(2013) Collateral Damage (10 page)
'That's not the point,' said the Commander sharply, 'and you
know it isn't. If we really had something on this girl I wouldn't hesitate to throw
the works at her. But we don't. She's probably telling the truth when she says she
didn't know who Koller was. I don't believe people like him go around telling their
sleeping partners what they do for a living. All we have on her is the gun, which
she probably didn't know was there, a few drugs and the circumstantial evidence
that she's a member of some tiny leftwing party. What does PERPP believe in anyway?'
'They call themselves Ecological Marxists. You know, "Fair
deal for Comrade Seal".
That sort of thing.'
'Do they really say that?'
'Almost.'
'Hmm.
You know her father was a member
of the CP up to 1939.
One of those who saw the light when Stalin
and Hitler carved up Poland.'
'Yes, I've seen his file.'
'Well, he's changed a lot since then, hasn't he? Compared to
a lot of his Right Honourable colleagues in the Cabinet he's a true blue. As you
know a lot of those gentlemen want to come down pretty hard on us.
State within a state, secret police, that sort of baloney.
They
want to make us more accountable, discover what we and the intelligence services
spend our money on etcetera. Of course there's always been a bunch in that lot who
think people like us are nasty fascists adding up how many trade union trips they
made to Prague in 1952 and drawing the wrong conclusions. Or the right ones, as
the case may be. Her father happens, at the moment, to be on our side and we want
to keep him that way.'
Fitchett rubbed his hands on his pin-striped knees and briefly
examined his hand-stitched Chelsea boots. It was a plausible tale but he knew it
wasn't the truth or, at most, a
very
exaggerated version
of it. There was no real threat in the Cabinet towards the Branch or the security
services. The truth was that the girl's father was close to the PM and there was
an Honours List coming up. The Commissioner knew he could rely on his old acolyte
commanding Special Branch not to lose him the seat in the Lords he was anxious to
retire to.
'We could charge her with conspiracy to murder,' said Fitchett.
'Koller must have been living with her when he attacked the Palestinian. I don't
think it would take much to get that out of her.'
'No, not conspiracy.
We haven't got
enough to go on. And there's too much controversy over the conspiracy laws as it
is. We've got to use it sparingly or we'll lose it altogether. We'd have a hell
of a job proving that she knew about a murder attempt just because she was living
with him.'
'I think she'd break. She's tired now. She's no idea how we got
on to her either. I think she could be made to believe that Koller tipped us off
as a diversionary tactic while he made his run.' What Fitchett was really thinking
was that she didn't know about the shooter and she felt betrayed. He could work
on that. Make her angry. Then she'd talk. But he had no intention of confirming
the Commander's suspicion that Koller hadn't told her about the Browning. He wasn't
going to lose that charge as well.
The Commander was thinking that life was difficult enough without
bloody-minded people like Fitchett about. Why the hell did he have to be so difficult?
What did it matter to him? He was due for retirement in a couple of years anyway,
with little prospect of getting promotion before that. Not if he had anything to
do with it.
He fiddled with his pipe again.
'Hmm.
I think the best thing we can do is charge her with possession of the gun and the
drugs. The press will still have a field-day with the story and that will stir things
up here if Koller has any other friends about the place. Somebody might panic and
break cover and then we'll have them. Should we step up the surveillance on PERPP?'
'I don't think so. As far as I can see they're a bunch of harmless
wankers.
Macrobiotic Marxists.'
'What?'
'A lot of them are vegetarians. They think roast beef and capitalism
go together. They don't believe in terrorism either. They think it's elitist. They're
waiting for the workers to rise. It's going to happen any day now. The girl's an
exception. If they knew what she'd been up to they'd drum her out.'
'All the more reason to believe she didn't know who Koller was.'
'Not necessarily. I think she's a bit of a renegade - like her
father.'
'Well anyway, make those two charges and get her into the magistrate's
court for a remand tomorrow. I'll see that the press are tipped off.'
'What about bail? She's bound to apply for it.'
The Commander had been waiting forth this one. 'Oh, no objection,'
he said casually, 'as long as she surrenders her passport and reports to her local
police twice a day. Of course, you'll have to make it clear to the court she's not
Ulrike Meinhof.
Just a silly little girl on the periphery of things.'
'That's not going to look so good,' said Fitchett. 'Bigwig's
daughter shacked up with a terrorist gets bail. They've got shoplifters awaiting
trial six to a cell in Brixton.'
'For God's sake, John, the girl's not going to run away and you
know damn well she isn't. She might even lead us somewhere if we let her run around
a bit.'
That's bloody marvellous, thought Fitchett. First she's a poor
little rich girl who doesn't know who she's going to bed with and now she's going
to lead us somewhere. Make your bloody mind up. But he knew it was useless to continue
the argument. He leaned over the Commander's desk, stubbed his cigarette out in
a clean brass ash-tray. Their eyes met. 'Right,' said Fitchett, 'I'd better go and
do my duty.'
'Let me know when you've finished. I'll probably be at home.
You've got my number?'
'Yes,' said Fitchett. 'Yes, I've got your number.'
Fitchett didn't give up easily. As the midnight deadline approached
he was still trying to break Ruth. 'Do you realise,' he said, picking up the Browning
in its polythene bag and drop ping it rather heavily on the table, 'that this gun
was used in an attempt to murder somebody and that you could be charged with conspiracy
to murder?'
'No, I don't,' said Ruth, trying to keep the panic out of her
voice. 'But if you're going to I think I ought to be allowed to see a solicitor.'
Conspiracy to murder.
How many years
was that worth for a first offender - three, four, five? And prison was full of
gays. She had a vision of beefy, dyke wardresses with rubber truncheons dragging
her to a cell. Sod that bastard Hans. Why didn't she just tell fatso here everything
she knew about him which, come to think of it, wasn't a great deal, and get out
of this mess. She had loved him and he had exploited her. Inside she always knew
that was what he was doing. Men always did. It wouldn't be like betraying the party.
She was about to open her mouth to speak when Fitchett beat her to it. The time
was five-past midnight. He was thoroughly pissed off. He wanted to go home.
'You're lucky,' he said. 'I'm not going to throw the book at
you. I'm going to charge you with unauthorized possession of a firearm, to wit one
Browning automatic pistol, and being in possession of cannabis resin. I must caution
you that you don't have to say anything, but anything you do say will be taken down
and used in evidence against you. Do you wish to make a statement?'
'No. Not until I've seen a lawyer.'
'That's your privilege. Smile nicely at the beak in the morning
and perhaps you'll get bail. Who knows, your father might be in court.'
He turned to the WPC. 'Let her make a phone call and then show
her where she's spending the night.'
'How am I going to find a lawyer this time of night?'
'You're not. Call a friend. Get them to get you a lawyer first
thing in the morning. Otherwise you can get legal aid when you get to court.'
As the WPC led her out Fitchett said: 'Call your father. He's
got to hear sometime. I twould be better coming from you.'
The cabinet minister's daughter made a movement with her head
that might have been a nod of assent.
The Commander was right. Reporters packed the two press benches
and a few late comers from Fleet Street had to sit among the general public. Ruth
came on last, after the night's crop of blasé young prostitutes, still caked with
last night's make-up, and unshaven drunk and disorderlies.
When he gave evidence Fitchett named Koller as the person who
owned the pistol and said that it was believed he had left the country. The fact
that Ruth was allowed bail made it, as the policeman had predicted, an even better
story. When their editors showed them the news agency copy several leader writers
began to shape angry paragraphs about the inequalities of the bail system. The fact
that the girl departed the scene in her mother's MGB sports helped
underline
their case.
Both the evening newspapers splashed on the story and accompanied
it with pictures of Ruth, her father, and an old passport picture of Koller that
bore little resemblance to the video camera photographs. The Assistant Commissioner
had decided that if Koller had already left the country there was no point in circulating
them and it might pay not to reveal how they knew Koller was staying at the girl's
flat.
Dove, standing by the entrance to the underground station, read
the story with mounting incredulity. The bitch knew where Koller was and they had
let her go. Let her go because she was a bloody cabinet minister's daughter. Well,
that might just turn out to be her hard luck - and Koller's.
'Any society that produces such appalling secret policemen can't
be all that bad,' said the cabinet minister over breakfast.
Ruth had been taken to their country place where she was only
required to report to the local constable once a week. At the same time, and after
some deliberation, her father had decided not to ask the Home Secretary to have
the very obvious Special Branch man watching his house removed. He had used up enough
favours already.
They were discussing the Branch man now. He was a thickset young
fellow in an old red Cortina, cove they supposed, who was maddeningly indiscreet.
Sometimes they saw him parked at the end of their drive but as soon as one of them
approached he drove away. The landlord at the Bull had telephoned to say that he
had been in asking questions about them and wanted to know if he should tell the
police. They told him not to. Because of the Branch man's build they had nicknamed
him 'Shoulders'; by the time Ruth had been in the house for three days he had become
the nearest thing they had to a joke.
'There's something wrong with any society that needs them,' answered
Ruth, who was thinking of Fitchett and how he had looked as if he wanted to murder
her.
'Tell me any society that hasn't got them. If that bunch of crackpots
you hang around with ever got into power we'd all be behind barbed wire.'
He and his wife had promised themselves that there would be no
recrimination, but he was finding it a promise increasingly difficult to keep. Ruth's
mother, a slim, dark woman with thin gold chains carrying a small Mogen David around
her polo neck, watched the scene in anxious silence, pouring tea, passing toast.
They did not have any 'help' in the country.
'That's just not true,' said Ruth, apparently engrossed in the
removal of marmalade from a spoon.
'You know damn well it is,' said her father.
'No, it isn't. Most of them are so wet that if they tried to
build a concentration camp they'd end up wiring themselves in.' Ruth had resigned
herself to expulsion from the party. She was surprised to discover that she was
really rather glad about it.
'Well, if that's true,' said the minister buttering his toast,
'then I think I might learn to like them a little better.'
'Amateur policemen; amateur revolutionaries.
There'll always be an England as long as we sit on the fence and muddle through.'
'You know very well that's not what Daddy meant.' The interruption
was ignored by both sides as interruptions between father and daughter in mid-joust
tend to be.
'I suppose that's why you admire your German terrorist friend
so much: a real professional.'
'I've told you. I didn't know he was a terrorist. And what has
being German got to do with it?'
'I know you told me. And I should have thought that it was perfectly
obvious, if you ever thought of anyone but yourself for a moment, how his being
German affects your mother and me.'
'Thought you were in favour of the Common Market.'
'Don't try and be funny with me, my girl. It doesn't suit you.'
'You don't believe I didn't know he was a terrorist?'
'I don't know what to believe. I just hope in future you're a
bit more choosey about who you take into your bed.'
Ruth jumped up, tears brimming, and fled the kitchen.
'Was that really necessary?' asked her mother, getting up to
push the open door shut.
'It probably wasn't, but it made me feel better.' He stood up
and took a final sip of his tea while he felt through the still unread pile of morning
newspapers on the table for
The Times
.
'I'm going. I've got some affairs of state to muddle through.'
'Don't take it personally.'
'It's a bit hard to take it any other way. Look, when you get
to town give me a ring. There might be a chance for a spot of lunch together if
you like.'
She couldn't remember the last time they had had lunch together
when the House was in session. Crisis had brought them closer together.
They left within half an hour of each other.
He in his dark green Rover; she in her white MGB with calls to make
at a hairdresser and a dressmaker.
It was the first day they had left their
daughter alone since her court appearance.
