Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(11)

‘And what might that be?’ asked the Hawk, whose eyes remained focused on the yacht.

‘I don’t understand,’ said William, genuinely puzzled. ‘If Booth Watson doesn’t realize Faulkner’s back in Belmarsh, where does he think he is?’

‘Locked up in a safe that no one other than Miles has a key for,’ suggested Christina, speaking for the first time. ‘And that’s why they think he’s dead. Suffocated.’

The Hawk lowered his binoculars and looked at William. That would explain why Booth Watson hasn’t been in touch with Scotland Yard and demanded his release.

‘If he was aware that Miles had somehow managed to get out of the safe,’ Christina continued, ‘Booth Watson would have been on the next plane to London and not sailing back on Miles’s yacht.’

‘Chapeau,’ said Sir Julian, bowing respectfully to his client.

William didn’t look convinced.

‘We’ll find out soon enough,’ said Christina, ‘because if I’m right there’ll be something on board that Miles would never have considered bringing back to England.’

‘And what might that be?’ asked the commander.

‘A hundred and ninety-one oil paintings I haven’t seen for a very long time,’ said Christina, ‘but will be delighted to be reacquainted with, as half of them belong to me.’

? ? ?

‘What am I missing?’ asked Booth Watson of a passing seagull, which only squawked an unintelligible reply. Why are those four waiting on the dockside for me, he wondered. And how did they find out where the yacht was heading? ‘Do they realize Miles is dead?’ he asked finally, but the seagull was no more responsive.

‘If they don’t,’ said Captain Redmayne, ‘they’ll assume he’s on board, and I expect it’s him they’re waiting for.’

‘If that was the case,’ said Booth Watson, ‘Sir Julian and Mrs Faulkner wouldn’t be there. She must think the paintings are on board.’ He continued to consider every possible alternative, but had to admit he ended up none the wiser. Eventually he repeated, ‘What am I missing?’ aware it wouldn’t be too long before he found out.

? ? ?

None of them moved from their positions on the quayside until the yacht was finally tied up and the gangway had been lowered into place.

Sir Julian watched as his old adversary strode down the gangway with an air of confidence that made him realize he’d had more than enough time to prepare the case for the defence.

William greeted him with the words, ‘My name is—’

‘I’m well aware who you are, Chief Inspector,’ said Booth Watson. ‘The only thing I’m not sure about is why you’re here.’

‘I want to question you about Miles Faulkner, as we have reason to believe that—’

‘Clearly you need reminding, Chief Inspector, that my distinguished client is dead.’

‘Sadly not,’ responded the commander, ‘and I suspect you don’t realize the escaped convict is back in Belmarsh where he belongs.’

Sir Julian looked carefully at his old rival, and had to admire the sphinx-like expression that settled on Booth Watson’s face as he considered his options. He first looked at the commander, followed by William, and then Sir Julian. It wasn’t until his eyes settled on Mrs Faulkner that he worked out the only reason she could possibly be there.

Sir Julian could almost see his mind ticking over, but even he was taken by surprise when Booth Watson turned to Christina and said, ‘I have carried out your instructions to the letter, Mrs Faulkner, and brought back your husband’s art collection from Spain. On our way to London, perhaps we should discuss where you would like the paintings delivered?’

A masterstroke, admitted Sir Julian, if only to himself.

They all turned to face Mrs Faulkner, not sure which way she would jump.

Christina also took her time considering the alternatives, before she finally turned to her legal adviser and said sweetly, ‘I won’t be needing your services any longer, Sir Julian.’ And without another word, Christina walked over to her waiting car, where Booth Watson joined her on the back seat.

As the Mercedes moved slowly off, Sir Julian turned to the commander and said, ‘Can you give me a lift back to London?’





CHAPTER 5





THE WALLS OF THE LEGAL consultation room at Belmarsh prison were made of glass. The table in the centre was fixed to the floor, and also made of glass. The white plastic chairs were screwed to the floor in order to ensure that the prisoner and his legal adviser remained at arm’s length. The guards might not be able to hear what was being said inside, but they could watch every movement that took place during the designated hour, including any attempts to pass drugs, contraband or even weapons to an inmate.

Booth Watson turned up unusually early at the prison gates that morning, and not just because he hadn’t slept for the past thirty-six hours. After he’d been searched and his Gladstone bag, crammed with legal papers, had been rifled through, he signed the inevitable release form before being escorted by a senior officer to the interview wing. Neither of them spoke. They despised each other.

As they approached the glass cage, Booth Watson could see that his client, dressed in regulation blue and white striped prison shirt and well-worn jeans, was already seated at the glass table waiting for him. He could read nothing from the sphinx-like expression on his face.