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“Not for you it wouldn’t,” said his father. “However, if you do report him, whether he’s found guilty or not, you might well have to consider your own position.”
“But why? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I accept that without question. But it’s the one thing your fellow officers will remember about you. They might never say anything to your face, but behind your back you’d be called snitch, traitor, or worse. And friends of Lamont will go out of their way to derail your chances of promotion. Never forget, the police are a tribe, and some of them will never forgive you for turning against one of their own.”
“Only the dishonest ones, in which case I’m in the wrong profession.”
“Possibly, but I hope you won’t do something in haste that you’ll later regret.”
“What would you do, Father?”
“I would…” began Julian when there was a knock on the door, and Beth walked in. “Lunch is ready,” she said. “And Marjorie is looking for a carver.”
“We’ll have to talk about this again, my boy. And soon,” said Julian, rising from his chair.
“Don’t you think William’s black eye is rather fetching?” said Beth, as she linked arms with her father-in-law and accompanied him through to the dining room.
* * *
Faulkner smiled up at Rashidi, and waved a hand to indicate he could join him for breakfast. The first inmate he’d treated as an equal, even if he didn’t trust him an inch.
“Why are you dressed in civilian clothes?” asked Rashidi, taking the seat opposite Faulkner. “Are you about to be released?”
“No. I’m going to a funeral.”
“Whose?”
“My mother’s.”
“I adore my mother.”
“I hadn’t spoken to mine for over twenty years,” said Faulkner, as a warder placed a cup of tea on the table in front of him.
“Then why bother to attend her funeral?” asked Rashidi.
“It’s an excuse to get out of this place for the day,” said Faulkner, dropping a couple of sugar lumps into his tea.
“I won’t be seeing the outside world again until my case comes up in about six months’ time.”
“And what are your chances?”
“Zero, while one of my so-called mates has turned Queen’s evidence in exchange for a lesser sentence.”
“There are people in here who can take care of that little problem,” said Faulkner.
“Not while the filth have two other witnesses in reserve who’d be only too willing to take his place should he fail to turn up.”
“So who’s running your empire while you’re away?”
Rashidi pointed to a young man seated at the next table smoking a cigarette. “One of the few who stood by me when the shit hit the fan.”
“But he’s also stuck in here, Khalil, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Not for much longer. He pleaded guilty to possession of a half-smoked reefer, the only thing they found on him other than a packet of Marlboro. And as he has no previous convictions, he won’t get more than six months, possibly less, so he could be out of here in a few weeks’ time.”
“But surely someone has to run the business while you’re away?” said Faulkner.
“My deputy wasn’t even on the premises when the raid took place. Doesn’t usually take over from me much before midnight. So he’ll keep the business ticking over in my absence.”
