Chapter 2 The British Police Are The Best In The World
Meeting Maurice Hall for the first time brought it all back to him.
Lestrade doesn't know the man's age for sure, but it must be much the same as his own. Which means he understands where Hall is coming from in a way that, say, Donovan can't.
She thinks it's all different these days. Doesn't really get why anyone would need to be in the closet. Understands that if you are in the closet of course you can be blackmailed about that. But she's obviously quite impatient about it, thinks Hall brought it on himself and basically must just be a spineless wanker.
Donovan's a good copper, and (despite that thing with Anderson) pretty smart into the bargain. Has her kinks – who doesn't? But the real problem here is that she's just too young. Too young to know what it was like when Hall and Lestrade were growing up.
Lestrade enjoys working with people younger than him, most of the time. Which is just as well, because most of the time that's what he does, these days. The policemen – and women – are getting younger, not a word of a lie. Their energy and enthusiasm and their stamina ... Christ, he couldn't do that now, so it's just as well someone can. But every now and then you hit a case like this where it matters that your team were still in nappies, or indeed not yet even a glint in the milkman's eye, when you were growing up a young gay man.
He's tried to give Donovan the lecture, but he's not sure it really went in. People think homosexuality stopped being illegal in 1967. That's if they know anything at all, which these days mostly they don't. But he remembers being sixteen, knowing any man who shagged him in the next five years could end up in prison. While all around him other 16-year-olds were having legal (if almost certainly ill-advised and fumbling) sex with their same-age girlfriends.
Any of the men who came to the big house, for example, in his bedroom-window-climbing days, could have ended up in jail for what happened after he climbed in. They might be legal with each other, but not with him.
He remembers parties in the late 70s, full of gloomy right-on teenagers singing along to Tom Robinson's "Glad To Be Gay":
Make sure your boyfriend's at least 21
So only your friends and your brothers get done.
Remembers how it went on, too:
Lie to your workmates, lie to your folks,
Put down the queens and make anti-queer jokes,
Gay Lib's ridiculous, join in the laughter:
The buggers are legal now, what more are they after?
There was a lot of that, back then. Covering up by pretending you hated and despised the thing you secretly were. He didn't do that himself – doesn't know how he escaped it, though he's grateful he did. But he saw enough of it in others to recognize it for what it was. And to know the scars can last a lifetime.
He knows he was one of the lucky ones, in all the ways that matter. Never got sent out as a pretty policeman to trap some poor unsuspecting fucker out cottaging. He doesn't know how he'd have coped with that. Might have had to leave the job. Doesn't think he could have gone along with it. Hopes he wouldn't have.
There was a lot of betrayal, back then.
Lucky in his first DI, Williams. Lestrade was never sure if Williams knew he was gay, but something clearly told Williams it was a bad idea to send Lestrade on that sort of job. Even though anyone else would have thought young Lestrade had pretty policeman written all over him. Certainly had the looks for it, back then. These days, he tries not to let the mirror catch his eye.
Meeting Maurice Hall shakes him up, though. Because the first thing Lestrade notices, almost, even before he takes stock of the river view and the high-design decor and the hundred and one other signs in Hall's penthouse flat screaming serious money, is that Hall is ... checking him out. Which is weird, to say the least of it. But Hall's eyes are definitely inspecting Lestrade in a disconcertingly familiar way. One that would make complete sense if they were in a bar or a club. But which is seriously out of place between a high-flying stockbroker and the DI who's come round to see about the blackmail. And which makes Lestrade feel ... well, interesting, and more fanciable than he has for a very long time. Apart from that half-hour on the sofa with Sherlock, which he's trying not to think about.
Lestrade gives himself a mental slap and asks Hall to tell him what's been happening. They sit on opposite sides of the room, drinking the best coffee Lestrade's had in years as he tries not to sink into the rather too comfortable armchair. Man could get used to this sort of life, though not on a DI's salary.
Donovan takes notes. Lestrade wonders fleetingly if she noticed that thing with Hall eyeing him up. Decides it's best to pretend it didn't happen.
So, the blackmail. Started about a month ago. Letters, first. The usual anonymous filth. Surprisingly old-style, really: does anyone still cut words out of the papers and paste them onto cheap writing-paper like that? All a bit Agatha Christie for the 21st century. At first the letters are just abusive. Then they start threatening to Reveal All.
"Mr Hall," Lestrade says, "we know this is – difficult for you. But we need to ask you what it is that this person is threatening to reveal."
Hall looks briefly angry, as if Lestrade has no right to ask such a thing. Lestrade's seen that look before. It goes with the money and the class confidence – arrogance, really - that says Lestrade and Donovan are just the hired help and they ought to know their place. He used to see a lot of that look at the big house when he was young. Often in the faces of men who would later be begging him to suck them off, or indeed who'd done exactly that the night before and were now regretting it and wondering -
He shouldn't be thinking about this. Doesn't help that Hall reminds him of one of those men he climbed in to, one of the nicer ones, poor confused sod. Never did find out what happened to him. Same fair hair and broad forehead, same classic handsome English features, same puzzled expression as if he was just waking up for the first time in his life. He'd probably look like this now, with those laughter lines at the corner of his eyes.
Hall stops looking angry and starts talking, which is just as well. Concentrate, Lestrade. Thank God for Sally, writing it all down.
"At Cambridge," Hall begins, and stops dead. Lestrade thinks for one ghastly moment that Hall might be about to start crying. Really hopes not.
Hall tries again. "At Cambridge, I had a – relationship. With someone who is – who became - " Stops again.
Lestrade says nothing, hopes to God Donovan isn't going to butt in trying to be helpful. No, she's waiting too. Knows her stuff.
Hall says "I can't tell you his name. He's – in politics. But he would suffer if – if this – person does what he's threatening to do."
They'll have to get the name, of course. Best not to push for it right now though. Let the man talk.
"You say what he's threatening to do," Donovan says. "Do you know this person is a man?"
Hall looks startled, though it's a perfectly sensible question.
"I don't know," he says after a bit. "I just – assumed. I – I don't have a lot to do with women," he adds, almost apologetically.
Lestrade doesn't look at Donovan. Suspects he knows what she's thinking, though, and hopes her face doesn't show it too plainly. There's an awkward silence.
"How old were you, then?" Lestrade asks.
Hall looks at him, a quick look that says You know about this, don't you? I was right.
"I was eighteen, he was twenty-one. He's – he got married pretty much straight after Graduation. Always wanted to go into politics and knew he needed a wife if he was going to stand a chance of being chosen as a candidate. People were still talking about the Jeremy Thorpe case, even a couple of years later. Lots of suspicion of single men, especially the handsome ones."
Lestrade remembers the Thorpe scandal. Well, he would: his part of the world. A lot of the guests at the big house seemed to know Thorpe or his wife, and would try to be worldly about it all while obviously panicking like crazy in case anyone thought they were like that. He nods, understandingly.
"So your – this man you were involved with," Lestrade says. "Is he still married?"
"Yes," Hall says, grimacing. "These days, he's rather hot on family values."
Lestrade winces. Can't be much fun for Hall, seeing his ex become a right-wing hypocrite. Surprising, in a way, that Hall doesn't want to see the bastard outed. Except, Lestrade supposes, if Hall is in the closet himself.
Something of this must be showing in his face, because Hall responds as if he's said it out loud.
"I keep my private life private. What there is of it, which these days is not much," he says.
Christ, what a waste, Lestrade thinks. Follows it up with another mental slap. Focus.
"Of course I was hurt when he got married. But even though he's become – what he has – I don't want to see him destroyed. And this would destroy him."
Donovan can't contain herself any longer. "Bloody politicians, they're all the same!"
"Sergeant Donovan," Lestrade says warningly.
"Sorry," she says, though he can tell she'd like to say something quite different.
"Hypocrisy in public life is pretty widespread, it's true," Hall says wearily. "But it's not just about the – about what happened with him and me. It was – we -"
He stops, gathers himself for another effort. "Some of his friends were – rather wild."
Drugs, Lestrade thinks. Probably. Complication. Going to find out things that would put him or his mate behind bars, if anyone follows through with a prosecution. Tricky.
"Parties?" he asks.
Hall pulls a face. "Some," he says.
"So it's possible the blackmailer was part of this crowd," Lestrade suggests. "Someone who came to the parties?"
Hall looks, surprisingly, as if that hadn't occurred to him.
"Could be someone who needs the money now for a drug habit," Lestrade says carefully.
"Big drug habit," Donovan says sceptically. She's looking at the admittedly eye-watering sum in the blackmail letter.
"No such thing as a small one," says Lestrade.
They sit there for a minute, looking at the letter.
"Has this person made contact with you in any other way?" Lestrade asks.
Hall looks spooked, as if Lestrade is a mind-reader or something. Poor sod seems not to know this is the obvious next question. Or maybe he's just not thinking too clearly at the moment.
"A phone call. This morning," he says. "Not long before you got here."
Why didn't the stupid fucker mention that first off? Oh well. No point in worrying about that now.
"Landline or mobile?" Lestrade asks.
"Landline. I – I don't give out my mobile number, but the landline's in the book. Kept meaning to go ex-directory and never got round to it." Which sounds rather a weak explanation.
"We can put a tap on your phone, try to trace the call if he – if they call again," Lestrade says. "Apart from that, we can get forensics to go over the letters, see if there are any clues there. But really what we need is anything you can tell us about this person. Did the voice sound familiar?"
Hall thinks about it. "Yes and no," he says eventually. Lestrade is aware of Donovan twitching irritably. Wills her not to say anything. She doesn't.
"Yes and no?" Lestrade asks.
"The voice did sound familiar in a way. But I really don't think I'd ever heard it before," Hall says. "It sounded – like a voice I've heard before, but as if it wasn't the same one."
This makes sense to Lestrade. Sort of. "Did you know who it sounded like?" he asks.
Hall shakes his head. "All I know is, it was an echo from a long time ago." Not much help, really.
"And is there anyone you can think of from that time, anyone at all, who might bear a grudge towards you or – this other man?"
Lestrade is already getting a pretty clear idea of who Hall's ex might be, but he tries not to let that show, or to think about it yet. If he's right, though, they'll need to look into the other man's contacts a.s.a.p., because he's a much more obvious target than Hall, despite Hall's wealth. What's odd is why a blackmailer would go to Hall first. If he did, if they did. Can't know that till you question the other guy, and at the moment Hall is obviously not wanting to give them his name. Have to lean on him about that soon; run the tests first and see how much more they can get out of Hall without leaning.
Hall looks blank. "I can't think of anyone," he says. "I will try. If I remember anything I'll – I'll let you know straight away."
They talk practicalities, what needs to happen about the phone tap and so on. Lestrade gives Hall his card with the Yard number on it, says there's always someone there to take a message, any time of day, so to call the minute anything occurs to him.
Donovan's already out of the door and pressing the button for the fancy glass lift when Hall gives Lestrade his card. The address and landline are on the front; but on the back there's a pencilled mobile number and the words Please call me. M.
"I thought you said you didn't give out your mobile," Lestrade says. If Hall is this free with his private contact details it puts the case in a new and even more worrying light.
"I don't," Hall says, astonishingly.
Lestrade doesn't know what to make of that. Puts the card in his pocket and prepares to forget about it. Doesn't know why Hall would do such a thing, except for the reason that absolutely doesn't make sense. The reason that means the last thing Lestrade should ever do is ring this number and really he should just refuse to take it, or drop it in the river or something. Well, not that, obviously. Not safe.
This is turning out to be a weird day, Lestrade thinks, saying goodbye to Hall and joining Donovan in the lift. Hall's still standing in the doorway, looking at them. Looking at Lestrade.
As the lift begins to descend, Lestrade realizes he hasn't thought about Sherlock once, not since that first moment when Hall looked at him like that.
Interesting. Best not to dwell on it though. Could be a serious distraction. And this is obviously one of those bloody cases where you really need your wits about you.
The edges of the card are sharp against his fingers. He takes his hand out of his pocket and tells himself he's not going to think about it again.