“Then I’ll have to be satisfied with what they raise at auction.”
“I think that might be advisable, Mrs. Faulkner, and don’t forget you have already had an offer of five million for Limpton Hall, and I’ve had it confirmed that the five hundred thousand pounds has been deposited with the other side’s solicitors.”
“Which will make it possible for me to put down a deposit on my dream house in Florida on the same terms.”
“When are you thinking of moving to the States?”
“As soon as the paintings have been sold. Christie’s have valued the collection at around thirty million, and will be picking them up next week, ready for their spring sale. The timing couldn’t be better.”
“Are you confident that they’re all originals, and not copies?” asked Sir Julian. “Something your ex is well capable of arranging.”
“I’m certain. They’ve all been authenticated by the relevant experts at Christie’s. Otherwise I would never have signed the divorce papers.”
“And where will you live once Limpton Hall is sold?”
“In our apartment in Eaton Square. It’s only got a few months left on the lease, but that should be more than enough to see me through before I take up residence in Florida.”
“Then everything is settled, unless there is anything else you need to seek my advice on?”
“Yes. I have a gift for your daughter-in-law, or to be more accurate, the Fitzmolean. It’s my way of saying thank you for all your family has done for me.”
She picked up a Sainsbury’s carrier bag by her side, took out a small painting, and held it up for Sir Julian to admire. He stared in awe at The White Lace Collar by Vermeer, the masterpiece Beth had raved about after having tea with Christina at Limpton Hall.
“That’s extremely generous of you,” he said. “But are you sure you’re willing to part with such a valuable painting?”
“Quite sure,” said Christina. “After all, there are seventy-two more where that came from.”
* * *
The phone was ringing on his side of the bed, but he didn’t manage to grab it before a heavily pregnant Beth had turned over and groaned.
“Sorry,” he whispered, as he picked it up. “Who’s this?”
“Hawksby.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Get yourself to Battersea heliport as quickly as possible, DS Warwick. A car will be with you in a few minutes’ time. Don’t keep me waiting.”
“Anything I ought to know, sir?”
“It’s snowing,” said the Hawk before the line went dead.
William put the phone down and quickly threw on yesterday’s clothes, before kissing Beth, which elicited a second groan, as he headed for the door.
“Where are you off to at this time in the morning, Caveman?”
“I wish I knew,” he said, and had closed the bedroom door before she could ask any more questions he couldn’t answer. As he opened the front door a squad car was pulling up outside.
“Morning, sarge,” said a familiar voice as the car drove off through the falling snow.
“Morning, Danny. Any idea what’s going on?”
“Above my pay grade. All I know is that I’ve got to get you to Battersea heliport sharpish, where you’ll meet up with Commander Hawksby.”
Danny sped off down Royal Hospital Road, blue light flashing, but no siren. “Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors, would we?”
“Or Beth,” said William, as he thought about his pregnant wife. Not long now.
There wasn’t much traffic on the road at that time in the morning, so Danny didn’t need to perform his usual box of tricks, though William still had to cling on to the dashboard whenever he took a corner, as if they were on a vast skid pad.
“I bet the Hawk’s already standing there waiting for us,” said William, as they shot across Battersea Bridge and took a sharp left.
“Sitting, actually, sarge, in the back of the helicopter.”
“Of course he is,” said William, as they passed through the front gate of the heliport. He jumped out of the car as it skidded to a halt, nearly losing his balance as he sloshed through the snow to the waiting helicopter. He dived into the back.
“Good morning, sir,” William said, as he strapped himself in.
“A perfect morning for what I have in mind, DS Warwick,” responded the commander as the rotor blades began to spin. “As you’re about to find out.”
“Where are we going?”
“Wrong question. It’s not where we’re going that’s important, but what we’re looking for. So keep your eyes peeled.”
“Any clues?” asked William, as the helicopter rose into the sky, and he looked back over his shoulder to see the House of Commons covered in snow, looking like a Christmas card.
“Not if you’re hoping for your next promotion.”
The helicopter banked left and headed southeast, leaving Westminster behind them.
“Any observations you want to share with me?” asked the Hawk after a few minutes.
“We’re flying over Wandsworth, Southwark, and Brixton,” said William. “So we must be looking for tower blocks, and one in particular?”
“You’re halfway there,” said the commander, as the pilot made a smooth 180-degree turn, before heading back toward Brixton. “So, what’s unusual about this morning?”
“It’s snowing heavily,” said William, but didn’t add, so what?
“You’re so sharp, DS Warwick, you could peel an apple.”
They flew over Battersea Bridge for a second time, but William was still none the wiser, although the commander clearly knew exactly what he was looking for, as his eyes remained focused on the buildings below.
After the pilot had turned back for a third time and took a slightly different route, the Hawk suddenly declared, “There it is, staring us both in the face.”
“There’s what?” said William, as the helicopter swooped down to hover for a moment above one particular tower block.
“Take a closer look, DS Warwick, and tell me what you see. Or more important, what you don’t see.”
William stared through the falling snow and then suddenly let out a yelp of triumph. “Got it!”
“What have you got, DS Warwick?”
“The roof that isn’t covered in snow.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“Has to be above a drugs factory where they’re growing cannabis.”
“Why?”
“Because the rising heat from the massive arc lights inside is melting the snow the moment it settles.”
“In one. So now we’ve discovered where Rashidi’s slaughter is, we can move on to the more difficult challenge of how we get inside without him realizing we know his most closely guarded secret.”
A job for your UCO, thought William, but didn’t offer his opinion as the helicopter headed back to Battersea. If he had mentioned it, the commander would have agreed with him, although he wouldn’t have told him he had an appointment with Marlboro Man later that morning.
* * *
“What’s it going to cost me?”
“In and out, clean job, five grand cash should do it,” his fellow prisoner said, as they continued their slow perambulation around the yard. “But it won’t be possible if anyone else is on the premises.”
“Then it will have to be on a Friday,” said Faulkner. “That’s the housekeeper’s day off when she visits her mother in Sevenoaks. They have lunch together and go to the local cinema, before she spends the evening at her mother’s house. She’s rarely back at the Hall much before eleven.”
“You seem remarkably clued-in about her movements, remembering we’re banged up in here.”
“Although my ex-wife has sacked most of the staff, she’s kept my chauffeur on. He’s currently receiving two pay packets a week, and I pay both of them.”
“How do I get paid?”
“Makins, who used to be my butler, will be waiting at the Hall next Sat
urday evening. He has another job to do for me during the day, so if your man turns up at around seven, he’ll receive the first thousand.”
“And the rest?”
“You’ll get that when it’s clear for all to see that the job’s been done.”
They shook hands. The only way a contract can be closed in prison. A long buzzer sounded, and the prisoners began to drift out of the yard and make their way slowly back to their cells.
“And the young man?” said Faulkner before they went their separate ways. “Don’t forget we’ll need his services the night before.”
“Got the ideal person for the assignment. But that will cost you another grand.”
“I’ll need to make a phone call this evening,” Faulkner murmured as he passed the duty officer.
“No problem, Mr. Faulkner. I’ll come and get you around seven o’clock.”
23
Christina picked him up in Tramp, fed him, plied him with champagne, and then took him back to her flat in Eaton Square. She knew it ought to be the other way around, but she was no longer twenty-two or thirty-two, and it wouldn’t be long before she was forty-two. When she woke the following morning, she was surprised to find Justin was still there, looking just as appetizing as he had the night before. Bless him.
She slipped out from under the covers and made her way into the bathroom, where she tried to remove a few years with the help of a little makeup and a dab of perfume, before returning to bed to pretend she’d just woken. She began to stroke the inside of his leg, slowly arousing him, until he could no longer control himself. After they’d made love for the third time—or was it the fourth?—they enjoyed a long bath and an even longer breakfast, over which she discovered Justin didn’t have a job. But then why would one bother when you were that good looking?
Christina began to wonder if she could hold on to him until she moved to Florida. As he was leaving he asked if she could lend him a fiver for a taxi. She gave him ten, and they agreed to meet for dinner that night. She checked her watch, aware she’d have to get moving if she was going to make it to Limpton Hall by eleven, when she would be overseeing the loading of the paintings by Christie’s.
As she left the flat, the chauffeur saluted and opened the back door of the Bentley so she could get in. Eddie climbed behind the wheel and they set off for Hampshire.
Once the pictures had been collected by Christie’s, Christina intended to ask Partridge’s in Bond Street to value the furniture, as she had no intention of taking anything to Florida that would remind her of Miles. For a moment she almost felt sorry for him. But only for a moment. Ten years was more than she’d expected, but no more than she’d prayed for.
An hour later, as they were passing through the village of Limpton, her mind drifted back to Justin, and where she would take him to dinner, when a police car overtook them. Annabel’s was the obvious choice. Not much chance of him picking up another woman there. They would either be accounted for or out of his financial league. And then she realized he hadn’t given her his phone number, and she didn’t know his surname.
Eddie turned left off the main road and down a lane that led to only one house, Limpton Hall. That was when she first saw the smoke. There was no one on duty as they drove past the gatehouse. She’d sacked the guard, the butler, the cook, and the gardener some time ago, retaining only a housekeeper and the chauffeur to look after her on the few occasions she needed to visit her country home.
Long before they’d reached the end of the drive Christina began screaming hysterically. Deep orange flames were leaping into the air and spitting their way through thick black clouds of smoke. It was clear that the three fire engines in attendance were fighting a hopeless battle.
Four hours later, despite the firefighters’ gallant efforts, all that was left of Limpton Hall was a large pile of rubble and smoldering ash, while a vast black cloud obscured the morning sun. Christina hadn’t noticed that Eddie didn’t seem surprised.
* * *
“Are you growing a beard, Caveman?” asked Beth after supper that evening. She leaned across the kitchen table and stroked the stubble on his chin.
“Depends how long my present assignment lasts.”
“Not for too much longer, I hope,” she said, getting up to stack the dishwasher, while he cleared the table. “What have we got planned for this evening? Assuming you aren’t called out at a moment’s notice to save the world?”
“I was hoping a beautiful damsel would gently stroke my forehead while I watched Match of the Day.”
“Think again, Caveman. I’ve already chosen a film that I’m sure will suit your lowbrow tastes.”
“Lots of sexy women?”
“No, but the men are dishy,” she said, as she closed the dishwasher and began to lay the table for breakfast.
“Dare I ask?”
“The Guns of Navarone, starring David Niven and Gregory Peck,” said Beth, as they strolled through to the living room.
“I would have preferred Kerry Dixon scoring the winning goal against Arsenal.”
“Well then, you’re out of luck. But before David Niven strokes my forehead, there’s something a little more serious I have to discuss with you.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“There’s a major appointment coming up at the Fitzmolean.”
“Will you be applying?”
“No, I’m not qualified for the job. But you are,” Beth said as she lowered herself gently onto the sofa and took his hand.
“Enlighten me, as the Hawk would say.”
“The Fitz is looking for a new head of security.”
“Sounds exciting,” said William, stifling a yawn.
“What’s exciting about it is that the hours are nine to five, five days a week, with three weeks’ holiday a year. And the clincher is that the pay’s better than you’re getting as a detective sergeant with the Met.”
“Sounds to me like a job for a retired officer who wants to supplement his pension.”
“I knew you’d say that. But at least promise me you’ll think about it.”
“I already have. Now can we watch the film?”
“Not yet, because I have another piece of news that’s not quite so pleasing.”
“You’d be my boss?”
“I already am. Be serious for a moment,” she said, not letting go of his hand. “Christina called just before you got back this evening. She sounded in a dreadful state. Said she needed to see me urgently. My first thought was she must have changed her mind about giving us the Vermeer.”
“It wouldn’t have been mine,” said William. “But then you’ve always been a glass half-empty person.”
“But it’s the official unveiling next week, just in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I expect she’s just overreacting to something her ex-husband has done,” he said, as he switched on the TV. “But what exactly can he get up to while he’s in jail?”
“I don’t know, but she did sound desperate,” Beth said, as the opening titles began to roll. “And I wouldn’t know what to do if she—”
“Shh,” said William, as she settled in his arms. “This looks quite promising.”
Beth was beginning to enjoy the company of David Niven and Gregory Peck, even if William had fallen asleep, when, to her surprise, he suddenly sat bolt upright and said, “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Think of what?” said Beth.
“How to get into a building without being seen.”
* * *
They’d agreed to meet at the Fitzmolean at nine the following morning, which only made Beth more apprehensive. Nine o’clock was not an hour she normally associated with Christina. It didn’t help that Christina burst into tears the moment she saw a picture draped in a velvet cloth hanging in the entrance hall. She began to tell Beth in fits and starts why she needed to see her so urgently. Beth began to wonder if she’d seen The White Lace Collar for the last time.
“He’s done what?” she said, u
nable to believe what Christina was telling her.
“Miles has burned down the house and stolen my pictures.”
“But he’s in jail.”
“Surrounded by some of the country’s leading criminals, who would have been only too happy to oblige, as long as the price was right.”
“Well, at least you have one consolation,” said Beth. “The insurance will cover your loss.”
“No, it won’t.”
“How come?”
“Because Miles deliberately let the insurance lapse.”
“But didn’t the insurance company warn you that the policy was about to expire?”
“Yes, they did. But because I already had an offer on the table of five million for Limpton Hall, and the buyer had put down a deposit of half a million, I assumed the sale would be completed quickly. But of course, the buyer has now withdrawn his offer, and wants his deposit back.”
“Understandably,” said Beth, while she tried to think about the consequences. “But why didn’t you at least reinsure the paintings?”
“Because once they were in Christie’s possession, they’d be covered by their overall company policy. I’d already signed a contract with them, and the pictures were due to be collected on Monday, so I didn’t give it a thought. Although Miles clearly had.”
“But if he did get someone to burn the house down, there’s certain to be a police investigation, bearing in mind who’s involved.”
“Unlikely,” said Christina. “No insurance company had to pay up, and the chief fire examiner’s report states that he found no reason to suspect arson. An old house with faulty wiring, and no one on the premises at the time.”
“What a nightmare,” said Beth.
“All dreamed up by Miles. And it gets worse. I’ve put down a deposit on my dream home in Florida, and if I don’t complete in less than three weeks…” Christina burst into tears. “And it doesn’t help that I know he’s stolen the pictures and got away with it.”
Hidden in Plain Sight Page 20
