Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(85)

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Lamont turned off the main road and followed a signpost pointing to a large storage facility near Gatwick.

Miles, now dressed in a dark grey suit, white shirt, highly polished black shoes and a striped tie, had completed the transformation from escaped prisoner to respectable businessman. He checked the bulging wallet in his inside pocket. It would be empty by the time he climbed into bed that night. But which bed would he be climbing into?

Lamont parked on the far side of a large removal van, so they could remain out of sight of prying eyes. He then made his way across to the nearest building and disappeared inside.

He reappeared a moment later and indicated with a nod that it was safe for Miles to join him. Inside, a squat heavily built man wearing brown overalls, an open-necked shirt and a baseball cap was standing in front of a large reinforced door with two large padlocks.

‘Reg,’ said Lamont, ‘this is Mr Booth Watson, who I told you would be coming to collect his paintings in person.’

‘I’ll need to see some ID.’

Miles took out his wallet and handed over ￡500 in cash, which quickly disappeared into a deep pocket. Identity established.

‘Sign here,’ said Reg, producing a transport authority form. ‘Then my lads can get started on the loading.’

After Miles had squiggled an indistinguishable signature on the dotted line, Reg touched his cap and announced, ‘We’ll see you in Lambeth in a couple of hours’ time, Mr Booth Watson, when …’

‘You’ll get the other five hundred, as promised,’ said Miles. ‘But not until the paintings are safely back in their old home.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Reg as he turned to unlock the security door.

Lamont and Miles returned to the car. Once Lamont was back behind the wheel, he checked his watch and said, ‘We’re going to have to get a move on if you’re hoping to be on time for your next meeting.’

Miles gave him a curt nod, but didn’t say anything other than to repeat, ‘Don’t break the speed limit.’

Lamont stuck to the inside lane as they headed towards London, all the time keeping an eye out for any police patrol cars. He didn’t want to draw up beside one at a traffic light and risk one of them being recognized. He moved into the centre lane as they continued on towards Hyde Park Corner. Although Lamont had driven the course the day before, he hadn’t been able to find a parking meter near the bank, and this wasn’t a day for leaving the get-away car on a double yellow line. He circled the bank and eventually found a meter about a hundred yards from the bank’s main entrance. A calculated risk.

Lamont fed the meter with enough coins to allow them a couple of hours, the maximum on offer; every minute of which they would need. As he began to walk towards the bank, Miles slipped out of the car and followed in his wake. They avoided the reception desk and joined a group of other grey suits who were stepping into a lift. Lamont pressed the button marked 5 and the door slid closed. It was clear to Miles that Lamont, like the experienced ex-policeman he was, had done his homework, to reduce the risk of surprises as far as possible. But Miles knew there would always be something he hadn’t anticipated.

When the lift door opened on the fifth floor, Lamont was the first out. He walked briskly down the corridor and knocked on a frosted glass door that announced ‘Mr Nigel Cotterill, Area Manager’. He didn’t wait for a response, although they were a few minutes early for their appointment. They might need those few minutes later.

If Mr Cotterill was surprised to see his erstwhile client, he didn’t show it, as he’d already had two meetings with Lamont and knew exactly what was expected of him.

Miles took a seat on the other side of the manager’s desk, while Lamont stood a pace behind him. Their roles reversed.

‘As Mr Lamont will already have told you,’ said Miles, ‘I require a new safe-deposit box, for which I will be the only keyholder.’

Cotterill nodded, opened a file on his desk, took out several documents and placed them neatly in front of one of the bank’s most important customers. Miles read each one carefully before penning his real signature on the bottom line.

‘What about my other request?’ he asked as he screwed the cap back on his fountain pen.

‘We are currently holding twenty-six million pounds in your name following the sale of your fifty-one per cent holding in Marcel and Neffe. But as you will be aware, the money is lodged in a client account so that Mr Booth Watson can withdraw funds on your behalf when required, or to cover his fees and expenses as your legal representative.’

‘How much has he taken out while I’ve been … since I last saw you?’

Cotterill glanced at the debit column. ‘Two hundred and forty-one thousand, seven hundred pounds,’ he said.

Miles didn’t comment, except to say firmly, ‘While I’m moving the contents of my old safe-deposit box to the new one, make sure that the full balance in the joint account is transferred to my private account, from which I will be the only person authorized to make withdrawals.’

‘I’ll have all the necessary forms ready for you to sign by the time you return,’ said Cotterill. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll ask our head of security to accompany you to the lower ground floor, and open the strongroom for you. The number of your new box is 178.’ He handed over a key, picked up the phone on his desk and dialled security.