Over My Dead Body (Detective William Warwick #4)(31)

‘That’s him,’ said Ross, looking out of the window. ‘He’s just pulled up outside the station.’

‘I’ll go and have a word with him while you finish your coffees,’ said William. He drained his second cup of tea that morning, and crossed the road to join the last cab on the rank.

‘Sorry guv,’ said the cabbie. ‘You have to take the one at the front.’

‘I’m not looking for a cab, but one of yesterday’s passengers. My colleague tells me you didn’t recognize this man,’ said William, showing him the photograph of Neville, ‘but you had a fare who acted strangely?’

‘An odd one that,’ said the cabbie, ‘but I never saw his face, so I can’t be sure that’s him.’

‘What was odd about him?’

‘He gets into the back before I have a chance to look at him. Nothing unusual about that, but then he tucks himself in the left-hand corner of the seat so I can’t see him in my rear-view mirror. That sometimes means they’re planning to do a runner without paying. But when I asked him where he wanted to go, he had such a toffee-nosed accent I relaxed.’

‘Where did he want to go?’

‘Luton airport, but he didn’t say another word on the entire journey. When we got there, he pushed some cash through the hatch and was gone before I could give him his change.’

‘What’s unusual about that? He might just have been in a hurry.’

‘Most of my customers who take a taxi to an airport want a receipt, so they can claim it on expenses. But not this one.’

‘So you never got a look at him?’

‘No, but he was smartly dressed and carrying a leather briefcase, which I thought was unusual for a Saturday afternoon. I wouldn’t have thought anything of it if I hadn’t seen him getting off the bus.’

William offered up a small prayer. ‘What time was that?’

‘Just after three.’

‘Are you sure of the time?’

‘I was listening to Match of the Day, wasn’t I? Spurs versus Everton, and the Toffees scored in the first minute. The bastards.’

‘Thank you,’ said William, placing the photograph back in his pocket. ‘That was very helpful.’ He got back to the café just in time to pay the bill.

‘Right, Danny, get your skates on, we’re off to Luton airport.’

As they drove out of Sevenoaks and headed for the motorway, William briefed Ross about his conversation with the cabbie.

‘A bit of a long shot,’ said Ross, ‘but enough coincidences not to be a coincidence.’

‘We’ll need to time how long it takes to get to the airport,’ said William. ‘Then we should be able to work out which flight he’s most likely to have caught.’

‘Why would he have chosen Luton, when Gatwick, Heathrow and Stansted are so much closer?’ said Danny.

‘He would have assumed we had them well covered.’

William and Ross had gone over various possible scenarios several times before Danny drew up outside the airport.

‘One hour and twenty-five minutes, guv,’ he announced.

‘Wait here,’ said William. ‘We’ll probably be going straight back to London, but who knows?’

He and Ross strode into the terminal and headed for the information desk.

‘How can I help you, gentlemen?’ asked the woman standing behind the counter.

‘I’d like to know which flights took off after five o’clock yesterday afternoon?’

She began tapping away on her computer.

‘The 5.05 to Dublin. Took off on time.’

‘He wouldn’t have made it,’ said Ross.

‘The 5.40 for Newcastle departed twenty minutes late.’

‘That would have meant he was stuck in England overnight.’

‘Moscow at 5.50,’ said the woman, still staring at her console.

‘I don’t think so,’ said William.

‘The 6.10 to Brussels.’

‘A possibility.’

‘There was the 6.20 to Edinburgh.’

‘No,’ said William.

‘Or the 7.10 to Copenhagen.’

‘He wouldn’t have wanted to hang about that long,’ said William. ‘It has to be Brussels.’

‘I doubt if that was his final destination,’ said Ross. ‘Just the first plane that would get him out of the country.’

‘Agreed,’ said William, and thanked the woman before he and Ross made their way across to the Sabena booking desk. This time, William produced his warrant card before he asked his first question.

‘I’d like to see your passenger list for yesterday afternoon’s 6.10 flight for Brussels.’

‘Are you looking for a particular name, sir?’ asked the woman, as she tapped away, before checking the screen in front of her.

‘Captain Ralph Neville.’

She double-checked the passenger list before saying, ‘No one registered under that name is showing up on my screen for the flight.’

‘Miles Faulkner?’ suggested Ross, not looking at all confident.

‘No,’ she replied, her eyes still fixed on the monitor. Ross produced a photograph. She took a careful look and then shook her head. ‘Can’t say I remember him.’