Over My Dead Body

Chapter 30

William boarded the crowded plane to find Ross already seated by the window. He sat down next to him, but to a casual observer it would not have been obvious they were colleagues. They didn’t once discuss Caravaggio on their flight to Barcelona, nor Beth, Jo, the twins, or Jo Junior — as Ross called his daughter — nor the upcoming Frans Hals exhibition at the Fitzmolean, nor even the frailty of West Ham’s defence or the brilliance of Chelsea’s attack, depending on their point of view.

They fell into a companionable silence. William would have liked to ask Ross how he had managed to creep into that grave unnoticed, but suspected that no answer would have been forthcoming.

However, he did notice that Ross was no longer wearing the Rolex Jo had given him as a wedding present. The anonymous, black-faced watch that had taken its place wasn’t, in William’s opinion, a worthy replacement, but with Ross there was always a reason.

As the plane touched down on Spanish soil and taxied towards its stand, William looked out of the window to see Lieutenant Sanchez standing next to an unmarked black car by the side of the runway, its back door already open.

The two detectives were the first passengers off the plane, each carrying only an overnight bag, although they had no intention of staying overnight.

Juan greeted them, and their car had driven through the security exit and was on the motorway before most of the other passengers had reached the airport terminal.

William wasted no time in taking Juan through the latest refinements to the plan and answering all the lieutenant’s questions, with Ross making the occasional observation.

The safe house turned out to be an inconspicuous two-up two-down in a quiet back street on the west side of the city. Juan led William and Ross through to the operations centre, a large room with a circular table surrounded by half a dozen chairs, along with the inevitable corkboard covered in maps, diagrams and photographs taking up almost a complete wall.

Juan began the final briefing by drawing their attention to several aerial photographs of Faulkner’s estate. Ross took the opportunity to refamiliarize himself with the unmarked tortuous route through the forest and across the bridge to the front door of the house that the golf buggy had taken when they’d delivered the Fishers of Men on their first visit.

Having satisfied himself that he knew every inch of the route, Ross walked across to join William and Juan, who were studying a large cardboard model of the house that had been placed in the centre of the table. Juan pointed to the kitchen steps on the west side of the house, and then the fire escape that led up to the fourth floor, where the three bedrooms whose windows had previously been left open were marked with large red crosses.

‘We only need one of them to be open tonight to make it from here to here,’ said Juan, his finger moving along a corridor and down a wide staircase to the landing outside the master bedroom.

‘Let’s hope the bedroom door’s locked,’ said William, ‘because then we’ll know he’s inside.’

‘Even if he’s somehow made it downstairs to his study,’ said Ross, his finger taking a path down the staircase and along the corridor on the ground floor, ‘I should be able to reach his study before he has time to open the metal door.’

‘Whether he’s in bed or not,’ said Juan, ‘my back-up squad will already have surrounded the house by then.’

‘We also have to consider the possibility that he’ll already be in his study,’ said William, ‘and that by the time Ross arrives he’ll have opened the metal door and disappeared into thin air once again.’

Ross said nothing. If Faulkner escaped while his colleagues were still on the first floor, he intended to open the metal door and join him on the other side, before they could catch up with him. A detail he’d neglected to mention to William.

‘What if he isn’t in the bedroom or his study,’ said Juan, ‘but has already left the house?’

‘That’s unlikely,’ said Ross. ‘Booth Watson is flying in to Barcelona tomorrow morning, and the latest sighting of Faulkner’s yacht was about three hundred miles away, giving him an ETA of around seven o’clock tomorrow evening, which is when I expect he plans to sail off into the sunset.’

‘We need to have Faulkner safely locked up long before Booth Watson arrives,’ said William, ‘because that man will find a dozen ways of setting him free.’

‘Let’s go over the timing once again,’ said Juan. ‘We’ll leave here at midnight, so by the time we reach the house Faulkner and most of his staff should be sound asleep.’

‘But not the guards,’ William reminded them.

‘There are six of them in all,’ said Juan. ‘They work around the clock in eight-hour shifts. One pair will be on patrol from ten o’clock tonight until six tomorrow morning. We know that it takes them fourteen minutes to carry out a complete circuit of the house, and they take a fifteen-minute break around two in the morning.’

‘How did you get hold of such valuable intel?’ asked Ross.

‘One of my men still can’t make up his mind if he wants to be a gardener or a policeman, so for the past three weeks he’s been both.’

A rare look of respect crossed Ross’s face.

‘Right,’ said William, ‘let’s go over the plan one last time. Juan, don’t hesitate to query even the slightest detail you’re unsure about, because, one thing’s for certain, we won’t be given a third chance.’ He felt this must be what it was like to be a mountaineer attempting to conquer Everest. He had planned the expedition and would lead them to base camp, at which point Ross, as climbing leader, would take over, with the task of getting them to the summit, in this case an open window on the fourth floor of the house. Once they were inside the building, William would resume command.

After everyone had been briefed yet again on their individual responsibilities, they took a break for a meal they barely touched, as heightened anticipation, accompanied by a rush of adrenaline, took over.

Finally, they changed into outfits more suited to criminals than upholders of the law. Sleeveless black T-shirts, black tracksuits, black socks, black trainers, even black laces.

‘Not on my watch,’ said Juan, as Ross took off his jacket to reveal a gun in its holster. ‘My boss has made it clear there will be no firearms on this operation.’

‘I hope your boss has mentioned that to Faulkner’s guards,’ said Ross.

‘They won’t be any trouble when they realize we’re police officers,’ said Juan.

‘Right,’ said Ross. ‘So once you’ve pointed that out, they’re just going to stick their hands in the air and say, “Fair cop, guv.”’

‘DI Hogan,’ said William sharply, ‘don’t forget we’re guests in this country, and the success of this operation is entirely dependent on the local police’s cooperation.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Ross, as he reluctantly handed his gun to Sanchez. But it was all he could do to prevent himself from adding, Then I’ll have to strangle him, won’t I?

They spent the next half hour pacing around the room like caged animals desperate to be released, especially Ross, who when the curtain rose had no intention of keeping to the script.

‘Let’s move,’ said Juan, when the first of several church clocks began to strike twelve times, reminding William they were in a Catholic country.

The same unmarked black car was waiting for them in the street outside. They sat in anticipatory silence as they headed towards the target, no longer needing to discuss the plan.

The driver turned off the motorway at exit 9, and after a few miles he pulled over to the side of the road. The three black-clad men climbed out of the car and watched silently as the driver turned around and left them.

William had calculated that, on foot and in the dark, it would take around forty minutes to cover the five kilometres before they reached the edge of the forest. He took the lead, while Ross brought up the rear. None of them spoke as they progressed slowly down the narrow road, alert to the slightest danger. Only a startled hare paused to take a closer look at the passing strangers, while an owl didn’t stop offering his opinion.

When the dense barrier of the forest loomed up in front of them, William raised a hand, the sign for Ross to take over. He moved quickly to the front, taking NP’s modified video camera from his backpack. He switched it on and stepped cautiously into the thick undergrowth. The three of them advanced one step at a time, like soldiers on a slow march, aware that a single foot fault could trigger an alarm, light up the grounds and give Faulkner more than enough time to escape.

The long circuitous route demanded by the video camera took them nearly an hour to complete. When they reached the river, they crossed the bridge cautiously, and not long afterwards the forbidding grey stone building came into view, sharply silhouetted in the moonlight.

As they were about to emerge from the forest, Ross gestured firmly to his cohorts with a wave of the hand to get back down. Two guards were patrolling the north side of the building, the wide beams of their torches making sweeping circles that illuminated the deserted grounds.

Ross watched every step the guards took before they turned left at the west end of the house and continued on their way. Thanks to Juan’s research, he knew how long it would be before the guards returned. He pointed silently to a small clump of bushes fifty yards from the house that had been highlighted on the map supplied by the zealous gardener. They set off again, this time crawling through the undergrowth, reaching the copse only moments before the guards reappeared. They passed by them so closely that even in the dark Ross could see they were armed. One had a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Colonel Parker would have put him on report and confined him to barracks.

Ross watched carefully as the guards kept to a designated path so as not to set off an alarm that would wake their paymaster. He knew roughly how much time they had to make it to the kitchen where they could hide beneath a steep flight of stone steps, allowing the guards to pass a second time before they attempted to enter the house. They began to weave their way across the lawn towards a well-trodden path, aware they’d left themselves only seconds before the guards would reappear. They wouldn’t have needed a torch to spot the uninvited trio frozen like rabbits in their headlights.

Once the guards were safely out of sight, Ross, closely followed by William and Juan, sprinted towards the building. They knew exactly where their next stop would be, as the kitchen staircase was imprinted on their minds from the model back at the safe house. But this was anything but a safe house. Once they reached the staircase, Ross descended the steps, closely followed by William and Juan, before crouching down opposite an entrance marked ‘Entrada de servicio’.

William held his breath, hearing only the sound of his heartbeat which wasn’t seventy-two to the minute, as the guards passed by a few feet above them, before once again disappearing around the far corner of the building.

The next step was the fire escape. Ross glanced up at the fourth floor and was relieved to see one of the three windows that had been marked with red crosses was open. As he approached the fire escape, he no longer needed to look back and check his two bloodhounds were still in pursuit.

He gripped the two sides of the iron ladder and began his ascent with the skill of an experienced cat burglar. William and Juan, not quite so practised, followed several rungs behind.

When he reached the fourth floor, Ross stepped nimbly across to the nearest windowsill, and in a single movement swung himself through the open window and landed noiselessly on the wooden floor. His eyes quickly focused on a bed on the far side of the room, in which a young woman was sleeping contentedly. She was about to have a bad dream, thought Ross, as he advanced cautiously towards her.

William clambered through the open window just as Ross placed a hand over the young woman’s mouth. Even in the faint moonlight, he couldn’t miss the look of horror in her eyes as she began to shake uncontrollably.

Juan, who had landed in the room with a thud, ran quickly across to the bed and spoke to the young woman in her own tongue, which appeared to calm her, as she stopped shaking. She nodded when Ross indicated he was going to remove his hand, again helped by Juan who assured her she wouldn’t come to any harm if she remained silent. But Ross wasn’t taking any chances. He bound her wrists and legs while William firmly gagged her with one of her own stockings.

Juan returned to the window and peered down from behind the curtain as the two guards sauntered by once again, their torchlights flashing in every direction except the house. When he could no longer see them, he joined William and Ross at the door. William cautiously opened the door a few inches and waited for a moment before poking his head out into the unlit corridor. No one in sight. Closing the door silently behind them, the three of them turned right and headed for the top of the stairs.

William led them slowly down the thickly carpeted stairs, though each of them knew the layout of the house as if it were his own home. They came to a halt when they reached the landing that led to the master bedroom. William and Juan stayed put while Ross continued on down the sweeping marble steps to the ground floor.

As he and Juan tiptoed along the corridor, William didn’t even glance at the magnificent paintings that adorned the walls. He paused only for a moment before placing a hand on the doorknob. He turned it slowly, noiselessly, to find it was unlocked. He pushed the door open, but the moment he stepped inside the room a deafening alarm screamed out, and vast arc lights immediately illuminated the grounds outside, flooding the house with light. William switched on the bedroom light and stared at a large, empty bed that hadn’t been slept in. Faulkner had clearly anticipated Plan A. Juan was quickly on the radio to his waiting team.

Downstairs in his study, Faulkner leapt out of his makeshift bed the moment the alarm sounded. It didn’t worry him when he heard loud footsteps echoing along the marble corridor that led to his study. He had more than enough time. He walked across to the metal door and tapped the face of a watch that never left his wrist. When the dial lit up he entered 03 43, the first four numbers of the timecode. He had just tapped in 09 88, the month and the year, when he heard a key turning in the door behind him. But how could that be possible? He quickly stepped into the safe just as Ross burst into his study and came charging towards him.

He was only a stride away when Faulkner slammed the massive door shut, breathing a sigh of relief as he heard the heavy steel bolts slide into place.

Ross was about to tap his own watch and enter the code that would open the safe door when he heard footsteps running along the corridor. He decided to wait for the choirboy and the lieutenant to appear before he performed the opening ceremony.

Faulkner was also smiling, but then he assumed that time was on his side. Booth Watson would be arriving later that morning, and if the interlopers hadn’t already left by then, one phone call from his Spanish lawyer and they would quickly be dispatched. And what his pursuers didn’t know was that General Franco had built a tunnel from his underground study through the cliff that led to a tiny cove where his yacht would be waiting for him. This time the captain would take him somewhere that didn’t have an extradition treaty with Britain.

He touched the face of his watch to check the time: 03.45. The code that would open the outer door and allow him to descend to the safety of his other world. This time the year came first, 88, followed by the month, 09, and finally the time, which had just flicked over to 0346. He would have to wait for a moment before he could enter the new code. He waited for the light to go out before he touched the face again so he could begin the whole process once more. He tapped the face of his watch and entered 88, but the light immediately flickered, grew dim, and faded. He touched the face again, but only had time to enter 03 before the light went out again. He tapped the watch more firmly than before, but it refused to light up. He jabbed at it repeatedly, but still no response. He then pulled it off his wrist and shook it violently, but it made no difference. The battery was spent.

William ran, panting, into Faulkner’s study to find Ross staring at the closed metal door. ‘I didn’t get here in time,’ he said.

William cursed as Juan rushed in to join them.

‘My boys have surrounded the building and are rounding up the guards,’ gasped an out of breath Juan. ‘So he can’t hope to get out.’

‘But we can’t get in,’ said William, staring at the metal door.

Ross said nothing, just pulled up the left sleeve of his tracksuit and touched the face of his watch, which immediately lit up.

He checked the time, 03.48, and was about to enter the code when Collins calmly entered the room, dressed in a tailcoat, striped trousers, stiff white collar and grey silk tie.

‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid Mr Sartona has not yet returned from his business trip. If there is anything I can do to assist you, please don’t hesitate to ask.’

Ross swung around, his fist clenched, and advanced towards the butler, but Juan stepped quickly between them, just about managing to keep the two men apart, while Ross hurled a string of expletives at Collins, who just stood there, impassive.

‘Quiet!’ William suddenly shouted. He walked over to the metal door, fell on his knees and pressed an ear against its surface.

Tap.

They strained to hear the faint sound, which was repeated a few seconds later.

Tap, tap..

‘My God,’ said Collins, the surface veneer finally crumbling. ‘Mr Faulkner’s locked himself inside.’

‘Then for God’s sake tell us how to get him out,’ said Juan, ‘before it’s too late.’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted the butler. ‘He’s the only person with the watch.’

Ross smiled.

Tap, tap, tap...

‘There must be a spare one,’ insisted Juan.

‘No, there isn’t,’ said the butler. ‘The only other person who even knows who made it is Mr Faulkner’s lawyer, Mr Booth Watson, and he’s not expected to arrive until twelve o’clock.’

Tap, tap, tap...

They all stared at the safe.

‘How long can he hope to survive in there?’ William said, almost to himself.

Tap... tap...

‘Four, maybe five hours at the most,’ said Ross, lowering his arm and letting the sleeve of his tracksuit fall over his wrist.

Tap...

  Tap..

    Tap.

‘We’re going to have to call in a specialist,’ said William turning to Juan, ‘if we’re to have any chance of getting him out before he suffocates.’

‘It’s not that simple,’ said Juan. ‘Señora Martinez obtained a court order that prevents anyone other than Faulkner or his lawyer from even touching it.’

‘Then get her on the line immediately,’ pressed William. ‘Explain exactly what has happened and the consequences if we can’t get the door open.’

‘But she won’t be in her office much before nine, and by then it will be too late,’ said Juan.

‘Collins will know her number,’ said William, looking around, but the butler was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where the hell’s he got to?’ said Ross as a red light began flashing on the phone on Faulkner’s desk.

‘One step ahead of us again,’ said Juan. ‘It’s just lucky that Faulkner doesn’t trust anyone,’ he added as he placed a finger to his lips and pressed the speaker button.

‘What do you mean by waking me up at this time of the morning, Collins?’ boomed a voice William immediately recognized.

‘I’m sorry to wake you, sir,’ said Collins, ‘but Mr Faulkner’s locked himself into the safe, and I don’t have any way of getting him out.’

‘Call Isobel Martinez immediately,’ said Booth Watson, suddenly wide awake. ‘She can get the court order lifted. Then ring the fire brigade. They’ll have the right equipment to drill a hole in the door so at least he can breathe, which will give us a little more time. But what the hell was he doing in there in the first place?’

‘Inspector Warwick, Lieutenant Sanchez and a third policeman turned up in the middle of the night.’

‘DI Hogan no doubt,’ said Booth Watson. ‘Señora Martinez will have to take care of them too. Tell her I’ll be on the first flight to Barcelona.’

‘I’ll have to go back to the study and look up her number in the boss’s contacts book,’ said Collins. ‘What do I tell Warwick if he—’

‘Tell him you’re calling your lawyer. They can’t stop you doing that,’ said Booth Watson as he slammed down the phone and clambered out of bed.

‘I can get him out of there,’ said Ross, looking at the door, ‘but I need Collins out of the way,’ he added without explanation, as the butler came back into the room and headed straight for Faulkner’s desk.

Sanchez immediately stepped into his path. ‘You’re under arrest, Mr Collins.’

‘On what charge?’

‘Preventing the police from carrying out their duties,’ said Sanchez, as two uniformed officers stepped forward and grabbed Collins by the arms. ‘Take him to the station and lock him up. Make sure he doesn’t speak to anyone before I get there.’

‘I’m entitled to phone my lawyer,’ protested Collins. ‘That’s the law.’

‘You already have,’ said Juan as the two officers bustled Collins out of the room.

William waited for the study door to close before saying, ‘So tell me Ross, how do you propose to open that door?’

‘All in good time,’ said Ross as he flicked through the telephone book on Faulkner’s desk. He found the name he was looking for and dialled a number.

‘Who is this?’ asked a sleepy voice.

‘I’m Mr Faulkner’s private secretary. He asked me to let you know there’s been a change of plan. He’s been taken ill, nothing serious, but he wants to get back to London as quickly as possible so he can see his own doctor. How soon can you have his plane ready for take-off?’

‘A couple of hours, three at the most,’ said a voice no longer asleep. ‘I’ll alert the crew immediately, but our departure time will depend on when we can get a landing slot in London.’

‘Tell them it’s an emergency,’ said Ross. ‘We’ll meet you at the airport.’

‘Understood,’ said the pilot, who was already out of bed before Ross had put the phone down.

‘It’s the watch, isn’t it?’ said William, remembering the anonymous black dial that had taken the place of Jo’s Rolex.

Ross smiled. ‘Now Collins is out of the way, I’ll get Faulkner out and we can take him to the airport and fly him back to London on his own plane.’

‘That’s kidnapping,’ said William, ‘which, in case you’ve forgotten, is against the law, in both countries.’

‘You’ve obviously forgotten, Chief Inspector,’ said Ross, ‘that Faulkner demanded to see his doctor. I distinctly remember him mentioning the words Harley Street.’

‘The Spanish authorities certainly wouldn’t be applying for an extradition order to bring him back,’ said Juan, matter-of-factly.

‘We can have him safely locked back up in Pentonville by the time Booth Watson lands in Barcelona,’ added Ross.

‘I’m still not sure—’

‘Of course you’re not, choirboy, but as you recently reminded me, we’re not in Battersea, but Barcelona, so it’s not your decision to make.’

They both turned to face the lieutenant. Juan nodded, but didn’t speak.

Ross raised his left arm, pulled up his sleeve and tapped 04 11 09 88 on the face of the watch.

Booth Watson’s mind was working overtime even before he’d turned on the shower. He didn’t wait for the jets of water to warm up before he began to formulate a plan. Should he go to his office first, and call Isobel Martinez before he went on to the airport? Not that he was even sure he had her home number in chambers. He decided he would have to trust Collins to track her down and carry out his instructions, while he went directly to Heathrow and caught the first available flight to Barcelona.

Once he dried himself, he put on a clean shirt and yesterday’s suit and tie, while his thoughts turned to Warwick and how the damn man never gave up. Once dressed, Booth Watson went down to his study, picked up his briefcase and put on an overcoat. He opened the front door to be greeted by a cold crisp morning. He double-locked the door then stood on the pavement and waited for some time before he spotted the words ‘Taxi’ glowing in the distance.

An unmarked police car came to a halt outside a private entrance to the airport. When a guard appeared, Lieutenant Sanchez produced his warrant card. The guard saluted, barely giving the three men in the back a second look, before pointing the driver in the right direction.

The car headed towards a long line of private aircraft, one of which was being refuelled and had its steps down waiting for its owner.

William and Ross helped Faulkner out of the back of the car. He was still unsteady, not having fully recovered from spending three hours locked in a safe. They guided him towards the aircraft’s steps. The pilot was waiting in the plane’s doorway, and couldn’t hide his surprise when he saw his boss being accompanied by three men all dressed in black, who he’d never seen before.

Juan took him to one side and explained that Mr Faulkner had insisted on being flown back to England immediately, as he wanted to see his own doctor.

‘But look at the state of him,’ said the pilot. ‘Shouldn’t you have taken him to a local hospital?’ he demanded, as Faulkner was almost carried up the steps and into the aircraft.

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ said Juan. ‘If you want to tell him, be my guest.’

‘If he doesn’t make it to London,’ said the pilot, ‘on your head be it.’

‘I have a feeling you might be right about that,’ said Juan, as the pilot quickly returned to the cockpit. William shook Juan warmly by the hand, before he left the aircraft.

Ross lowered Faulkner into a comfortable leather chair and fastened his seatbelt, while William placed a small package in an overhead locker before they both took their places on either side of the prisoner. The stewards slammed the aircraft door closed and moments later the plane began to taxi towards the south runway.

‘Damn,’ said Booth Watson, as the taxi came to a halt by his side. ‘Damn,’ he repeated before telling the cabbie he’d forgotten his passport, but would be back in a few minutes.

The cabbie smiled. A trip to Heathrow with a sober passenger wasn’t his usual fare at that time in the morning.

As Booth Watson unlocked his front door, he tried to remember if he’d left his passport in chambers. He almost ran to his study. The next word he uttered was also four letters, and it wasn’t damn.

Once the plane had reached its cruising height, William picked up the phone in Faulkner’s armrest and called Danny at home.

‘Get yourself to Heathrow, sharpish,’ he said, before Danny had a chance to speak.

‘Which terminal, sir?’

‘Number one, the private aircraft stand. We should be there at,’ he checked his watch, ‘around five o’clock.’

‘The taxi or a squad car?’

‘A squad car,’ said William. ‘I’m not taking Faulkner back to prison in a taxi.’ After hanging up, he glanced across at the prisoner, who looked as if he was about to emerge from a deep sleep.

‘Which one of us will be calling the commander?’ asked Ross innocently.

‘I will,’ said William. ‘But not until Faulkner’s safely locked up.’

When Booth Watson’s taxi dropped him off at Heathrow fifty minutes later, the first thing he did on entering the airport was to check the departure board. The first flight to Barcelona was due to leave in forty minutes, and there wasn’t another scheduled until a British Airways flight took off in a couple of hours’ time.

He headed for the Iberia desk to be told by the booking clerk that the only seat available was near the back of the plane. He reluctantly handed over his credit card, aware that he couldn’t afford to hang around and wait for a first-class seat on BA.

Once he’d settled in his seat, he tried to concentrate on the problems he’d be expected to deal with once he landed in Barcelona, but a screaming child with its mother on one side of him, and a man on his other who kept up a running conversation with someone across the aisle on whether Arsenal should sack their manager, made that impossible.

‘Where am I?’ demanded a waking voice as the Gulfstream jet touched down at Heathrow and began to taxi towards the far end of the runway.

‘Back where you belong,’ said Ross, without further explanation.

William looked out of the cabin window as the plane taxied to a halt, relieved to see Danny standing by a squad car waiting for them.

‘Stop them, stop them!’ shouted Faulkner at the top of his voice as he was yanked out of his seat and unceremoniously propelled towards the exit. The stewardess ran to the front of the plane and banged on the cockpit door as Faulkner was pushed down the steps, stumbling onto the tarmac, where Danny caught him in his arms like a long-lost lover. William and Ross quickly followed and bundled the prisoner into the back of the car as Danny climbed back behind the wheel.

‘Good morning, sir,’ said Danny, glancing in his rear-view mirror. ‘Should I wait and see what those two gentlemen want, before we leave?’

William and Ross looked out of the back window to see the pilot and an airport official running towards them.

‘No,’ said William firmly. ‘Get moving.’

Danny didn’t need any encouragement to shoot off, siren blaring, lights flashing.

When Booth Watson’s flight finally landed in Barcelona two hours later, he was reminded just how long it could take to disembark when you didn’t travel first class. The same queue was waiting for him at passport control, and it was some time before he got through customs and emerged out into the morning sun, only to be greeted with another long queue standing in line for a taxi.

When Booth Watson eventually reached the front, he climbed into the back of a cab and checked his watch. His first thought was: would Miles still be alive? His second: what he would do if he wasn’t.

‘Booth Watson’s flight from Heathrow has just landed,’ said Sanchez as he put down the phone. ‘So you can release Collins and take him back to the house. Make sure they both arrive around the same time.’

The watch agente unlocked the cell door and stood aside to allow the irate prisoner out. He’d left his breakfast untouched. When Collins reached the top of the steps, he found Lieutenant Sanchez waiting for him. He looked him in the eye and said, ‘If he dies, on your head be it.’

Collins was the second person who had told him that this morning, and Juan suspected that, when he reported to his captain later, he might hear the same opinion expressed for a third time.

Faulkner didn’t stop protesting as the squad car shot out of the airport and onto the main road. It took all of William’s and Ross’s strength just to restrain him. Ross finally decided on a delaying tactic, and thrust an elbow sharply into Faulkner’s groin with all the strength he could muster. Faulkner doubled up, and his protests turned to a whimpering moan.

‘Was that necessary?’ asked William.

‘Possibly not, sir,’ replied Ross, ‘but I had reason to believe you were about to be attacked.’

William looked out of the window to make sure Ross couldn’t see him laughing.

Faulkner had fully recovered by the time Danny reached Pentonville Road, siren still blaring. The vast wooden gates began to slowly open as they approached the prison.

‘You’ve made a dreadful mistake,’ protested Faulkner. ‘I’m Captain Ralph Neville RN.’

‘And I’m Mother Teresa RC,’ said Ross.

This time William couldn’t stop himself laughing.

Danny drove through the prison gates to find a reception party waiting for them. When he came to a halt, the governor stepped forward.

‘Welcome back, 0249,’ he said as the prisoner was dragged out of the squad car. ‘I’m afraid your old cell is currently occupied, but we’ve found you a larger one, which you’ll be sharing with a couple of lifers. One murdered his mother, and the other’s a heroin addict, who just can’t get to sleep at night, poor fellow. Still, you should be safely out of harm’s way on the top bunk.’ He gave Faulkner a warm smile, before adding, ‘Just be thankful you’re not in solitary. But do let me know if that would be your preference.’

‘I demand to speak to my lawyer,’ said Faulkner.

‘I’m afraid he’s out of the country at the moment,’ said William, as two guards grabbed the prisoner’s arms and led him into the high-security wing. ‘But I’ll be sure to let him know the moment he gets back.’

Collins got out of the police car just as a taxi drove through the front gates.

‘Did you get him out of the safe in time?’ were Booth Watson’s first words as he climbed out of the cab.

‘I was about to call Señora Martinez when I saw your taxi coming up the drive.’

‘But I told you to do that hours ago,’ said an exasperated Booth Watson as he waited for Collins to unlock the front door.

‘I would have done it hours ago,’ snapped Collins, ‘if Sanchez hadn’t arrested me on spurious charges. I’ve only just got back from what was so obviously a set-up.’

‘Then we haven’t a moment to lose,’ Booth Watson snapped back as Collins ran into the house and along the corridor, coming to a halt outside the study door. The butler waited for a breathless Booth Watson to join him before they both entered the room. Neither of them could help noticing that the solid metal door was still firmly closed. Collins walked quickly over to the boss’s desk and started leafing through his private telephone book.

‘How long has he been in there?’ asked Booth Watson, pointing at the safe door.

‘Over four hours,’ Collins replied. ‘We might still be able to save him, but we’ll have to move quickly.’

Collins began dialling the number of Faulkner’s Spanish lawyer, when Booth Watson asked, ‘What were Mr Faulkner’s instructions before the police turned up?’

‘He told me I was to pack up every one of his paintings and put them in the hold of the yacht as soon as it arrives this evening.’

‘Then you should carry out those orders, and leave me to speak to Señora Martinez.’

The butler reluctantly handed the phone over to Booth Watson. ‘Should anyone ever ask you, Collins, you will tell them that Mr Faulkner died in Switzerland last year, where he was cremated, which I can confirm, as I attended the funeral along with Inspector Warwick.’

‘Señora Martinez’s office,’ said a voice as Collins closed the door behind him.

Booth Watson quietly replaced the receiver.

‘I told you to brief me on everything you two were up to, Chief Inspector,’ said the commander at the top of his voice. ‘And I meant everything.’

‘I didn’t think you would want me to wake you in the middle of the night, sir,’ replied William unconvincingly.

‘Then you were wrong, Chief Inspector. Both of you will report to my office immediately — immediately!’ repeated The Hawk, before he slammed the phone down.

His wife turned over, blinked and looked across at her husband as he climbed out of bed. ‘What are you smiling about?’ she asked, but he’d already closed the bathroom door.

The Hawk clenched a fist and punched the air several times, the smile not leaving his face.