Next In Line

Chapter 13

Booth Watson knew it would be a question of careful timing if he hoped to pull it off. He’d have to keep one eye on the clock to make sure it was 10.56 before he made his move.

He entered the lawyer’s glass domain at one minute past ten, sat down opposite his client and smiled, before placing his Gladstone bag on the floor next to his chair.

‘Good morning, Miles. Shall we start with the good news?’ He bent down, took out the first contract and pushed it across the table for his client to consider. ‘I’m confident this agreement will ensure that Christina won’t cause you any trouble in future. But you should still go over it carefully, and don’t hesitate to query anything you’re not sure about.’

Faulkner put his glasses on and began to read the document line by line. The occasional nod or smile, while Booth Watson kept his eye on the clock. But he couldn’t make the minute hand move any faster.

When Faulkner turned to the last page, a smile of satisfaction appeared on his face.

‘I couldn’t have asked for much more,’ he said. ‘That’s assuming Lamont has been fully briefed on what’s expected of him when our toyboy reappears with the suitcases?’

‘The moment they’ve been handed over to Lamont, he’ll bring them straight to my chambers.’

‘What if Lamont decides not to show up? He could then live the rest of his life in luxury, while I’d have to spend a fortune trying to track him down.’

‘I already have a back-up following him to cover that eventuality.’

‘You can’t trust anyone nowadays,’ commented Miles. ‘Least of all a bent ex-copper with a history of backing losers, whether they’re nags or fillies.’ He quickly changed tack. ‘What about the more important contract, which will determine if I’ll get to enjoy the before life again?’

Booth Watson glanced at the clock on the wall: 10.25. He’d hoped there would be several more questions before he had to move on.

‘It’s important,’ he emphasized, replacing the first contract with another, ‘that you read this contract even more carefully, as the rest of your life depends on it.’

Faulkner looked at a document that had been typed up on Crown Prosecution headed paper, which Booth Watson had slipped into his bag during a visit to their offices on Petty France earlier in the week.

‘I can’t believe the CPS has agreed to such favourable terms,’ he said long before he reached the last page.

‘I allowed the director to read my opening speech to the jury,’ said Booth Watson. ‘It helped to concentrate his mind on the alternatives.’

‘You seem to have covered everything, BW,’ said Faulkner, checking the last paragraph once again.

Let’s hope so, thought Booth Watson. ‘Do you have any questions before you sign?’

‘Just one. Can you explain the significance of the non-disclosure clause, and the repercussions should I break it?’

‘Put simply, if at any time in the future you were to mention what took place at your home in Spain last September, the deal would be off and you’d be arrested, returned to prison, have to complete your original sentence, and possibly face new charges. So whatever you do, Miles, don’t say a word to anyone other than me until the judge passes sentence.’ He paused to make sure the threat had sunk in. ‘Anything else?’ he asked, stealing another glance at the clock: 10.51. Still time to kill.

‘I had a word with my parole officer on Monday,’ said Faulkner, ‘and he made no mention of an early release.’

‘He won’t be put in the picture until after you’ve signed the agreement. Once you’ve done that, he’ll simply carry out orders from above.’

‘Where do I sign?’

‘You don’t. That’s just a copy for you to hold on to. I’d advise you to keep it away from prying eyes.’

There was a firm rap on the door, and they turned to see the duty officer standing there. ‘Five minutes, sir.’

‘Mr Harris,’ said Booth Watson, ‘I wonder if I might call upon your services. My client is about to sign an important legal document, and I need someone to witness his signature.’

‘Happy to oblige,’ said Harris.

Booth Watson took three new agreements from his Gladstone bag and placed them on the table in front of him. He then turned to the last page of each one. Faulkner was pleased to see that Sir Julian had already signed all three of them. The duty officer waited for Faulkner to add his signature, before scribbling his name and occupation on the dotted line below.

Once both of them had signed all three documents, Booth Watson didn’t wait for the ink to dry before he dropped them back into his bag.

‘Thank you, Mr Harris,’ he said to the innocent bystander. Turning back to Faulkner, he added, ‘That completes our business for today.’ Booth Watson picked up his bag then stood aside to allow the guard to accompany his prisoner back to the cells while he left in the opposite direction.

‘Good luck!’ shouted Faulkner as he was led away. Booth Watson turned nervously, unsure what his client was referring to. ‘Be sure to give my love to Christina when you see her this afternoon.’

When Christina was dropped off at the bank later that afternoon, she found Booth Watson already waiting by the entrance. His Gladstone bag had been replaced by two large black empty suitcases.

After a brief salutation, he led her towards the lifts on the other side of the foyer. It was clear he knew exactly where he was going. They didn’t speak to each other during the short journey to the basement. When the lift doors opened, they were greeted with the words, ‘Good morning, Mr Booth Watson. My name is Bradshaw. I’m the bank’s security officer. Please allow me to accompany you to the safe-deposit vault.’

Without another word, he led them along a well-lit corridor to the entrance of the bank’s vault. Bradshaw entered an eight-digit code on a panel in the wall, and waited for a moment before pulling open the vast circular steel door to allow his two customers to enter the private domain. A large wooden table dominated the centre of the room, and as far as Christina could see the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with numbered boxes: a bank’s library.

Bradshaw checked his clipboard before selecting a key from a large ring, knelt down in front of two of the largest boxes in the room, and turned his key in the bank’s lock. Booth Watson then produced his key and opened the customer’s lock. Bradshaw pulled out the two heavy boxes, heaved them up onto the table, and said, ‘I’ll leave you now, sir. Once you’ve completed your business, just press the green button by the door and it will automatically open. I’ll be waiting on the other side.’

Booth Watson waited until Bradshaw had left, and the vast door had been slammed shut behind him, before he lifted the lids of the boxes to reveal row upon row of freshly minted fifty-pound notes neatly sealed in bundles of five thousand pounds. Twenty minutes later they had completed the task of transferring the cash from the strongboxes into the two suitcases.

After double-checking that Christina hadn’t been overpaid, Booth Watson took an envelope from an inside pocket and produced a contract she thought she’d read the day before. Christina signed all three copies of the agreement without a second thought.

Booth Watson pocketed the contracts, but not before he said, ‘You now own the flat in London and the villa in Monte Carlo.’ He made no mention of the substantial mortgages he’d recently obtained on behalf of his client, and were now her responsibility. ‘However, I must warn you,’ he added, ‘should you fail to honour your side of the bargain, I will not hesitate to inform the tax authorities about your unexpected windfall.’

‘You assured me I wouldn’t have to pay a penny in tax,’ Christina reminded him.

‘And you won’t, just as long as no one else learns about our little arrangement.’ Without another word, Booth Watson pressed the green button on the wall and the door swung slowly open. Once they’d stepped back outside, Bradshaw closed the door behind them and led them back down the corridor towards the lift, Booth Watson pulling one of the heavy suitcases, with Christina following in his wake tugging the other.

When they reached the ground floor, Booth Watson handed the second case to Christina, who dragged both of them slowly towards the entrance. She’d had no idea how heavy ten million pounds would be.

Booth Watson stood aside and watched as a dark blue Mercedes pulled up outside the bank’s entrance. A chauffeur got out, opened the boot and stowed the two suitcases inside before returning to his place behind the wheel. At the same time, Christina opened the rear door of the car and climbed in the back. Once she’d pulled the door shut, the Mercedes drove off and joined the early-evening traffic. The whole process had taken less than a minute, and had clearly been carefully planned, probably even rehearsed. Booth Watson smiled to himself: it wasn’t the only plan that had been well-rehearsed.

He strolled out of the bank as a black Volvo tucked in behind the Mercedes, an ex-superintendent at the wheel. Booth Watson crossed the road, hailed a cab, and headed in the opposite direction.

As the Mercedes came to a halt outside Christina’s apartment in Eaton Square, Lamont pulled into a residents’ parking bay a few yards away on the opposite side of the road. The chauffeur opened the boot, lifted out the two suitcases and accompanied Mrs Faulkner to the front door, which a liveried porter held open for them.

Lamont only had to wait for a few minutes before the chauffeur reappeared and drove off. Job done. Well, not quite.