The train terminated at Bank station and Brad Fellowes tailed the Peer until he stood on the platform waiting for the next westbound Circle Line train. So far they had guessed his route correctly, and Brad nodded to DS Scott of the Met., DCI Coombes’ sidekick, who would take up the trail from here.

DS Fellowes left the tube station and headed towards the Vastrick Offices at Number 1 Poultry, less than a hundred metres away.

Chapter 44

Vastrick Security, No. 1 Poultry, London. Thursday, 9:30am.

Dee Conrad’s Operation Peer Down and the Police Operation Peer Pressure were going well. Our own file was thick with incriminating evidence, albeit mostly circumstantial. Inspector Boniface had been really good about keeping us informed as to what was going on, even to the extent of a midnight call the previous night.

He had also called Don Fisher to inform him that the Peer had flown to Rotterdam without the diamonds but nonetheless to assure him that we were getting close, and that the blackmailer would be punished. Apparently Don wasn’t particularly impressed, and Boniface got the impression that he still wanted to kill the “old geezer”. Odd that Fisher should refer to Hickstead as the old geezer when he was only six years older than the aging rocker himself.

A phone rang. We all went for our mobiles but it was DS Fellowes who received the call. He spoke for a while and the DS hung up, after issuing the instruction, “Stay with him, we’ll get back-up.”

He turned to the rest of us. “OK, that was DS Scott. It seems that Lord Hickstead has just entered number 2 Parliament Street, opposite the Palace of Westminster. According to the doorman, probably an MI5 operative, he’s staying in the Chief Whip’s private apartment on the fourth floor. DS Scott virtually had to get a warrant to extract that information.”

“Thanks, Brad,” Dee said in reply. I felt a small stab of disapproval. When had she started calling him by his first name? “That would explain why you couldn’t find him registered at a hotel. If only we could get in there we might be able to close this case. He must be hiding the money, painting and diamonds somewhere.”

We looked up the address on Google Streetview; it was a white rendered building which had probably been several separate buildings at one time. I had passed it many times and never looked at it twice, yet now it might be at the heart of the case against Hickstead. It was galling to hear that we were more likely to get a search warrant for Windsor Castle than for the Chief Whip’s private apartment.

Chapter 45

No. 2 Parliament Street, London. Thursday, 9:30am.

DS Scott was standing on the other side of Parliament Street, from where he could see the entrance to the apartment building, and he was engaged in conversation with a motorcycle courier dressed in black with gold lettering on his jacket, which read City Slicker Couriers. The courier looked just like thousands of others in and around the City, but this one was very different. Constable Knott was a police motorcyclist from the traffic section, seconded to CID for covert surveillance. The reasoning behind the disguise was that no-one in London gives couriers a second look.

As they stood together talking, their attention was on the apartment entrance. The team felt sure that His Lordship would pass on the diamonds sometime soon and they wanted to be there when he did. Such had been the police focus on the Peer since he landed at City Airport that morning that they had not noticed he was also being followed by someone else.

***

Dirk stood at the corner of the street, watching the latest policeman to follow Lord Hickstead. It had been a busy morning. Dirk had been warned that the police would have a tail on the Peer, and so he knew he must be careful. Dirk had dutifully waited at the airport until Hickstead appeared. He hung back and watched as a plain clothes policeman followed at a distance, radioing in his location. The man then dropped back and allowed the target to head towards the DLR platform. Dirk felt a little uncomfortable. The boss had insisted he got himself a haircut and buy a dark suit. Dirk couldn’t remember the last time he had worn a collar and tie.

Hickstead stepped onto the train and a casually dressed young man entered the same carriage, his eyes fixed on the target. The man had a phone fixed to his ear. Dirk was convinced he had spotted the new tail.

After an uneventful journey into the City, and a mad dash across Bank Station, the police tail nodded to a man standing on the platform and then walked away, almost brushing past Dirk as he exited.

The policeman who had picked up the tail at Bank Station was now standing opposite the building that Hickstead had entered an hour ago.

Dirk lifted his mobile phone to his ear. “Gordo, you still close by?”

“Yep, I can see you standing on the corner, but it’s really difficult to keep parking up here. I’ve been moved on three times already.”

“I need you in case he takes a taxi. If he leaves on foot I’ll follow on my own, OK?”

“OK, Dirk.”

***

Lord Hickstead had changed his clothes and was now standing at the kerb holding a briefcase. The doorman had walked to the corner to hail a cab for him. Luckily it was sunny and the cabs were looking for customers. In the rain you couldn’t get a cab for love nor money.

“I think we’re off,” Sergeant Scott said to the motorcycle cop, who put on his full face helmet before testing the built in microphone. HQ answered immediately and made it clear that they wanted a running commentary.

The Peer stepped into the black cab, and after a moment it did an illegal U turn and headed towards the Palace of Westminster. As it passed Big Ben, or St Stephen’s Tower as it is more accurately known, it had been joined by a motorcycle courier and a blue Vauxhall Corsa.

“Bloody hell, Gordo, couldn’t we run to something better than this?” Dirk asked as he slid the seat as far back as it would go, realising he was still bent nearly double in the compact space.

“Boss said it had to be something inconspicuous,” Gordo muttered apologetically.

***

The unwitting convoy of cab, motorbike and Corsa proceeded along Victoria Street and then north along Grosvenor Place, skirting Buckingham Palace Gardens.

Against the odds, they all made it around an exceptionally congested Hyde Park Corner to exit onto Knightsbridge and the A4. They hadn’t travelled far along Knightsbridge when the black cab turned into Brompton Road and indicated a right turn. The motorbike followed, but the Corsa, a few cars behind now, had to wait to turn.

Dirk and Gordo both swore, but they need not have worried because the convoy came to an abrupt stop just a hundred metres away on Cheval Place. By the time the Corsa arrived on the scene, Lord Hickstead was climbing the steps into a building. The wall next to the front entrance bore a brass plaque on which was engraved the words CitySafe Depository.

This area of London was unfamiliar to the Corsa driver, but he soon discovered that Cheval Place was actually a mews. It was very narrow and, whilst the motorbike could pull over to one side, the Corsa was not going to be able to squeeze past the cab, which was still standing outside the depository. Gordo turned right onto a one way Street called Rutland Street, and then he turned right again onto Fairholt Street so that he was parallel to Cheval Place.

“OK, Gordo, His Lordship has obviously got a safety deposit box in there. We have to assume that he’s retrieving something valuable. Here’s what we do.” Dirk outlined a rough plan and Gordo agreed, even though he had extreme concerns.

***

Lord Hickstead pressed the buzzer on the security panel and announced himself. The door buzzed and a tough looking man in uniform opened the door with a smile, beckoning the customer inside. In a few minutes he was past the metal grillage which protected the strongroom security guard and at the entrance to the strongroom itself. The door stood open. It was about ten feet in diameter and it was at least two feet thick. A mixture of brass and titanium locking bolts were arranged in three rows. The safe was virtually impregnable and the depository was fully manned twenty four hours a day, every day of the year, so breaking in overnight or at a weekend wasn’t possible.