Nothing Ventured(62)
Hawksby nodded at William as he took his usual place next to Jackie.
“I spent most of my weekend taking calls from the chief constable of Surrey, and a Superintendent Wall of the Guildford Police,” said Hawksby. “And I can tell you, neither of them minced their words. Incompetent, unprofessional, amateur were among the kinder ones. The chief constable warned me that if I didn’t brief the assistant commissioner by midday, then he would. And I can’t say I blame him.”
“I’m the one to blame, sir,” said Jackie quietly. “I was convinced my contact was on the level, and ended up being the one who was taken for a ride.”
“Along with twenty-six police officers, not to mention an elite firearms squad, a helicopter crew on standby, and an irate superintendent whose job is now on the line.”
Neither Lamont nor Jackie attempted to defend themselves.
“And if that wasn’t enough,” Hawksby continued, “it turned out to be nothing more than an elaborate decoy, because while you were sitting waiting for the villains to appear, they were breaking into another house just a few miles away, where they stole a Renoir worth several million. Leigh knew only too well you were listening in on his phone conversations, and simply sent you to the wrong house, where you thought they were going to steal a Picasso. Don’t be surprised when Booth Watson settles another large insurance claim for his unknown client.”
William could see that Jackie was struggling to control her emotions.
“There’s no one else to blame,” she repeated, looking directly at Hawksby.
The commander closed his file, and William assumed he would move on, but then he said, “Why didn’t you follow the basic rule every copper learns on their first day on the beat? Accept nothing, believe no one, and challenge everything.” William would always remember the person who’d first told him that. “Perhaps your recent promotion was a step too far, DS Roycroft,” Hawksby continued. “A few weeks on traffic duty might not do you any harm.” At least she’d got that right.
A long silence followed, which was finally broken when Lamont said, “I understand your fishing trip to Italy couldn’t have gone better, sir.”
“Except as the commissioner pointed out that when Carter is eventually arrested, it will be the Italian police, and not the Met, who end up getting the credit for an operation we masterminded.”
“But if we were to find the missing Rembrandt, and return it to the Fitzmolean—” said William, trying to rescue his colleagues.
“Let’s hope that’s not another false alarm,” said Hawksby. “Are you still having lunch with Mrs. Faulkner today?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll report back to DCI Lamont as soon as I return this afternoon.”
“Is Mike Harrison going with you?” asked the commander, sounding a little calmer.
“No, sir. She has an appointment with him in his office at four o’clock this afternoon.”
“That woman’s up to something,” said Lamont. “We should assume she’s every bit as devious as her husband, and quite capable of dangling the bait of a Rembrandt in front of us, especially if she knows William’s girlfriend works at the Fitzmolean.”
“How could she possibly know that?” said William.
“Try to think like a criminal, for a change,” barked Lamont.
“I agree,” said Hawksby. “And if it turns out that she’s taking you for a ride too, it won’t only be DS Roycroft who’s on traffic duty. Now, let’s all get back to work, and I don’t want to see any of you unless you’ve got something positive to report.”
Back in the office the atmosphere felt like a prison cell, while the condemned woman waited for the priest to come and read her the Last Rites.
William was relieved to escape just after 12:30 for his lunch with Mrs. Faulkner.
* * *
He walked briskly across the park and into St. James’s, arriving well in time for his lunch date. As he entered the Ritz, a liveried doorman saluted as if he were a regular. William had to stop at the reception desk and ask where the dining room was.
“Far end of the corridor, sir. You can’t miss it.”
He strolled down the thick carpeted corridor, past little alcoves filled with people chattering away while ordering exotic cocktails. He had to agree with F. Scott Fitzgerald, the rich are different.
“Good morning, sir,” said the ma?tre d’ when he reached the entrance to the restaurant. “Do you have a reservation?”
“I’m a guest of Mrs. Faulkner.”
The ma?tre d’ checked his list. “Madam hasn’t arrived yet, but allow me to take you to her table.”
William followed him across the large, ornately decorated dining room to a window table overlooking Green Park. While he waited, he took a discreet look at the other diners. The first thing that struck him was that it could have been a gathering of the United Nations.
He rose the moment he saw Mrs. Faulkner enter the room. She was wearing an elegant green dress that fell just below the knee with a matching scarf and carrying a tan leather handbag Beth would have coveted. She sailed across the room, leaving William in no doubt that, unlike his, this wasn’t her first visit to the Ritz. Despite the Hawk’s warning, even he couldn’t have denied her style and class.