Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(36)

Lamont wheeled the two cases into his office but, before he could ask, Booth Watson handed him a thick brown envelope and said, ‘Goodnight, Superintendent.’ He didn’t add, I won’t be needing your services again.

After Lamont had closed the door behind him, Booth Watson locked it, walked over to the window and watched as the black Volvo made its way back across the square. He didn’t move until the barrier had gone down and the car was out of sight.

He sat down in his chair and licked his lips as he stared at the two suitcases. He’d already decided what he was going to do with the ten million, and his disappearance had been planned like a military operation. Miles Faulkner had taught him a great deal over the years.

A taxi had been booked to take him to Heathrow at six o’clock that morning. He checked his watch. Just over an hour’s time. At the airport, he would board a private jet for Hong Kong. That hadn’t come cheap, but it would cut down the chances of bumping into anyone he knew while carrying luggage that he couldn’t let out of his sight. Once he touched down in the protectorate, he would be met by a senior executive of a private bank that didn’t pick up clients after midnight. Well, not for less than ten million. A security van would deliver the two cases to the bank, while the senior executive would drop Booth Watson off at an unfashionable hotel.

After the money had been deposited, he would fly South African Airways, business class, to Cape Town, where he would stay overnight in an airport hotel, but only overnight. The following morning American Airways would take him to San Francisco, where he would board a shuttle bus to Seattle, his final destination. No one would find him there, least of all a man who was going to spend the next fourteen years in jail.

He glanced across the square to see a taxi coming to a halt by the barrier. He’d have just one look before asking the driver to carry the two cases downstairs. He unzipped one of the bags, and could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he stared down at the neatly stacked contents. Row upon row of paperback books were crammed next to each other. He clumsily unzipped the second case, to discover it was full of hardbacks. An envelope marked ‘Personal’ addressed to ‘Miles Faulkner, prisoner No.0249’ had been placed on top of them. He tore it open and read the short, handwritten note.



Booth Watson fell on his knees and threw up as the taxi drew up outside number 5 Fetter Chambers. The cabbie turned off the engine and waited for his passenger.

? ? ?

‘What time did you turn up at the bank?’ asked Grace.

‘A few minutes after five,’ said Sir Julian, his eyes lighting up as Clare placed a plate of eggs, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms and sausage in front of him on the kitchen table.

‘I thought banks closed at four on a Friday afternoon.’

‘They do,’ said Sir Julian, unscrewing the top of a bottle of HP sauce. ‘But as I’ve been with Barclays for over forty years, and have never once been overdrawn’ – neither of them doubted it – ‘they were only too happy to make an exception.’

‘What did they do,’ asked Clare, ‘when you presented them with two suitcases?’

‘Locked them in a strongroom for the weekend, and gave me a receipt in the name of Mrs Christina Faulkner.’

‘Weren’t you tempted to take a quick peek inside?’ asked Clare.

‘Certainly not,’ said Sir Julian as he tucked into his breakfast. ‘That wasn’t part of my brief.’

‘I can’t quite visualize you in a chauffeur’s uniform, Dad,’ said Grace.

‘Including the peaked cap!’ volunteered Clare.

‘It gets worse,’ said Sir Julian. ‘I had to park on a double yellow line outside the bank, and ended up with a parking ticket.’

‘I’m sure Mrs Faulkner will be happy to reimburse you,’ said Clare, making a note under expenses.

‘You have to promise me not to tell your mother what I’ve been up to.’

‘Do you mean the day job?’ said Grace, grinning.

‘No, I mean what I had for breakfast.’





CHAPTER 15





‘SO FOR THE PAST FEW weeks,’ said William, ‘Jackie has been reeling Constable Smart in, and if she does decide to cooperate with us, we’ll have more than enough evidence to throw the book at Milner and his cohorts for fraud on a gigantic scale.’

‘And DS Adaja?’ the Hawk asked. ‘What’s he been up to in Windsor?’

‘He’s gathered more than enough proof of racial prejudice, but nothing Milner won’t dismiss as barrack-room humour.’

Hawksby frowned. ‘It’s a problem the force is going to have to deal with in time if we hope to attract people as able as Paul in the future.’

‘He also thinks he may be on to something Milner won’t be able to dismiss out of hand,’ William added. ‘But doesn’t want to say anything until he has sufficient evidence to leave a jury in no doubt of his guilt.’

‘The idea of a young immigrant from Ghana bringing down the head of Royalty Protection has a certain irony about it,’ said the commander with a wry smile.

‘That’s the problem with racial prejudice,’ said William. ‘It won’t have crossed Milner’s mind that Paul just might be as clever as he is.’