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“Stay out of sight,” said William, “but the moment I give you the word, switch on your ‘For Hire’ sign and drive into The Boltons. Don’t pick anyone up unless they’re wearing a hat, a long black coat, scarf, and gloves.”
“Understood.”
It was almost two hours before the front door opened again and Rashidi reemerged. His mother gave him an even longer hug and, according to the lip reader, said, “See you next Friday, Khalil.” Once again, the photographer went about his business.
William picked up his radio as Rashidi began to walk down the path. “Stand by, subject one is on the move.”
The taxi appeared as Rashidi opened the gate and stepped out onto the pavement, its FOR HIRE light glowing in the early evening dusk. Rashidi ignored the cab and kept on walking.
“Shit,” said Jackie, as Rashidi
turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.
“Get moving, Adaja,” said William. “Grab the taxi.”
“On my way, sarge,” said Paul, who bounded down the stairs and out onto the street, to find the cab waiting, its engine running. He jumped in and the driver immediately took off, throwing him onto the backseat. As they turned the corner, Paul spotted Rashidi getting into another taxi coming toward them, making him wonder why he’d ignored theirs.
Rashidi’s taxi turned left at the end of the road, just as the traffic light changed to red. If a lorry hadn’t stopped in front of them, Constable Danny Ives would have jumped the light.
“We’ve lost him,” said Danny.
“Are you going to tell DS Warwick, or will I?” asked Paul.
“Silly question.”
* * *
“You lost him?” said the Hawk, once they were all seated around the table in his office back at the Yard.
“I’m afraid so, sir,” said William. “But now we know he has his own taxi, in future we’ll follow the vehicle, and not the man.”
“Then be sure to change your number plates every week, and to switch taxis if it turns out to be a long journey. I don’t care how many Fridays it takes to locate his slaughter, as long as we eventually do.”
“Agreed,” said Lamont. “Did we learn anything worthwhile from the photographs?” he asked as he flicked through them.
“Only that we’re dealing with an extremely cautious man,” said William. “As you can tell from how little we can see of his face. But the lab did pick up something interesting.”
“Enlighten me,” said Hawksby, using one of his favorite expressions.
“Take a close look at his gloves. Our experts have studied all of the photographs, and they’re convinced that Rashidi is missing part of the third finger of his left hand.”
“What makes them think that?”
“Look carefully at the enlargement of frame number forty-six, where he’s embracing his mother on the way out.”
Hawksby took his time studying the blown-up image of a gloved hand.
“You can see that three of the fingers and the thumb of his left hand are touching his mother’s back, while the third finger of the glove is loose, and not touching anything. If you then look at the enlargement of his right hand on frame fifty-two, all four fingers and the thumb are clearly holding his mother’s arm.”
“Clever,” said the Hawk.
“So is he,” said William. “So we can’t afford to make the slightest mistake.”
“What are you getting at, DS Warwick?” asked Lamont.
“It’s obvious we’re dealing with an exceptionally cunning and cautious man, so we’ll need to always be on our guard, otherwise he’ll lead us up the garden path every Friday afternoon.”
“Your point, Warwick?” said the Hawk.
