Bertie and the Kinky Politician (27 page)

‘Did you get their names?'

‘Already been on to the Yard. No such officers exist. Their ID was spot on.'

‘Good forgeries need resources. There's a lot at stake here for someone very high up the food chain, so now what do we do?' Wilf eyed his boss. There was no doubt Yates was in a state of shock. He may have been a first-class pillock but this was a direct attack on his ability to run his own police station and that was likely to put a serious spanner in his career plans.

‘Matters have suddenly got way beyond your usual stuff so I'm going to hand it on to someone with more experience in this kind of enquiry.'

‘What?' snapped Wilf. ‘Don't you dare. It's mine. I'll handle it. I'll make any arrests. I'll get this to court. Is that clear?'

Yates had every right to pass the investigation on to a more competent team of officers and in view of the potential consequences was strongly tempted to do so, but something in his heart told him no one was more capable than Wilf in cracking the case. Besides, another thought crossed his sly mind; if Wilf did upset some high-flying Whitehall types then any retribution could be smoothly diverted back on to the officer running the enquiry, neatly missing his own Teflon-coated hide. He considered for a moment, eyeing Wilf thoughtfully. ‘All right, you carry on. Listen, Wilf, I know we haven't exactly seen eye to eye in the past, but this is personal. Whoever's behind this has made us look like fools and I'll not abide that. You get stuck in and if anything turns up you'll have my full support.'

‘But without any evidence?'

‘Then you'll have to do it the old-fashioned way, Wilf, and there's no one better in this station, though it galls me to say so,' he added wryly.

‘Thanks, Tris. I'm not entirely out of leads.' For the first time he could remember, he left Yates's office with a smile on his face.

‘OK, my boy, let's get back to work.'

‘You got something?' asked Ian, rolling over on his chair to join Wilf at his desk.

‘Surely have. I visited the author of that fine piece this morning,' he said, nodding at the newspaper sitting atop his in-tray. ‘And guess what happened while I was there.'

‘No idea.'

‘Opportunity and coincidence. Never underestimate their importance.' Wilf accessed the DVLA database and typed in the registration numbers of the two cars he'd seen leaving the hospital. Details of Gregory Alan Peter Coberley and Robert John Pritchard appeared. ‘Excellent,' he murmured, and changing the menu slightly, typed in another name. He was rewarded with the driving record of Hugo Anthony Chaplain. Wilf worked at the keyboard again to access more personal details held on a variety of official databases, then printed and carefully examined all three files.

‘Those two are big lads,' observed Drewing. ‘I think we'll be needing body armour and dogs.'

‘Good idea. The third is my target and he's another kettle of fish altogether. Dangerous, yes, but in an entirely different way, but we're going to have to work quickly. I know where he is at the moment and I know he'll be feeling vulnerable because he's not in a familiar environment. We can use that. Come on, let's get a team together to collar the other two thugs and then, Constable Drewing, I feel like a house call coming on,' he said with a grim smile. ‘Fancy joining me on a trip to hospital?'

Early evening found Hugo propped up in bed, increasingly listless. All he wanted now was to go home, to get away from all these sick people. These sick
ordinary
people. He desperately needed to get back to work, despite the dull pain throbbing persistently in his ample midriff. Maureen had just left after her daily visit and he'd been genuinely pleased to see her, but she'd informed him she intended to talk seriously about their marital problems the moment she got him home again. It appeared she was proposing to keep him housebound for at least a fortnight, a length of time Hugo knew was just far too long.

He picked up the newspaper brought earlier by Pritchard and Coberley. “Pollygate!” screamed at him. The two had been nervous, despite his reassurances the steps he'd already taken would irreparably damage any case the police cared to bring. Bloxham and Petronelli had played their parts well, diverting attention to allow Adam Sangster to sneak in to clear out the Evidence Room at Greenwich, and Coberley himself had done a masterful job online, using that Chinese worm they'd pinched from GCHQ to hack the police and DVLA. There were still a few loose ends to tidy up, but Hugo was confident JSON had escaped to fight once again.

He looked up. A man stood in the doorway of his room, bald, hangdog of expression, wearing an ill-fitting and somewhat rumpled suit under a faded grey mac, the pockets of which currently housed his hands. Hugo frowned his most unfriendly frown, hoping his hostility would discourage his visitor. He flicked up his newspaper dismissively and buried himself behind the pages. Not a sound was heard in the room. He counted to twenty in his head and then lowered the paper. The man was now standing at the foot of his bed. Really, this was quite insufferable and once more he vowed never to grace an NHS hospital again – the lack of privacy was simply appalling.

‘Yes?' he snapped. ‘Can't you see I'm busy being ill?'

The man merely smiled. ‘Hello, Hugo,' he said softly.

Hugo started so violently the paper slipped from his inert fingers and fell to the floor. His identity was a closely guarded secret known to only a very few, yet here was this shabby interloper casually standing in his room – and he knew his name.

The man stooped to pick up the paper. He shuffled it back together, perused the strident cover and tossed it on the bed again. ‘Your reaction is not entirely unexpected, yet instructive,' he said quietly. To Hugo's extreme consternation, he placed a chair next to the bed and sat. He seemed in no rush to depart.

‘Who are you?' demanded Hugo peevishly.

‘Detective Constable Wilfred Thompson,' said the man, flashing his ID. ‘Nice to meet you at long last.'

Now that was extremely disturbing. It implied the man had been searching him out. Impossible! Even MI5 had difficulty keeping tabs on his activities, and they were pretty damned good at sneaking around after people.

Hugo adopted a familiar tone, one he'd had occasion to use before when dealing with the lower and denser echelons of authority. ‘I do not know you. I have no wish to speak to you and I can assure you that, unless you don't value your career, you should leave immediately. You have no idea how easily I can make you wish you'd never been born.'

‘
We're
not going anywhere.' This, delivered in a tone normally reserved for recalcitrant children, further alarmed Hugo.

‘We?' he snapped. ‘We?'

‘That's right. Me and my pal here.' Drewing appeared in the doorway, arms folded across chest in his best hard-man pose, impressively caparisoned with all the tools of his trade; stylish Kevlar stab vest in fetching black, clip-on anti-strangle tie, shoulder radio and ear-piece, Bat Utility Belt hung with all manner of pouches, weapons of defence, handcuffs, pepper spray and other essential law-enforcing bibs and bobs.

Hugo gaped. ‘This is outrageous,' he stammered. ‘Don't think you can threaten me. I demand to know what's going on.' He pulled the sheets up a little as if the policemen were ogres escaped from a fairy tale.

‘And I'll be happy to oblige.' Wilf settled himself, flicked a speck of lint from his lapel and addressed Hugo with a winning smile. Ian was seriously impressed. He never failed to enjoy watching how effortlessly Wilf controlled a situation. It was a travesty he'd been overlooked for promotion for so long – Wilf was by far the best copper he'd ever seen. ‘It all started in Brazil a long time ago.'

‘Brazil? Never been to the country,' sniffed Hugo.

‘Neither have I, but Celeste Gordon has.'

Score one for Wilf. Hugo's eyes widened momentarily before the shutters came down. ‘I have no idea who you're talking about.'

‘Come off it, Hugo, we all know that's a lie.'

‘I'm calling my solicitor.'

‘Why? All I'm doing is telling you a story. We're here to – ah, clarify a few points. No need for a brief, unless you've got something to hide, of course, in which case I'd be very interested in what you have to say and then our relationship will become considerably more formal. Not to your advantage, I would've thought, to swap that nice comfy bed for an interview room back at the station, so let's just keep things pleasantly casual, shall we? Anyway, as I was saying, the very attractive Miss Gordon, formerly resident of Brazil, now lives in Greenwich, but although a spinster, she doesn't live alone, does she, Hugo?'

Silence.

‘No, there's another who shares her house, but he's not quite what you'd expect to see in London. He's definitely a native of Brazil and he certainly surprised Greg and Bob, who, even as we speak, are being taken into custody on suspicion of committing aggravated burglary and actual bodily harm. What's up, Hugo, nothing to say? No further threats to my career?'

Hugo's mind stalled in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. The blood drained from his face, the change in skin tone not unobserved by Wilf. This was fatal news and he recognised it as such, absolutely catastrophic coming on the back of the revelations in the gutter press. The survival of JSON – and his very freedom – suddenly hung in the balance. There was something implacable and unrelenting in the detective's manner which displayed an unshakable resolve and Hugo knew the man could not be intimidated, bribed or bullied. How had it come to this?

‘I've been to Miss Gordon's house. I've spoken to her – and to Bertie, the little scamp. He's quite the chatterbox – and he's the one who's fingered you and your two buddies. That was a big mistake, Hugo. Breaking into a lady's home to steal her diary. Very ungentlemanly, wouldn't you say? Checking to see if James Timbrill had anything juicy you could use as leverage? All these questions, Hugo. Any chance you'd like to answer? Better here and now. You're in that cosy bed, you're not under caution and I'm not taping our little chat.'

‘I have nothing to say to you,' mumbled Hugo, overwhelmed that this nondescript-looking man, so lugubrious and dreary and, and – 
common
, could have such concise knowledge of events. For the first time in his life he knew he'd met his equal.

‘Fair enough, we'll leave you to your mags and hospital radio.' Wilf leaned forward and stared unwaveringly at Hugo. All bonhomie bled from his voice and his eyes were hard. ‘But before we leave I want to make one or two things plain to you, old chum. I'm not arresting you, even though I could. I've nosed around your life a bit and discovered you're a repellent person. All agree on that, although I guess the danger is intellectual rather than physical.' Wilf swept a dismissive gaze over Hugo's blubbery bulk. ‘You've done enough to answer a charge of perverting the course of justice and conspiracy to commit burglary. Now that's a winning hand for me. I think you'll find the boot is now on the other foot. Not very nice, is it, having someone who's got the drop on you for a change, so I think I'll bank my advantage for the moment. However, there are a few things you really need to do urgently to prevent my immediate reappearance with an arrest warrant.

‘Firstly, there's a man called Dominic Oxford. Make sure new evidence comes to light exonerating him of all charges. Then there's my friend, the reporter, currently languishing in more pain than you'll ever experience in your lifetime. I know your two psychos worked him over. He's to be left alone. Completely! Or else!'

‘Or else what!' sneered Hugo, trying desperately to counter the patient assault on his world by this morose, polyester-clad man.

‘I imagine there are a few individuals who've suffered as a result of their contact with you. People with influence. People with a grudge to settle, who would be only too happy to step into a witness box. I guess there are enough wronged souls littering your past to charter a fleet of taxis to bring them to court.'

Now there was an uncomfortable thought for Hugo.

‘But, as a master of manipulation yourself, you know there are ways to avoid such unpleasantness. Don't get your hopes up, matey boy, I'm not striking a deal with you. A deal implies you have something I want. You do not. Don't imagine you can encourage any reluctance to prosecute on the part of the CPS or bring pressure to bear on me personally because if I get one whiff of your diseased interference in my professional life or in the execution of this case then expect a knock on the door in the middle of the night. Next time I won't be so chatty. In fact I'll be certain to bring my favourite pair of handcuffs and my friend, the reporter, will make damned sure you'll be on the front page of this fine journal the following morning.' Wilf nodded at the paper draped over Hugo's knees.

‘Finally, if I ever catch you or your boys in sniffing distance of Miss Gordon again then there'll be hell to pay. You leave her and her talented boyfriend alone. That's a message you'd better take back to your master. I'd deliver it myself but I figure you've got his ear. I know exactly where this leads, Chaplain, and it's only the very narrowest lack of evidence that's preventing me from taking further action. I might not be able to get right up to the top of this particularly unpleasant pile of poo, but I'll make damned sure there'll be a resigning type of fuss over in Westminster. I don't think he'd want that, do you?

‘You're lucky. You're getting off lightly, although I guess you think otherwise. All this high-profile attention must be bad for business. I imagine you've suddenly become a liability. I think your career path has just taken a turn for the worse, but believe me when I say there's a lot more to lose than your job and status. You can skulk away a free man because in exchange for my generous co-operation you're going to give me Pritchard and Coberley. They're the ones who committed the burglary and assaulted Miss Gordon. They're the ones who are about to discover their boss is throwing them to the wolves. They're the ones who'll be facing trial and they're the ones who are going to pay.