Nothing Ventured

15

William woke just after seven the next morning, took a shower, shaved, and was dressed by the time Jackie returned following her night vigil. They sat in the bay window enjoying a large breakfast of bacon and eggs, while still keeping an eye on the house. Carter didn’t come downstairs until after nine, and they had no way of knowing what he had for breakfast, as his kitchen was at the back of the house.

‘So what now?’

‘We’ll return to Mulberry Avenue and hope he leaves the house at some point. If it’s by car, we’ll follow him. If it’s on foot, I’ll stay in the car while you try to find out what he’s been up to in that shed. Perhaps it’s totally innocent, but Lamont will still want to know.’

Twenty minutes later they were parked on the other side of the road from Carter’s house, some thirty yards from his front gate, their eyes never leaving the front door.

‘This is pointless,’ said William after another futile hour spent discussing everything from Princess Diana’s proposed visit to Scotland Yard, to who would be the next commissioner.

‘Is the Hawk in with a chance?’ asked William.

‘Not this time around,’ said Jackie. ‘But possibly at some time in the future, although he has his enemies.’

Another hour slunk by, before William said, ‘What happened to that guy who was with you when I first saw the copy of—’

‘Ross Hogan.’ Jackie paused before adding, ‘The Hawk sent him back to Peckham.’

‘Where I was meant to go!’

‘And you still may if we don’t find the Rembrandt. Because Ross has disappeared off the face of the earth.’

‘Probably resigned after being sent to Peckham.’

‘Or working undercover.’

‘I thought about going undercover.’

‘You’d be useless,’ said Jackie. ‘You look, sound and smell like a choirboy.’

‘No, Ross would be perfect for undercover work. Even criminals think he’s a criminal.’

‘And keep concentrating, because you can never tell when everything will change in a split second.’

‘But when’s that second ever going to happen?’ asked William at the end of the third hour. Then the front door opened and they both fell silent.

Carter appeared carrying an empty shopping bag. He walked down the path, opened the gate, and headed off in the opposite direction.

‘Right, now’s our chance,’ said Jackie. ‘Take the camera and see if you can get some pictures of what’s inside that shed.’

‘Can we justify that?’

‘Just about. We’d plead reason to suspect.’ Jackie didn’t sound at all convincing. ‘The moment he reappears, I’ll honk the horn once. Just be sure to stay hidden behind the shed until well after he’s gone back into the house. And don’t forget the three-minute rule.’

‘What about Angie?’

‘If she comes out, I’ll honk twice. Three times if she spots you, in which case start running, because we’ll have to get out of town sharpish. Sometimes you only get one chance.’

‘No pressure,’ said William as he grabbed the camera from the back seat, got out of the car, and crossed the road, eyes darting in every direction. He walked cautiously toward number 91. No sign of anyone, and Carter had left the gate open. He nipped in behind the Volvo, and moved deftly toward the shed. He couldn’t have been visible from the front window for more than a few seconds. He tried the door but it was locked, then he heard a car coming down the road and ducked behind the shed until it had turned the corner.

Looking through the small window of the shed, he could make out a wooden bench and a chair. Some silver filings were scattered over the surface of the bench but it was so dark he could hardly make out anything else. Could he risk using the flash? He pressed the camera up against the window and fired off a whole roll of film, but he couldn’t be sure if any of the pictures would come out.

He removed the film and was reloading the camera when he heard a car horn honk once. Carter, not Angie. He looked up to see Jackie driving past, and quickly dropped down behind the shed just as Carter reached the gate clutching a Sainsbury’s bag. William heard the front door open and close. A man returning home almost always goes straight to the lavatory, a process that takes at least three minutes. William waited for thirty seconds before making his move: twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. He stood up, moved swiftly across the lawn, around the far side of the Volvo, and out of the front gate. He didn’t run, and he didn’t look back.

A hundred yards down the road he could see Jackie waiting for him in the car, engine running. No sooner had he closed the passenger door than she drove off.

‘Do you think he saw me?’ asked William, as they headed back to the hotel.

‘No. I kept an eye on the front door, and there was no sign of either of them. So, did you find out what he gets up to in that shed?’

‘It was so dark in there I could hardly see anything, but I took a roll of photos, so we’ll just have to wait and see how they come out.’

‘We’ll have to move out of here tomorrow,’ William reminded her as they drove into the hotel car park.

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ said Jackie. ‘I’ve spotted a B and B that’s quite nearby, but unfortunately it has no view of the house so we’ll be spending most of our time in the car.’

Once they were back in their room, Jackie called Lamont and brought him up to date. William sat by the window, peering through the binoculars while munching the latest supply of ginger biscuits. Carter had returned to the shed, where William could just see an arm moving up and down, working on something... but what?

‘What did Lamont have to say?’ he asked when Jackie eventually came off the phone.

‘To stay put for now. Meanwhile, you keep an eye on the house while I go and get the film developed.’

William waited for her to leave before he sat down on the end of the bed and rang Beth’s flat. No reply. She couldn’t be back from work. He wondered if he should risk calling her at the gallery, but decided against it.

He returned to the window and once again focused in on the shed. Carter was bent over the table, arm still pumping away. He didn’t return to the house until it was dark, when William lost sight of him. It was almost six o’clock before Jackie bounced in, a look of triumph on her face.

‘He’s stamping out coins from a mold, just as your father suggested.’

‘What type of coins?’

‘Other than they’re silver, I’ve no idea. You’re going to have to get hold of one tomorrow. Do you know how to pick a lock?’

‘No, that must have been one of the induction courses I missed.’

‘Then I’ll have to do it.’

‘Without a search warrant?’

‘Lamont’s determined to find out who Carter’s backer is, and what they’re up to. The last thing he said before he put the phone down was, “I’m sick of catching minnows.”’

‘That’s all very well,’ said William, ‘but how do we go about it?’

‘That’s tomorrow’s problem,’ said Jackie. ‘For now, you go down and carry out the night shift while I get some kip. Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep.’

William reluctantly left the hotel, but not before grabbing a couple of Mars bars and a bottle of water from the fridge. Surely Mrs. Walters couldn’t object to that. He could hear her saying, ‘Tap water in future, constable.’ He drove back into town, turned into Mulberry Avenue, and parked behind a van, from where he had a clear view of Carter’s front door.

He noticed a red telephone box at the other end of the street and cursed. He still hadn’t spoken to Beth. He should have been taking her to the James Bond film this evening and keeping an eye on Faulkner, instead of freezing in an uncomfortable car and staring at a house that was in pitch darkness. 007 somehow managed to save the world from a notorious criminal in a couple of hours, while William tried to stay awake keeping an eye on a local villain. He turned on the radio. The General Synod of the Church of England had been debating whether women should be ordained. The thin end of the wedge, he could hear his father saying. ‘They’ll want to be bishops next.’ The news was followed by a program about the recent proliferation of the tsetse fly in sub-Saharan Africa. He fell asleep, only waking up when he heard the pips announcing the five o’clock news.

‘Good morning, this is the BBC. The prime minister...’

William blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked across at the house to see a light beaming from the top floor. Instantly he was wide awake, his heart beating furiously. A few moments later the light on the top floor went off, and a light on the ground floor came on. William opened his bottle of water, took a swig, and was splashing a few drops on his face when the front door opened and Carter appeared carrying a bulky leather holdall, which he placed in the boot of his car before climbing into the driver’s seat. It took him three attempts before the engine spluttered into life.

The Volvo pulled out of the drive. William eased his car across the road, leaving the lights off. Carter turned right at the end of the road and William followed, keeping his distance as there were few vehicles on the road at that time in the morning. Carter turned left at a roundabout and joined the early morning traffic heading out of town.

‘Please, please, please,’ murmured William, as Carter continued on toward the motorway.

At the next roundabout, William’s prayers were answered when he took the third exit and joined a stream of motorists heading toward London.

Carter remained in the inside lane, and never once exceeded the speed limit. This was clearly a man who didn’t want to be stopped by the police, which made William wonder what could possibly be in the holdall. As each mile passed, William became more confident that Carter was heading for the capital, possibly to meet up with the man Lamont was so keen to identify. But then, without indicating, Carter swung off the motorway and began to follow the signs for Heathrow, where he pulled into the short-term car park.

William parked on the floor above, before following Carter into terminal two, where he watched him head for the BA desk. William hung back as Carter checked in and was handed a boarding pass. He took the escalator to the first floor, leather holdall firmly in hand, and headed for Departures.

William moved swiftly over to the check-in counter and showed the woman on the desk his warrant card. ‘I need to know which flight a Mr. Kevin Carter is booked on.’

She hesitated for a moment before pressing a button under her desk. Moments later a tall, heavily built man appeared by her side. William produced his warrant card again and repeated his request.

‘Who’s your boss?’ was all the man said.

‘DCI Lamont, head of the Art and Antiques unit at Scotland Yard.’

The security man picked up a phone. ‘What number?’

‘01 735 2916.’ William prayed Lamont was at his desk.

‘Lamont,’ said a voice.

The security man handed the phone to William, who explained to Lamont why he was at Heathrow.

‘Put him back on, laddie,’ said Lamont. William passed the phone back and listened to a one-sided conversation which ended with the words, ‘Yes, sir.’

The security man nodded, and the booking clerk checked her computer before saying, ‘Mr. Carter is on flight 028 to Rome. The gate closes in twenty minutes.’

‘I’ve got two problems,’ said William, turning back to the security man. ‘I need a seat on that flight, and I don’t have a passport.’

‘Make out a boarding pass for Detective Constable Warwick,’ said the security man, ‘and if possible, seat him a couple of rows behind Carter.’

‘I can do three rows behind him,’ she said, tapping away on her computer.

‘Couldn’t be better,’ said William.

She printed out the boarding pass and gave it to him.

‘My name’s Jim Travers,’ said William’s new minder. ‘Follow me. We’ve no time to waste.’

William was taken backstage, and accompanied Jim down a gloomy gray brick corridor, where there were no passengers, just airport staff. After a long swift walk, Jim pushed open a door that led William out of the terminal, to where an unmarked car was parked by the runway. Jim jumped in and drove him to the side of a waiting aircraft.

‘Good luck,’ he said, before William ran up the steps and onto an empty plane.

He took his seat near the back and didn’t have to wait long before the first passengers appeared. Carter was among the last. Still clutching on to his holdall, he took a window seat three rows in front of William.

After the plane had taken off, William had his first proper meal for the past couple of days, before taking the opportunity to lean back and close his eyes. After all, Carter wouldn’t be getting off before they landed in Rome.

The plane touched down at Da Vinci two hours later and taxied to the gate. There were only a couple of passengers between William and Carter when they entered the terminal and headed for passport control. Help, thought William, when he remembered that he didn’t have a passport. But he had only walked a few more yards when a smartly dressed young woman appeared by his side and linked her arm in his.

‘Just stay with me, Detective Constable Warwick.’

‘But I could lose the man I’m following.’

‘Two of our officers are already tailing Carter. You’ll catch up with him on the other side.’

They headed toward a gate marked CREW, and were clearly expected, as they passed through passport control without even breaking stride. William felt like royalty as he was whisked out of the terminal, where a car was waiting for him, back door open.

He thanked the young woman before climbing in to find a man in a smart beige uniform seated in the back, who was obviously expecting him.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘My name is Lieutenant Antonio Monti. I’m here to give you whatever assistance you require.’

‘Grazie,’ replied William as they shook hands.

‘Parla l’italiano?’

‘Enough to get by,’ said William. ‘Ma poi Roma è la mia città preferita.’

They had to wait for another thirty minutes before Carter sauntered out of the building, bag in hand, and joined a taxi queue, by which time the lieutenant knew almost as much about Carter as William did.

The Italian police driver turned out to be far more adept than William when it came to tailing a suspect, which allowed him to enjoy some familiar sights: the Colosseum, St. Peter’s Basilica, Trajan’s Column, all of which he remembered from his student days when he’d sat at the back of an overcrowded bus with no air conditioning, heading for a youth hostel not exactly in the center of town.

When Carter’s taxi finally came to a halt, it was not outside a hotel as William had expected, but a large municipal building with an Italian flag fluttering from a mast on the roof.

‘Stay put and leave this to me,’ said the lieutenant. ‘We don’t want him to spot you.’ He got out of the car and followed Carter inside.

William also got out, but only to stretch his legs, then suddenly took a step back and hid behind a fountain when he spotted a familiar figure entering the building. His eyes never left the front door for more than a few seconds, but it was almost an hour before the lieutenant reappeared and joined him in the back of the car.

Carter came out a few moments later, and hailed a taxi, but Monti didn’t instruct the driver to follow them.

‘He’s on his way back to the airport,’ said Monti. ‘The bag is now empty,’ he added without explanation. ‘They’ve booked on the three ten to Heathrow.’

‘Then I should be on the same plane,’ said William.

‘Not necessary. DS Roycroft will be at Heathrow waiting for them. In any case, we have more important things to do.’

‘Like what?’

‘First, you must experience a little Italian hospitality. We will have lunch at Casina Valadier before dropping into the Borghese, and you will still be in time to catch the five twenty to London.’

‘But my expenses won’t—’

‘You’re in Italy, mi amico,’ said the lieutenant, ‘and have just performed a great service for the Italian people. You must therefore be rewarded. In any case, we don’t get quite so worked up in Italy about expenses as you English.’

Clearly they didn’t have a Mrs. Walter to contend with, thought William.

‘Perhaps you might care to take a look at this,’ said Monti, as he handed William an official-looking document.

William glanced at the front page. ‘My Italian isn’t that good,’ he admitted.

‘Then I will have to take you through it, line by line over lunch, because I need to know if you wish us to grant Mr. Carter’s application for the license, or whether Scotland Yard would prefer us to turn his request down.’

William knocked on the front door, and when Beth opened it he was greeted with, ‘Hello, stranger, what’s your excuse this time?’

‘I’ve been to Rome.’

‘To visit another woman?’

‘Napoleon’s sister.’

‘She’s quite cold, I’m told.’

‘As marble,’ said William, bending down to kiss her, but he only brushed her lips, as she turned away.

‘Not until I’ve heard Pauline’s side of the story,’ Beth said, as she led him through to the kitchen.

Over dinner he told her everything that had happened since he’d last seen her, including a memorable meal at Casina Valadier and an afternoon spent with Antonio Monti at the Borghese.

‘You should have joined the Italian police, William, they obviously have superior galleries, finer food, and—’

‘But not more adorable women,’ he said, taking her in his arms.

She pushed him playfully aside and said firmly, ‘Not until you tell me what Carter needed a license for.’