Hidden in Plain Sight

by Jeffrey Archer

  “Call me the minute he comes back out,” responded the Hawk.

  “Will do, sir.”

  Lamont began to pace around among the trees, uncomfortably aware that the success or failure of the operation was now in the hands of others. “Did you remember the sandwiches, Jackie?” was all he had left to say.

  “Yes, sir. Cheese and tomato, or ham?”

  “Cheese and tomato.”

  “William?”

  “No, thank you,” he said, recalling that less than forty-eight hours ago he had been with Beth, sitting in a restaurant in the Campo de’ Fiori, enjoying linguine alle vongole and a bottle of Barolo from a vineyard in Piedmont.

  Twenty-six minutes later, the gates opened and Heath’s car reappeared. They all watched in silence as it came closer and closer, until he drove past their hiding place and disappeared back over the hill. Lamont radioed the commander and brought him up to date.

  “In theory,” said Hawksby, “the next car should be the first of the dinner guests. Maintain radio silence until they’re all accounted for.”

  They didn’t have to wait long before a green Jaguar sailed past them, the passenger in the back completely hidden behind gray-smoked windows.

  “If the windows in the back are clear, the passenger has nothing to hide,” remarked Lamont.

  “I can’t imagine many of Faulkner’s friends having nothing to hide,” said William, as he recorded the number plate in his pocket book. Three more cars followed in quick succession, and three more number plates were noted by William, before the radio crackled to life again. It was the temporary porter at the local railway station.

  “Yes, DC Adaja?” said Lamont.

  “One of the guests has just arrived on the seven thirty-two from Waterloo and is on his way to Limpton Hall in the first of our cabs.”

  “That means we’ll get someone past the gates and up as far as the house, if only for a few minutes.”

  “I told him to report to you when he comes back out.”

  “Good thinking, Paul. Keep sweeping the platform.”

  A few minutes later a black cab passed them and flashed its headlights twice. The photographer smiled for the first time as he had a clear view of the passenger. Lamont followed the taxi’s progress all the way to the front gates; a stopwatch in one hand, binoculars in the other. Two minutes and eighteen seconds later, the guard finished checking the invitation and the gates swung open once again.

  “With any luck,” said Lamont, as another large chauffeur-driven car sped by, “our man should be back with us in a few minutes’ time, and I’ll be able to ask him some questions we don’t yet have an answer to.”

  “Crooks seem to prefer Rolls-Royces,” observed William, jotting down the latest number plate as another Silver Cloud purred by.

  “And not last year’s model,” remarked Danny.

  “Nothing more than vulgar status symbols to show their place in the criminal pecking order,” snarled Lamont.

  William took a sip of water, but still ignored the last of the ham sandwiches. He was wondering if his heart could beat any faster, when the taxi reappeared and, moments later, pulled off the road to join them. Jackie took over binocular duty, while the cab driver joined them in the car.

  “Did you pick up any worthwhile information about your passenger?” was Lamont’s first question to the driver.

  “He’s a banker, but I couldn’t find out which bank. His accent would suggest he’s from the Middle East. I slowed down as I passed you, so the photographer could get some decent shots. I can tell you, my taxi’s back windows have never been so clean. Just like you see in films.”

  “How long did it take you to get from the gates to the front door of the house?”

  “One minute and forty seconds, but I didn’t hurry, so you could knock at least twenty seconds off that.”

  “And the guests’ cars, are they parked in the driveway outside the house?”

  “No, sir, in a paddock behind the conservatory. To judge from the noise that was coming from there, I think the drivers are having a party of their own.”

  “But they won’t be drinking. And we can be sure there will be one or two of the heavy brigade among them, whose driving skills aren’t the reason they’re here tonight. Well done, constable. Get back to the station, but hang about, because we might need some back-up later.”

  “I hope so, sir,” he said, causing them all to laugh.

  “Nine guests accounted for,” said Jackie, as another large car swept past them.

  Lamont watched as the final guest pulled up outside the gatehouse, and the driver presented his invitation. He kept the binoculars trained on the car until it could no longer be seen.

  “A full house,” he said, before picking up his radio to bring the commander up to date. Next, he briefed the inspector in charge of the squad cars, and finally DC Adaja, who was still sweeping the platform while he waited for the next train. “Now let’s concentrate on how we get past the gatehouse,” he said. “The guard looked to me like a professional, and you can be sure he has plenty of bells and whistles in case of an emergency, so we’ll have to take him out before he realizes that, unlike Cinderella, we don’t have an invitation to the ball.”

  “When are you thinking of moving, sir?” asked William.

  “Just after ten. That should give them more than enough time to finish dinner and be sampling the desserts before we move in.”

  “Their just desserts?” said Jackie. Both men groaned.

  William spent the next hour repeatedly glancing at his watch, but it didn’t make the minute hand move any faster.

  Just before ten, Lamont announced over the radio, “Stay alert, people.” Not that William was sure how much more alert he could be. “I’ll be giving the order to move in about five minutes.” And he would have done so, if the radio hadn’t started crackling.

  “What the hell are you playing at, Adaja?”

  “I thought you ought to know, sir. Ten scantily dressed young women arrived on the last train from London, commandeered all three of our cabs, and are on their way to Limpton Hall.”

  “Radio the drivers and tell them to go slowly through the gates. That will give the squad cars an opportunity to follow them in, which will solve one of our biggest problems.”

  “Understood, sir. They should be passing you in about ten minutes.”

  The superintendent’s next call was to the commander. He listened to the latest news with interest, and his next command took Lamont by surprise. “Put the operation back by at least an hour, Bruce.”

  “Why, sir?”

  “Because then you’ll catch them with their trousers down.”

  13

  “Have you ever fancied yourself as a madam?”

  “Oh no, sir,” said Jackie. “That would be above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “Not if you’re still hoping to be reinstated as a sergeant, it wouldn’t,” said Lamont.

  William tried not to smile when the superintendent briefed Jackie on what he had in mind.

  “I could drive Jackie in my taxi, sir,” said Danny, once the superintendent had fully explained what he expected DC Roycroft to do. “Then the guard will think we’ve come from the station.”

  “Good idea, Danny,” said Lamont. “But leave Jackie to do the talking. Never been your strong suit.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Danny.

  “Right, let’s go over the plan one more time,” said Lamont. “Jackie will…”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later Danny drove his black cab out onto the road with a single passenger in the back. He made his way slowly toward Limpton Hall, and came to a halt in front of the closed gates. The guard emerged from the gatehouse and slowly approached the taxi. Jackie wound down her window, adjusted her skirt, and greeted him with her most seductive smile.

  “Can I help you, madam?”

  “Well, at least you got that right,” said Jackie, glad to see his eyes settling on her legs.
“You can call me Blanche. I’ve come to make sure my girls arrived safely. All part of the service.”

  The guard checked his clipboard. “But you’re not on my list.”

  “Neither were they,” said Jackie, taking a risk. “But then that’s the way Miles prefers it, as I’m sure you know.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “Where have you come from?” he asked politely.

  Danny gripped the handle of the cab door.

  “From the station,” said Jackie. “Like my girls.”

  “But the last train to Limpton Hall was over an hour ago,” said the guard. “I’ll have to call the Hall and check with Mr. Makins that you’re expected. Could you give me your name again, madam?”

  Danny thrust open the cab door and rammed it into the guard, who fell unceremoniously to the ground, as Jackie leaped out, shot past him, and headed for the gatehouse. She had just located the switch marked FRONT GATE by the time the guard had recovered, rushed back into the gatehouse, and brushed her aside with one sweep of an arm. He was about to hit the red panic button when a knee landed in his groin with all the force Jackie could muster.

  The guard doubled over and grabbed his crotch, momentarily stunned, and didn’t see the fist swinging toward his chin. A referee wouldn’t have had to count to ten to confirm he’d been knocked out.

  Danny sat on the guard as Jackie quickly flicked up the switch and the vast wrought-iron gates swung slowly open.

  Seconds later four squad cars that had been waiting around the corner, engines idling, shot past them and headed up the long drive. No lights, no sirens, the drivers thankful for a half moon.

  “How are you going to explain that?” said Danny, looking down at the prostrate figure laying on the ground.

  “Resisting arrest,” said Jackie.

  “Then you’d better pray they find enough evidence of a crime once they get inside the house. Because if they don’t, it won’t be promotion you’ll be looking forward to, but—” said Danny, as the first of the squad cars screeched to a halt outside the hall seventy-two seconds later.

  Lamont leaped out and ran up the steps to the front door. He kept his thumb pressed on the bell while two of the cars swung left into the paddock, blocking the exit for the eight drivers and assorted bodyguards, several of whom were quietly dozing or listening to their car radios.

  Lamont was about to give the order to break down the door when it was opened by possibly the only person in the house who was still fully dressed.

  “Good evening, sir,” said Makins, as if greeting a late guest. “How may I help you?”

  “I am Superintendent Lamont, and I have a warrant to search these premises.” He held up the legal authority, before barging past the butler and into the hall. He was followed by sixteen drugs squad officers and two sniffer dogs, all of whom immediately went to work. None of them could have failed to notice the stench of cannabis in the air.

  Lamont stationed himself in the middle of the hall while his officers spread through the house, ignoring the guests, some of whom were zipping up their trousers, others looking somewhat flustered, while one elderly man appeared to have passed out.

  William was among the last of the team to enter the house. The first thing he noticed was that the Constable landscape was still hanging in the hall, but then he was distracted by something that hadn’t been there when he’d first visited the house over a year ago. He stared in disbelief at a large bust of Miles Faulkner with a falcon on his arm, lit by a single spotlight. He was about to offer his unfettered opinion of its vulgarity, when a voice from above him shouted, “What the hell is going on?”

  William looked up to see Faulkner standing at the top of the stairs in a red silk dressing gown, glaring down at them. He walked slowly down the sweeping marble staircase and stopped directly in front of Lamont. Their noses almost touching.

  “What exactly do you think you’re doing, chief inspector?”

  “Superintendent,” said Lamont. “I have a warrant to search these premises,” he added, holding up an official-looking document.

  “And what were you hoping to find, superintendent? Another Rembrandt perhaps? Not that you’d know one if it was staring you in the face.”

  “We have reason to believe that you are in possession of a large amount of illegal drugs,” said Lamont calmly. “And not just for your personal use, which is contrary to the Misuse of Drugs Act 1971.”

  “I’m sure it is,” said Faulkner, “but I can assure you, superintendent, you will not find any drugs on these premises, as my guests are all law-abiding citizens.” He crossed the hallway and picked up the phone.

  “Who are you calling?” demanded Lamont.

  “My lawyer, which is no more than my legal right, as you well know, superintendent.”

  “Just be sure it’s only your lawyer you’re calling,” barked Lamont. He didn’t take his eyes off Faulkner, as his officers spread through the house.

  After he made the call, Faulkner sat down in an armchair and lit a cigar, while Makins poured him a brandy. By the time his goblet had been refilled a second time, and his cigar was no more than a glowing ember, all the intruders had to show for their troubles was a couple of joints and an Ecstasy tablet. The dogs’ tails, which had previously been wagging eagerly, were now between their legs. William couldn’t resist looking at the paintings that lined the walls as he walked along the corridor and entered Faulkner’s study. No books. Just photos of Faulkner with so-called celebrities. It was then that he spotted it on the desk, and wondered if it was possible.

  He returned to the hall to hear Faulkner asking Lamont, “May I be allowed to get dressed, superintendent, while this charade continues?”

  Lamont didn’t respond immediately, but then reluctantly agreed. “I don’t see why not. But DS Warwick will accompany you. Don’t let him out of your sight, Warwick.”

  “Otherwise, like Peter Pan, I might fly out of the window and never be seen again?” said Faulkner. He rose from his place and began walking up the stairs, with William only a pace behind, this time not even glancing at the pictures on the wall.

  Once they reached the first floor, William followed him along a corridor and into what could only have been the master bedroom. His eyes settled on a Vermeer that hung above the bed, the one Beth had told him had been promised to the Fitzmolean, once Faulkner’s divorce had gone through.

  “Enjoy it while you can,” he said. “Although I have a feeling you may have seen it before,” Faulkner added as the bathroom door opened and a young girl appeared, wearing only her knickers.

  “You didn’t tell me there would be two of you,” she said, giving William a warm smile.

  “Not this time,” said Faulkner. “But I won’t keep you waiting much longer,” he added, as he pulled on a clean shirt.

  The girl looked disappointed, grinned at William, and disappeared back into the bathroom.

  By the time William had recovered, Faulkner was zipping up his jeans and strapping on the Cartier Tank watch William remembered from the first time he’d arrested him. Once he was dressed, Faulkner marched out of the bedroom, headed back downstairs, and returned to his seat in the corner of the hall.

  “Found anything worth reporting back to Commander Hawksby?” he asked Lamont, as Makins refilled his brandy glass. He didn’t receive a reply.

  Lamont was beginning to wonder if Choirboy had been set up by his OSC, who might have recently transferred his allegiance to a new paymaster, someone who was now lighting another cigar. His thoughts were interrupted when the front doorbell rang.

  “Good evening, sir,” said the butler as Mr. Booth Watson strode into the hallway. The QC took his time surveying the carnage around him before he offered an opinion.

  “I can see you’ve had a fruitful outing, superintendent,” he said when his eyes settled on the two small plastic bags, one containing a couple of joints, the other an Ecstasy tablet, both marked Evidence. “No doubt you’ll be calling Commander Hawksby to inform him of your
spectacular triumph.”

  Faulkner laughed, stubbed out his cigar, and strolled across the hall to join his lawyer.

  “Hardly a hanging offense,” continued Booth Watson. “My client, as you well know, superintendent, is a model citizen, who lives a quiet life, devoting a great deal of his time to supporting worthy causes, not least the Fitzmolean Museum, with which I believe you are familiar. So may I suggest, as much for your reputation as my client’s, that the least you can do is release his dinner guests and allow them to return to the bosom of their families, unless of course you feel that any of them might be suppliers of illegal substances, and should be arrested and carted off to the nearest police station.” He paused, staring at the evidence once again. “Although I can’t imagine what the charge would be.”

  Lamont nodded reluctantly, and a few minutes later every one of the guests had quietly left the house, one or two of them accompanied by someone they hadn’t arrived with. Several of them shook hands with Faulkner on the way out, and one even said, “You can call me as a witness, Miles.” Booth Watson made a note of his name and telephone number.

  Once all the guests had left, Booth Watson turned his attention back to Lamont. “You have without doubt, superintendent, caused my client considerable embarrassment, not to mention the damage you’ve done to his relationships, both personal and professional, with some of his oldest friends and most respected colleagues. I cannot begin to imagine what this unwarranted intrusion has already cost the taxpayer. But let me assure you, it is nothing compared to the amount I will be claiming on behalf of my client in compensation for the damage you have done to his beautiful home and his priceless possessions.”

  One or two of the officers looked embarrassed by the sight of the ripped sofas and upended antique furniture sprawled across the floor. Booth Watson graced them with a smile he usually reserved only for juries, while Makins began taking photographs of the wreckage.

  “Keep him talking,” murmured William, as he walked past Lamont and made his way quickly back down the corridor, before disappearing into Faulkner’s study.