‘Spit it out,’ said Lamont.
‘A word MM heard several times that night was “caravan”.’
‘We’re either being set up, or that man’s worth his weight in gold.’
‘But it’s not all good news,’ said Jackie. ‘Now Tulip’s back on the streets again, he’s been back to the Three Feathers looking for Heath.’
‘That’s all we need,’ said the Hawk.
16
‘THE SECOND DAY of any stakeout is always the worst,’ said Jackie.
‘Why?’ asked William, keeping his binoculars trained on the entrance to the harbour.
‘On the first day it’s easy enough to keep your concentration, but by the second, the thrill of the chase and the sense of anticipation are beginning to wear off.’
‘And by the third?’
‘Boredom sets in. Your eyelids get heavier and heavier, and you struggle to stay awake. But at least that’s better than having to listen to your dreadful stories, which would send an insomniac to sleep. I’ll bet Beth doesn’t have to count sheep at night.’
‘At least this time we know exactly what we’re looking for,’ said William, ignoring the barb. ‘Unlike your trip to Guildford in search of a stolen Picasso that turned out not to exist.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ said Jackie. ‘On this occasion the harbour master couldn’t have been more helpful. There are only two vehicle ferries arriving from Zeebrugge today, both Townsend Thoresen, and as we’re looking for a car with a caravan in tow, it shouldn’t be too difficult to identify, although we’ll still need to check the number plate of every car, just in case.’
‘Where did the three caravans we spotted yesterday end up?’
‘One went to a caravan park in the New Forest where its owner lives. The second is on its way to Scotland, and according to the Police National Computer the third is owned by the Reverend Nigel Oakshot of The Rectory, Sandhurst, Berkshire. We decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.’
William laughed. ‘When’s the first ferry due today?’
‘The Anthi Marina should dock around eleven-twenty, and will be unloading at RoRo one or two. We won’t go anywhere near the dockside until she comes into view. We don’t want to be spotted by one of the customs officers under surveillance with the anti-corruption unit. What are you reading?’ she asked, looking down at the book resting in William’s lap and wondering if he had been listening to a word she was saying.
‘The history of Felixstowe docks.’
‘I bet that’s a page-turner.’
‘Did you know that the surrounding land is owned by Trinity College, Cambridge, and is one of its most valuable assets?’
‘Fascinating.’
‘The college bursar at the time, a Mr Tressilian Nicholas, purchased the 3,800-acre site on behalf of the college in 1933, along with a road that led to the then-derelict docks. His successor, a Mr Bradfield, spotted its potential, and it’s now the largest port in Britain, and makes the college a small fortune.’
‘I can’t wait to hear the end of this story,’ said Jackie.
‘Lord Butler.’
‘Who he?’
‘A former cabinet minister, and master of Trinity,’ replied William, who began reading directly from the book: “Butler asked Bradfield at a finance meeting if he realized that the college owned a tin mine in Cornwall that hadn’t shown a return since 1546, to which the bursar famously replied, ‘You’ll find, master, that in this college, we take the long view.’ ” ’
‘I’m also taking the long view,’ said Jackie, as she spotted the Anthi Marina coming over the horizon. ‘If yesterday’s anything to go by, she should be with us in about forty minutes. We’d better get going if we’re to secure our preferred lookout point.’
William put on his seat belt as Jackie switched on the car engine and drove slowly down Bath Hill towards the docks. She parked at the same spot in which they’d spent so many fruitless hours the previous day. At least the last ferry had docked shortly after ten, making it possible for them to check in to a seedy little B&B on the seafront before midnight. The landlord had seemed surprised when they booked separate rooms.
Once Jackie had parked the car well out of sight, the two of them sat in married silence, as they watched the ship inch its way slowly into the port.
They didn’t have to wait long for the first vehicle to emerge onto the dockside. Jackie, binoculars in hand, read out each number plate to Paul who had been patiently waiting for their call in the basement of Scotland Yard. William, being a belt and braces man, also wrote them down in his notebook. There was no sign of a caravan by the time the last car had cleared customs. Jackie lowered her binoculars and asked, ‘What time is the next ferry due in?’
‘Two-fifty,’ said William, running a finger down the schedule. ‘Saxon Prince.’
‘More than enough time for lunch. Fish and chips?’
‘Not again. That’s what we had yesterday.’
‘And will tomorrow, if I have my way,’ said Jackie. ‘Golden rule. When you’re stuck in a port doing surveillance, always eat the local catch. It’s a lot fresher than the cod fricassee that ends up at the Ritz. And you should know, you go there often enough.’
‘Only twice,’ said William. ‘But what if we’re stuck here for the rest of the week?’
‘I’ll settle for a kebab,’ replied Jackie, as she swung the car around and headed for the chippy that had been recommended by the desk sergeant at the local constabulary.
‘Always a good sign,’ said Jackie, as she parked the car and they joined a long queue waiting outside the shop.
DC Adaja spent his lunch break checking all the number plates Jackie had supplied on the PNC. A few parking fines, some speeding tickets, one drink-driving offence and a woman who’d been caught going through a red light, been fined twenty pounds and had two penalty points added to her licence. When Paul radioed to tell Jackie the results, she poured some more vinegar on her cod and said, ‘Naughty girl.’
Once they’d finished their lunch – eaten out of
