Over My Dead Body (Detective William Warwick #4)(46)

‘Isn’t he going to follow him?’ she asked, trying not to sound desperate.

‘Can’t risk it,’ said the lieutenant. ‘Your chief made it clear that if the man you’re after thinks he’s being tailed, he’ll head straight back to the airport, and your journey will have been wasted. But don’t worry, we have the details of the taxi driver, and we’ll interview him later and report back to Scotland Yard to let him know where he dropped off your man.’

‘What if he switches taxis?’

‘He’ll find the next available one is one of ours,’ he said, looking across the road and nodding.

‘So, I’m nothing more than a messenger,’ said Rebecca.

‘A very attractive messenger, if I may say so, se?orita.’

‘You wouldn’t get away with that in PC England,’ said Rebecca, smiling.

‘Ah, but you are now in Barcelona, not England.’

‘What am I expected to do now?’

‘You have been booked on the next flight to Florence, where your boyfriend will be waiting for you in arrivals.’

‘How did you manage that?’

‘I think your boss felt guilty about interrupting your holiday,’ the lieutenant said, as he handed her a first-class ticket to Florence. ‘I hope you have an enjoyable time in Italy, Se?orita Pankhurst. My grandmother was a great admirer of your ancestor, although it took my countrymen several more years before they finally gave women the vote.’ He saluted, and had departed before she could say, ‘In 1931.’





CHAPTER 15


‘WERE YOU FOLLOWED?’

‘No,’ said Booth Watson. ‘After we turned off the motorway I didn’t see another car.’

‘The day you do, I’ll have to be on the move again.’

‘Where to this time?’

‘I already have somewhere lined up that I could move into tomorrow. But General Franco was here for twenty-seven years without anyone finding out about this place. By that time the commander will be dead, and DCI Warwick will have retired.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Booth Watson, as he opened his briefcase and took out several files. ‘Where shall I start?’

‘By proving Lamont is worth his exorbitant consultancy fee.’

‘As long as he has someone on the inside, he’s worth keeping on the payroll,’ said Booth Watson, ‘provided we remember that he’d plant drugs on his grandmother if he thought there was something in it for him.’

‘Are he and Roycroft an item?’

‘I’m fairly sure their relationship is based on nothing more than a mutual interest in money.’

‘So they’re not sleeping together?’

‘Sleeping partners, yes, but sleeping together, no. The last time they met, Roycroft left the pub drunk, and Lamont dropped her off at her place before going home.’

‘Did she have anything worthwhile to pass on?’

‘She brought him up to date on the cold cases Warwick’s team are working on.’

‘Am I one of them?’ demanded Miles.

‘No. You seem to have been forgotten. Your name didn’t even come up.’

‘Long may that be so,’ said Miles. ‘Is Lamont also keeping an eye on Josephine Colbert?’

‘Yes,’ he said after extracting another file from his bag. ‘It would appear that she and DI Hogan are an item. They’re seeing each other three, sometimes four, times a week. It’s begun to produce results. Or, more importantly, no results.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She confirmed that Hogan is working on two of the five cold cases, Abbott and Roach. She’s been told to report any other names he mentions and, so far, you’re in the clear.’

‘Has she asked Hogan if he’s ever heard of Captain Ralph Neville?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Booth Watson. ‘That would blow her cover straight away, as well as yours. As long as Hogan doesn’t mention your name, or Captain Neville’s, we can be confident your file’s still gathering dust in Hayes, where it belongs.’

‘I can assure you Hogan’s wasting his time if he’s trying to finger Terry Roach,’ said Miles. ‘No one in the East End would ever consider giving evidence against that man.’

‘You’ve come across Roach?’ asked Booth Watson, sounding surprised.

‘I was in prison with him. Not a man to cross, as two or three of my fellow inmates found out when they took a shower and discovered that blood is thicker than water.’

Booth Watson gave an involuntary shudder.

‘So, you think Miss Colbert is worth a thousand pounds a week?’ said Miles as he lit a cigar.

‘Think of her as an insurance policy, even though the premium doesn’t come cheap.’

‘Women never do,’ said Miles. ‘Speaking of insurance policies, what’s Christina been up to lately?’

‘She’s been keeping her side of the bargain,’ said Booth Watson. ‘After her meeting with Beth Warwick, she came back with two fascinating pieces of information.’

Miles looked interested.

‘The Fitzmolean has recently been offered Caravaggio’s Fishers of Men by a Lord McLaren, but they couldn’t meet his asking price.’