118: Busted!

‘Jack!’

‘Tony. Not seen you two at home before.’

‘Coffee all?’ Said Charlie, entering the reception room.

‘Thank you, my love. Some special occasion, is it?’

‘Indeed, it is. It’s time for you to go entirely legit.’

‘This wouldn’t be about the letter we received this morning, would it?’

‘Your noticed to quit. Four weeks.’

‘You think we should be thinking of disposal, rather than just moving on.’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because good things will happen. And with you going, others will be encouraged to pull their fingers out.’

‘What good things?’

‘I'll come to affairs of state in the fullness of time. First and foremost we are going to create a publicity stunt, a good old piece of street theatre. A few of the great British public may notice your departure Jack, along with associated criminal elements, but then we need something to put a rocket up the arse of all the others who may be reluctant to make the time and take the effort.’

‘You’re beginning to lose me mate.’

‘We of the ER, R, require the whole of the old goods yard to be cleared as soon as possible. But we, are also acutely aware that for most of the town, it is, in its current state, their principal eyesore! The sight of old shipping containers, converted into storage units, stacked three high and painted bright blue, being removed will be the first practical sign of the new railway’s good intentions.’

‘Well, I can see that would suit you, but shifting some dodgy stuff takes time...’

‘Precisely, and the only thing that would really speed that up would be the imminent arrival of a dawn raid by the police, with the media close on their heels. News of our good works could not fail to reach all corners of the county, perhaps even the nation.’

‘And you could guarantee you’d wait for the all-clear from me before you tipped them off?’

‘Absolutely. And I’m pretty sure the Chief Constable herself would lead the raid.’

‘You don’t what to embarrass her too much, causing her to move on, or be moved on. Right now, Wainwright is the Chief Constable of our dreams.’

‘Understood.’

‘So just what is in it for me?’

‘Well, as soon as the yard is cleared and the railway has its sidings back, they can become home to our new battery-powered commuter trains.’ I paused to let my announcement sink-in.

‘You cunning bastard! That is devious beyond words.’

‘How come?’ So asked Charlie in all innocence.

‘The council have recently realised I pulled a bit of a fast one with the new filling station.’ Continued Jack. ‘We set-up to have enough poke off the National Grid, to be a much larger consumer than we’re actually likely to be for the foreseeable. They, don’t have the capacity for any of their green schemes and have to wait in the Grids upgrade bottle-neck queue, along with the rest of the county. There’s been pressure on me to voluntarily give up capacity... But we’re less than a quarter of a mile from Tony’s yard.’ Now he was smiling. ‘Green trains across the Bay. Fuck me, we’ve got’em all!’

‘I wonder gentlemen, might I be permitted to be the one to grass you two up?’ Asserted Charlie.

‘Why, ever?’ I asked.

‘Captain Bob is anxious we should establish cooperative relations between Royal Oak and the police. This way I could go direct to Sonia herself.’

‘Oh, well! Carry-on Sparkwell.’

‘Get in.’ Were the Chief Constable’s first words, according to Charlie.

‘No, this has to be a confidential walk.’

‘Oh, very well.’

‘Who’s he?’ Was her first question.

‘Inspector Dobson, Informal Economy and Cyber Crime.’

‘Blimey.’ And after walking a few yards, she began; ‘I'm worried about Tony, he seems to be getting more and more involved with Jack, our iffy second-hand car dealer.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘I don’t want him involved in the seamier side of things anymore. Anyway, I hear things. I know where Jack's so-called “lock-up” is and I know he has to move it all this week, he's had notice to quit.’

‘And you’re willing to volunteer this information?’

‘Yes, I know you can't offer me anything. But I needed to talk to you anyway, we, that’s Captain Bob and the committee at Royal Oak were hoping we could carry on the constructive relationship we had with you at the old homeless shelter?’

‘Ah. Now, tell me Charlotte, how is it whenever one talks to Anthony, he always manages to give the impression he's doing one a favour?’

‘Well, I don’t know...’

‘The last time we spoke he claimed Jack had good documentation to back up all the goods he has.’

‘Oh, it is good, but it is false. I’ve heard Jack say it’s okay at first sight, but wouldn’t stand up to proper investigation. And the goods themselves were nicked; they’ve just passed through a few hands since.’

‘Where is he moving everything to?’

‘Well, this is the thing, I don’t know, but Tony’s been urging him to dispose of everything, I was thinking it could be your last chance to nail him.’

‘Well, Inspector, what do you think?’

‘We have spent a lot of time and money on this guy, down the years, ma’am.’

‘Yes, so where is the lock-up?’

‘Its two of the old sea containers at the railway goods yard, 326 and 327.’

‘We need him there, in the act of moving goods.’

‘Could be any day in the next week, it might just be a couple of hours’ notice.’

‘That’ll be enough.’ Said the Chief Constable, with a faraway look in her eyes. Then, after a pause she began to wander away, saying over her shoulder; ‘Give my regards to Captain Forsyth when you see him next.’

‘She won’t sell many ice creams at that speed.’ I quipped without thinking.

‘Radio silence unless strictly necessary.’ Said Jack’s voice emanating from the dashboard.

I was watching Charlie with camera two, normally resident in the treatment room, but with the zoom lens added, recording the approaching motorcade. A moment later I said; ‘Three, two, one! The first vehicle has just turned off the main road.’

‘Okay. Wait for everyone to pass then get the hell out of there.’

‘Good luck Jack!’

Charlie was quiet until we were almost home; ‘Explain to me again why Wainwright won’t work out she’s been set up.’

‘Well, if you recall, at the time of the Great Crimean Gold Heist, she complained about having to deal with so much paperwork concerning our good selves. She said that you, despite having had a bit of a dodgy past, were nonetheless always trying to do the right thing! She believes you are acting in good faith; your information was good; you just couldn’t tip them off fast enough. I mean, if all’s going to plan right now, then Wainwright will believe herself to be but minutes too late. She’ll conclude you’re the innocent one, in all the whatever.’

Turning the station yard security cameras into a live feed had been a piece of cake for Fin Heptonstall.  Arriving back in the Media room, I started viewing the recorded takeout. The fact that one of the cameras now pointed directly at Jack’s containers, with enhance-able audio was neither here nor there. It was all plain to see, Jack emerging from one of the now empty containers, the arrival of the police, much conversation, the insistence on viewing the contents of Jack’s van, even the revelation of the only item of note – the nineteen thirties petrol pump due to be delivered to the new, old garage at the Abbey Station this very a.m. The icing on the cake came at the very end, the arrival of our friends in the media. I packaged it all up, added Charlie’s footage and emailed it all off to Don Wooley.

My favourite moment had come at the very end, when an unseen media voice shouted; ‘Chief Constable! Would you care to explain why you are arresting one of the Bay Area’s most prominent businessmen?’

‘No comment.’

105: Pictures at an exhibition

I was sat in Lady Victoria’s executive chair in the bowels of the New Realist Gallery, with just the gentle hum of her dehumidifier for company, watching the activity above via her security screen. The system had recently been installed by the ever-reliable Fin Heptonstall, who naturally favoured the software used by the Trust. I could have watched it all from home, but that would have been cheating, besides I might want to make a timely intervention. Vic used to claim that you could tell by the intensity of the sound coming from her conditioning device just where Tuffy had got to in his daily round of adjusting windows, opening and closing the street doors and especially when he was out the back by the bins. Now with the new cameras, all was on show, all the time.

It was the opening day of the grand travelling exhibition of Steam West’s plans for the future of the county’s heritage. These days my fixed point of reference for understanding any social encounter is Charlie. Today she was low key, as was I, strictly one of the backroom boys. But it was her social orientation that cued my attention. I adjusted one of the cameras slightly and saw the object of her curiosity. It was Chief Constable Wainwright, who had clearly found a dead spot in security. She was adopting a power pose, but she didn’t seem to exude the quiet confidence that’s meant to go with it. Her self-hugging, folded arms practically crushing her hat. She was dressed, as usual, in the baggy white shirt and black trousers version of her uniform. Not having been the organiser of the event I had no idea whether she was here by invitation or not. Still, we’d not crossed swords for a while so I decided to have a word, or two.

‘This is a nightmare.’ She declared.

‘Oh, I don’t know, seems quite a convivial gathering.’

‘I meant this plan, a congestion nightmare.’

‘Well, only during various phases of construction, par for the course surely?’

‘Turning even more of the country into a heritage theme park.’

I moved a fraction closer and adopted a more confidential tone; ‘You know you’re not at all like other senior officers I’ve met, not that I’ve met that many you understand. They’d have turned-up much more formally attired to a do such as this.’

‘Men you mean.’

‘Oh, indeed. Edoardo, my tailor don’t you know, often tells of how ranking officers used to creep into his premises asking for alterations to their uniforms, for the more distinguished look.’

‘Vanity.’

‘No doubt. But, easier to adopt the commanding attitude if one is particularly smartly turned out on parade, one would think. And, though it’s hardly my place to say, it is rather obvious from your gait that you have a tight, trim figure below the crumpled...’

‘Shut it! Your Charlotte has been watching since you crept over. My men, have always taken it for granted, I’m gay.’

‘Oh! Right. And you think that helps with crowd control. But surely if you had a fully tailored uniform with traditional skirt, the right heals, and were prepared to flirt in both a nice and nasty way, that would be even more effective at keeping the zoo in order. And more authentic.’

‘Is this all you?’ She said, accusatively changing the subject. ‘Your Trust is just listed as one of seven partners in the consortium. It would be just like you to be the organising brain at the centre of this spider’s web of intrigue.’

‘Better to think of my role as, well a facilitator, helping to make what others want, happen!’

‘This, influence you seem to have over everyone, how does it work?’

‘Ah! The soft power thing. Well. That would be telling.’

‘I was approached by a very senior officer at an association meeting the other day, he said he wanted to “clarify” - that was the word he used - why I’d been turned down for the last few posts I’d applied for. He claimed my work in the peninsula was vital to London, almost as if we were some sort of adjunct to where the action is. I’m supposed to be keeping a lid on all sorts of things.’

‘Top bureaucrats do have a terribly obscure way of talking about things.’

‘And still, despite the Head Boy taking over, ever more files featuring your name, land on my desk.’

‘I suppose, being a loyal subject of the Crown, arouses deep suspicion these days...’

‘What’s this?’ She said pointing to some imaginative architect’s drawings.

‘Ah! Yes, in order to reinstate the full forecourt at the Abbey station we’ve had to purchase the short stretch of street adjacent to it.’

‘But...’

‘Yes, your eyes do not deceive you, within a few months the Railway Arms will have reverted to being a traditional pub, the original greasy spoon cafe will re-emerge to complement the eventually revived refreshment rooms at the station, and the old garage will miraculously re-appear again - with a genuine pre-war petrol pump.’

‘But this is all obstructing the pavement!’

‘Which is an illusion, the current wide pavement is mainly made up of land owned by the properties. That’s how we out-smart planning regulations.’

‘And just where do you think you’ll find such a petrol pump in this day and age?’

‘We already have it. It’s been in Jack’s lock-up for years.’

‘What! Right. Now you tell me, right now, where this lock-up is, my team have been hunting for it forever. We have strong reason to believe...’

‘You don’t wanna know.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, it would only cause embarrassment.’

‘Oh dear, how sad, never mind. Give!’

‘I meant to you. Jack’s been expecting you. He has the documents to hand; he can prove nothing is knocked-off.’

‘How come you’ve got these GWR insignia everywhere, not even the current operator can use them!’

‘Because every one is an enlargement from old photos that we own. We bought the publisher who bought out the previous publisher who spent all that time acquiring old photographic collections. They used to operate from part of the old maintenance depot across the way.’

‘Wait a minute, I’m beginning to see this now. This isn’t about old steam trains, they’re just a sort of “loss leader”. This is an old fashioned land grab. Old buildings for restoration, to create prestige buildings for high rents and expensive leases. What if the government holds out, or the unions won’t budge?’

‘We just keep on coming. I doubt they realise yet that we already rent the upper storeys of the Abbey station building, company HQ as it happens, although no one ever goes there, we’ve already got “Station House” on our letterhead.’

‘Someone will challenge you, I will, if I can find a legitimate reason.’

‘We have our defences set.’

‘What?’

‘A ghost from the past. Your old sparring partner, Henry “never plead guilty” Walpole is already on our team.’

‘Oh, my god!’

At which point Charlie wandered over; ‘Morning ma’am.’

‘Sparkwell.’

‘Is he behaving himself?’

‘He just tried to pick me up!’

‘Indeed. I usually find he has ulterior motives on such occasions.’

‘He does? What?’

‘Alas, he’s not taken me into his confidence. But it probably involves misdirection, distraction or disorientation; followed by sleight of hand, or you, simply not noticing anything he doesn’t want you to.’ Charlie had been looking around the room in a suspicious manner as she said all this.

‘I see. Excuse me a moment, I must take a closer look at those panels over there.’

When Wainwright was out of earshot, I said; ‘You really shouldn’t.’

‘I’ve spent far too long following you around, not to!’

‘So, what have you observed this morning Watson?’

‘I’ve been chatting to E. Bloomfield-Jones, founder and managing director of Bloomfield-Jones Consulting, the consortium’s PR company.’

‘Ah! I’ve not had the pleasure.’

‘I’ll tell you something funny, she’s a woman too.’

‘Good lord.’

‘And you might well have had the pleasure, she was a contemporary of Lady Victoria’s at St. Hilda’s, an ex-dancing partner perhaps?’

‘I’d better make efforts to find out!’