Nothing Ventured(44)

“If that’s the case,” said Jackie, “why not arrest Carter even before he reaches the airport and confiscate the coins?”

“And charge him with what?” said Hawksby. “With Booth Watson on his side, he’d claim the coins were just reproductions that he intended to sell for a small profit. Besides, if we want to nail whoever’s bankrolling Carter, we have to let him carry out the whole operation. Because whoever is the brains behind it has to be someone with imagination, nerve, and enough capital to see the whole operation through, which I agree is looking more and more like Faulkner.”

“So with your permission, sir,” said Lamont, “I’ll call Lieutenant Monti and ask him to rubber stamp the application, and keep us fully informed. Meanwhile, I’ll ask my contact at BA to call me the moment Carter books another flight to Rome.”

“Where you, Lieutenant Monti, and DC Warwick will be sitting on the dockside waiting for him,” said Hawksby.

“Not me, sir,” said Lamont. “Carter knows me far too well.”

Jackie looked hopeful.

“Then I’ll have to make the sacrifice and accompany DC Warwick myself,” said Hawksby. “Anything else?”

“Just one thing, sir. DC Warwick and I are going to Pentonville tomorrow morning to interview Eddie Leigh.”

“The man Warwick is convinced copied the Rembrandt?”

“Yes, sir. But I can’t pretend I’m hopeful that we’ll get much out of him. People who’ve worked for Miles Faulkner in the past don’t open their mouths if they hope to stay alive.”

“Just get him talking,” said Hawksby. “He might let something slip he later regrets. And when will Warwick be returning the copy of The Syndics to Faulkner’s home? I ask only because Mr. Booth Watson keeps threatening me with fire and brimstone.”

“Faulkner leaves for Monte Carlo on Monday morning,” said Lamont. “So any time next week.”

“You’ve got another busy week ahead of you, DC Warwick,” said the commander, “so I won’t hold you up.”





17


“Good cop, bad cop has become a bit of a cliché,” said Lamont as he and William were driven out of Scotland Yard on their way to Pentonville. “And in our case, a five-year-old could work out which was which. Nevertheless, we need to decide what we’re trying to achieve at this meeting.”

“Surely our first priority,” said William as the traffic came to a halt in Trafalgar Square, “should be to find out whether or not The Syndics has been destroyed, and if it hasn’t, where it is now.”

“That wouldn’t be my first priority, laddie,” said Lamont, his Scottish accent even more pronounced than usual. “I want to prove the link between Leigh and Miles Faulkner, because I’d sacrifice half my pension to put that man behind bars.”

I’d give up my entire pension to have been born with Eddie Leigh’s talent, thought William, as the car drove onto Kingsway, but he didn’t express his opinion.

“So let’s discuss tactics,” said Lamont. “I’ll lead the interrogation, and if I sit back, it means you should take over. But don’t interrupt me before then, because I know the exact line of inquiry I want to pursue.”

“What happens if he goes off in a direction neither of us had anticipated?”

“That’s unlikely. Don’t forget, we’re dealing with a con who will have worked out exactly what he’s going to say long before he sees us.”

Once again, William didn’t offer an opinion.

“And if I start to bargain with him, keep schtum. The Hawk has made it clear just how far I can go.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario?” William asked as the car turned left into Grays Inn Road.

“That he refuses to answer any of our questions, in which case the interview will be over in a few minutes, and we’ll have wasted our time.”

“This will be my first prison visit,” William volunteered, after neither of them had spoken for some time.

Lamont smiled. “Mine was a jolly Irishman who made me laugh with his stories of the Emerald Isle.”

“What was he in for?”

“Robbing a post office, which turned out to be quite hard to prove, because he never even made it to the counter, and his only weapon was a cucumber. Luckily he pleaded guilty.”

“More, more,” demanded William.

“Another time,” said Lamont as they drew up outside HMP Pentonville.

“You couldn’t blame Her Majesty,” mused William, “if she decided she could do without prisons in her portfolio.”

“If she did, she might have to do without Buckingham Palace in that same portfolio,” said Lamont as the car swung into the Caledonian Road.

William stared beyond the high wall at a forbidding brick building that dominated the landscape.

The car came to a halt at the barrier, and a uniformed officer stepped forward. Lamont wound down his window and produced his warrant card.

“Mr. Langley is expecting you, sir,” said the man, after inspecting the card. “If you’ll park over there, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”

The driver slipped into the first available space and turned off the engine.