Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(33)

‘I already have a back-up following him to cover that eventuality.’

‘You can’t trust anyone nowadays,’ commented Miles. ‘Least of all a bent ex-copper with a history of backing losers, whether they’re nags or fillies.’ He quickly changed tack. ‘What about the more important contract, which will determine if I’ll get to enjoy the before life again?’

Booth Watson glanced at the clock on the wall: 10.25. He’d hoped there would be several more questions before he had to move on.

‘It’s important,’ he emphasized, replacing the first contract with another, ‘that you read this contract even more carefully, as the rest of your life depends on it.’

Faulkner looked at a document that had been typed up on Crown Prosecution headed paper, which Booth Watson had slipped into his bag during a visit to their offices on Petty France earlier in the week.

‘I can’t believe the CPS has agreed to such favourable terms,’ he said long before he reached the last page.

‘I allowed the director to read my opening speech to the jury,’ said Booth Watson. ‘It helped to concentrate his mind on the alternatives.’

‘You seem to have covered everything, BW,’ said Faulkner, checking the last paragraph once again.

Let’s hope so, thought Booth Watson. ‘Do you have any questions before you sign?’

‘Just one. Can you explain the significance of the non-disclosure clause, and the repercussions should I break it?’

‘Put simply, if at any time in the future you were to mention what took place at your home in Spain last September, the deal would be off and you’d be arrested, returned to prison, have to complete your original sentence, and possibly face new charges. So whatever you do, Miles, don’t say a word to anyone other than me until the judge passes sentence.’ He paused to make sure the threat had sunk in. ‘Anything else?’ he asked, stealing another glance at the clock: 10.51. Still time to kill.

‘I had a word with my parole officer on Monday,’ said Faulkner, ‘and he made no mention of an early release.’

‘He won’t be put in the picture until after you’ve signed the agreement. Once you’ve done that, he’ll simply carry out orders from above.’

‘Where do I sign?’

‘You don’t. That’s just a copy for you to hold on to. I’d advise you to keep it away from prying eyes.’

There was a firm rap on the door, and they turned to see the duty officer standing there. ‘Five minutes, sir.’

‘Mr Harris,’ said Booth Watson, ‘I wonder if I might call upon your services. My client is about to sign an important legal document, and I need someone to witness his signature.’

‘Happy to oblige,’ said Harris.

Booth Watson took three new agreements from his Gladstone bag and placed them on the table in front of him. He then turned to the last page of each one. Faulkner was pleased to see that Sir Julian had already signed all three of them. The duty officer waited for Faulkner to add his signature, before scribbling his name and occupation on the dotted line below.

Once both of them had signed all three documents, Booth Watson didn’t wait for the ink to dry before he dropped them back into his bag.

‘Thank you, Mr Harris,’ he said to the innocent bystander. Turning back to Faulkner, he added, ‘That completes our business for today.’ Booth Watson picked up his bag then stood aside to allow the guard to accompany his prisoner back to the cells while he left in the opposite direction.

‘Good luck!’ shouted Faulkner as he was led away. Booth Watson turned nervously, unsure what his client was referring to. ‘Be sure to give my love to Christina when you see her this afternoon.’

? ? ?

When Christina was dropped off at the bank later that afternoon, she found Booth Watson already waiting by the entrance. His Gladstone bag had been replaced by two large black empty suitcases.

After a brief salutation, he led her towards the lifts on the other side of the foyer. It was clear he knew exactly where he was going. They didn’t speak to each other during the short journey to the basement. When the lift doors opened, they were greeted with the words, ‘Good morning, Mr Booth Watson. My name is Bradshaw. I’m the bank’s security officer. Please allow me to accompany you to the safe-deposit vault.’

Without another word, he led them along a well-lit corridor to the entrance of the bank’s vault. Bradshaw entered an eight-digit code on a panel in the wall, and waited for a moment before pulling open the vast circular steel door to allow his two customers to enter the private domain. A large wooden table dominated the centre of the room, and as far as Christina could see the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with numbered boxes: a bank’s library.

Bradshaw checked his clipboard before selecting a key from a large ring, knelt down in front of two of the largest boxes in the room, and turned his key in the bank’s lock. Booth Watson then produced his key and opened the customer’s lock. Bradshaw pulled out the two heavy boxes, heaved them up onto the table, and said, ‘I’ll leave you now, sir. Once you’ve completed your business, just press the green button by the door and it will automatically open. I’ll be waiting on the other side.’

Booth Watson waited until Bradshaw had left, and the vast door had been slammed shut behind him, before he lifted the lids of the boxes to reveal row upon row of freshly minted fifty-pound notes neatly sealed in bundles of five thousand pounds. Twenty minutes later they had completed the task of transferring the cash from the strongboxes into the two suitcases.