Next In Line

Chapter 4

William picked up the phone but didn’t turn on the light as the digital clock on his bedside table turned from 5:17 to 5:18. He knew it could only be one person on the other end of the line.

‘The harbourmaster has just called,’ said a wide-awake voice. ‘The yacht has been sighted, and he’s predicting an ETA of around nine o’clock.’

William leapt out of bed, hit a chair, fell on the floor and woke Beth. Not a good start to the day.

The second call the harbourmaster made that morning was to Sir Julian Warwick, who turned on the bedside light before picking up the phone. He was already awake. He thanked the harbourmaster, put the phone down, threw on a dressing gown, and retreated to his study. He looked up a number, and it gave him considerable pleasure to dial it. The phone rang for some time before it was eventually answered.

‘Who the hell is this?’ a voice demanded.

‘Sir Julian Warwick,’ he said, without any hint of an apology for waking his client at what might have been for her the middle of the night. He relayed the harbourmaster’s message, and to his surprise she said, ‘My driver will be with you in twenty minutes.’

After putting the phone down, he rushed back upstairs to the bathroom, threw off his dressing gown and pyjamas, jumped into the shower, and swore out loud as the cold jets of water streamed down onto his bald head.

William arrived at Scotland Yard just after six and wasn’t surprised to see Commander Hawksby sitting in the back of a squad car, impatiently tapping his fingers on the front seat. William jumped in beside him. Danny, his driver, set off even before he’d had time to close the door.

It wasn’t twenty minutes but nearer forty by the time Mrs Faulkner’s chauffeur entered the private domain of Lincoln’s Inn Field, and pulled up outside Sir Julian’s flat. Sir Julian, who had been pacing around for the past twenty minutes, quickly joined his client in the back seat.

‘Good morning, Mrs Faulkner,’ he said. Though looking at her attire, he wasn’t altogether sure she’d been to bed the previous night.

‘Good morning, Sir Julian,’ replied Mrs Faulkner as the chauffeur closed the back door and returned to his seat before setting off for Christchurch.

The commander and William were the first to arrive at the port, and immediately checked in with the harbourmaster.

‘The yacht will be docking at berth number fourteen, in about forty minutes,’ he said as the two men shook hands. ‘If you need any assistance, mental or physical, don’t hesitate to ask.’

‘Mr Booth Watson’s only weapon will be his brain,’ responded the commander, ‘which won’t need reloading.’ The Hawk thanked the harbourmaster before returning to his car, and Danny drove slowly along the quayside, coming to a halt at berth fourteen.

The Hawk got out of the car, stared out at the open sea, and raised his binoculars. A few moments later he declared, ‘Got you,’ before passing the binoculars across to William.

William adjusted the focus and began scanning the horizon.

‘It shouldn’t be too long now,’ said the Hawk as a dark blue Mercedes drew up beside them. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ he added when a chauffeur opened the back door to allow Mrs Faulkner and her legal representative to join them.

‘Good morning, Sir Julian,’ said the Hawk as if they had been expected.

‘Good to see you, commander,’ replied Sir Julian. William handed his father the binoculars. After he had settled on the approaching yacht and identified the rotund figure who was staring back at them, he announced, ‘I’ve been looking forward to this moment for some considerable time.’

Captain Redmayne was focusing on the quay, where he saw Commander Hawksby, Chief Inspector Warwick, Christina Faulkner and Sir Julian Warwick all clearly waiting to welcome them with open arms.

‘Looks as if we’re expected,’ said the captain, passing over his binoculars.

Booth Watson just about managed to get to his feet. He had not slept for more than a few hours at a time for the past ten days, continually rushing to the nearest rail, regretting his latest meal.

‘Can we turn back?’ were Booth Watson’s first words once he’d spotted the commander.

‘We could,’ said Captain Redmayne, ‘but I wouldn’t advise it.’

‘Why not?’

‘If you look behind you, you’ll see someone else has already considered that possibility.’ Booth Watson steadied himself and turned around to see they were being followed into port by a border patrol vessel. ‘And before you ask, yes, we are well inside UK territorial waters.’

‘Slow down,’ said Booth Watson. ‘I need time to think.’

‘What makes you think Booth Watson doesn’t realize his client is still alive and back in jail?’ asked William.

‘Is it just possible,’ responded Sir Julian, ‘that I’ve worked out something my clever son hasn’t?’

‘And what might that be?’ asked the Hawk, whose eyes remained focused on the yacht.

‘I don’t understand,’ said William, genuinely puzzled. ‘If Booth Watson doesn’t realize Faulkner’s back in Belmarsh, where does he think he is?’

‘Locked up in a safe that no one other than Miles has a key for,’ suggested Christina, speaking for the first time. ‘And that’s why they think he’s dead. Suffocated.’

The Hawk lowered his binoculars and looked at William. That would explain why Booth Watson hasn’t been in touch with Scotland Yard and demanded his release.

‘If he was aware that Miles had somehow managed to get out of the safe,’ Christina continued, ‘Booth Watson would have been on the next plane to London and not sailing back on Miles’s yacht.’

‘Chapeau,’ said Sir Julian, bowing respectfully to his client.

William didn’t look convinced.

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ said Christina, ‘because if I’m right there’ll be something on board that Miles would never have considered bringing back to England.’

‘And what might that be?’ asked the commander.

‘A hundred and ninety-one oil paintings I haven’t seen for a very long time,’ said Christina, ‘but will be delighted to be reacquainted with, as half of them belong to me.’

‘What am I missing?’ asked Booth Watson of a passing seagull, which only squawked an unintelligible reply. Why are those four waiting on the dockside for me, he wondered. And how did they find out where the yacht was heading? ‘Do they realize Miles is dead?’ he asked finally, but the seagull was no more responsive.

‘If they don’t,’ said Captain Redmayne, ‘they’ll assume he’s on board, and I expect it’s him they’re waiting for.’

‘If that was the case,’ said Booth Watson, ‘Sir Julian and Mrs Faulkner wouldn’t be there. She must think the paintings are on board.’ He continued to consider every possible alternative, but had to admit he ended up none the wiser. Eventually he repeated, ‘What am I missing?’ aware it wouldn’t be too long before he found out.

None of them moved from their positions on the quayside until the yacht was finally tied up and the gangway had been lowered into place.

Sir Julian watched as his old adversary strode down the gangway with an air of confidence that made him realize he’d had more than enough time to prepare the case for the defence.

William greeted him with the words, ‘My name is—’

‘I’m well aware who you are, Chief Inspector,’ said Booth Watson. ‘The only thing I’m not sure about is why you’re here.’

‘I want to question you about Miles Faulkner, as we have reason to believe that—’

‘Clearly you need reminding, Chief Inspector, that my distinguished client is dead.’

‘Sadly not,’ responded the commander, ‘and I suspect you don’t realize the escaped convict is back in Belmarsh where he belongs.’

Sir Julian looked carefully at his old rival, and had to admire the sphinx-like expression that settled on Booth Watson’s face as he considered his options. He first looked at the commander, followed by William, and then Sir Julian. It wasn’t until his eyes settled on Mrs Faulkner that he worked out the only reason she could possibly be there.

Sir Julian could almost see his mind ticking over, but even he was taken by surprise when Booth Watson turned to Christina and said, ‘I have carried out your instructions to the letter, Mrs Faulkner, and brought back your husband’s art collection from Spain. On our way to London, perhaps we should discuss where you would like the paintings delivered?’

A masterstroke, admitted Sir Julian, if only to himself.

They all turned to face Mrs Faulkner, not sure which way she would jump.

Christina also took her time considering the alternatives, before she finally turned to her legal adviser and said sweetly, ‘I won’t be needing your services any longer, Sir Julian.’ And without another word, Christina walked over to her waiting car, where Booth Watson joined her on the back seat.

As the Mercedes moved slowly off, Sir Julian turned to the commander and said, ‘Can you give me a lift back to London?’