

IT WASN’T UNTIL the last painting had been stored safely in the hold that the captain gave the order to cast off.