A Conflict of Interests (11 page)

Tucker raised a sceptical eyebrow, asked to see the address book and spent some minutes browsing through it.

"We could waste a lot of time trying to unravel this code." He looked up, a bleak smile creasing his mouth. "What does Whitfield have to say about it?"

"Nothing," said Coghill. "He'd never seen the address book until this morning."

"That's his story, but we know different, don't we?"

"I'm inclined to believe him. I'm not saying he didn't have a shrewd idea what his wife was up to, but he's the sort of weak character who'd prefer to let sleeping dogs lie."

"Then we'll just have to lean on him a bit harder."

"I made a deal with him," Coghill said quietly.

"You'd no right to do that, Inspector."

"If I hadn't, he would never have told me about the deposit box."

"Really? Well, if Mr. Whitfield thinks he's in the clear, he's in for a nasty surprise."

"I gave him my word there would be no comeback."

"Your word is no longer relevant," Tucker informed him curtly and then went into a huddle with Franklin and the deputy assistant commissioner.

Coghill felt his face flush with anger; he tried counting up to ten but it had no effect. The rage was still there, expanding like a balloon about to burst. Slowly and very deliberately, Kingman uncrossed his legs and brought a heavy foot to bear on his toes, warning him to cool it. Moments later, the huddle at the top table broke up.

The outcome was exactly on the lines Rowntree had predicted the day before. Tucker was free to pick their brains and they would end up doing most of the work while all the credit went to the Regional Crime Squad. Listening to Franklin as he outlined the division of responsibilities that were to be observed from now on, Coghill also got the impression that somebody high up had decided the investigation should be contained within strictly defined parameters.

8.

Although he was regarded as cold and ruthless by his colleagues, it was generally conceded that Nicholas Vaudrey would be a hard man to replace as head of K Desk, when he retired at the age of sixty in a year's time. A former paratrooper who had taken part in the D-day landings and the Rhine crossing, he had ended the war as a GS03 (Intelligence) at brigade headquarters and had then deferred his release from the army in order to serve with the 6th Airborne Division in Palestine, where he had worked hand in glove with Special Branch. Demobbed in May 1947, Vaudrey had applied for emergency teacher training at a college in Weymouth, from where he had subsequently obtained a post at St. Edward's English High School at Kuala Lumpur. Barely three months later, following a declaration of a state of emergency by his excellency the governor, he had been back in uniform again, having tendered his resignation to join the Malay Regiment.

One of the first to volunteer for the SAS when the regiment had been reformed in the Far East, he had gained experience in counterinsurgency operations against the Chinese Communists that had led to a permanent regular commission in the Intelligence Corps and a series of similar undercover appointments in Kenya, Cyprus and Aden. Seconded to the Home Office in the wake of the Bogside riots and the reemergence of the IRA, Vaudrey had been an obvious candidate for recruitment when, in 1970, DI5 had been told to establish a special bureau to deal with this new threat.

At the time, nobody had envisaged that he would become the head of K Desk, but it so happened that the officer selected to organize the whole setup had suffered a fatal heart attack only days before the section was due to become operational, and Vaudrey had stepped into his shoes. He brought to the job a wealth of practical experience that few people in DI5 could begin to match, and a shrewd if devious mind. Despite these qualities, however, Vaudrey suffered from an inferiority complex; as the only member of the desk who was not a university graduate, he felt he had to prove his intellectual superiority at every opportunity. Usually, this took the form of a hostile cross-examination whenever one of his subordinates was required to brief him.

Adept at writing comprehensive minutes, Caroline Brooke tried to avoid these face-to-face confrontations whenever possible, but this was one occasion when she couldn't escape. The way the Whitfield case was going, there simply wasn't time to analyze the latest developments in a carefully worded brief. As concisely as she knew how, Caroline told Vaudrey exactly what had transpired at the conference held by the deputy assistant commissioner of police, then sat back to await the inevitable grilling.

"You believe this prostitute was blackmailing Raschid al Jalud," Vaudrey began in a deceptively mild voice.

"Along with Jeremy Ashforth and thirty-five others of a similar ilk."

"Of a similar ilk?" Four deep furrows appeared in his lined forehead. "What precisely do you mean by that, Caroline?"

"Influential people who are vulnerable to pressure and can't afford a public scandal."

"But so far the police only have the one name?"

"I think we have to assume they'll have a lot more by now. There were fourteen telephone numbers listed in the address book and it wouldn't take them more than an hour to get the names and addresses of those subscribers from British Telecommunications."

"Quite."

"And I understand Detective Inspector Coghill virtually told them how to break the cipher."

"Ah yes — Coghill." Vaudrey picked up a long, slim paperknife and toyed with it, slowly tapping the blade on the desk as though setting the measure for a funeral march. "A highflyer, ambitious and intelligent — and a potential source of trouble?"

"That was my assessment," Caroline said cautiously.

"Was?"

"He's no longer in charge of the investigation."

The deepening furrows told her it wasn't the positive assurance Vaudrey was looking for. He wanted to be absolutely certain the police were aware they should refrain from questioning Raschid, but there was no guaranteeing this unless he was prepared to disclose their interest. And even then, it was doubtful if they would agree to leave the Libyan diplomat out of it.

"You also said Coghill was very independent-minded, the sort of man who likes to do things his way?"

"I've never met him, Nicholas, but that's what I was told."

"How do you suppose he would react if he got the impression his superiors were deliberately ignoring certain information?"

"I imagine he would be very angry."

"And?"

Caroline shrugged. "He might be inclined to do something about it."

"How about Tucker? What sort of attitude would he take?"

The cross-examination had started in earnest now, the questions following one on top of the other, his tone of voice much sharper. She also noticed the slow drumbeat had increased in tempo, a sure sign that Vaudrey wouldn't stand for any middle-of-the-road opinion which left him none the wiser. Unfortunately, what the DI5 contact had told her about Tucker could be summed up in a couple of sentences. A good detective with an impressive record who was a long way yet from reaching his ceiling. A bit of a hard taskmaster but smooth as silk with superiors.

"Tucker has an eye for the main chance," she said. "I doubt he'd rock the boat if told to leave Jalud alone."

"Colonel Qadhafi's kinsman is not the only one I'm worried about," Vaudrey said testily. "Excluding Ashforth, there are thirty-five others in that damned address book, any number of whom could be security risks. I'd like to know who they are and what they do before I see their names in the newspapers."

Caroline was about to assure him their contact at the Yard would keep them fully informed, but then remembered Vaudrey already knew that and realized he was after the address book itself.

"We don't want another public scandal."

"Is there any danger of that?" she asked.

"Women like Karen Whitfield appear to exercise a fatal attraction for the rich and famous. I don't know why it is, Caroline, but power and success often seem to foster an urge toward self-destruction,"

Vaudrey in a philosophical vein was an alien experience, so out of character that she had no difficulty in recognizing the ulterior motive behind it. Wanting no part of it, she ventured to suggest there was no reason to believe Karen Whitfield had been in contact with a hostile intelligence service.

"Don't act coy with me," Vaudrey snapped. "You're intelligent enough to realize there would be hell to pay if the press discovered she had been a call girl."

"It's no business of ours to protect these men from the consequences of their own stupidity."

"That's where you're wrong. People need to respect their leaders. Show them that their feet are made of clay and pretty soon nobody believes in anybody anymore. Patriotism is replaced by cynicism and apathy and then the rot sets in and there's a lowering of standards all around."

The hypothesis had more holes in it than a colander, but there was no doubting Vaudrey's sincerity. He really believed the nation would be in a far better state if only the media would curb their habit of knocking every pillar of society.

"I want that address book, Caroline. Tell our friend we'll break the code and supply all the details they need."

His intentions were obvious. The information channeled to the Regional Crime Squad would be disseminated on a need-to-know basis and any names that might prove embarrassing would be withheld. Equally disturbing was the fact that Vaudrey expected her to obtain the address book and there was therefore a distinct possibility that her head would be on the chopping block if anything went wrong.

"They'll be reluctant to part with it unless we offer them something in return, Nicholas."

"Like what?" Vaudrey asked.

"We could put them on to Patterson." She watched Vaudrey lay the paperknife aside and then stare at her through narrowed eyes. "We don't have to be specific," she added hastily. "We could say we've had a vague tip-off from a source who has to be protected."

"It won't do, Caroline." Vaudrey shook his head. "Won't do at all. Even if there were strong grounds for thinking Patterson was involved, we can't have the police frightening him off with 'Wanted' posters all over the place. You'll just have to quote the Official Secrets Acts to our friend."

"I don't think that would carry much weight, coming from me." Caroline gave him a disarming smile. "I'm just a senior executive officer. It would be much more impressive if the Official Secrets Acts were quoted by an assistant principal."

"I see. And what do you suggest we do about Coghill? I mean, we don't want any inspired leaks to the press from that quarter, do we?"

"I suppose not," she agreed reluctantly.

"What we need is an early warning system."

"Around Jeremy Ashforth?"

"How right you are," Vaudrey said cheerfully. "Have a word with Surveillance and let me know how soon they can put it into effect."

Caroline nodded dumbly. Somehow Vaudrey had contrived to leave her holding the baby and she had a feeling the infant was about to do something nasty in its nappy.

Mace had his jacket draped over the back of the chair and was sitting next to Ingleson. There was a wad of statements in front of him that had been taken from the residents of St. Mark's Hill and he was going through them, dictating the more significant points to Ingleson, who was entering and cross-referencing the details in the Crime Index. Engrossed in the task, neither man heard Coghill enter the room.

"Anything I should know, Harry?" he asked.

Mace looked up, hurriedly removed the cigarette clinging to his bottom lip and mashed it in the ashtray. "I've got the names and addresses of those subscribers you wanted, Guv." He twisted around, delved into the breast pocket of his jacket and produced a slip of paper. "All of them seem to be nobodies, but obviously they aren't short of a bob or two. I also got the exchange supervisor to run a check on Harold Egremont, the bigwig from the Ministry of Ag and Fish that Whitfield told us about. There's a G.W.H. Egremont listed in the Surrey Directory who lives in Alexandra Avenue on the outskirts of Guildford. He could be the one we're looking for, although I'd have expected him to be unlisted."

"There can't be too many Egremonts in this world, Harry." Coghill took the slip of paper from him, walked over to the open window and perched himself on the ledge. "Not that it's our problem any more."

"The Regional Crime Squad," Mace said in a flat voice.

"Right. It's their province now."

Coghill explored the roof of his mouth with a furry tongue and found that it too was tacky. Kingman had insisted they stop off at the Grape Vine for a quick one on the way back from the conference, but it hadn't stopped there. Safe in the knowledge that he had an official car complete with driver, Bert had put away four large gin and tonics and had plied him with almost as many, ostensibly to drown his sorrows. The lunchtime session hadn't affected Kingman, but it had left Coghill with a muzzy head and a strong inclination to find a quiet corner where he could curl up and sleep it off.

"What are we left with then?" Mace asked him.

"The prime suspect, our moon-faced man." Coghill stifled a yawn. "We made any progress in that area?"

"Maybe. We have a statement from a Mrs. Underwood who thought she saw somebody like our suspect driving a BMW. The car came down the hill past the Whitfield house, then came back up again a few minutes later and had to swerve and make an emergency stop to avoid her Pekinese when it ran out into the road. The driver gave Mrs. Underwood a right mouthful, called her a goddamned stupid bitch."

"He had an American accent?"

"Or a Canadian one," Mace said.

"I don't suppose she took the registration number?"

"No, but somebody else did. Right, Fred?"

Ingleson nodded and pulled a card from the Crime Index. "A young lad by the name of Christopher Youens at Number 26. He's educationally subnormal, lives at home and spends a large part of the day upstairs in his room looking out of the window. Cars are an obsession with him and he's quite an expert on them. Anyway, he has this notebook in which he records the license number, make and type of every vehicle he sees. According to him, the vehicle in question is a 1978 BMW 300, license number NVY 241R."