Nothing Ventured(28)
William turned back and headed for the station, feeling triumphant, but a few moments later his mood changed. He checked his watch: 7:21. Beth must be wondering where he was.
He ran all the way back to the station, but knew as he stood alone on the cold, windy platform waiting for the next train to appear that he had no chance of being in Kensington in time for Dr. Knox’s lecture. The jolting progress between each stop, which William hadn’t noticed during the journey to Dagenham when his adrenaline was pumping and he was having to concentrate every second, seemed interminable. The train finally pulled into South Kensington at 8:15. William ran up the escalator and out onto Thurloe Place, but by the time he reached the entrance to the Fitzmolean, the building was in darkness.
As he walked slowly in the direction of Beth’s home, he began to prepare a speech explaining why he hadn’t turned up in time for the lecture. He was almost word perfect by the time he reached her front door.
He stood there for some time before giving two gentle taps on the knocker. A few moments later, the door opened and a tall, handsome young man asked, “Can I help you?”
William felt sick.
“I was hoping to see Beth,” he blurted out as a figure in a dressing gown appeared, a towel wrapped around her hair.
“Come in, William,” said Beth. “I can’t wait to find out why you stood me up. Can I assume you’ve found the Rembrandt? While I’m drying my hair, Jez,” she said to the young man, “would you take William into the sitting room and give him a drink? Not that he deserves one.”
11
“Did you get to the bookshop in time?” asked Lamont when William walked into the office the following morning.
“Yes, sir.”
“So you arrested him?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“By the time I caught up with him he was on a tube train to Dagenham East. I decided to first find out where he lived, then return with a search warrant this morning.”
“Cretin,” said Lamont. “You should have arrested him there and then, and immediately searched his house. Let’s hope you won’t have to explain to the Hawk why he’s disappeared overnight.”
“He’s not going anywhere, sir.”
“How can you possibly know that, detective constable? You’re a policeman, not a fortune teller. Did he see you following him?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Let’s hope not, because you’ve certainly given him more than enough time to destroy the evidence, and even make a bolt for it.”
William felt like an errant schoolboy receiving a dressing down from the headmaster because he hadn’t done his homework properly.
“And can I also ask, laddie, why you’re still dressed in the same clothes you were wearing yesterday?”
“I overslept, sir, and threw on the first things I could find, as I didn’t want to be late.”
“And is that also why you didn’t shave?” William bowed his head. “Well, I hope she was worth it,” said Lamont, “because you’re in enough trouble as it is. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen next. You’ll go home, take a shower, have a shave and a change of clothes, and be back here within the hour, by which time I will have obtained a warrant to search the suspect’s premises. You and DS Roycroft will travel to Dagenham, arrest the suspect, charge him, and gather every scrap of evidence you can to ensure we nail the bastard when the case comes to court. You’ll then escort him to the local nick, where he can stay put until he comes up in front of the magistrate tomorrow morning. And Warwick, if he’s bolted, or destroyed the evidence, you’ll be up in front of the commander, and I might have to recommend that a longer spell on the beat wouldn’t do you any harm. Now get moving, before he dies of old age.”
During his journey back to Victoria, William couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened the previous evening. He and Jez, Beth’s flatmate, had shared a beer, when Jez had done most of the talking. He’d explained that he and Beth had been at uni together, and their relationship was platonic. William didn’t need him to explain why.
When Beth joined them, still wearing her dressing gown, Jez quickly disappeared.
“You didn’t have to wash your hair just for me,” said William.
“Don’t try and get off the hook,” said Beth, as she sat down next to him on the couch. “I still want to know why you stood me up.”
William didn’t get as far as Dagenham before he kissed her for the first time, and he would have finished the story of his pursuit of the Churchill forger over breakfast, if Beth hadn’t reminded him what time it was.
“I’m going to visit the Fake Gallery tomorrow,” he said as he headed for the door. “Would you like to join me?”
“Yes, assuming you’re not held up by the Boston Strangler.”
When William turned up at Scotland Yard later that morning he’d spent a few minutes in the washroom, doing his best to make himself presentable. But his feeble efforts hadn’t fooled Lamont.
The moment he’d returned to his little room in Trenchard House, he showered, shaved, and put on some fresh clothes. He was back at his desk within the hour, by which time Lamont had identified the suspect from his address in Dagenham—a Mr. Cyril Amhurst. He’d also secured a search warrant from a local magistrate.