Nothing Ventured

13

They didn’t sit down for breakfast on Sunday morning until just after ten.

Beth wanted to go for a run in Hyde Park, claiming she needed to lose a couple of pounds. William couldn’t work out from where, but he agreed to join her.

‘We won’t need lunch,’ he said as he buttered another slice of toast. ‘This counts as brunch. But I’ll have to call my mother and let her know I won’t be joining them.’

‘You could still make it if you left now,’ teased Beth.

William ignored her as he helped himself to a dollop of marmalade.

‘Jez and I usually go to the cinema on a Sunday evening,’ said Beth. ‘So we can be tucked up in bed at a sensible hour.’

‘Suits me. I’ve got a commander’s meeting first thing in the morning.’

‘Sounds impressive.’

‘He is impressive, and responsible for four departments. A and A is his favorite, although it’s the least important.’ William took a bite of toast before adding, ‘The team meet on the first Monday of every month to bring him up to date on the cases we’ve been investigating.’

‘Then you’ll have rather a lot to tell him, won’t you, Detective Constable Warwick?’

‘You can be sure that if our artist is banged up, the Hawk will know his name, which prison he’s in, and how long his sentence is.’

‘You’d like his job one day, wouldn’t you?’ said Beth, pouring herself another cup of coffee.

‘Yes, but I’m not in any hurry. How about you? Do you want Tim Knox’s job?’

‘I love what I’m doing, and am quite happy to stay put until I get a better offer.’

‘My bet is you’ll be director of the Tate before I sit in the commander’s chair.’

‘I can’t imagine the Tate will ever appoint a woman as its director.’

‘Even if she’d been captain of the school and captain of hockey?’

‘Who told you that?’

‘A policeman never reveals his sources.’

‘I’ll kill Jez.’

‘Pity. I rather like him.’

‘He’s the ideal flatmate,’ said Beth. ‘Clean, tidy, and considerate, and his rent helps to supplement the derisory salary the Fitzmolean pay me.’

‘I didn’t realize you owned the flat.’

‘I don’t. It belongs to my parents. Dad works for HSBC and he’s been posted to Hong Kong for the next three years. The moment they return, Jez will have to go and I’ll be moving back into his room.’

Or mine, William wanted to say.

‘You’d better call your mother while I do the washing up. The phone’s in the study.’

‘Once a head girl, always a head girl,’ said William as he left her and made his way to the study. He picked up the phone and dialed the first number he’d ever known. He was hoping his father would pick up the phone, but a female voice came on the line.

‘Nettleford 4163.’

‘Hi, Grace, it’s William. I won’t be able to make lunch today. Something’s come up. Would you apologize to Mum and Dad for me?’

‘Something or someone?’

‘It’s a work thing.’

‘You’re such a lousy liar, William. But I won’t say anything, even though I was hoping you’d be around today.’

‘Why, is there a problem?’

‘Dad will be meeting Clare for the first time, so I was relying on you for moral support.’

‘I’ve never really cared much for blood sports.’

‘Thanks a lot. Will you be around next week? I can’t wait to meet the girl who would go on a second date with you.’

‘And I can’t wait to meet the girl who would go on a second date with you.’

‘Touché. But I still wish you were here.’

‘You’ll be fine, Grace. Just remember, when Dad snorts, only hot air comes out, no flames.’

‘That’s easy for you to say from a safe distance.’

‘And in any case, you’ll have Mum on your side.’

‘Two against one will make it a close-run thing. Three might have tipped the balance in my favor.’

‘I’ll be there in spirit,’ said William, before he wished her luck and put the phone down. He was just about to leave the room when he spotted a row of postcards of the Hong Kong skyline displayed on the mantelpiece. The policeman in him wanted to look on the other side, but he resisted the temptation. He returned to the kitchen to find Beth doing the washing up.

‘Jez usually does the drying.’

‘Subtle,’ said William, picking up a tea towel. ‘When we’re finished, I’ll go home, put on a tracksuit, and join you in the park.’

‘No need. You’ll find everything you want in Jez’s room.’

‘I’ve always wondered what a ménage à trois would be like.’

A run in the park, followed by My Beautiful Laundrette, and then a Pizza Margherita — half each — before returning to Beth’s flat and disappearing under the blankets, to end an idyllic weekend.

When William woke the following morning, he had to untangle himself before he could check his watch.

‘Help!’ he said as he leaped out of bed and charged into the bathroom. This was one meeting he couldn’t afford to be late for. It would start at nine, with or without him.

Once he returned to the bedroom, he threw on his clothes and kissed a half-awake Beth.

‘Hoping to escape before I woke, were you?’

‘I have to go back to my place and get changed. I can’t afford to be late again.’

Beth sat up and stretched her arms. ‘Now you’ve had your way with me, Detective Constable Warwick, will I ever see you again?’ She sighed and draped a languishing arm across her forehead.

‘I could come back straight after work if that’s OK. In which case, I’d be with you around seven.’

‘Suits me, then we can all have supper together. Jez can do the cooking, and you can do the washing up.’

William sat on the bed and held her in his arms. ‘And what will you do?’

‘Read Proust.’

‘By the way,’ said William, as he rose to leave, ‘my sister can’t wait to meet you.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s quite complicated, but I’ll reveal all this evening.’

‘Make sure you find my painting, DC Warwick!’ were the last words William heard before he closed the bedroom door.

As he stepped out into the street William spotted a number 22 bus approaching the stop, and just managed to leap on board as it pulled away.

‘Bugger,’ he said.

‘I beg your pardon, young man,’ said the conductor. ‘There’s no need for that sort of language on my bus.’

‘Sorry. I forgot to tell my girlfriend that I’m going to Barnstaple today.’

‘Then you’re definitely on the wrong bus.’

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to spare you much time during the past month,’ said Hawksby as he took his seat at the top of the table. ‘No doubt you’ve all read about the drugs haul in Southampton last week. Two hundred pounds of cocaine and six arrests.’

They all banged on the table with the palms of their hands.

‘It’s hardly worth that,’ said Hawksby. ‘The six we arrested were just minnows. The big fish are still sunning themselves on a beach in the south of France, and the biggest shark of all never leaves his estate in Colombia, where even the police are on his payroll. All we can do is try to intercept the next shipment and net another shoal of minnows, while we still have no idea how much is getting through. Be thankful none of you are attached to the drug squad.’

The Hawk sat back, turned to his right, and said, ‘So what have you been up to in my absence, Bruce?’

‘I’ve had much the same problem as you, sir,’ said Lamont. ‘Just exchange drugs for diamonds. The uncut stones are coming out of Ghana and being shipped to Dubai, before being sent on to Bombay where they’re sold for cash. That way they avoid import and export tax, while at the same time pushing up house prices in Mayfair.’

‘Criminals always want to live in a law-abiding country,’ said Hawksby. ‘It makes it easier for them to carry on with their business.’

‘And like you, sir,’ continued Lamont, ‘we only catch some minnows, who regard a few years in jail as no more than part of the deal.’

‘No wonder crime is currently fifteen percent of the world’s economy, and growing,’ commented Hawksby. ‘Anything else, Bruce?’

‘Yes, sir. I think it’s just possible that DC Warwick might have made a breakthrough in the missing Rembrandt case, but I’ll leave him to fill in the details.’

‘After further investigation, we—’ began William.

‘We?’ interrupted Hawksby.

‘Thanks to the help of a research assistant at the Fitzmolean, we’ve identified an artist who I think may have painted the copy of the Rembrandt.’

‘Name?’

‘Eddie Leigh,’ said Lamont. ‘He tried to sell a fake Vermeer to a West End gallery. I was in charge of that case, and he’s been banged up in Pentonville for the past two years.’

‘What makes you think that Leigh was responsible for the copy of the Rembrandt, DC Warwick?’ asked Hawksby.

‘I saw an example of his work at the Fake Gallery in Notting Hill, sir. He has a rare talent, but even so, I don’t think he could have produced something of that quality unless he’d seen the original.’

‘But he could have bought a print of The Syndics from the Fitzmolean for five pounds,’ said Hawksby.

‘That’s true, but if he only had a print to work from, he wouldn’t have been able to capture the vivid color, vibrancy, and flair of the original in the way he has, which makes me think it’s just possible the original hasn’t been destroyed.’

‘But that’s still damned unlikely,’ said Lamont, without the trace of a smile.

‘How long does Leigh have left to serve?’ asked Hawksby.

‘Just over four years, sir,’ said Lamont. ‘And I think he let slip where Faulkner is going to strike next.’

‘Enlighten me,’ said Hawksby.

‘SO Langley called me from Pentonville yesterday to tell me that he’s been regularly listening in on Eddie Leigh’s weekly phone conversations with his wife, but there hasn’t been anything worth reporting until last Friday.’

‘You have us on the edge of our seats, Bruce,’ said the commander.

Lamont read out the exact words Leigh had said to his wife.

‘“How’s the painting coming along?” “You can tell him I’ve finished Woman on a Beach.” “In the nick of time.”’

‘That’s from Picasso’s Blue Period,’ said William.

‘I don’t give a damn what period it’s from,’ said Hawksby. ‘Who owns the original?’

‘A Mr. and Mrs. Brookes,’ said Lamont. ‘It’s currently hanging in their country home in Surrey.’

‘Not for much longer, I suspect, and now we know where Faulkner intends to strike next, we need to find out when.’

‘I think I might have the answer to that,’ said Jackie, looking rather pleased with herself. She allowed herself a moment before continuing. ‘“In the nick of time” is the clue, sir, because the Brookes are going on holiday in two weeks, and although they’ll be away for a fortnight, there is only one evening when the house will be empty.’ She allowed herself an even longer pause.

‘Get on with it, sergeant,’ said Lamont.

‘The Brookes have a driver, David Crann, and a cook, Elsie. Both live in, but the cook always goes on holiday when they’re away.’

‘And the driver?’

‘Crann will be on the premises night and day during that fortnight, except for the evening of Monday the twenty-third when Chelsea are playing Liverpool at home.’

‘I’m halfway there,’ said Hawksby, ‘but fill in the details.’

‘Crann has a season ticket, and never misses a Chelsea home game. The match kicks off at seven, so he’ll leave the house around five and won’t be back much before midnight.’

‘Are the premises fully alarmed?’ asked Lamont.

‘State of the art, sir. However, the nearest police station is about twenty minutes away, which would give the villains more than enough time to steal the picture and be back on the motorway before the local police could get there.’

‘That’s an outstanding piece of policework, sergeant.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Jackie.

‘For a change,’ said Lamont, ‘I think we may be one step ahead of Faulkner.’

‘Let’s just hope he’s not two steps ahead of us,’ said Hawksby. ‘However, prepare an outline plan for the twenty-third, Bruce, with the aim of catching them red-handed this time. But we also need some concrete results to keep the commissioner off my back. So before you leave, Warwick, what’s the latest on Churchill and old silver?’

‘Cyril Amhurst, the forger of the Churchill signatures, is coming up in front of the bench at Snaresbrook Crown Court later this week,’ said William. ‘We’re expecting him to be granted bail, and to appear in court sometime in the next couple of months. I’m assuming he’ll plead guilty.’

‘Never assume anything,’ said Lamont.

‘And the silver?’ asked Hawksby.

‘Turns out to be one of our regulars,’ said Lamont, taking over. ‘Kevin Carter. In and out of jail like a cuckoo in a Swiss clock. But we’re not sure what he’s up to this time, although one thing’s certain — it can’t be his own money he’s using to buy that amount of silver. Way out of his league. DS Roycroft and DC Warwick will be going down to Barnstaple later today to keep an eye on Carter and try to find out what he’s up to.’

Bugger, William wanted to say for a second time that morning. He’d have to call Beth at the gallery, which he knew her boss wouldn’t approve of.

‘Keep me briefed,’ said Hawksby.

‘And, Bruce, I suggest you and DC Warwick pay a visit to Pentonville as soon as William gets back from Barnstaple. Now, returning to the Rembrandt for a moment: Mr. Booth Watson QC has been calling my office daily, demanding we return his client’s copy of the painting.’

‘Not just yet,’ said Lamont.

‘Why not?’ asked Hawksby.

‘Because if Jackie or I were to turn up at Faulkner’s house, we wouldn’t get past the front gate. But if we were to send an inexperienced, wet-behind-the-ears young constable to deliver the painting, there’s just a possibility he might get a foot in the door.’

‘Fair point,’ said Hawksby. ‘But why not just yet?’

‘Faulkner is booked onto a BA flight to Monte Carlo next Monday, and he won’t be back for at least a month.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’

‘He’s a creature of habit. Every December he leaves for his home in Monte Carlo, and rarely returns before the end of January.’

‘And how do you know which flight he’s booked on?’

‘BA security is run by a former Met officer, who keeps me well informed, sir.’

‘Something else that might be of interest, sir,’ said Jackie. ‘He won’t be traveling with his wife this time. Sitting next to him, her ticket paid for with the same American Express card, will be a Miss Cheryl Bates.’

‘She could be his secretary,’ said Hawksby.

‘I don’t think typing is her speciality, sir,’ said Jackie as she passed a photo of Miss Bates in a bikini across to the commander.

A ripple of laughter broke out among the team, but order was quickly restored when Hawksby said, ‘So when Warwick turns up with the copy of the Rembrandt at Faulkner’s home in Hampshire, he will already be in Monte Carlo.’

‘Correct, sir, but his wife will still be in Hampshire,’ said Lamont.

‘Good, because I have a feeling that Mrs. Faulkner might turn out to be a little more accommodating than her husband,’ said the commander after taking a second look at the photograph of Miss Bates.