Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(82)

‘In which case, Faulkner wouldn’t hesitate to tell the court what Booth Watson had been up to behind his back.’

‘Who are they more likely to believe?’ asked Sir Julian. ‘A man currently serving a sentence for fraud and absconding from prison, or one of the leading counsels at the bar?’

‘But if Booth Watson was found to have misrepresented his client, he’d have so much to lose.’

‘But so much to gain if he pulled it off,’ said Sir Julian. ‘Think about it, my boy. BW isn’t far off retirement, and he knows where all the bodies are buried, including one of the finest art collections in private hands. So if Faulkner were to end up spending the next fourteen years in prison, he could live a life of luxury during that time. BW might not even be around to face the music by the time Faulkner is finally released. And you can’t kill a dead man.’

William thought about his father’s words for some time before saying, ‘Could you make an application to see the judge in chambers and express your concerns?’

‘I could. But I can assure you he won’t change his mind about the length of the sentence, unless I have some fresh evidence to present.’

‘There’s something else you ought to know about,’ said William.

? ? ?

‘Is that your signature?’ asked William, turning to the last page of the agreement.

‘Yes, it is,’ said Faulkner. ‘And although you have no reason to believe me, Superintendent, I can assure you it’s the first time I’ve ever seen this document.’

‘I do believe you,’ said William, to Miles’s surprise. ‘And perhaps more importantly, so does my father.’

‘So what’s he going to do about it?’

‘He’s already made an appointment to see the trial judge, when I suspect he’ll be the first Prosecuting Counsel ever to plead clemency on behalf of a defendant.’

‘Perhaps he’ll manage to get another couple of years off my sentence, so I end up only serving six? Big deal!’

‘My father intends to make it clear to the judge,’ William continued, ignoring the riposte, ‘that the information you supplied about the planned suicide attack at the Albert Hall unquestionably saved countless lives.’

‘If that’s all you have to offer,’ said Miles, ‘I may as well plead not guilty, and take you down with me.’

‘My father will also leave the judge in no doubt about the consequences of your changing your plea to not guilty, not only for DI Hogan and myself, but for the reputation of the Metropolitan Police Service.’

‘That should get me another couple of years off my sentence. So now I’m down to four, while you’ll no doubt be promoted to Chief Superintendent, for the role you played in saving those countless lives.’

‘I think you may be pleasantly surprised,’ said William. ‘But you’re going to have to trust me, and plead guilty if we’re to fool BW.’

‘How could I possibly turn down such a tempting offer?’ said Miles. ‘Especially as I’ll still be stuck in here with no more than a fifty-fifty chance of even making it to the trial alive. Even you can’t keep Mansour Khalifah locked in solitary for ever.’

‘As a demonstration of good faith,’ said William, ‘the police will not put up any objection should you apply to be moved to an open prison. But—’

‘With you, Superintendent, there’s always a but. I can’t wait to hear what it is this time.’

‘Should you attempt to escape again, I’ll come after you with every resource at the Met’s disposal, and when DI Hogan and I eventually catch up with you – and believe me we will – we wouldn’t bother with the niceties of extradition treaties. This time my father won’t be asking for another eight years to be added to your sentence, but demanding life imprisonment. I have a feeling the judge will agree with him, whatever Booth Watson comes up with in mitigation.’

Miles didn’t speak for some time before he eventually said, ‘I’ll accept your deal, Superintendent, as long as you can assure me that you’ve also got BW in your sights, now you’re fully aware of what he’s up to.’

‘It can only be a matter of time before he’s disbarred,’ said William, with considerable feeling. ‘Because let’s face it, that man’s his own worst enemy.’

‘Not while I’m alive, he isn’t,’ said Miles.

? ? ?

When Faulkner reached the front of the queue at the canteen servery, he took his time selecting a glass of milk, two fried eggs, some baked beans and a slice of toast that wasn’t burnt. He carried the laden tray slowly back to his table, but just as he was about to sit down, he stumbled and dropped the tray. The plate smashed into several pieces, and his breakfast was scattered over the stone floor.

A dozen prisoners came rushing to his aid.

‘No, thank you,’ said Faulkner, when one of them offered to get him a second helping. ‘I’m not feeling too well. I think I’ll visit the infirmary and pick up some paracetamol.’

He left the canteen, satisfied that over a hundred inmates and several officers had witnessed the incident, and headed for the prison hospital, which would be open for business in a few minutes. On the way he passed at least a couple of dozen other prisoners going to breakfast. Most stood aside to give him room, but at least another dozen noticed he was heading for the infirmary.