Next In Line

Chapter 16

Booth Watson recovered fairly quickly from what he tried to convince himself was no more than a temporary set-back, but was now resigned to putting off his trip to Seattle for a few months. While Faulkner was still in prison, with no chance of an early release, he would simply have to bide his time. And time was on his side.

He would need to arrange an early consultation with Miles, at which he would show him the handwritten letter Christina had left in the suitcase. That should ensure Miles’s anger was directed elsewhere, and prevent him from suspecting what his lawyer had been up to in his absence. He would recommend to Miles that an anonymous source should tip off the taxman about Christina’s windfall, thus killing two birds with one stone.

Despite Christina’s sleight of hand, Booth Watson felt all was not lost. There was still twelve million in cash lodged in the bank’s vault, and he was the only person Miles had entrusted with a key to the strongbox. He would just have to make a few more visits to the bank during the coming weeks. He would also carry out Miles’s instructions to the letter, and accept a bid of twenty-six million pounds for his fifty-one per cent holding in Marcel and Neffe, which he would then deposit in his client account for safekeeping, where it would remain until sentence had been pronounced, when the money would be transferred to Hong Kong the moment Miles was safely ensconced in Belmarsh — for the next fourteen years.

But that was a mere bagatelle compared with the amount Booth Watson would make when he sold Miles’s art collection, along with the Raphael, the Rembrandt and the Frans Hals he’d be claiming back from the Fitzmolean once their forthcoming exhibition had closed. That wouldn’t please Warwick’s wife, which he considered a bonus.

So, other than having to pay a redundant taxi driver who’d been booked to take him to Heathrow, and the deposit on a jet that never took off, it hadn’t been a complete disaster. He would just have to wait a little longer before he took early retirement. However, there was still one mystery he hadn’t yet solved: who was it who had been wearing the chauffeur’s uniform? And then he remembered that whoever it was hadn’t opened the car door for Christina when she left the bank, so it couldn’t have been his day job.

‘Why did Sir Julian Warwick roll over quite so easily?’ said Miles, when he sat down opposite Tulip and a guard handed him a steaming cup of black coffee and a copy of The Times.

‘Because if he hadn’t,’ suggested Tulip, ‘that precious son of his might well have ended up joining us for breakfast, rather than hobnobbing with Princesses.’

Miles scowled. ‘I’m missing something,’ he said as an inmate placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him.

‘But BW gave you a copy of the agreement, and you even witnessed Sir Julian’s signature on the original.’

‘On the original,’ repeated Miles, ‘but his signature isn’t on my copy.’

‘You can’t be suggesting that BW would double-cross you? He’s been your lawyer for as long as I’ve known you. In any case, what’s in it for him?’

‘About two hundred million pounds,’ said Miles as his coffee went cold. ‘I suspect even you’d double-cross me for that amount, especially if you knew I was safely locked up in jail.’

Tulip was silent for some time before he said, ‘But just think about how much he would have to lose when you found out.’

‘Just think about how much he’d have to gain if I didn’t,’ said Miles.

‘But how could you ever be sure while you’re banged up in here?’

‘Perhaps the time’s come for me to take out an insurance policy with ex-superintendent Lamont as the beneficiary.’

‘But he’s a man you’ve never trusted,’ said Tulip. ‘And in any case, he’s probably already working for BW.’

‘Then we’ll have to double his salary and make it clear exactly what would happen to him if he decides to double-cross me.’

Miles pushed his untouched breakfast to one side and glanced at a photograph of Mansour Khalifah on the front page of The Times.

‘Now there’s a man I would happily kill,’ said Tulip, pointing to the photograph.

‘It might be in our best interests to keep him alive,’ said Miles as a guard poured him a second cup of coffee.

‘Why, boss? What would be in it for us?’

‘Khalifah will have information that the police, not to mention the Foreign Office, would be delighted to learn about. Information that might persuade a judge to knock even more time off my sentence.’

‘But Khalifah would never share that information with infidels like us, boss.’

‘Possibly not. So we need to convert a True Believer to our cause. How many of them are there in Belmarsh?’

‘A dozen? Possibly more. But they all look on Khalifah as a hero, and they wouldn’t consider crossing him.’

‘Do any of them drink or have a drug problem?’

‘Not one of them,’ said Tulip, who knew his customers. ‘That won’t be the way to make contact with him.’

‘A dozen, you say. Then we need to find the Judas among them, because I’d be happy to supply him with a damn sight more than thirty pieces of silver.’

‘None of them will betray him for money,’ said Tulip. ‘However much you offered.’

‘Find out what they will betray him for, and then I’ll have two insurance policies.’

Miles Faulkner read Christina’s note a third time before he spoke. ‘I should have killed the bitch years ago,’ he said, banging a clenched fist on the table.

‘Don’t say that even in jest until the trial is over,’ said Booth Watson. ‘We wouldn’t want to harm your chances of an early release.’

He waited for his client to calm down before carrying on with the rest of his agenda. ‘There are one or two more papers that require your signature if we’re to have everything in place by the time you’re released.’

Miles nodded.

‘First, I have, as instructed, sold your fifty-one per cent shareholding in Marcel and Neffe.’

‘How much did you get?’

‘Twenty-six million — four million more than you asked for.’

‘Where have you deposited the money?’

‘It’s currently in your client account, but I can transfer it to any bank you choose. Just give me the name and account number.’

‘Put the full amount into my numbered account at the Bank of Zurich. I have no intention of remaining in England once I get out of this place, and I certainly don’t intend to pay forty per cent in tax to the people who put me in here.’

Booth Watson made a note of his client’s instructions, even though he had no intention of carrying them out.

‘You can deduct one per cent for yourself,’ said Miles before adding, ‘of the four million.’

Booth Watson didn’t remind Miles that he’d originally promised him a million — why bother, when he was going to take it in any case?

‘Thank you, Miles,’ said Booth Watson as he passed across two more documents for him to sign. He didn’t realize that the entire amount would eventually be transferred to a private account, not in Zurich, but Hong Kong. Booth Watson didn’t bother to mention that his client’s prized art collection was in storage in a warehouse near Gatwick airport and he’d already arranged a meeting with a prospective buyer who’d shown an interest in purchasing the entire collection.

‘Anything else?’ asked Miles after glancing at his watch to see they had only fifteen minutes left.

‘One more thing. The Frans Hals exhibition opens at the Fitzmolean in a few weeks’ time and, with your permission, when it closes, I’ll collect the self-portrait.’

‘On the same day. And you can inform the Fitzmolean that I expect my Raphael and Rembrandt to be returned as well, since they were only ever on loan to them in the first place.’

‘On permanent loan,’ Booth Watson reminded him. ‘But I’m confident I’ve found a loophole in the contract they won’t have considered, that will turn permanent to temporary.’

‘Then you can ship all three of them back to Spain to join the rest of the collection.’

Booth Watson had every intention of making sure the paintings joined the rest of the collection, but not in Spain.

‘What’s the latest on the trial?’

‘The CPS have finally fixed a date, September fourteenth. So as long as you’re still willing to plead guilty, we should have you out of here by Christmas.’

‘Or possibly earlier.’

‘You’re planning to escape again?’ asked Booth Watson, who didn’t like being taken by surprise.

‘No. What I have in mind requires me to remain inside,’ said Miles. But he had no intention of letting BW know what he had planned for Khalifah.

‘Dare I ask?’ said Booth Watson, trying to remain calm.

‘Not until I’ve got Hawksby by the balls and he’s begging me to “enlighten” him.’

Booth Watson was about to ask... when there was a loud rap on the door.

‘Time’s up,’ said the duty officer, who remained standing in the doorway.

Booth Watson was lost for words, and even forgot to ask Mr Harris to witness Miles’s signature on the three documents that would have made it possible for him to book a one-way ticket to Hong Kong.

Miles rose from his place on the other side of the table and left without another word. He stepped out of the glass chamber, where Harris was waiting to escort him back to his cell. ‘Damn,’ Miles said after he’d walked a few paces. He turned around but BW had already disappeared.

‘Anything wrong, Mr Faulkner?’ said SO Harris, as a double-barred gate was locked behind him.

‘Nothing that can’t wait until next week.’