Over My Dead Body (Detective William Warwick #4)(45)

‘I have to go to the loo,’ she said, letting go of Archie’s hand. ‘You go ahead. I’ll join you in a few minutes.’

As soon as Archie was out of sight she headed for the nearest phone. Would he still be at the commander’s meeting, or back at his desk?

‘DCI Warwick,’ said his voice, just when she’d almost given up hope.

‘Good morning, sir. It’s Rebecca.’

‘I thought you were meant to be on holiday.’

‘I am, but I thought you’d want to know that I’ve just spotted Booth Watson waiting to board a plane.’

‘He’s allowed to take a holiday too.’

‘Dressed in a three-piece suit and carrying a briefcase?’

‘Where’s he going?’

‘Barcelona.’

‘Then so are you, constable. Call me the moment you land. By then I’ll have worked out what your next move should be.’

‘Can I remind you, sir, that I’m on holiday?’

‘Were on holiday, DC Pankhurst. You’re about to discover where Miles Faulkner is holed up.’

‘But I …’

‘No buts, constable. We may not get another opportunity like this.’

William put down the phone and dialled the commander’s office, while Rebecca poured forth a stream of invective her mother would not have approved of. She walked quickly back to Gate 49, to see that the first-class passengers were already boarding the plane. She checked her watch; not enough time to return to the BA desk and exchange her ticket. She slipped into WHSmiths and waited until Booth Watson had presented his boarding pass and disappeared down the corridor that led to the waiting aircraft. She was hoping that Archie would come back looking for her, so she could explain what had happened. He didn’t. She waited until the last few passengers were being cleared for boarding before she approached the check-in desk, where she took out her warrant card and showed it to the flight attendant.

‘We’ve been expecting you, Detective Constable,’ he said, once he’d checked her passport. ‘We’ve just had a call from Scotland Yard warning us that you’d be wanting to travel on this flight. I’ve put you in the back row of economy. There’s a rear door, so you can be the last on and the first off the plane.’

He handed her a ticket and said, ‘Have a good flight, Ms Pankhurst.’

‘Do I have time to go and tell my boyfriend why I won’t be joining him?’

‘I’m afraid not. The gate is about to close.’

Rebecca reluctantly headed down the long empty corridor, and was the last passenger to board the plane. She didn’t relax during the entire flight. Her mind continually switched between Archie, wondering if he’d ever speak to her again; DCI Warwick, who she would happily have strangled; and Booth Watson, the root cause of her problems, who she assumed was seated up front in business class.

She began to consider her alternatives once the plane had landed in Barcelona. Was Booth Watson being picked up? Would he take a taxi, a bus or a train into the city? Had he already booked himself into a hotel? If so, was that where he would meet up with Faulkner? Or would he be driven straight to his new bolthole? And if that were to happen, what was she expected to do?

She’d gone over a dozen scenarios before the plane touched down, and was back in detective mode by the time it parked at the gate.

When the rear door was opened by a stewardess, Rebecca was first out of the blocks, not a moment to waste. She walked quickly down the steps and into the terminal, where she joined the throng of passengers heading for customs. Someone moving even more quickly caught up with her.

‘Slow down and link your arm in mine, Detective Constable,’ said a voice clearly used to giving orders. She glanced at the man by her side and carried out his instruction.

‘Don’t look back. Just keep walking, and leave the rest to me.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she found herself saying.

‘I’m Lieutenant Sanchez of the Spanish National Police Corps,’ he said without even glancing in her direction. ‘My commanding officer had a call from a Commander Hawksby, who didn’t leave us in any doubt how important your visit is.’ He didn’t speak again until they’d reached customs, where the desk officer didn’t ask to see her passport, just saluted. Him, not her. The lieutenant chose a spot with a clear view of all eight customs posts and said, ‘Just point him out the moment you see him.’

Rebecca kept her eyes on the stream of passengers joining the long queues to present their passports to a customs official. It was some time before she said, ‘That’s him, waiting in line at the sixth box. He’s the only person who doesn’t look as if he’s going on holiday.’

‘Three-piece suit, around fifty, slightly balding, carrying a leather briefcase.’

‘You’ve got him.’

The lieutenant nodded to someone Rebecca didn’t see. Once Booth Watson had cleared customs they followed him through baggage control – he had nothing to collect – and on into the arrivals hall. He hurried out of the airport and joined the taxi queue.

Rebecca noticed a young man slip into line behind him. When Booth Watson eventually reached the front of the queue and climbed into the back of a taxi, the young man made a note of the number plate, but didn’t jump into the next cab.