Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(7)

‘And as I’ll remind the jury, Faulkner was unconscious when we opened the safe,’ said William, checking his report. ‘Lieutenant Sanchez of the Spanish police had to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to revive him.’

The commander said, ‘Booth Watson’s next question will be, “Why didn’t you immediately call for an ambulance?”’

Ross considered the question for a moment before he said, ‘I was about to when Faulkner came around, and managed a few words. He was pretty incoherent, but he pleaded with me—’

‘Insisted, would sound more convincing,’ suggested the Hawk.

‘He insisted on seeing his own doctor. I assumed they would be Spanish, but Faulkner told me his name was Dr Simon Redwood, and his practice was at 122 Harley Street.’

The Hawk turned to William. ‘Then what happened?’

‘We drove Faulkner to the airport, where his private jet was preparing for take-off.’

‘How convenient,’ suggested Hawksby. ‘But surely the pilot asked you why you hadn’t taken Faulkner to the nearest hospital? And before you answer, we should assume Booth Watson will put him in the witness box.’

‘He did ask that question,’ said Ross, sounding rather pleased with himself. ‘And I told him I was simply carrying out Mr Faulkner’s orders. I said he was welcome to express his opinion to his boss if he wanted to. But he didn’t.’

‘That was fortunate, wasn’t it, Inspector?’ said the Hawk, making no attempt to hide his sarcasm. ‘However, you’re still going to have to explain to the jury why, when you landed at Heathrow, you didn’t take Faulkner straight to Harley Street, but had him driven to Belmarsh, London’s highest security prison.’

‘It was five o’clock in the morning,’ said William. ‘I did ring the Harley Street surgery from the car, but all I got was an answerphone saying the practice opened at nine o’clock.’

‘Was the time of that call recorded?’ demanded the Hawk.

‘Yes, sir. At 5.07. I called back just after nine and told Dr Redwood he could visit his patient in the prison hospital at his convenience, and carry out a full examination. He did so later that morning.’

‘Thank God one of you was thinking on his feet,’ said the Hawk. ‘However, I would suggest you both make sure you’re singing from the same hymn sheet long before the case comes to court, as I can assure you that once Booth Watson returns from Spain, and has had a chance to consult his client, he’ll quickly realize he has more than enough ammunition to drive a coach and horses through your evidence. You’ll both have to pray that the jury accepts Ross’s version of events rather than Faulkner’s. Because if they find out that you seized Miles Faulkner illegally, and then dragged him back to England, you could both end up sharing a cell together.’

The phone on his desk began to ring. The Hawk grabbed it and almost shouted, ‘I thought I said no calls, Angela.’ He listened for a moment before saying, ‘Put him through.’





CHAPTER 3





THE CAPTAIN OF FAULKNER’S YACHT felt something wasn’t quite right when he double-checked their course. That same feeling had lingered ever since the beginning of the voyage, when he’d watched in disbelief as the staff from the villa had loaded all the paintings onto his yacht, before placing them in the hold. As there was no sign of the boss, he didn’t lift a finger to assist them.

‘Will Mr Faulkner be joining us?’ he’d asked, when Booth Watson came onto the bridge.

‘No,’ said Booth Watson. ‘He’s been unexpectedly detained. But his instructions couldn’t have been clearer.’

Captain Redmayne didn’t believe him, as he’d never known Mr Faulkner to be parted from his art collection. He had been warned several times that if the boss wanted to leave in a hurry, he wouldn’t risk going by car, or boarding his own plane, as long as there was the slightest chance of him being arrested. That was why the yacht always had to be ready to set sail at a moment’s notice. So where was he? That was a question the captain didn’t bother to ask Booth Watson, as he thought it unlikely he’d get an honest answer. ‘So where is our next port of call?’ had been his only question.

Booth Watson had already considered several alternatives, but accepted that he’d have to take the odd risk. He’d eventually said, ‘Anywhere on the south coast of England where the customs officials aren’t averse to receiving a bonus for not checking the cargo too carefully.’

Captain Redmayne looked uncertain, as that was not the destination Mr Faulkner had expressly told him would be their next port of call, should they have to make an unscheduled departure. He wanted to protest, but accepted he didn’t have the authority to disobey the boss’s representative on earth.

‘I know the ideal port,’ Captain Redmayne had eventually said, ‘and can even give you a name. But be warned, you’ll need a thousand pounds in cash if you expect a rubber stamp to land on all the right documents.’

Booth Watson had glanced at the Gladstone bag that rarely left his side. If you worked for Miles Faulkner long enough, you always carried enough cash to cover such eventualities. As they’d sailed out of the secreted inlet, he didn’t once look back on the carnage he’d left behind.