Over My Dead Body

Chapter 13

Beth picked up the phone on her desk.

‘There’s a Mrs Christina Faulkner in reception. She wonders if you could possibly see her.’

She was well prepared for this moment, though William had warned her it would come when she least expected it.

She took a deep breath. ‘Send her up,’ she said. While Beth waited, she repeated William’s mantra whenever he was dealing with a suspect: Listen, listen, listen, in the hope they’ll say something they later regret.

There was a gentle tap on the door. Usually, Christina came charging into the office unannounced, assuming Beth would drop everything for her. But not today.

‘Come in,’ said Beth, while remaining seated behind her desk.

The door opened slowly. The woman who entered her office was not the Christina she knew of old: self-assured, confident, in control. She stood hesitantly in the doorway, waiting for Beth to make the first move.

Beth didn’t suggest she sit in the comfortable chair by the fire that Christina usually commandeered, but gestured to the seat on the other side of her desk, as if she were a junior member of staff. Christina meekly obeyed, and slumped down on the wooden chair, but didn’t speak.

Listen, listen, listen.

‘I don’t know where to start,’ she said in a faltering voice.

‘By telling the truth for a change?’ suggested Beth.

A long silence followed before it all came pouring out. ‘I apologize for having behaved so badly, and would quite understand if you felt you could never forgive me.’

Listen, listen, listen.

‘I’m not like you, straightforward, uncomplicated and scrupulously honest. It’s one of the many reasons I admire you so much, and was proud to think I was your friend.’

Don’t fall for the flattery, William had warned. Listen, listen, listen.

‘I became used to a way of life that didn’t always make that possible, but my farce of a marriage has finally made me come to my senses, whatever the consequences.’

Try to remember that she doesn’t even know when she’s lying, William had told her. Next, she’ll try to appeal to your better nature.

‘However, during the past few weeks, I’ve come to realize just how much I value your friendship, and hope it might still be possible for you to forgive me, although there’s no reason you should.’

Listen, listen, listen.

‘If I could tell you where Miles was, I would, but he’s made no attempt to contact me since the day of the wedding, other than through his mouthpiece, the loathsome Booth Watson, who simply tells me to keep my mouth shut if I want to continue receiving my monthly payment. He ordered me to come and see you today and try to find out if William knows where Miles is.’ Christina looked up at Beth for the first time.

Listen, listen, listen.

‘For the first time in my life, I’ve decided to do what William would call the decent thing.’

If she bursts into tears, William had added, don’t fall for it.

She burst into tears.

Beth thawed. ‘The gallery will never forget the invaluable role you played in securing the Rembrandt, a Rubens and a Vermeer, for which we will be forever in your debt.’

‘You will never be in my debt,’ said Christina. ‘But I must warn you that if Miles is ever arrested and sent back to jail, Booth Watson has been instructed to claim the Vermeer back, and there’d be nothing I could do about it.’

For the first time Beth thought Christina might be telling the truth, but she continued to listen, listen, listen.

‘Believe me, I’m determined to prove to you and William whose side I’m on. If there’s anything I can do to prove...’

The moment she pretends to be on your side and asks what she can do to prove it, is when you strike. Start with something small, William had suggested, and if she grants your request, you can then tempt her with something she won’t be able to resist. Just before she leaves, ask her one final question that will reveal if she’s telling you the truth, or is nothing more than a messenger carrying out her paymaster’s orders.

‘What a kind offer,’ said Beth. ‘The museum is hoping to mount a Frans Hals exhibition next autumn. I know you have The Flute Player in your collection, and we’d love to borrow it for six weeks.’

If she turns down your request, William had said, she’s admitting that Miles still has control of the entire collection, and that’s not something she’ll want you to know, as it leaves her with no bargaining position.

Christina hesitated. ‘I’m sure that will be fine.’

‘Thank you,’ said Beth, before casting a far bigger fly on the water. ‘That will compensate for the gallery not being able to afford Caravaggio’s Fishers of Men, which we were recently offered, but couldn’t meet the asking price.’ Word-perfect.

‘Is that public knowledge?’ asked Christina, rising to the bait.

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Beth. ‘Lord McLaren approached us privately. It seems that following his father’s untimely death, he’s experiencing an inheritance problem and the tax man expects him to come up with twenty million by the end of the year. I had to tell him that sum was out of our league.’ She paused for a moment, enjoying herself. ‘That’s confidential, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Christina. ‘But at least I can help you with the Frans Hals. That should prove which side I’m on,’ she added, as she rose from her seat.

‘You have nothing to prove,’ said Beth, giving her a warm smile. ‘But may I ask you one more thing before you leave?’

‘Anything,’ said Christina.

‘Where is Miles at the moment?’

Christina didn’t reply immediately, but eventually murmured, ‘Buenos Aires,’ as if reluctantly revealing a well-kept secret.

‘Thank you,’ said Beth, not sure if Christina was lying, or genuinely didn’t know where he was. William would have to make that decision.

Christina turned to leave the room, looking a little more confident than when she’d entered it.

Once she’d closed the door behind her, Beth picked up the phone on her desk, but hesitated for a moment before doing something she knew William normally wouldn’t approve of. She dialled his private number at the Yard.

‘You’re being paid a thousand pounds a week to sleep with me?’ said Ross in disbelief.

‘Plus the rent on this apartment and a clothes allowance.’

‘By who?’

‘By whom.’

‘By whom?’

‘The escort agency in Paris that employed me to seduce you.’

‘And what do they expect in return?’

‘I have to report back everything you tell me, however inconsequential or irrelevant it might seem to me.’

‘And have you?’

‘Yes, but unfortunately you never talk about your work, so I can’t be sure how much longer they’ll keep me on.’

Ross remained silent for some time, before he finally said, ‘Then we’ll have to do something about that. You can now tell them that at last you’ve made a breakthrough.’

‘But you’d never be disloyal to the man you call The Hawk.’

‘You’re right, but that doesn’t stop me supplying you with lots of irrelevant information,’ he said, clearly now enjoying himself. ‘I’d have to brief the commander, of course, and he’s bound to ask me who’s paying the escort agency.’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Jo, without guile.

‘I’m pretty sure I know who it is,’ said Ross. ‘Have you ever come across a Miles Faulkner or Captain Ralph Neville?’

‘No. All I can tell you is that I was introduced to a man who briefed me about you and told me I should report once a week to a Mr Booth Watson.’

‘That clinches it,’ said Ross, taking her in his arms. ‘But there’s one more thing I still need to know before you earn your next thousand pounds.’

‘Yes?’

‘Will you marry me?’

‘So what did The Hawk have to say about my little exchange with Christina?’

‘He couldn’t have been more grateful for your “special constable” contribution. All we can do now is hope that she’ll pass on your “highly confidential” slip of the tongue to Booth Watson. If she does, I have a feeling Faulkner won’t be able to resist making a trip to Scotland so he can view the Caravaggio for himself.’

‘That would also prove which side Christina’s really on,’ said Beth.

‘I’m not sure even she knows which side she’s really on.’

‘But if she loans the gallery the Frans Hals...’

‘If Faulkner goes along with that, you should try to convince Christina that you now trust her, and believe every word she says.’

‘Even she doesn’t believe every word she says,’ replied Beth.

‘You’re learning quickly,’ said William, ‘and I’m fairly sure she’ll tell Booth Watson about the Caravaggio. It will convince them she’s still on their side.’

‘I’m not cunning enough to follow that piece of logic.’

‘If Faulkner does go to Scotland and tries to buy the Caravaggio, I’ll be waiting for him, and he’ll end up back in prison for a very long stretch. That will give Christina more than enough time to get her hands on the other half of his art collection. Which, to be fair, is legally hers under the divorce settlement.’

‘I’m not sure which one of you is more devious,’ said Beth.

‘I only think like a criminal,’ said William, as they strolled into the kitchen.

‘So, who’s cooking supper tonight?’

‘My turn.’

‘“My turn” rather suggests an equal division of labour, and you only have two dishes in your repertoire — spaghetti Bolognese or spaghetti pomodoro.’

‘Al dente or overcooked, madam?’ said William, pulling back a kitchen chair.

‘You wouldn’t know the difference,’ mumbled Beth as she sat down.

‘You asked to see me urgently,’ said Booth Watson as Lamont walked into the room. ‘I assume that means you have something worthwhile to report.’

Booth Watson never left his ‘special consultant’ in any doubt how he felt about him, but then the feeling was mutual.

‘DS Roycroft has come up with some interesting intel about what Warwick and his new team are up to.’ Booth Watson nodded. ‘They’re currently working on five murder cases that all went to trial but, for one reason or another, didn’t lead to convictions. You appeared as defence counsel in four of them. I’ve written a full report on each case and how far their investigation has progressed.’ He opened his Sainsbury’s bag and extracted five files, which Booth Watson ignored. ‘I’ve also recently come across another piece of information I thought you would want to know about.’

Booth Watson sat back. He could only wonder what Lamont could possibly tell him that he didn’t already know.

‘DI Ross Hogan has a new girlfriend, who clearly isn’t short of money. She lives in a mews flat in Chelsea, and shops in Sloane Street.’

Booth Watson began to pay closer attention, while appearing uninterested. ‘What’s her name?’ he asked, casually.

‘Josephine Colbert. She’s French, mid-thirties, recently divorced, but now living in London.’

‘Any idea where her money comes from?’

‘Certainly not Hogan. She must have got a generous divorce settlement to live in the style she does.’

‘Interesting,’ said Booth Watson, as Lamont handed him another file. This time he opened it and studied the contents for a few minutes. He was relieved to find that Lamont hadn’t discovered Ms Colbert’s profession, or the real reason she’d begun a relationship with Ross Hogan.

‘Useful,’ he conceded, before opening the top drawer of his desk and extracting a thick envelope. ‘This also includes DS Roycroft’s weekly payment of one hundred pounds,’ Booth Watson said pointedly as he pushed the package across the table.

‘Of course,’ said Lamont, who only ever gave Jackie fifty pounds whenever they met, which wasn’t once a week.

‘Anything else?’ asked Booth Watson to indicate the meeting was over.

‘No, sir.’ Lamont said, having decided not to tell Booth Watson about the engagement ring. That would be worth another brown envelope in a couple of weeks’ time. He rose from his place, but didn’t shake hands before he left the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

Booth Watson took his time studying the five files Warwick’s team had compiled especially for him. He would have to get in touch with each of his former clients to warn them that their cases had been reopened, which would require several consultations after which he would advise them to do nothing.

He then returned to the Josephine Colbert file and read it a second time. He’d had a very productive meeting with Ms Colbert earlier in the week, which might just have produced the breakthrough he’d been waiting for. DI Ross Hogan was, as Lamont had suggested in his report, clearly besotted with her and, thought Booth Watson, long may he be so. She had also confirmed the five murder cases Warwick was working on and the two in particular that Hogan had been assigned. More importantly, she confirmed that Hogan had never once mentioned the name of Miles Faulkner to her, which he considered an added bonus. No news is good news, he would assure Miles when he next visited Franco’s secret hideaway.

However, the triumph of the week had been his monthly meeting with Christina Faulkner, when she’d told him that the Fitzmolean had been approached by a Lord McLaren, who’d recently inherited not only his title, but also the death duties that went with it. As a result, he had been left with no choice but to sell his treasured Caravaggio, which he was hoping would fetch at least twenty million. Booth Watson would need to have a word with another of his ‘special consultants’ who worked in the tax office.

This could well be a golden opportunity to extract a percentage from both sides, as long as he was able to convince Miles to allow him to act as the go-between. He’d make sure his client was well aware how foolish it would be for him to visit Scotland to view the painting, however great the temptation.

Booth Watson was looking forward to his next trip to Barcelona; so much to report that would once again make him look indispensable.

He locked the updated file in his Miles Faulkner cabinet, which even his secretary didn’t have a key to.