“The paintings were far more important to me than the house, but I still expect you to get my five-hundred-thousand-pound deposit back as quickly as possible.”
“The paperwork’s already underway. At least the Vermeer is safe in its new home at the Fitzmolean.”
“Not for much longer.”
“I don’t understand,” said Booth Watson.
“No reason you should, BW. Let’s just say I have plans for it to be reunited with the rest of my collection.”
* * *
“It was kind of you to agree to see me, colonel,” said William when the two men met in the reception area. “I know the commander is looking forward to catching up with you.”
“Hawksby was one of my better junior subalterns. He would have made a damn fine soldier,” said the colonel, as he followed William into the lift. “It will be good to see the young man again after all these years.”
William stifled a smile as he stepped out of the lift and led the colonel down the corridor to the commander’s office. He knocked on the door, and as they entered, the Hawk sprang to attention. “It’s an honor to see you again, sir,” he said.
“At my age, I’m always surprised anyone still remembers me,” said the colonel, as they shook hands.
“How could anyone forget,” said Hawksby. “My generation was raised on Colditz, Dunkirk, and Navarone.”
“So, it wasn’t David Niven who led that raid?” said William, playing along.
“No,” said the colonel, “but I can’t complain. When Niven landed the part it did my reputation with the ladies no harm. So how can I help?”
“May I ask, colonel, if you think DS Warwick’s idea has any merit?”
“It most certainly does, and what’s more I know the ideal man for the job. He’s actually already one of your chaps. When Captain Scott Cairns left the regiment, the Met recruited him to set up its counter-terrorist division, which is more or less the SAS in different-colored uniforms. I think you’ll find it’s fully operational by now, although it’s being kept under wraps.”
“Then we’ll have to unwrap it,” said William. “How do I get in touch with Captain Cairns?”
“I don’t know,” said the colonel. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if he was holed up somewhere in this building.”
“Scotland Yard employs over two thousand people in over three hundred offices on nineteen floors, but if he’s here I’ll have tracked him down before the end of the day,” said the Hawk. “Now all we have to hope is our boys are as good as your lot were.”
“They’re a damn sight better,” said the colonel. “We were a bunch of amateurs by comparison. This new lot are highly trained professionals, who’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done.”
“But are they just as mad?” asked the Hawk.
“Certifiable! It’s still the only essential qualification for the job. But now that I’ve solved your problem, can I ask a favor?”
“Anything,” said the Hawk.
“Since I’ve finally made it to Scotland Yard without being arrested, would it be possible to have a guided tour of the Black Museum?”
* * *
“When’s the baby due?” asked Christina, as William turned off the motorway and followed the signs to Limpton, which brought back so many memories.
“Not long now,” replied Beth.
“You must both be so excited.”
“William’s got one or two other things on his mind at the moment.”
“What could possibly be more important than your firstborn?”
“Arson and art theft,” said William. “But I hope to have solved both cases before Alexander or Vivien make their presence known.”
“Boudicca or Leonardo,” said Beth. “As you can see, we haven’t yet settled on the name. But let’s concentrate on arson for the time being.”
“Proving someone has committed arson is never easy,” said William. “Unless there are obvious, telltale signs, like traces of accelerant on a floorboard, or a petrol-soaked rag that’s been dropped through a letterbox—the sort of crass mistake only amateurs think they could get away with.”
“And the professionals?” asked Christina.
“A pile of tissues placed just below a wooden roof next to an immersion heater, and then one match is all it takes. There aren’t many people serving prison sentences for arson, as it’s one of the easiest crimes to get away with. So, we’ll have to concentrate on proving that Miles stole the pictures before the house went up in flames.”
“Of course he did.”
“However much you believe that’s the case, Christina, and I’m not saying I don’t agree with you, you’ll still need concrete evidence for a case to stand up in a court of law. Without it, vexatious claims from an angry ex-wife tend to be laughed out of court.”
“William,” said Beth sharply, “that’s very harsh after all Christina’s been through.”
“I’m on her side,” said William. “But unless I find what I’m looking for, we’ll all be wasting our time,” he added, as he turned into the lane that led up to Limpton Hall. This time he drove slowly.
“So where do we start?” asked Christina.
“We go over the site with the proverbial fine-tooth comb.”
“What are we looking for?” asked Beth.
“Anything that’s survived the fire.”
William drove past the abandoned gatehouse and on up the long drive, not quite sure what to expect. He only just avoided crashing into a tree when he first caught sight of what was left of the beautiful Lutyens manor house that had once stood so proudly on the hill dominating the surrounding countryside. All that remained was half an acre of ash and rubble.
William parked the car on the drive, opened the boot and took out three sets of overalls, Wellington boots, and rubber gloves. Once they had put them on, the three of them walked across to where the front door had once stood.
“Right,” said William. “We have to be as methodical as possible. We’ll begin on this side and work our way across the site in a straight line, then move three paces to the right and repeat the same exercise on the way back. If you come across anything that has survived the blaze, let me know.”
“Does this count?” asked Beth, bending down and extracting the front door knocker from the ashes.
“A promising start,” said William, after he’d taken a closer look. He dropped their first find into a large black bin liner.
A few minutes later, it was Beth again. This time a bath tap, followed by Christina who added a marble egg. “I bought it when we were on holiday in Athens,” she said, as William took a closer look before dropping the egg into his bag.
Some time passed before William asked, “What’s this?”
The three of them studied the latest find for some time before Christina said, “It’s the winding mechanism from our old grandfather clock. A wedding present,” she added sadly.
“Excellent,” said William, dropping it into his bag.
“Why?” asked Beth.
“Later—we still don’t have enough. But do you need to rest?” he asked, looking anxiously at his wife, who looked tired. “My son won’t thank you if he’s born among the ashes.”
“While my daughter,” said Beth, “for all you know might well be enjoying the search far too much to stop now.”
“What have you forgotten to mention, Mrs. Warwick? Dare I ask?” said William, who stood still in the middle of a pile of ash, staring at his wife.
“Oh, did I forget to tell you, Mr. Warwick, that you are going to be a father of twins?”
William and Beth started jumping up and down and hugging each other, while Christina dropped her bag and began to applaud. It was some time before they returned to the task in hand, when William found it hard to concentrate.
“Is this any use?” asked Christina a few minutes later, handing William a picture hook.
“Our best find yet,” said William, still not having recovered from the news. “Howeve
r, we need as many of them as possible,” he said, before adding the little hook to his collection.
“Why?” demanded Beth.
“Later,” said William.
It was another hour before they’d filled all three large bin liners with countless different objects, when William insisted they should take a break.
“I think we’ve all earned a celebratory lunch at the Limpton Arms,” said Christina, as the bags were deposited in the boot.
“Only if William’s found what he was looking for,” said Beth.
“Sixty-one of them,” said William. “And I think I can now prove the pictures were removed from the house before it was set on fire. Though to be absolutely sure, I’ll still need to visit the Fitzmolean.”
* * *
“The colonel has solved one of our problems,” said Lamont during the Monday morning meeting. “I attended a rehearsal at a block of derelict flats in Croydon last Friday, and can report that Chief Inspector Scott Cairns and his team have got the whole exercise down to well under five minutes.”
“That’s impressive,” said the Hawk. “But it doesn’t solve our problem on the ground, where the lookouts will be able to spot us a mile away, giving them more than enough time to shut up shop and disappear into their boltholes before we can even reach the front door.”
“Is it possible we’re approaching the problem from the wrong direction?” asked William. “Perhaps we should be considering a simpler solution.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Our current plan is to have a dozen armed men hidden in the flat we’ve rented in Block B, and the moment the order’s given, they’ll take control of the walkway and arrest anyone who attempts to escape through that door.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” said Lamont sharply.
“Why not do the exact opposite? We know there’s little or no chance of breaking down, or even getting anywhere near, the slaughter’s reinforced steel door before Rashidi’s safely back in his flat in Block B.”
“That’s exactly why we’ll have armed officers waiting for him on the walkway,” said Lamont.
“But that puts us at an immediate disadvantage,” said William. “First, we have to get at least a dozen men and their equipment up to the twenty-third floor of Block B without anyone spotting them, which in itself would be a minor miracle. Second, even if we did arrest Rashidi and his henchmen as they tried to escape across the walkway, what would we charge them with? Because if they’re represented by some scumbag like Booth Watson, you can be sure he’ll put forward a convincing argument that his law-abiding clients were legitimately making their way to their flats in the other building. They’d be out on bail the same day. No, we have to arrest Rashidi while he’s actually on the premises, or we’ll all be wasting our time.”
“Anyone can raise a problem, DS Warwick,” said Lamont. “It’s finding a solution that’s a little more difficult.”
“Getting a dozen men up to our flat in Block B, along with an armory of guns and other equipment, has always carried the risk of someone working out what we’re up to. Why not cut the chances from twelve to one?”
“And like Horatio,” mused the Hawk, “will he be expected to defend the bridge alone?”
“No, sir, we don’t need Horatio for this job, just a damned good carpenter who, when you give the order, can fix three thick wooden planks across the door on our side of the walkway in a matter of minutes, so the villains will be trapped inside the slaughter, leaving them with only one escape route—the front door. And by the time they realize that, we’ll be standing outside waiting for them.”
“Ingenious,” said Lamont. “But it still leaves us with the problem of what to do about the four lookouts on the ground, and the thug who controls the lift. By the time our boys are halfway up the stairs, Rashidi will be on his way down in the lift, and when he steps out on the ground floor, a picture of innocence, there will be no offense we can charge him with, and the whole operation will have failed. Because one thing’s for certain, the chairman of Marcel and Neffe won’t have any drugs on him.”
“Not if we can make sure the lift is stuck on the ground floor,” said Paul.
“How do you plan to do that, DC Adaja,” asked the Hawk, “when the moment I give the order to mount the operation, a dozen armed vehicles and squad cars will come roaring into the square, giving the lookouts more than enough time to warn Donoghue, who in turn will warn Rashidi? How do we get out of that one, Houdini?”
“We all have to be hidden in plain sight,” said William. “Although I must admit it took me several sleepless nights to figure out something that had been staring me in the face for the past month.” No one interrupted. “There’s no need for us to go charging in like John Wayne, all guns blazing, when we can drive up and park outside the front door without anyone giving us a second look.”
“You’re planning to turn into the invisible man no doubt?” said Lamont. “Even John Wayne didn’t manage that.”
“No, sir. But if Paul were to become a conductor on our own number 118 bus, he would be invisible along with everyone else on board!”
The Hawk and Lamont looked at each other.
“The sleepless nights were worth it, DS Warwick,” said the commander. “I think the commissioner’s going to be impressed by my latest idea.”
They all started banging on the table.
“Right,” said the Hawk, bringing them back to order. “We’ve got our bus conductor, now we need a driver.”
“It has to be Danny Ives,” said William without hesitation.
“Along with sixteen handpicked specialist arms officers from PT17,” said Lamont, “who’ll occupy the lower deck, ready to move at a moment’s notice.”
“However,” said Paul, “the first of them shouldn’t be in uniform or armed to the teeth but in tracksuits and trainers, as they’ll need to take out the four lookouts in under ten seconds, while three other officers tackle Donoghue and commandeer the lift.”
“By which time a dozen heavily armed passengers will be on their way up the stairs, which is when I’ll call upon the counter-terrorist specialists to play their part.”
“We’ll also need a dozen WPCs,” said William, “dressed in civilian clothes.”
“Enlighten me,” said the Hawk.
“Rashidi’s lookouts might become suspicious if they see a passing bus entirely packed with fit young men with crew cuts, not on their way home from work but on their way to work. So, I want there to be a scattering of women dressed like housewives, commuters, shoppers—looking like anything but police officers.”
“Nice touch, William,” said the commander. “But we’ll also have to remove all the seats from the upper deck and set up a command center from where I can oversee the entire operation. Which leaves me with the problem of how to get my hands on a double-decker bus.”
“I’m so glad we’ve found something for you to do, sir,” said Paul, immediately regretting his words.
“As we have for you, DC Adaja. Because once this operation is over, you’ll be well qualified to apply for a job as a bus conductor. But before then, try not to forget who’ll be conducting the orchestra.”
* * *
Once the meeting had broken up and his team had returned to their offices, Hawksby sat back and thought carefully about how he could increase the operation’s chances of success. After a few moments, he pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, took out an unopened Marlboro packet and a felt-tipped pen. He tore off the cellophane wrapping, flicked the pack open, and emptied the cigarettes onto his desk.
He removed the foil and thought carefully about the simple message he needed to convey. After a few moments he wrote, 11 p.m., 12th, then put the foil back into place. He closed the top and slipped the pack into an inside pocket, then made his way out of his office and took the lift to the basement. He left by the back entrance of the building, turned right, and headed for Westminster Cathedral. This time he went in by the front door, not as a pri
est but a parishioner.
He walked slowly down the left-hand aisle, admiring Eric Gill’s Jesus Is Nailed to the Cross. When he reached his target, he looked around before unlocking the offertory box and placing the cigarette packet in one corner. He then closed the lid and locked it, finally dropping fifty pence through the little slot to assuage his guilt.
He decided to walk home. Quite some distance, but he needed the exercise, and time to think about his speech.
* * *
“Superintendent Lamont has been in touch,” said Booth Watson, taking a seat opposite his client in the prison’s private consultation room. He opened his briefcase, extracted some papers and placed them on the glass table between them. “He’s applied for a production order under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, and he wants to interview you as soon as possible.”
“So, am I to be transferred to an open prison?” asked Faulkner. “Or is my sentence going to be halved for good behavior?”
“Neither. Lamont wants to question you about two other crimes they think you might have been involved in.”
“Like what?” said Faulkner.
“Arson, for starters. They have reason to believe you were responsible for burning down your own home.”
“While I was locked up in here?”
“Along with the theft of seventy-two paintings from the house before it was burned down, valued at approximately thirty million pounds,” said Lamont, ignoring the outburst.
“But they went up in smoke with the house.”
“Lamont doesn’t think so, and claims he can prove it.”
“Sherlock Holmes couldn’t prove it.”
“But William Warwick has.”
“Not that damn man again.”
“He spent a day raking through the ashes of Limpton Hall, and has found sixty-one picture hooks.”
“That only proves the paintings were there at the time of the fire.”
“On the contrary, he says it proves they weren’t. It’s not what he’s found that’s important, but what he didn’t find. And before you say anything, Miles, I suggest you remain silent until you’ve answered a couple of questions I feel sure the superintendent is likely to ask you.”
Hidden in Plain Sight Page 22
