Over My Dead Body

Chapter 28

‘Are you PC Plod?’ asked Peter, when Juan came down for breakfast the following morning.

‘No,’ said Juan, taking a seat opposite the twins. ‘My youngest daughter tells me I’m not as clever as PC Plod, because I don’t solve every one of my cases immediately. She thinks I’m more like Inspector Watchit.’

Artemisia giggled, as Beth placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of their guest.

‘My father will be jealous when I tell him what I had for breakfast this morning,’ said Juan, picking up his knife and fork.

‘Doesn’t your daddy have breakfast?’ asked Artemisia.

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ said William.

‘Who stole the pearl necklace?’ asked Peter.

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Juan.

‘We’ll find out when Daddy gets back tonight and reads us the last chapter,’ said Artemisia.

‘If Daddy gets back tonight,’ said William as the phone in the hall began to ring.

‘Who can that possibly be at this time in the morning?’ said Beth.

‘Probably The Hawk,’ said William as he got up and headed for the door.

‘It’s PC Plod,’ whispered Juan.

‘I hope so,’ said Artemisia, ‘then he can help you solve—’

William closed the door behind him and picked up the phone on the hall table. ‘William Warwick.’

‘Good morning. Geoff Duffield from Heathrow security. DI Hogan flew in from Cape Town first thing this morning, and has just passed through passport control.’

‘Thank you, Geoff. At least that’s one of my problems dealt with. Thank you,’ he repeated before hanging up the phone and returning to the kitchen.

‘Have you met PC Plod?’ Peter was asking Juan.

‘No, but I’d like to, because your father and I could do with his help at the moment.’

‘That was him on the phone,’ said William, joining in the game. ‘He’s on his way to the Yard, so we’d better get going.’

‘Naughty Daddy. Grandpops says you must always finish your breakfast before going to work.’

‘I agree with your grandpops,’ said Juan, who continued to enjoy his eggs and bacon, as William gave in and sat back down.

‘I apologize,’ said Beth. ‘Artemisia tends to repeat the last thing she’s heard.’

‘No need to apologize,’ said Juan. ‘Don’t forget I have three daughters.’

‘And another on the way, William tells me.’

‘What can I possibly have done to deserve that?’ said Juan.

‘Good morning, Inspector,’ said Jimmy the dip. ‘Will you be joining me for breakfast?’

‘Haven’t the time,’ said Ross, staring enviously at Jimmy’s empty plate before it was whisked away. ‘But if you’re still hoping for the second two hundred, make sure you’re outside the Queen’s Theatre in Wardour Street at ten thirty tonight.’

‘I’ll have to check my diary,’ said Jimmy, as he dropped a third sugar lump in his tea.

‘If you’re not there,’ said Ross, ‘I’ll be joining you for breakfast every morning until you’ve paid back the first two hundred.’

‘You’ve persuaded me, but then there’s no disguising your Irish charm, Inspector,’ said Jimmy, spooning a large blob of marmalade onto a slice of toast. By the time he had picked up his knife and begun to spread it, the Inspector had left.

Lieutenant Sanchez spread out a large map of Catalonia on the table in front of him, and the team gathered around to take a closer look.

‘Once Chief Inspector Warwick and Inspector Ross have landed in Barcelona,’ he began, ‘they will be driven to a safe house on the outskirts of the city, where I’ll carry out the final briefing, before we all change into the appropriate gear for a night operation.’

‘When is the witching hour?’ asked the commander.

‘Midnight, sir,’ replied Sanchez. ‘We’ll leave the city in an unmarked car, and be dropped off a couple of kilometres from the boundary of Faulkner’s estate.’

William nodded as Sanchez pointed to an ‘X’ he’d marked on the map. ‘Can you be sure he’s still there?’ he asked.

‘We’ve got cameras on the road leading up to the estate and patrols on the beach at the foot of the cliff, and so far there’s been no sign of life, so we’re fairly confident he’s still holed up in the house.’

‘Don’t forget, we know Booth Watson has a flight booked to Barcelona on Monday,’ interjected Rebecca. ‘Why would he bother to make the trip if Faulkner wasn’t there?’

‘Fair point,’ said William. ‘But I suspect the reason for Booth Watson’s visit is to put the finishing touches to his client’s unscheduled departure, so this may be our last chance before he disappears again.’

‘We’ll need Detective Inspector Hogan to get us from here,’ Sanchez’s finger rested at the edge of the forest, ‘to here,’ he said moving it across to the front door of the house.

William shook his head. ‘No. Ross is convinced our best hope of getting into the house unobserved is through one of the windows in the servants’ quarters on the fourth floor. When we were last there, he noticed three of them were left open during the day. Here, here and here. This one,’ he added, his forefinger moving across the plans, ‘is next to the fire escape.’

Sanchez nodded, but suggested, ‘We still need to know what DI Ross has planned once we reach the edge of the forest. I suspect we’ll find it’s full of alarms, traps and other surprises for unwelcome visitors.’

‘He should be with us in the next few minutes,’ said William, checking his watch.

‘What makes you so sure of that?’ asked The Hawk.

‘His plane landed at Heathrow a couple of hours ago. In fact I’m surprised—’ continued William as the door burst open and Ross strode in.

‘Sorry I’m late. Something held me up.’

Or someone, thought William, but satisfied himself with, ‘Lieutenant Sanchez was just taking us through what we’ll be up against once we arrive in Barcelona.’

‘I can only get us as far as the end of the road leading to the estate before you’ll have to take over,’ admitted Sanchez.

Ross took his place at the table and began to explain in detail how he planned to get the three of them from the edge of the forest to the fire escape on the far side of the house without setting off any alarms. No one interrupted him. William finally brought the meeting to a close when they began to ask the same questions a third time.

‘That still leaves the problem of the impenetrable door,’ said The Hawk, as they rose from their places.

‘I have an appointment this afternoon with the only person other than Faulkner who knows how to open that door,’ said Ross. ‘I’ll report back.’

‘Then let’s all meet again at eight tomorrow morning,’ said William, ‘and go over the plan one last time.’

‘I have a meeting at eight tomorrow morning that I can’t afford to miss,’ said Ross without explanation. ‘But I’ll call you later this evening with an update.’

‘Fine,’ said William, to everyone’s surprise. But then, he knew exactly where Detective Inspector Hogan would be the following morning at eight o’clock, because he intended to be there as well.

‘What do you know that I don’t?’ asked Beth, as Christina took a seat on the other side of her desk.

‘Not a lot,’ admitted Christina, ‘except that I’m convinced that wherever the Caravaggio ended up is where you’ll find Miles.’

‘As well as the Frans Hals?’ said Beth.

‘I’m afraid so,’ said Christina, ‘and if I had any idea where that was, I would tell you, believe me.’

Beth didn’t believe her, so she took William’s advice and continued to listen, listen, listen.

‘All I know for certain is that Booth Watson plans to fly to Barcelona on Monday morning. It can’t be a coincidence that Miles’s yacht will be sailing out of Monte Carlo on Saturday night. I wouldn’t be surprised if they both ended up in the same place.’

‘Which can only mean Miles must be on the move again,’ said Beth.

‘Agreed,’ said Christina. ‘And if his yacht’s involved, the collection will also be on the move.’

‘Where are you getting your information from?’ asked Beth.

‘Ex-Superintendent Lamont, who’s only too happy to have more than one paymaster.’

‘Let’s hope Miles never finds out,’ said Beth, ‘because he doesn’t believe in golden parachutes, unless he has control of the release cord.’

‘So now you know as much as I do,’ said Christina, as she got up to leave.

Beth doubted that, but still intended to call William the moment she’d left. She could already hear her husband’s response when she passed on the information Christina had just revealed.

‘I’m still not sure whose side that woman’s on.’

Nosey Parker was the name displayed above the door of 114A Charing Cross Road. An establishment that rarely served more than one or two customers a day, and then only by appointment with the proprietor. Ross marched into the shop five minutes early and nervously approached the counter.

‘At ease, corporal,’ said a voice he could never forget. He hadn’t been addressed that way for almost ten years, but he still couldn’t relax in the presence of his old boss.

‘I was sad to hear of your wife’s death,’ said Colonel Parker in a far gentler tone than Ross had ever heard during his four years with the SAS. ‘But for now, corporal, we must consider the future,’ he said, the voice of authority returning.

‘Were your boffins able to install the modification I requested for my video camera?’

‘A relatively simple task,’ replied the colonel, producing an unmarked box from under the counter. ‘This will allow you to detect any alarms or booby traps while still videoing the whole operation in real time.’

Ross was going to enquire about the locked door with no lock, when the colonel said, ‘How did my 1950s Silver Cross pram work out?’

‘Couldn’t have been better, sir. I walked straight past the target area without anyone giving me a second glance. I carried out the operation as planned, and escaped unnoticed by either gang or the police.’

‘I enjoyed reading The Times’ report of the incident,’ said the colonel, smiling for the first time. ‘And the cigarette case?’

‘Worked like a charm. Although I’ll never trust a woman when she’s powdering her nose.’

‘Never trust a woman, full stop,’ said the colonel.

An observation Ross would have agreed with until he’d met Jo.

‘Now you’ve dealt with those particular problems, should I presume you now need some help with your next mission?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Ross. ‘When I was on an assignment abroad recently, I came across a large iron door that had no handle, no lock and no dial. The letters “NP” were engraved on the bottom left-hand corner.’

‘The Sesame Safe,’ said the colonel. ‘Perfected by a former member of the Stasi who escaped from East Germany and joined the firm.’

‘But how do you open the safe when there’s no code?’

‘There is a code, corporal, but only when the owner is in the same room.’

‘Then it has to be the watch,’ said Ross, now realizing why Faulkner had tapped on its face just before he entered his study.

‘You could be right,’ said the colonel, failing to answer his question. ‘Mind you, I regret ever having dealt with that particular gentleman. He claimed to have been a naval captain who’d served in the Falklands campaign, but frankly I doubt it, as he turned out to be the sort of bounder who doesn’t pay his mess bills.’

A cad, Ross had wanted to add, but thought better of it.

‘In fact, he still hasn’t paid the final invoice for the Sesame Safe we installed for him a couple of years back. However, given time he’ll need to replace the batteries in the watch, and then he’ll have to pay up, because they’re also unique.’

‘How much is his outstanding mess bill?’ asked Ross, expecting to be court-martialled for even raising the subject.

‘A bit out of your league, I’m afraid, old chap.’

‘Try me.’

‘Five thousand pounds would settle the account.’

Ross took out his chequebook, picked up a Biro from the counter and began writing.

‘Won the pools, have we?’ ventured the colonel.

‘No, sir. Lost a wife,’ said Ross, as he handed over the cheque.

‘I apologize,’ said Parker, genuinely contrite. He turned around, entered a code that unlocked a small safe in the wall, extracted a watch with a blank face and tapped it. The dial immediately lit up and flashed the time in bold numerals for a few seconds, before the light went out. He handed the watch to his former comrade in arms.

‘This isn’t much use to me,’ said Ross, ‘if I don’t know the code.’

‘What time is it, corporal?’

‘Twenty past three,’ said Ross, glancing at a clock on the wall behind the counter.

‘Think like a soldier!’ barked the colonel.

‘Fifteen twenty,’ replied Ross.

‘Month and year.’

‘Nine eighty-eight.’

‘Correct. 15 20 09 88.’

‘The time, date and year,’ said Ross. ‘It couldn’t be simpler.’

‘And the beauty of it is that the time changes every minute, which means the code does as well. But corporal, don’t forget that although your adversary may be neither an officer nor a gentleman, you’ll still need to get up very early in the morning to catch him asleep.’

‘That’s exactly what I plan to do,’ said Ross, as he strapped on the watch.

DC Pankhurst was seated at a table by the window of a wine bar overlooking Wardour Street. She had selected the spot carefully. The little bar, on the first floor above a restaurant, was packed with young people enjoying a night out, although she was still on duty. From her vantage point she had an uninterrupted view of Darren Carter as he went about his work. After fourteen days of surveillance, she not only knew his routine, but also his job description (unwritten). Carter was first and foremost the Eve Club’s gatekeeper. He, and he alone, decided who should be allowed to enter the club, and his prejudices had become only too obvious to Rebecca over the past fortnight.

He welcomed stray middle-aged foreigners who looked as if they had money and could be seduced into parting with it. If they’d had a little too much to drink, that was a bonus. ‘Undesirables’ — tattooed youths wearing jeans, especially if they were in groups — were politely rejected, and occasionally not so politely. ‘Sorry sir, this is a private members’ club’ was usually enough for them to move on, and if they didn’t, the suggestion of what might happen next persuaded the more determined. One or two didn’t give up quite so easily, which was met with a menacing look, and if they were still stupid enough to push their luck, a firm shove followed, although Rebecca hadn’t yet witnessed anything that could have been described as GBH, and therefore warranted an arrest.

Rebecca accepted she would have to be like a patient angler, prepared to wait for hours in the hope of landing a catch. At least she was sitting in a warm bar enjoying a drink, and not perched on a river bank in the pouring rain. But she was painfully aware her written reports were becoming shorter and shorter by the day. In fact, lately, only the date changed. She wondered how much longer it would be before the chief moved her on to another assignment.

At least she had plenty of time to think about Archie. She loved her job and being part of a highly trained elite team, but she knew she would soon have to make a decision about her future. Archie had started talking about their life together as a shared partnership. He was currently doing a spell in Northern Ireland, and she was well aware that, as a young army officer, he could expect to be regularly posted abroad. ‘Goes with the territory, old thing,’ he’d once told her, making it clear in his own sweet way that he assumed she would want to resign from the Met, as she obviously couldn’t be in two places at once.

If she were to marry him, it would mean giving up the job she loved to become an army officer’s wife, produce the regulation 2.2 children, while her greatest thrill would be helping the CO’s wife organize cocktail parties for visiting ‘bigwigs’ (Archie’s word). As she was musing on this vision of her future, she became distracted by a lively bunch of theatregoers pouring out of the Queen’s Theatre to begin wending their way home. The usual reminder that she should also be thinking about calling it a day.

‘Another glass of wine, miss?’

‘Good evening, Inspector,’ said Jimmy the dip, who had appeared out of nowhere. ‘If you’ve got the gear, I’m ready to earn the other two hundred nicker.’

Ross turned his back on the passing crowd and without a word slipped Jimmy three small packets and a bundle of used notes. Jimmy melted back into the crowd.

A few moments later, Ross spotted him on the far side of the road mingling with the audience coming out of the theatre, before he stopped outside the entrance to the club and asked the doorman the way to Leicester Square.

‘What do you think I am, mate, a fuckin’ tour guide?’

‘Sorry to bother you,’ said Jimmy, who bent down and picked up a watch from the pavement. ‘Is this yours by any chance?’

‘Yeah,’ said the doorman, grabbing his watch and slipping it back on his wrist without a word of thanks.

Jimmy the dip moved on, while Ross stepped into a nearby phone box and dialled a number.

Moments later a voice announced, ‘Inspector Watts.’

‘I’ve just come out of the Eve Club, and the doorman tried to sell me some drugs. I thought you’d want to know.’ He hung up before the call could be traced. Four minutes was considered by the Met’s crack drivers to be a fast response to an emergency call, so when a squad car swept into Wardour Street three minutes and forty-two seconds later, Ross allowed himself a smile.

At first Rebecca didn’t take much notice of the police car as it sped into the street below her. Hardly surprising, she thought, as there were regular disturbances in Soho every night. But she began to take a closer interest when it screeched to a halt outside the Eve Club. Four uniformed officers leapt out and surrounded Carter, whose shocked expression appeared to be genuine.

A small crowd began to gather on the opposite side of the road as two of the officers pinned him against the wall, while a third searched his overcoat and extracted several small packets and a bundle of used notes. The fourth officer, an Inspector Rebecca didn’t recognize, arrested Carter and cautioned him, before he was handcuffed and led away. She could still hear his cries of protest as he was bundled into the back of the police car.

She began to write down everything she had witnessed, pausing only when the owner came rushing out of the club and shook a fist at the squad car as it disappeared out of sight. The crowd had dispersed by the time Jimmy the dip reappeared by Ross’s side, unable to hide a smirk.

‘You did well, Jimmy,’ said Ross, palming him the other two hundred.

‘Happy to oblige,’ said Jimmy. ‘That’s exactly the sort of lowlife what ought to be locked up.’

Ross was about to make a comment about pots and kettles when Jimmy added, ‘Like the flash new watch, Inspector. But how do you tell the time?’ Before he could answer, Jimmy had disappeared into the night. Ross checked his wrist, relieved to find the watch was still there.

Once Rebecca had completed her report, she emptied her glass, settled the bill and left. She would have called the chief at home if it hadn’t been so late. That would have to wait until tomorrow morning. Then she remembered where she would be at six o’clock the next morning. She corrected herself. This morning.