Over My Dead Body (Detective William Warwick #4)(32)

William tried a long shot. ‘Did anyone book in at the last minute and pay for his ticket with cash?’

‘There was one gentleman who was quite late booking, and he wasn’t pleased when we couldn’t find him a seat in first class.’

‘Do you recall his name?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Are we going to risk it?’ asked Ross.

‘Is there a flight to Brussels this evening?’ asked William, answering the question.

‘The 6.10. Same time every day. I have two first-class tickets available.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said William, giving her a warm smile. ‘Two economy will be just fine,’ he added, passing over his credit card.

‘One-way or return?’

‘One-way. We can’t be sure where we’ll be going next.’

This was one customer she wasn’t going to forget easily.

‘Hang about for the tickets, Ross, while I explain to Danny why we won’t be going back to the Yard.’

Danny was pleased to hear he could return to London and take the rest of the day off. The Chief Inspector’s idea of a joke.

‘But not before you’ve handed in the chauffeur’s hat to forensics. I’ve already told them to let me know if they find any dabs on it that match up with Miles Faulkner’s.’

Danny touched his forehead with the fingers of his right hand and asked, ‘Will you be needing me tomorrow, guv?’

‘If I do, it will be to drop me off at the jobcentre,’ said William, ‘but I’ll let you know.’

He strolled back into the airport to see Ross deep in conversation with another man, who was frowning.

‘We’ve got a problem,’ said Ross, as William joined them. ‘Passports, or lack of them. This is Thomas King, head of security. He’s happy to arrange a temporary travel visa, but he needs the authority of a commander or above before he can authorize it. I’m certainly not going to call The Hawk at home on a Sunday evening.’

William picked up the phone on the counter and dialled a number even Ross didn’t know.

The Hawk listened with interest to how Chief Inspector Warwick and DI Hogan had spent their Sunday. ‘Put him on,’ was all he said.

William handed the phone to the security officer, who said, ‘Yes, sir’ several times, before passing the phone back to William.

‘If you come back without Faulkner, don’t bother to put in a claim for your expenses,’ were The Hawk’s parting words.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said William, before he put the phone down.

‘Are we still going to Brussels?’ asked Ross.

‘Yes,’ said William, ‘but only one of us may be coming back.’

Not long after William had fastened his seatbelt and the Boeing 727 had taken off, he fell asleep for the first time since he’d arrived back from New York.

Ross spent his time writing an update while considering the alternatives, which he accepted only threw up yet more questions for William to consider when he woke. That didn’t happen until the wheels touched down on the runway at Brussels National Airport forty minutes later.

(a) Did Faulkner fly straight on to another airport?

(b) Did he stay at the airport overnight? Check every hotel within a two-mile radius.

(c)Is there a direct flight to Nice (Monte Carlo) from Brussels?

(d) Have we come to a dead end?

A uniformed security officer met them at the bottom of the steps as they disembarked from the plane. Clearly the commander hadn’t been idle.

‘How can I help?’ he asked, after he’d shaken hands with them.

‘How many flights took off from Brussels,’ William asked as he checked his watch, ‘after seven thirty yesterday evening?’

‘Half a dozen, no more,’ said the security officer. ‘I’d need to check the log,’ he added as they walked in a different direction to all the other passengers.

Once they were in his office, it took Mr King only a few moments before he pronounced, ‘Paris, St Petersburg, Manchester, Helsinki, Luton and Barcelona.’

William studied the list for some time before concluding, ‘My bet would be Paris, because he could have taken a domestic flight from there to Nice.’

‘Barcelona could also be an outside possibility,’ suggested Ross.

‘Agreed. You check with Air France, while I talk to Iberia.’

‘Were you both on duty last night?’ was William’s first question as he reached the checkin counter. He once again produced a large photograph of Ralph Neville and asked if either of them had seen him, but all he got was a shake of the head.

‘Barcelona is Iberian Airways’ last flight out of Brussels on a Saturday night,’ said ‘Blanca’, ‘and as usual it was packed with holidaymakers.’

‘This man wouldn’t have looked as if he was going on holiday,’ said William.

They both took a closer look, but it elicited the same response.

‘Can I check the passenger list?’ he asked.

The security guard nodded, and one of the booking clerks swung the console around. William double-checked both classes, but there wasn’t a name on the list that he recognized.

‘Thank you,’ Blanca said, as Ross walked across to join him, to report the same negative result for passengers flying to De Gaulle.