Hawkins:
Absolute Power
By Graham Debenham
Copyright 2012 by Graham Debenham
Published at Smashwords
Smashwords Licence Note
This ebook is licenced for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. if you're reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Chapter 1
‘Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.’
John Emerich Edward Acton 1834-1902
Soft moonlight streamed through the large ornate double hung window, forming a white rectangle across the broad red carpet inside and lending an ethereal glow to the wide corridor. Across from the window, the moonlight was sufficient for the black clad intruder to manipulate the lock on one of the equally ornate office doors that lined the corridor. Within seconds the lock was sprung and he was in the room, silently closing the door behind him.
Switching on the light, he looked around. The office was spacious with a large antique oak desk in the centre. Around the walls, in elaborately decorated frames, images of elegantly dressed men and women from past centuries gazed down in silence at this audacious invasion of their privacy.
His eyes scanned the room from behind his black ski mask, and finally settled on a Rembrandt self-portrait that hung in an exquisite silver gilt frame above an elaborately carved Queen Anne fireplace. Moving silently across the plush carpeted floor to the portrait, he touched one side of the frame with a gloved hand, pushing it gently. With a soft click it slowly swung out revealing a hidden wall safe with two combination touch pads. As the frame swung clear, the LEDs on each of the two pads began to flash red.
He pushed back his right sleeve, exposing the three sets of numbers written in ink on his wrist. His gloved fingers danced across the first touchpad, entering the first set of numbers. There was another soft click and the LED turned a steady green.
Next, he tapped the second sequence of numbers into the other touch pad. Another click, the second LED turned green and the door of the safe popped ajar.
Reaching inside the safe, he scooped out the contents and placed them on top of the oak desk. Flipping swiftly through the papers, he soon found what he was looking for; an ageing brown foolscap envelope, secured with sealing wax. He checked the title and folio number, written in copperplate handwriting on the envelope, against the last number written on his right wrist. Slipping the envelope into the inside of his jacket, he replaced the rest of the papers and made his way back to the door. He listened for movement from outside in the hallway before cracking the door slightly. Satisfied that all was silent, he stepped out, closing the door behind him. Then he quickly made his way back along the corridor the way he had come, his footsteps silent on the thick pile of the carpet, seemingly unconcerned that his progress was being captured by a series of cameras mounted at intervals high on the wall.
Stopping briefly at the corner he listened again for movement. Hearing nothing, he rounded the corner and continued down the hall until he came to the window which he had used to enter the building. Climbing carefully through, he made his way nimbly down the adjacent, richly decorated drain pipe until he reached the ground.
Stopping again, he listened for any sound before crouching and sprinting a hundred metres across the vast manicured lawn toward the outer wall. The rope that he had used to gain entry was still hanging down, anchored by one of the wicked looking spikes embedded at intervals into the brickwork along the top.With practiced ease he climbed the four metres to the top. Carefully straddling the wall, he gathered the rope and threw it over the other side.
Checking both ways on the broad, deserted road outside, he grasped the rope and slid gently down to the ground.
As he hit the pavement, the engine on the black Jeep Cherokee parked nearby roared into life, its headlights stabbing the semi-darkness. He grabbed the rope and flipped it several times to try to dislodge it from the top of the wall, but it snagged on the spike and wouldn’t budge. He tried several more times, but the driver of the Jeep flashed the headlights impatiently. Leaving the rope, he ran across to the car.Flinging open the front door, he leapt inside, slammed the door and the car took off with a squeal of tyres.
Neither he nor the driver paid any attention to the blue BMW that pulled out from the kerb several hundred metres farther back.
Chapter 2
The Athenaeum Club, on the corner of Waterloo Place in London’s Pall Mall, is famous for several outstanding architectural features. One of these is the elaborate Grecian style frieze surrounding the building on its second floor. Another is its expansive library. A lesser known feature is its equally large and ornate smoking room.
At a little after two a.m, in a secluded corner of this room, two men sat in quiet discussion. They had the room to themselves, but kept their voices deliberately low, partly because the décor commanded a certain reverence, but mostly to avoid being overheard by the attentive waiter standing near the door.
In spite of it being a smoking room, neither man indulged, settling instead for balloon glasses of obscenely priced cognac which they warmed in their hands, giving them the occasional swirl in order to fully appreciate the bouquet.
The first man waved a manicured hand in the direction of the waiter, who hurried across to where they sat. “We’ll have two more of these please, George. Then you can toddle off home. We shan’t need you any more tonight.”
The waiter inclined his head and smiled, partly out of politeness, but more out of relief at finally being able to get some sleep. “Certainly sir,” he replied, “two more cognacs.”
When he was once more out of earshot, the first man spoke again. “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing? All it takes is for one thing to go wrong and the whole project could blow up in our faces.”
The other man smiled benignly. “Don’t worry so much, everything has been planned to perfection. Those involved are the best in their fields, and everything is on a strict need to know basis. There won’t be any slip-ups.”
The first man leaned forward anxiously. “How can we be so sure of that, when there are so many variables; so many things that could go wrong?” he said. “Don’t forget that from our positions, it’s a long way to fall.”
The other man smiled again and shook his head. He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew a gold Armani fob watch in a Hunter case. Flipping it open he examined the face in the dim light. “By now it should all be over, and the documents on the way to their buyer. If there had been any problems, I’m sure we would have heard before now.”
The first man leaned back in the sumptuous armchair. “I certainly hope you’re right. I’ve grown rather fond of my job, and the salary that it attracts. I’d really hate to lose them both.”
The other man chuckled. “I think we’re both a little too used to our respective lifestyles to want to risk losing them. I certainly wouldn’t have suggested this little operation if I thought for one minute that it was likely to fail in any respect.”
The first man shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “Well, I suppose it’s too late now to be worrying. We’ll just have to wait and see how events turn out.”
George, the waiter, returned with two more balloon glasses of Cognac. He placed them on a side table and left. The two men replaced their empty glasses with the full ones.
The first man said, “Of course, you realise that if it weren’t for our positions, and the power that we have, this entire project would have been impossible to pull off?”
The other man raised his glass. “In that case, here’s to absolute power.”
Chapter 3
Thomas Road in London’s East End runs between Burdett Street and Bow Common Lane, E14. The Thomas Road Industrial Estate sits between Thomas Road and the waterway known as Limehouse Cut. It consists of a series of two storey factory units of various sizes. In the pre-dawn half light, a small convoy, consisting of two black vans led by two cars, entered the estate with their lights off. They cruised slowly down the street and stopped outside an unoccupied unit.The back doors of the vans burst open and a squad of heavily armed and armoured CO19 officers jumped out and made their way swiftly toward the open loading dock.
“Armed police, get down on the ground, now!” Multiple voices echoed the mantra and it rebounded around the concrete walls of the factory unit as the officers swept through the doors, the powerful flashlights on their MP5 sub-machine carbines sweeping the immediate area. Taken completely by surprise, the group of men inside the dock unloading the Ford Transit van threw down their weapons and dropped to the ground, their arms outstretched. The armed officers moved in quickly, and within seconds the men were speedcuffed and searched and their weapons secured.
The sergeant carefully scanned the scene before lowering his weapon. “All clear,” he shouted, and the rest of the squad lowered their weapons and stepped back.
As the echo of the sergeant’s voice faded away, the imposing figure of Detective Chief Inspector Ray Hawkins strode into the warehouse, closely followed by members of his team.
He stopped in front of the first neatly trussed prisoner, hands thrust into the pockets of his overcoat, and his eyes narrowed as they swept the scene, taking in every detail. The Transit was in the centre of the warehouse, its doors wide open. A trail of cash boxes led from the rear doors across to where two estate cars stood waiting to be loaded.
Face down on the floor, four men lay with their hands bound behind their backs.
Hawkins nodded with satisfaction and a slight smile played on the corners of his lips. He was a no-nonsense copper from the old school of policing, with more than thirty years experience of taking scum like this off the streets of London.
“Right, seal off the scene and get the CSE down here. Take this lot down the nick. I want them all cautioned and charged with conspiracy to commit armed robbery and whatever other firearms offences you can think of. Jerry, you and the boys check out the Transit and the two cars; I want all the cash taken away, counted and logged.”
CO19 officers dragged the bound prisoners to their feet and herded them out to the waiting vans, while DI Jerry Naylor and two DCs took charge of the vehicle search.
“What would you like me to do while the boys are unloading the cash, guv?” DS Jackie Myers asked.
Hawkins smiled. Jackie was the only female officer in his team but she was excellent value, in spite of her predilection for the opposite sex.“Detective Sergeant Myers, as far as I’m concerned, you are one of the boys. Now, get that lovely arse of yours inside that van.”
“Ooh…, I love it when you talk dirty,” she giggled, clambering into the back of the Transit.
Hawkins watched as the prisoners were bundled unceremoniously into the police vans, and their arsenal of weapons was taken away. This was the culmination of two weeks of solid police work coupled with reliable intelligence.Another gang of vicious armed thugs caught after the fact with the goods.After all this time, he still got an adrenaline high at an early morning armed raid. It doesn’t get much better than this.
He turned as the headlights of an arriving vehicle swept the interior of the unit. Walking outside, he was in time to see the Borough Commander stepping out from behind the wheel of his departmental Lexus. Chief Superintendent Clive Buchan adjusted his jacket and waited for the other occupant to exit the car.
“Morning sir, this is a pleasant surprise, as always. I didn’t expect to see you here this early in the day, if at all,” Hawkins said, shooting a quick glance at the man getting out of the passenger seat.
Buchan looked around in the semi-darkness. “Yes, I must admit I’m not usually up and about at 6:00am every morning.”
Hawkins smiled. “Welcome to the world of pro-active policing, sir.”
“It looks like you’ve had another result, Ray,” Buchan said, surveying the activity.
“Yeah, it looks as if my snouts are finally earning their keep.”
“Is this the crew from yesterday’s armoured car robbery in Stratford?”
“That’s the one, sir. They brought the Transit here after they pulled the job, and left it overnight, knowing that we’d be looking for it. They figured that by this morning the heat would have died down so they came back to transfer the cash into a couple of other vehicles. They didn’t realise that they’d been under observation for the past few weeks.”
“Weren’t you taking a bit of a risk, letting them pull the job then waiting until now to arrest them?”
“We couldn’t risk nicking them during the job on account of the fact that they were armed to the teeth, and Stratford Broadway on a Monday afternoon isn’t really the place for a gunfight. It was better to let them think they’d got away with it.”
“Did they give you any trouble?”
“No, no trouble at all. It’s amazing the effect that a dozen semi-automatic machine pistols can have on the anal sphincter of your average hard working criminal.”
“So, this case is all over, bar the paperwork.”
“Yeah, just about.The team did a great job, as usual.”
“That’s good. Ray, let me introduce Commander Stephen Riley. Commander, this is DCI Ray Hawkins; Ray is in charge of CID at Stepney Green.”
“Good morning, Chief Inspector,” Riley said, offering his hand, “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”
“So, my reputation has finally spread to the exalted corridors of New Scotland Yard,” Hawkins replied, shaking the proffered hand.
Riley smiled. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know about that.”
Hawkins frowned and looked at Buchan.
“The Commander isn’t from the Yard, Ray. He’s from Thames House.”
“Oh really, and what brings MI5 down to the East End to see the local Plod?”
“Well, I was hoping that we could discuss that over coffee,” Riley said, “If you know of anywhere around here that’s open this early, and is discreet.”
Hawkins checked his watch and smiled. “I know just the place,” he walked back and stuck his head inside the factory unit, “Jerry, when you’ve got that lot squared away, you and the team head back to the nick. I’ll see you there later; I’ve got a bit of business to see to.”
“Okay guv,” Jerry’s voice floated back from the interior of the van.
“And look after that money!”
“Yeah, no worries. It’s as safe as houses.”
Jackie stuck her head out of the back door of the van as the Lexus pulled away. “Who was the suit with the Chief Super, guv?”
Jerry shook his head. “I’ve never seen him before, but he looks like a spook.”
“What do you suppose he wanted with the DCI?”
“Well, if past performance is anything to go by, I’d say the boss is in the shit again.”
Chapter 4
Hawkins stepped out of the Lexus, carefully avoiding the mud, and sauntered across to the counter of the burger van. “Three cups of your finest slop please, Harry.”
The man wiped his hands down the front of his greasy apron. “Hello Mr H, I haven’t seen you around here for a while. I thought you must have found somewhere better to eat.”
“Harry, a market stall in the slums of Mumbai, selling dead rats and locusts, would be a better place to eat. However, it wouldn’t have the same ambience as this al-fresco setting, nor your scintillating repartee. Five sugars in mine.”
Harry blinked twice. “You don’t want any burgers with the coffees, then?”
“No burgers, Harry. I’ve only just started work for the day. The last thing I need in a couple of hours time is a dose of the runs.”
Commander Riley looked around. The large block of waste ground between Wapping High Street and the Thames was, to say the least, discreet. He gazed east along the river to where the sun was just starting to appear over the Thames Estuary, casting an amber glow across the water and surrounding buildings.
To the right, the illuminated towers of London’s most famous bridge stood out against the western horizon.
London’s dockland was changing. Thirty years ago he would have been looking at ships being unloaded at cargo terminals, and barges carrying all kinds of goods being towed up and down the river. Now it was all changed, with high rise offices and apartments dominating the skyline. Gone were the filthy rat infested factories and warehouses that were once the main source of income for the working class residents of London’s East End. Nowadays you needed a six figure salary to be able to live in the glass and concrete apartments that now overlooked one of the most famous rivers in the world.
It wasn’t exactly the meeting place he would have suggested, but it was picturesque and, above all, empty. He walked over to the van. “Well, Chief Inspector, this isn’t quite what I had in mind, but at least we won’t be overheard.”
Hawkins handed him a Styrofoam cup. “Sugar, Commander?”
“No… thank you,” Riley said, looking down at the brown liquid swirling around in the cup.
Hawkins shrugged. “It’s your choice, but if I were you, I’d have at least three,” he handed the other cup to Buchan and the three men walked back to the car, “so what can I do for you, Commander?”
“Do the names Bannister or Kemp mean anything to you?”
“If you mean Michael Bannister and Stuart Kemp, the answer’s yes. They’re a couple of young scrotes from Hackney. They’ve got form for theft, receiving and credit card fraud. I put them both away about eighteen months ago for burglary artifice. They’re probably out by now.”
Riley nodded. “Yes they are. In fact they were both picked up in the early hours of this morning, at the scene of a burglary at… an address in Westminster.”
“Westminster? You’re joking, that’s too up-market for those two. Dalston maybe, or even Islington; but definitely not Westminster?”
“That’s not all,” Riley went on, “the address housed the office of a high ranking government official. It was broken into and an envelope containing several highly sensitive documents was removed.”
Hawkins nodded. “Obviously Laurel and Hardy didn’t have this envelope on them when they were nicked, or this would be an open and shut case, and you wouldn’t need my help?”
Riley shook his head. “Unfortunately not, and the missing documents contain information that would be worth a fortune on the open market.We think this is an attempt at extortion.”
Hawkins grinned. “Bannister and Kemp, you’ve got to be joking? They wouldn’t know the first thing about extortion. And even if they looked it up on the internet, assuming they could spell it, they wouldn’t have a clue what to ask for in exchange. I think you’re barking up the wrong tree on this one, Commander. It just doesn’t fit their MO. What have they got to say for themselves?”
“That’s just it. They’ve exercised their right to remain silent. They’re not saying anything to anybody. They don’t even want a solicitor.”
“Ah, the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, 1984,” Hawkins said, “a wonderful piece of legislation, truly wonderful. What ever did we do before it came into existence? Oh yeah, that’s right. We beat the shit out of the bastards until they did talk,” he nudged Buchan. “the good old days, right sir?”
The Borough Commander cleared his throat. “The fact is they say they won’t speak to anybody but you, Ray.”
“That’s right, Chief Inspector,” Riley agreed, “it seems that you’re the only one that they trust.”
Hawkins laughed. “I’m not surprised. They’ve probably seen more of me in the last ten years than they have their own fathers. That’s always assuming, of course, that they know who their fathers are.”
“If they do know anything about the whereabouts of the missing envelope, we need to find out what it is,” Riley said,“as I mentioned, the documents are extremely sensitive and, if they fall into the wrong hands, it could cause irreparable harm.”
“I think it’s fair to assume that they’re already in the wrong hands, Commander,” Hawkins said draining his cup, “so, where are you keeping these two morons?”
“They’re currently being held by SO15 at Paddington Green Police Station.”
Hawkins looked at the two men. “Counter Terrorist Command? Don’t you think that’s a bit over the top?”
“Not really, considering what was taken and from where.”
“Well, Commander, do you feel like sharing that information or do I have to guess?”
Riley looked at Buchan. The Chief Superintendent nodded. “We can’t tell you the nature of the stolen documents Ray, but…”
“Well, somebody had better tell me something, or else we’re wasting our time.”
“This information is strictly need-to-know, you understand, Chief Inspector?” Riley said.
“Well, given that you need my help in the matter, I think I need to know don’t you?”
“Very well; Bannister and Kemp were caught leaving the office of the Private Secretary to the Sovereign… inside Buckingham Palace.”
A smile spread slowly across Hawkins’s face. “Oh dear,” he said softly, “not again.”
Chapter 5
Located on the corner of Edgware Road and Harrow Road in west London, Paddington Green police station is, in addition to being a regular police station, the main high security holding area for terrorism suspects in the United Kingdom. The sixteen storey building, completed in 1971, was staffed and operated by members of the Anti Terrorist Squad, SO13, until 2006 when the squad merged with Special Branch to form Counter Terrorist Command, designated SO15.
The original building was deemed inadequate on humanitarian grounds and was completely refurbished in 2009 at a cost to the British tax payer of £490,000.
Thirty minutes after their meeting, Hawkins stood with Buchan and Riley in the custody area with DI Don Lynch of SO15. They were looking at a CCTV screen showing the two boys in the custody suite watching cartoons on the television.
“I thought this was supposed to be a bloody terrorist detention centre?” Hawkins exclaimed.
Lynch shook his head. “When I joined SO13, that’s exactly what it was. Since the merge with Special Branch, it’s been more like a bloody holiday camp.”
“Yeah, well you’ve got Lord Carlile to thank for that,” Hawkins said, “what a message to send out to the seriously committed radical element in our society. Carry out an act of terror on British soil and spend the next four weeks at the Costa del Paddington.”
Riley checked his watch. “If we could make a start please, Chief Inspector, we don’t really have a lot of time.”
“Oh really, and there I was thinking the Terrorism Act 2008 gave you twenty eight days to break the bastards?”
“What I mean is that we need to act quickly to reduce the chance of the documents being made public.”
“I thought you said you suspected an extortion attempt?”
“We do.”
“Well then, whoever has it isn’t likely to release the documents to the media or anybody else until they’ve given you every opportunity to come up with the euros. And they can’t do that until they contact you to tell you how many they want and where and how to deliver. I take it they haven’t done that?”
“Well, no, not yet.”
“Then it’s fair to assume that we’ve still got a bit of time up our sleeves.”
“Yes, of course, my apologies. I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”
“Right, well I suppose the next step is to have a word with those two.”
“Yes, I think that’s probably a good idea,” Buchan said, “the Commander and I will get ourselves a cup of decent coffee while you have a chat with the boys.”
“I’ll take you through,” Lynch said, leading the way, “and before you ask, I can’t turn off the cameras. It’s as much for your safety as anything else.”
“Not a problem. What about sound?”
The other man shook his head. “It’s only on during official interviews.”
Hawkins waited until they were out of earshot of Riley. “Did your lads find anything at the scene to suggest how far these two are involved?”
“We haven’t been near the scene. The Security Service won’t let us in.”
“But it’s your jurisdiction surely, Don?”
“Actually, it’s SO14s jurisdiction, but Thames House are pulling rank.”
“Judging from the look of this Riley character, that’s not all they’re pulling. What do you make of him?”
“I don’t know too much about him. He’s a bit of a new broom over at GCHQ. I’ve heard that he’s pretty high up in the food chain though. It just proves that it’s not what you know, but who you know.”
They stopped at the door to the interview suite. “And, do you think that these two Muppets pose any kind of a threat to National Security?”
“Nah, I reckon they’re more of a threat to themselves. They’ve got the combined IQ of a three year old.”
“Really,” Hawkins said, turning the door handle, “I would have said that was an insult to toddlers.”
He entered the suite and closed the door. Bannister and Kemp looked up from the TV. “It’s about time you got here, Mr H.” Kemp said.
“Yeah, I was getting worried,” Bannister added.
“You are a worry, Michael,” Hawkins said, walking across and switching off the TV, "now what the bloody hell have you two clowns been up to now?”
“We didn’t do nothin’, Mr H, honest,” Bannister said.
“Yeah,” Kemp added, “we’ve been set up.”
“Set up! You were found inside Buckingham bloody Palace. You tell me how you were set up?”
Banister raised a finger. “Well, we weren’t actually inside the Palace, Mr H. Not strictly speaking.”
“Oh, I see…right. So why don’t you tell me where exactly you were…strictly speaking.”
“We were outside, trying to climb up the drainpipe,” Kemp said.
Hawkins frowned and rubbed his temple. “So, what made the police think that you’d been inside the office when you hadn’t even managed to get inside the building?”
The boys looked at each other. “They said that the upstairs window was open,” Kemp said.
“Yeah, and they found an office upstairs with the safe already cracked,” Bannister added.
“In other words, they saw you on the drainpipe, assumed you’d already done the deed, and that you were climbing down, not up.”
The boys nodded.
“Right, I want you to tell me everything that happened last night, from the time you left your flea pit in Hackney, until you got yourselves nicked. Don’t try to leave anything out or I’ll take you over to that blind spot in the corner and give you both a slap.”
Chapter 6
In contrast to Paddington Green, Stepney Green was an old police station in an old part of the East End, and came under the control of Tower Hamlets Borough Command. The ancient two storey building was divided into two sections. Downstairs on the ground floor was for the uniformed component, and CID had the upstairs offices.
The general office was basically one large room that occupied the whole upper floor. At the rear of the room, and commonly referred to as ‘the inner sanctum’, was Hawkins’s office.
Trainee Detective Constable Colin Lennox sat at his desk in the general office counting the money from the factory unit. He looked up from the stack of banknotes on his desk. “When’s the DCI getting back? I’m getting blurred vision counting all these twenties, and my fingers are turning a funny colour.”
Colin looked at his ink stained fingers in disgust. He had only been with CID for three months; prior to that, he was a PC at Wimbledon. He was given the opportunity to try out for CID, not so much for his ability, but rather for his enthusiasm. He thought that being a TDC would be his ticket to bigger and better things, but for the time being he was just the new boy on the block.
Jackie Myers, on the other hand, had been with CID for six years, and a sergeant for three. She had joined the Met in 2000, straight from the checkout at Sainsburys in the Arndale Shopping Centre in Wandsworth. Since being on Hawkins’s team, she had proved herself equal to any of her male colleagues on many occasions. “Don’t worry, Colin. When you make sergeant you’ll have your own TDC to do this sort of thing for you,” Jackie said, in what she hoped was an encouraging tone, “he has been gone a while though, guv. Has he phoned in?”
“Not yet,” Naylor said, not looking up from his paperwork, “he’s still out with the Borough Commander and that spook.”
“How do you know he was a spook?” Colin asked.
Jackie smiled. “Did you see the way he was dressed? Nobody who works for a living looks that good at 6:00 in the morning.”
“Tell me about it,” Jerry said, “it’s a look I’ve been trying to cultivate for the past ten years.”
“Yeah, well I think you need to work on it a little more,” Jackie said with a pitying smile. “With a bit of luck, you might get up to the DCIs standard in another ten.”
Naylor’s mobile phone began to buzz. “Talk of the devil,” he said, glancing at the caller ID.He flipped it open. “Yes, guv.”
“Jerry, I want you to get onto SO14. Tell them that I want all the paperwork on a break-in that occurred last night at the Palace.”
“Which Palace is that, guv?”
“The one that SO14 usually look after Jerry, the Oriental Palace Chinese takeaway on Mile End Road. Which bloody Palace do you think I mean?”
“You mean Buckingham Palace?”
“Yes, Jerry, the big house at the end of the Mall.I want police statements, and forensic reports, plus any CCTV footage, of which I would assume there would be a shit-load. And don’t take no for an answer. Tell them that this is authorised by Commander Riley at Thames House.”
“I’ll go over there and collect it myself, guv.”
“Delegate, Jerry…, send young Lennox over to pick it up. It’ll take his mind off having to count all that cash.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate the change of pace, guv.”
Hawkins hung up and Jerry smiled.
“What’s so funny, guv?” Lennox asked.
“You’re going on a little trip, Colin.”
“A trip…where?”
“You’re going to see the Queen.”
“The Queen…? Are you serious?”
“No, not really, but it’s about as close as you’ll ever get to her without joining the Royal Protection Group. You’re picking up some physical evidence from Buckingham Palace.”
Colin looked nervous. “Is it important evidence, guv?”
“It’s from Buckingham Palace, Colin, what do you think?”
“Maybe the sarge ought to do it. She’s had more experience than me.”
Jackie’s eyebrows went up. “Careful what you say now, young Lennox.”
“Actually Colin, the Boss asked for you especially. He said it might stop you whining about counting all those bank notes.”
Colin frowned. “How did he know I was complaining?’
Jerry put his head down and resumed writing. “That’s what makes him a bloody good copper, Colin, ESP.”
Chapter 7
Hawkins walked into the CID office at Stepney Green police station several hours later. “Has Lennox got back from the Palace with that evidence yet?”
“Not yet, guv,” Jerry answered, “he rang just before he left about forty five minutes ago.”
“Did he have any problems with SO14?”
“No, he just dropped Commander Riley’s name and they bent over backwards to help.”
“I can’t believe GCHQ was prepared to share information with us on a case involving the Royal Family,” Jackie said, “that’s a bit unusual for the Security Service, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is. And they didn’t,” Hawkins said.
Jerry looked up. “But you said…”
“I know what I said, but do you think those planks over at ‘A’ division would have given us bugger all otherwise? Did you get that money counted and logged?”
“Yes, guv, it’s all downstairs in the big safe in the evidence room.”
“How much was there, and remember, I already know how much there should be.”
Jerry picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and made a quick calculation. “All up there was three hundred and forty two thousand, eight hundred and eighty pounds, in mixed denominations.”
Hawkins shrugged. “Close enough.What about the paperwork?”
“All finished and on your desk.”
“Brilliant, now all we need is the stuff from the Palace and we can get started on this new case.”
Right on cue, Colin walked into the office, carrying a large cardboard box. “Sorry I took so long guv, the traffic was shocking, both ways.”
“Never mind, you’re here now. What did they give you?”
“Everything I think. Statements, forensics and half a dozen CCTV tapes.”
“Good lad, right Jerry, let’s get Colin and Jackie working on the statements. Andy and Paul can go through the forensic reports, and we’ll go and check out the CCTV tapes. We should have this lot knocked over in a couple of hours.”
“Why can’t we check the CCTV tapes, instead of having to do more paperwork?” Colin moaned. “How come you and the DI get to sit back and watch security tapes?”
“For the same reason that we get to sit in the front of the motor when we go out on a job, Colin; rank. And the farther you travel up the ladder of success in the Metropolitan Police Service, the more you will come to realise that rank does indeed have its privileges.”
“That’s not really fair though, is it?”Colin said, dejectedly.
“Neither is the arse on an IC3, but that’s life so deal with it. You got a trip out on your own this morning, so stop complaining and start reading.”