Nothing Ventured(13)

When they got home that night, his father suggested that it wouldn’t be a disgrace if William felt he had to leave the force. He was sure his colleagues would understand. “You could go to night school, study law, and then join me in chambers, where you could still fight criminals, but in the safety of a courtroom by day, rather than on the streets at night.”

William knew his father was right. But it was Fred who had the last word.

We may have come from opposite sides of the tracks, Choirboy, but we do have one thing in common—we’re both a bit bonkers, but at least we’re doing the job we were destined for.





6


Commander Hawksby sat at the head of the table, as befitted the chairman of the board. The other three directors waited for him to open the meeting.

“I would like to begin by welcoming a new recruit to our team. Although DC Warwick doesn’t have a great deal of experience as a detective—” that’s putting it mildly, thought William—“he has considerable expertise in the field of art, which was his chosen subject at university. In fact he turned down the chance to do a PhD so he could join the Met. So I’m rather hoping that his specialized knowledge will make a difference when it comes to finally nailing Miles Faulkner. Bruce,” he said, turning to the senior officer on the case, “perhaps you can bring us up to date.”

Detective Chief Inspector Lamont had several files in front of him, but he didn’t need to open any of them as most of the contents were indelibly lodged in his mind. He looked directly at Detective Constable Warwick, as he didn’t have anything new to tell his two colleagues.

“For the past seven years we’ve been trying to catch a thief who by any standards is a master criminal, and to date he’s been running rings around us. Miles Faulkner has developed an almost infallible system that allows him to steal major works of art and make a fortune without appearing to break the law.” Several questions had already occurred to William, but he decided not to interrupt his new boss.

“First, you’ll need to realize, Bill—”

“William, sir.”

Lamont frowned. “You’ll need to realize that if you’ve ever seen the film The Thomas Crown Affair, you should dismiss it for what it is. Pure fiction. Entertaining, I accept, but nevertheless, fiction. Miles Faulkner is no Steve McQueen. He doesn’t steal masterpieces for the sheer pleasure of it and then hide them in his basement where he alone can spend hours admiring them. That’s for filmgoers who want to enjoy a couple of hours imagining what it would be like to fool our colleagues in Boston, while sleeping with a beautiful woman who just happens to be the insurance broker working on the case. Although that’s the one person in the film who does bear some similarity to the real world: the insurance broker—except in our case he’s more likely to be a middle-aged, middle-management pen pusher who goes home at six every evening to his wife and two children. And more important, he won’t be in Faulkner’s league.”

“Still with us, Warwick?” asked Hawksby.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you’ll be able to tell us what DCI Lamont is going to say next.”

“That Faulkner steals valuable pictures from galleries or collectors with the intention of making a deal with the relevant insurance company, which is willing to settle for considerably less than the sum insured.”

“Usually about half,” said Lamont. “But Faulkner still ends up making a handsome profit.”

“Clever as he may be,” said William, “he can’t be carrying out such a complex operation on his own.”

“No, he isn’t. He has a small, highly professional team working alongside him, but whenever we’ve caught any of his associates, they’ve kept their mouths firmly shut.”

“On one occasion,” said Detective Sergeant Roycroft, “we even caught two of the thieves red-handed. But Faulkner was in Monte Carlo at the time of the robbery, sleeping peacefully in bed with a wife to confirm his alibi.”

“And do we think his wife is also one of his most trusted associates?” asked William.

“She’s covered for him several times in the past,” said Hawksby, “but we’ve recently discovered that Faulkner has a mistress.”

“That’s not yet a crime,” said William.

“True. But if she were to find out…”

“Weren’t you able to turn either of the gang you arrested, and make a plea bargain?” was William’s next question.

“Not a chance,” said Lamont. “Faulkner had an unsigned contract with both of them, with no get-out clause.”

“They were both sentenced to six years,” said Hawksby, picking up the thread, “and their families on the outside were well looked after, although we’ve never been able to connect the crime to Faulkner. A third villain, who was involved in the Fitzmolean break-in, had his lips sewn together just to remind him what would happen if he decided to turn Queen’s evidence.”

“But if Faulkner is the fence…”

“Faulkner, according to his tax return,” said Lamont, “is a farmer. He lives in a nine-bedroom mansion in Hampshire surrounded by three hundred acres on which a few cows graze, but never go to market.”

“But presumably someone has to carry out the negotiations with the insurance companies?”