Over My Dead Body

Chapter 20

The butler didn’t hesitate to hand over the keys to a furious Ross. After all, by now the boss would have had more than enough time to escape.

Ross ran back down the corridor to find Sanchez, William and a couple of his officers trying unsuccessfully to break down the door. All they had to show for their trouble were bruised shoulders.

He quickly unlocked the door, but it came as no surprise to any of them that Faulkner was nowhere to be seen.

‘Take a closer look at this metal door,’ said William. ‘Tell me what you see, or more important what you don’t see.’

‘No handle and no lock,’ said Ross immediately.

‘And no dial,’ added Sanchez. ‘So how do you open it?’

‘I suspect there’s only one person who knows that,’ said William, as the butler reappeared carrying a large tray of drinks, which only made Ross want to hit him even harder.

‘How do we open that door?’ demanded William.

‘I have no idea, sir,’ said the butler, placing the tray on the table. The blank look on his face suggested to William that he might even be telling the truth.

William was about to ask a follow-up question when the phone on the desk began to ring. He indicated to the butler that he should answer it.

The butler picked up the receiver.

‘Good afternoon, this is the Sartona residence. How may I help you?’

William took a notebook and a Biro out of his pocket, wrote down the name Sartona and underlined it, as he listened to the one-sided conversation.

‘Are they still there?’

‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid Mr Sartona is abroad at the moment. Can I take a message?’

‘Is Booth Watson still with you?’

‘Yes, sir. He’s looking forward to seeing you when you return.’

‘Call me the moment you’re certain that every one of those flatfoots has left and are on their way back to Barcelona.’

‘Of course, sir. I’ll let him know you called.’ The butler replaced the receiver, turned to William and said, ‘Can I be of any further assistance, gentlemen?’

Ross clenched a fist and took a step forward.

‘No, thank you,’ said William, quickly coming between them. ‘In fact, I think it might be wise for you to leave.’

‘As you wish,’ said the butler, who gave a slight bow and left without another word.

William waited for the door to close before he said, ‘If we’re going to have any chance of finding out what’s behind that,’ he said, pointing at the impenetrable iron door, ‘we’re going to need some pretty heavy equipment.’

‘Easier said than done,’ said Sanchez. ‘This place used to be Franco’s secret hideaway. It’s what you call in your country a listed property, so we can’t touch anything without the authority of a court.’

‘Then we’ll have to get on with it without consulting the authorities, won’t we?’ said Ross.

‘I don’t think so,’ said William, shaking his head. ‘Try to remember, Ross, we’re not in the back streets of Battersea. We don’t have any authority here.’

‘Who cares, choirboy?’ said Ross, unable to hide his frustration.

‘I do,’ said Sanchez. ‘Because we’re not even in the back streets of Barcelona.’

‘And in any case,’ said William, ‘you can be sure that by now Faulkner will be on the phone to his Spanish lawyer, who’ll slap a restraint order on us before you can say acetylene torch.’

‘We could always wait. After all, he has to come out eventually,’ suggested Ross.

‘I’ll bet there’s another world on the other side of that door,’ said William. ‘Heaven knows how long we’d have to twiddle our thumbs before he reappears.’

‘And Faulkner’s lawyer would have seen us off long before then,’ added Sanchez.

William nodded, but Ross still didn’t look convinced.

‘And I’m pretty sure I even know the lawyer he’ll be speaking to,’ continued Sanchez. ‘So there’s nothing we can do until we get a court order overruling any objection.’

‘How long will that take?’ asked Ross.

‘Days, weeks, could be months,’ said Sanchez, as the phone on the desk began to ring again. After two rings it ceased, and William assumed it had been answered on another extension somewhere in the building.

Sanchez grabbed the receiver, to hear a conversation taking place between the butler and a woman with whom he’d crossed swords many times in the past.

‘Who’s the officer in charge?’ said a no-nonsense voice.

‘Lieutenant Sanchez,’ said the detective, interrupting them.

‘Good afternoon, lieutenant,’ she said, as if addressing a junior colleague.

‘Good afternoon, señora.’

‘Let me make it clear from the outset, lieutenant,’ she said, trying to sound reasonable, ‘if I find that anything in my client’s home has been tampered with, I will not hesitate to sue the police and hold you personally responsible. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, señora.’

‘So there can be no misunderstanding at a later date, Lieutenant Sanchez, I’ll ask you once again. Is that understood?’

‘Absolutamente, señora,’ said Sanchez, and slammed down the phone.

‘So, Faulkner’s eluded us again,’ said Ross.

‘Not necessarily,’ said Sanchez. ‘I’ll put a couple of patrol cars on the road between here and the motorway, so if he tries to escape we’ll be waiting for him.’

‘What about the other side of the house?’ asked William.

‘He’d be faced with a sheer cliff. Franco chose this location so he could never be taken by surprise. It doesn’t help that Faulkner will know only too well I don’t have the resources to mount a twenty-four/seven operation for too long. Everything is budgets nowadays,’ he added with a sigh.

‘Then we’ll have to return when he least expects us,’ said William.

‘When you do, please keep me in the loop,’ said Sanchez. ‘Because Faulkner is someone I’d like to meet.’

Ross smiled, but didn’t comment. The Spanish equivalent of turning a blind eye.

‘But until then,’ said Sanchez, ‘there’s not much more we can do today, so I may as well drive you back to the airport?’

William turned to see that Ross had dropped to his knees, and was carefully examining the bottom left-hand corner of the iron door. ‘Anything of interest?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, sir,’ replied Ross, getting slowly to his feet.

The ‘sir’ told William that Ross had spotted something he didn’t want to share with Sanchez.

Ross and William followed the lieutenant out of the room. Half-way down along the corridor, William paused to take a closer look at The Flute Player hanging on the wall and frowned.

‘Something special about that one, chief?’ asked Ross.

‘I’m afraid so. My wife’s not going to be pleased when I tell her she can cross it off her list.’

Faulkner put down the phone in his basement study, satisfied that his Spanish lawyer would have dealt with the immediate problem, and it wouldn’t be too long before the police were sent packing. But how long would it be before they came back in even greater numbers?

He flicked open the cover of his private phone book and leafed through the pages until he reached the Rs, only hoping the number wasn’t out of date. Miles sat back in his chair and rehearsed exactly what he was going to say, before he picked up the phone and dialled the number.

The ringing tone continued for some time before the phone was eventually picked up and a voice said, ‘Who’s this?’

‘Miles Faulkner. You may not remember me, but...’

‘Mr Faulkner. How could I forget? To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’

‘Who am I speaking to?’

‘This is the head of the family.’

‘I want to pass on a message to your son, Terry.’

‘I’m all ears, Mr Faulkner.’

‘I need him to do a job for me.’

‘Understood. But first we have to agree on a price.’

‘What’s the going rate?’

‘Depends on how high-profile they are.’

‘The wife of a police officer.’

‘That won’t come cheap, Mr Faulkner.’

‘How much?’

‘Shall we say ten grand?’

‘Fine,’ said Faulkner, accepting that this wasn’t a time to bargain.

‘How will I be paid?’

‘Ex-Superintendent Bruce Lamont will deliver the cash to you tomorrow morning.’

‘He certainly knows where to find us,’ said the voice. ‘Now all I need is a name.’

‘On balance, I preferred Faulkner’s private jet,’ said Ross, as they took their seats in the back row of economy.

‘This was the only flight available,’ said William, ‘and frankly, we were lucky to get two seats at the last moment.’

‘So where are Mr Benmore and Mr Posgate, dare I ask?’

‘Sitting up front in first class, along with Christ and four fishermen.’

‘Well, if we end up landing in the Channel,’ said Ross, ‘at least one of us will be able to walk on water.’

William waited for the plane to take off and reach its cruising height before he opened his notebook. ‘What did you pick up that I missed?’ he asked.

‘We’d need a transatlantic flight to cover that,’ said Ross, ‘so you’d better go first.’

‘Let’s start with the butler’s telephone conversation in the study,’ said William, ignoring the demob-happy jibe. ‘I’m pretty sure he was speaking to Faulkner.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘When he picked up the phone, he knew exactly who was on the other end of the line.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘He said “Yes sir” twice, and finished with “of course, sir”,’ said William, checking his notes. ‘The whole thing sounded to me like a well-rehearsed script prepared for that particular situation.’

‘Speculation,’ said Ross. ‘You’d need something more solid than that to convince a jury.’

‘All right. When Faulkner’s lawyer phoned a few minutes later, it was the usual double ringtone you’d expect from an outside line, but the first time, it was just a single ring, so it had to be an internal call.’

‘Not bad, but what did the butler purposely give away that I saw you make a note of?’

‘Sartona. He obviously wanted me to think it’s Faulkner’s new alias, but I doubt it will be the name on his passport when he decides the time has come to make a break for it.’

‘Well done, choirboy, but I’m about to trump your ace.’

William couldn’t help smiling at the thought that Ross was one of the few people on the force who still dared to call him choirboy — to his face. He closed his notebook, sat back and listened.

‘While you were having a kip in the van and I was chasing Faulkner down the corridor, he slowed down to look at his watch. What criminal, I asked myself, checks the time when he’s being chased by a copper? When he touched the watch, the face lit up.’

‘So what’s the answer to your rhetorical question, Inspector?’

‘He already knew his study door was unlocked, because that was all part of his escape plan should the police ever turn up.’

‘And where does a wristwatch that lights up fit in with your “Rossonian” theory?’

‘First, ask yourself why there’s no handle or lock on the door of the safe.’

‘What’s your conclusion?’

‘It wasn’t a watch, but the key to opening the heavy metal door. All he needed to do when the face lit up was to enter a code and then the door would open.’

‘That would explain how he managed to disappear into thin air but was still able to call the butler moments later.’

‘And if you’re interested,’ continued Ross, ‘I can tell you the name of the company that made that door.’

‘NP,’ said William, still in the game. ‘The letters that were engraved in the bottom left-hand corner.’

‘Not bad, choirboy, but do you know what NP stands for?’

‘No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.’

‘Nosey Parker. Colonel Parker is the one man who can tell us how to open that door.’

‘But you’ve only got a week to go before you leave the force.’

‘Then I may have to postpone my retirement for a little longer if I’m going to prove my theory is right.’

‘Who needs an ex-copper who’s going to work for a holiday company run by two complete lunatics?’

‘You do,’ said Ross, producing a small tin box from an inside jacket pocket. He flicked it open to reveal the plastic mould of a key.

‘Faulkner’s study door?’

‘If I’d taken the key,’ said Ross, ‘he would have had the lock changed before we’d reached the airport.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes,’ said Ross, producing his miniature video camera. ‘I’ve recorded the only safe route through the forest to the front door. So you can’t survive without me.’

William admitted defeat and shook hands with his partner as a stewardess leant over and handed each of them a plastic tray of dry rice and heated-up beef, with a sachet of brown sauce.

‘Anything else?’ asked William.

‘Yes,’ said Ross. ‘I’d prefer to be sitting up front in first class next to Christ.’

‘I think a choirboy is more likely...’

‘It’s better to save one sinner,’ countered Ross.

Faulkner picked up the phone on his desk and listened.

‘All clear, sir,’ said the butler. ‘Our man at the airport has just rung to say that he saw both of them board a plane for London.’

‘Both of them?’ repeated Faulkner.

‘Chief Inspector William Warwick and his second-in-command, an Inspector Ross Hogan.’

‘The Chief Inspector’s wife is shortly to get an unpleasant surprise, and it’s not just that she won’t be getting her hands on my Frans Hals for her autumn exhibition,’ Faulkner said, before he slammed the phone down. He left the room, climbed the stairs and, after tapping his watch, entered an eight-digit code. When the inner door opened, he stepped inside the safe, checked his watch again and entered a second code making it possible for him to return to his study on the ground floor.

When the door opened, he was greeted by the sight of Collins waiting for him with a freshly poured flute of champagne resting on a silver tray. He grabbed the glass on the move and said, ‘Is Mr Booth Watson still with us?’

‘Yes, sir. He’s waiting for you in the drawing room.’

Faulkner glanced around the room, which had been ransacked. ‘I see the Chief Inspector left his calling card,’ he said, before heading for the drawing room, pausing only to straighten a picture in the corridor.

Booth Watson rose as his client entered the room. Faulkner collapsed into the nearest chair and stared up at a redundant double picture hook on the wall.

‘So, the Caravaggio was nothing more than bait to find out where I was holed up.’

‘It would seem so,’ said Booth Watson. ‘And you won’t be pleased to hear that they took the painting back with them.’

‘Just make sure the cheque bounces.’

‘I’ve already spoken to the bank. His Lordship presented the cheque this morning, and they were about to cash it when I called.’

‘I’ll still get hold of that picture,’ said Miles, while looking up at the empty space on the wall.

Booth Watson didn’t comment.

‘How did you manage to avoid being seen by the police?’

‘Collins took me up to one of the maid’s rooms on the top floor and I hid under her bed.’

‘Didn’t the police check her room?’

‘One of them came in, but found a gardener having sex with the maid. He apologized and quickly left. But you’ll now have to face the fact this place will be under constant surveillance.’

‘We always knew that was bound to happen sometime. At least I was well prepared,’ said Faulkner. ‘But now I need to plan my escape because it won’t be too long before they’re back.’

‘When and how?’ said Booth Watson. ‘We have to assume they’ll have patrols on the road out of here, twenty-four/seven.’

‘But I won’t be going by road.’

‘But as you once told me, there’s nothing on the other side of the house except a sheer cliff.’

‘That would have been the case if Franco hadn’t built a tunnel from his downstairs study all the way to the beach. However, I still can’t afford to move until everything else is in place, so you’ll be working overtime when you get back to London. First, I need you to get in touch with the captain of my yacht, and tell him to be ready to sail at a moment’s notice.’

‘And the collection?’

‘Goes with me. Where I’m going, it may be the only asset I have.’

‘May I suggest,’ said Booth Watson, ‘that in future you sleep in your study, with the door locked, so that if Warwick turns up in the middle of the night you’ll have more than enough time to escape.’

‘Good thinking, BW. I’ll get Collins to make up a camp bed immediately.’

‘Is there anything else you need me to do, once I’m back in London?’

‘Just one more thing. Give Lamont ten thousand pounds in cash and tell him to deliver it to Terry Roach tomorrow morning.’

Booth Watson, like any experienced QC, never asked a question when he didn’t want to know the answer.