Gideon's River Page 15

Worby’s half-grin faded.

  ‘About Micklewright, you mean? Sad business that. Bloody sad. No. No, whatever you did certainly didn’t upset him. Deputy Commander Hobbs put you up for a special mission and the Commander approved. So that leaves it up to me.’ The grin returned to the rather fleshy, almost sensuous face.

  ‘Head messenger in chief?’ asked Singleton, suspiciously.

  ‘Replacement for Superintendent Micklewright on this industrial diamonds job, which means the Argyle-Morris murder, into the bargain,’ Worby said flatly.

  At first Singleton did not take this in. Worby’s words ‘Replacement for Superintendent Micklewright …’ seemed to rebound off his mind. Then he thought: ‘The Warbler’s ragging me.’

  ‘Come again.’

  ‘The Commander wants you to take over where Micklewright left off. He wants a man who knows the river, knows all the law enforcement groups who have a finger in river business, and who doesn’t hate Dutchmen.’ Worby paused, as if he knew that the older man would need a few seconds to absorb what he was being told. ‘You’d have an office at the Yard, and the chaps who were working with Micklewright would be under you. And you’d keep your office here with all the usual facilities, and any two men you think would help most.’

  Singleton stared as if still not fully comprehending; and then he had a quick mind picture of his wife’s face, and suddenly he beamed.

  ‘I can’t wait to tell Maggie,’ he said, in a near-falsetto voice. ‘I can’t wait.’ Then he sobered, the weight of the responsibility of this assignment already making itself felt on his shoulders. ‘Thank you very much, sir.’ Worby liked to be appreciated.

  ‘Don’t thank me, Jim.’ The grin played about Worby’s lips again. ‘If you think I can’t run the station without you, you’ll soon find out! Okay, then?’

  ‘You bet it’s okay!’ Singleton’s chest seemed to swell. ‘I’d like Tidy and Addis, please.’

  ‘They’re yours.’

  ‘And Addis was telling me about this suction cap idea. You know what we want right away, don’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The frogmen team.’ Already Singleton’s excitement and exhilaration began to lose itself in the actual task; the planning. The policeman took over from the man almost at once. ‘They can operate in three pairs, leaving one in reserve. We can say they’re looking for a body, people will believe that. All they have to do is swim round the barges and the lighters, anything tied alongside, and check if anything’s stuck on. Right?’

  Worby looked straight at him and without the vestige of a smile, and said: ‘You’re in charge, Jim.’

  Very slowly, Chief Inspector Singleton nodded. As slowly he said: ‘So I am.’

  Gideon felt as if he had been at the office all day, although it was only half-past eleven on that same morning.

  The Micklewright affair had cut the Yard in two – one half saying in effect: ‘Poor devil, shows coppers are human, too,’ the other half saying: ‘He’s let the Force down.’ In their way both were right. With the Commissioner away and the Assistant Commissioner of the Criminal Investigation Department at a conference in South America, the brunt of it all fell on Gideon.

  By ten o’clock, an Under Secretary at the Home Office had telephoned.

  ‘The Home Secretary would like full details, Commander.’

  The Home Secretary would have to be satisfied with a brief précis of events.

  By half-past ten, the senior public relations officer and the P.R.O. of the Home Office had been in his office.

  ‘We want to make sure, Commander, that all our reports tally and that only the official statement is released to the press. Presumably you would like to approve the official statement.’

  ‘Yes,’ Gideon said. ‘Preferably in one sentence: the charge without comment.’

  ‘Commander, there will be a great deal of public interest.’

  ‘Let’s not make a meal out of it,’ Gideon said. ‘There may be a lot of ghouls about, but we don’t have to feed them.’

  ‘What about the work Micklewright was doing?’

  ‘Chief Inspector Singleton has taken over,’ Gideon said tersely.

  After they had gone, the senior Press Officer of the Yard telephoned.

  ‘I know you’ve problems, Commander, but so have we. Our telephones are ringing incessantly; we’ve been asked if a senior official will appear on a television programme tonight, and also on the radio. There will have to be a press conference during the day. And’—the P.O., an elderly man by Yard standards, changed his tone—’you’re the best man for the job, George. Give ’em a show, let them bring the cameras in. You can handle them better than anyone here. If we refuse’—he paused, then went on into a silence which obviously worried him—’they’ll put their own interpretation on it.’

  ‘Oh, all right, but it’s to be a general conference, not specifically on Micklewright,’ Gideon conceded. ‘What time?’

  ‘Is two o’clock all right?’

  ‘Yes, Where?’

  ‘The Lecture Hall,’ the Press Officer had answered.

  Even when he had agreed to this, there was no rest from the case; it affected everyone he talked to, all the superintendents he briefed. But being Saturday, there was less briefing than usual, and no major crimes had been committed in the last twenty-four hours, so at least he could now concentrate on the two tasks which preoccupied him – the industrial diamonds investigation and the River Parade.

  He spent some time pondering both, and just before twelve o’clock, rang for Hobbs.

  ‘Going to Lord’s this afternoon?’ he asked, as the door opened and Hobbs appeared.

  ‘No,’ Hobbs answered. ‘I’ve asked Worby to take me up and down the river.’

  ‘Sit down.’ Gideon leaned back in his chair. ‘Seen any fresh angle yet?’

  ‘No,’ said Hobbs, ‘I still think the helicopter idea is the most likely way they’d raid the boat, but the more I think of it the less probable it seems. I’ve been through the whole file – had Prescott here most of the morning. He’s absolutely satisfied that the protection from the Embankment is foolproof. Securial are co-operating, so is Pilkington.’

  ‘Probably pass off without any trouble at all,’ mused Gideon. ‘Has Prescott noticed anything at all unusual?’

  ‘No,’ answered Hobbs. ‘He’s briefed all his men on all the shifts: if there’s anything even slightly suspicious or unusual, they’re to report. I’ll check with Worby from the river – are you going to Lord’s?’

  ‘After this press conference, I thought I’d look in on Prescott.’

  Hobbs gave an unexpectedly free smile.

  ‘Don’t know that it will get you anywhere,’ he told Gideon. ‘He’s going to Lord’s!’ Prescott was probably the most enthusiastic cricket fan on the Force. ‘Shall I warn him you may look in?’ he added.

  ‘Don’t think I would,’ said Gideon slowly. ‘Anyhow,’ he went on, ‘I may be so bad tempered after this press conference that I won’t go near the place. That reminds me.’ He reached for the telephone, but almost at the same moment it rang. He lifted the receiver. ‘Yes? … Yes, put him through. Worby,’ he added in an aside to Hobbs. ‘Hello, Warbler … Yes … Good … Tell him to come and see me at three o’clock … Yes, I’ll be here.’

  He rang off.

  ‘Singleton’s got the frogmen out already, the Warbler says he’s mustard keen.’ He smiled, rather dourly.

  ‘He’d like to report to one of us this afternoon.’

  ‘Someone must have told him about the briefing sessions.’ Hobbs said, and almost before his last word faded, the telephone rang again. But the two men were used to the almost non-stop sequence of events, and it seldom ruffled them.

  ‘Your wife is on the line, sir …’

  ‘Hello, Kate, what
time were you thinking of coming back? … That’s good, I’ll be late … We’ll go out somewhere tonight, and let the kids look after themselves … ‘Bout six, then. Goodbye, dear.’

  Hobbs was already at the door.

  The Chief Press Officer was a tall, droll-faced man, with rubbery lips and a pointed chin, a thin neck and a prominent Adam’s apple which he tried to hide by wearing a high collar a little too large for him. He came into Gideon’s office just before two o’clock. Gideon had had a sandwich and beer lunch, and was at the window.

  ‘All ready, sir?’ said the C.P.O.

  ‘How long do you think they’ll want?’ asked Gideon.

  ‘Thirty or forty minutes, sir. Both television channels have sent a camera team. Er—I’ve briefed a couple of the agencies and they’ll lead in with easy ones.’

  As he went along to the Lecture Hall, where special briefings were often held, Gideon pulled down his jacket and ran his hand over his wiry hair. Two uniformed men were outside the hall and opened the door. A babble of talk sounded and the room was full of smoke. Someone called out: ‘The Commander,’ and there was an immediate hush. Most of the men got to their feet; so did the only two women present, Gideon went to the front of the room where a table with a notepad, glasses and a carafe of water stood beside various microphones, marked B.B.C., B.B.C.1, B.B.C.2, A.T.V., Granada and several others. A small man tapped one of these and there was a curious kind of sound from the back of the room; so this was the public address microphone, thought Gideon. Two television cameramen and several other photographers were in the front row.

  The C.P.O. cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen – ladies and gentlemen, I beg your pardon – Commander Gideon has been able to allocate you thirty minutes. The shorter your questions, the more he can answer.’

  ‘Commander,’ a man asked promptly, ‘do you think that over half-a-million pounds’ worth of precious stones should be shown on so vulnerable a place as the river?’

  Gideon pursed his lips.

  ‘Ask the Thames Division that and they’ll tell you that the Thames is the least vulnerable place in London. They lose very little from the docks and wharves. As for the question – it’s up to the people who own the jewels.’

  ‘Do you disapprove or approve, Commander?’

  ‘I would complain if they took unnecessary risks, but they don’t appear to be taking any.’

  ‘Were you allowed enough time to prepare?’ asked another man.

  ‘It isn’t time we need, it’s more staff,’ Gideon countered. ‘We can’t police London as well as we’d like to, because we are fifteen or twenty per cent below strength.’

  ‘Damned good point,’ murmured the C.P.O. Pencils sped over note books of all shapes and sizes.

  ‘Are you satisfied with the security precautions for the River Parade, sir?’ A man called from the back of the hall.

  ‘Yes.’

  One of the women asked in a quiet voice: ‘Do you think that special displays of this kind should be allowed to draw off police protection from other parts of London?’

  ‘No. And it isn’t doing so.’

  ‘Surely it must, Commander.’ She looked a little mouse of a woman, but she was persistent.

  ‘All it does do is to cause a lot of policemen’s wives to grumble because their husbands have to work overtime,’ Gideon answered, and won a little laughter.

  ‘Do they get paid for overtime, Commander?’ asked the other woman.

  ‘They either get paid or they get time off when things are slack.’

  ‘Are things ever slack?’ That was an American voice from the side of the hall.

  There was a general, louder laugh.

  ‘Sometimes even our bad men behave themselves,’ Gideon remarked, and the laughter was redoubled. Gideon suddenly realised that he was enjoying himself, but he checked his tendency to encourage light-heartedness.

  Into the tail-end of the laughter, a man with a Scottish accent asked: ‘Were you satisfied with the way the search for Geraldine Pierce was carried out, Commander?’

  The mood of the conference changed almost visibly. Smiles were wiped off every face, men sat up more erectly. Gideon, aware of the danger of relaxing as he had relaxed, gave himself a moment or two to think what best to say.

  ‘I was satisfied with the way it was carried out, yes. Obviously I wasn’t satisfied with the results.’

  ‘Shouldn’t the hiding-place have been found earlier?’

  ‘It’s easy to be wise after the event.’ Gideon pointed to a map on the wall behind him, on which each division was shown in a pastel shade of contrasting colour, the river winding in dark blue through the centre. ‘Constable,’ he called one of the uniformed policemen, ‘come and outline the area which was searched, will you?’

  As he spoke, he thought: ‘My God, I hope he knows the area.’ But his fears faded as the policeman approached the map without a moment’s hesitation and eased the tension by drawing out a truncheon to use as a pointer. ‘That stretch of river is seven miles long,’ Gideon said. ‘Along much of it there is scrub and bush. There are hundreds of small boats, boat sheds, boat-houses, caravans and abandoned motorcars, and in the summer several official and some private camping sites. Every single place had to be searched … point to Richmond Park, Constable – thank you. That is a Royal Park, open to the public by day, closed by night to motor traffic. Its area is … now Ham Common, Constable.’

  Gideon described the different sections of the area quietly and precisely, and at last he finished.

  ‘The search took three days. To comb the area thoroughly needed twice or three times as many men working for at least a week. It was organised down to the last detail, and I don’t know of anything else that could have been done.’

  There was a long silence; and then, quite spontaneously, a little outburst of applause. Again Gideon felt a sense of satisfaction; and again, there was an immediate and sobering change of subject.

  ‘Commander, do you think the arrest and charging of a senior official of the police will do harm to the public image of the police?’

  Slowly, Gideon answered: ‘I don’t know whether it will. I know that it shouldn’t.’

  ‘Do you know Superintendent Micklewright well, Commander?’

  ‘Yes. Very well.’

  ‘Are you aware that there are rumours that he was drinking too much?’

  ‘Yes. I am aware that there are all kinds of rumours – including one that he took a sedative and had a drink afterwards.’

  ‘Commander,’ said a small man with a curiously lopsided face, ‘do you think that a man in Superintendent Micklewright’s distraught and distressed state of mind should have been assigned to an investigation of international importance? Wasn’t he bound to upset the Dutch police?’

  That question, with the sting in its tail, was almost deadly in its impact, and Gideon felt every eye turn towards him, knew that everyone was hanging on to his words.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A REPORT IN THE AFTERNOON

  Gideon’s first thought was, I shouldn’t have laid myself open to this. His second, I must be very careful indeed. His third, I mustn’t hesitate too long. It did not occur to him to take the easy way out, the way which would no doubt be approved by the Home Secretary and his superiors at the Yard, and to say simply: ‘No comment.’

  He looked squarely at the sea of faces confronting him. ‘Failure can be frustrating and upsetting,’ he said slowly. ‘The loss of industrial diamonds has been a harassment to the Western European police for some time. Only recently was there reason to suspect that some of the diamonds might be sent to England. We work closely with all the European police forces, sometimes in direct contact, sometimes through Interpol. In every case of joint investigation we assign the man whom we think most familiar with the kind of crime being investiga
ted.

  ‘Superintendent Micklewright is a world authority,’ he added. ‘He has been asked to advise on similar cases in South Africa, South America and the United States. He made – and helped to make – sufficient progress with the case for us to follow a different line of investigation – along the whole course of the river. At no time did he give any indication that he was not competent to carry out his duties. On the contrary, he carried them out well. Chief Inspector Singleton is now in charge of that particular line of inquiry and of the investigation.’ He paused, looked round, saw the man with the lopsided face start to speak, and went on in a tone of absolute finality: ‘I have nothing more to say on that subject, gentlemen.’

  Two would-be questioners sat down, without protest.

  Gideon was asked a few more questions which he answered briefly, posed for half-a-dozen photographs, and then went out surrounded by a group of newspaper men. The constable who had used his truncheon as a pointer was at the door.

  ‘Thanks, Constable,’ Gideon said.

  ‘Pleasure, sir.’

  Gideon walked on, turned a corner and went back to his office with a chorus of ‘Thanks,’ ‘Goodbyes,’ and ‘See yous,’ following him. The Chief Press Officer was at his elbow.

  ‘Don’t want to sound pompous, Commander, but that was a bloody good show.’

  Gideon stared out of the window and went over the river, bright in the afternoon sun.

  ‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘We’ll see what they make of it tomorrow.’

  ‘You won them over completely, sir.’

  Gideon turned to look at him.

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ he said, soberly. ‘They shouldn’t have to be won over. They ought to be on our side all the time.’

  ‘There isn’t one who won’t make the point about us being under-established,’ the other man prophesied. ‘Er—is there anything I can get you?’

  ‘No,’ Gideon said. ‘Chief Inspector Singleton is due at three o’clock. Try to make sure he’s not buttonholed by the press, will you?’