Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

A VENGING A NGEL, F ITZMOLEAN F AKE AND A NGEL ' S W INGS C LIPPED were among the banner headlines on almost every front page the next morning, accompanied by a photograph of the Countess of Wessex pulling a cord. Double-page spreads, comment columns and leaders didn't hold back in suggesting heads should roll – and one head in particular.

Several touched on the news that the Angel had miraculously reappeared within an hour, and the Sun couldn't resist adding, after spending that hour on the toilet.

However, it was the Evening Standard that moved the story on with their first edition headline Who? and Why?

Commander Hawksby and Superintendent Warwick could have answered both those questions, but no editor would have considered printing their thoughts, well aware that a libel writ would have landed on their desks within hours.

‘We don't have any proof,' admitted the Hawk, after a discussion had gone back and forth for over an hour.

‘That won't stop me interviewing Faulkner under caution,' said William, ‘in the hope he says something he later regrets.'

‘Not a chance while his puppet master is standing by his side delivering a well-prepared script,' said the Hawk. ‘But while you're at it, William, you may as well send Ross and Rebecca to the Fitzmolean to interview their head of security.' He looked down at his notes. ‘Alan Roberts – I suspect he's no more than an innocent bystander, but he might have something worthwhile to contribute.'

‘And follow that up with a visit to Wormwood Scrubs,' said William. ‘I find it hard to believe that Faulkner and Billy Mumford, the most celebrated forger in the country, just happened to be in the same prison at the same time.'

‘Then you and Inspector Adaja had better get moving,' instructed the Hawk, ‘because you can be sure Faulkner will be waiting for you.'

William left the Hawk's office, feeling that Faulkner may as well have heard every word that had passed between them.

···

When William and Inspector Adaja arrived at Booth Watson's chambers in Middle Temple half an hour later, they were not surprised to be kept waiting. Ironically, Booth Watson played into William's hands, because during the fifteen-minute wait, Jackie called to let William know that a thousand pounds had recently been deposited in Billy Mumford's account.

When a secretary eventually showed them into the senior silk's office, they found Booth Watson sitting behind his desk, with his client in a chair beside him, looking smug.

‘Let me make it clear from the outset, Chief Superintendent,' Booth Watson began, ‘no one was more surprised than my client to discover the Rembrandt was a fake, but he'll be only too happy to help with your enquiry. As you will know, my client has been a model citizen since his release, even attending classes on becoming a reformed character.' He somehow kept a straight face.

‘Then perhaps you can explain, Mr Booth Watson,' said William, ‘why your client transferred one thousand pounds to the personal account of a Billy Mumford, a convicted forger, while you were both in the same prison.'

‘I bought a copy of Monet's Water Lilies from Mumford the day before I was released – a painting I purchased with the Governor's approval,' said Faulkner, delivering a well-prepared response. ‘I paid no more than the going rate and, of course, it was signed by Billy, as he had no desire to mislead anyone. Should you wish to see the painting, Chief Superintendent, you are most welcome to visit my home in Chelsea, where it hangs above the fireplace in the drawing room.'

‘But did your client also purchase a copy of Rembrandt's Angel at the same time?' asked Inspector Adaja. ‘As one thousand seems a little excessive for a fake.'

‘Certainly not,' said Faulkner. ‘In fact, I was as surprised as you were, Chief Superintendent, when the Countess unveiled the drawing to see it hadn't been signed, showing it had to be a copy. However, I was delighted to hear how quickly the original was returned to its rightful place as the centrepiece of the exhibition.' He paused, looked directly at William and said, ‘But not before the penny had dropped!'

Paul was beginning to wonder if he would have to step in and stop William thumping the damn man.

‘I am, as you will know, Chief Superintendent,' said Miles, ‘a patron of the Fitzmolean, and if you felt there was anything I could do to help your wife's cause, don't hesitate to call on me, as I consider it most unfair that some of the more scurrilous members of the gutter press are calling for her resignation,' he added, making no attempt to dampen the flames.

‘I think she'll somehow manage to survive without your help,' said William.

‘Let's hope so,' replied Faulkner, ‘but, sadly, I can't see her making it onto the shortlist for director of Tate. But I could be wrong.'

‘Let me remind you, Mr Faulkner,' said William, ignoring the comment, ‘that you are currently on probation, and the CPS can, at our request, send you back to prison to complete your four-year sentence while we continue to carry out our enquiries.'

‘You can, indeed, Chief Superintendent,' came back Booth Watson, ‘but only if you can show that my client was in any way involved in the temporary removal of Rembrandt's Angel . I have a feeling, if you were foolish enough to go down that road, it would only put your wife back on the front pages for all the wrong reasons, shortly before she appears in front of the board of the Fitzmolean to explain how this embarrassing situation could have possibly arisen in the first place.'

William wondered how Booth Watson could know that Beth had agreed to face the board, as a date hadn't even been fixed.

‘And the last thing I would want,' continued Booth Watson, ‘is for the press to speculate that you might have unjustly sent my client back to prison while your judgement was influenced by your wife having to consider her position as director of the Fitzmolean.'

‘Are you threatening me, Mr Booth Watson?' said William, taking a step forward. ‘Because if you are—'

‘I am doing no more than defending my client's rights and making sure he has his say in the court of public opinion,' said Booth Watson, ‘as you seem determined to deprive him of those rights, dare I suggest, for personal reasons. So, if you're not going to arrest my client, Chief Superintendent, can I advise you to leave, and only return when you have some proof, not just idle speculation.'

Before William could respond, Booth Watson rose from behind his desk, walked across the room, opened the door and waited for them to depart.

The two police officers left with nothing.

‘How many years do you think I'd get,' asked William, as he and Paul walked down the stairs, ‘if I were to murder both men and claim excessive provocation?'

‘Ten at most. Both might be considered excessive,' said Paul, as they climbed back into the waiting squad car. ‘But if you could settle for just Faulkner … That's assuming your father would be representing you, I've no doubt he could get you a couple of years off for good behaviour.'

‘I'd settle for that,' said William, as they drove out of Middle Temple and made their way back to Scotland Yard.

···

Detective Inspector Hogan and Detective Sergeant Pankhurst were met on the top step of the Fitzmolean by Alan Roberts, the head of security. He checked their warrant cards carefully.

‘I feel a complete ass,' Alan admitted as he accompanied them into the Fitz. ‘I offered to resign immediately, but Dr Warwick said I wasn't the one to blame, but if I wasn't, who the hell was?'

Ross didn't comment.

‘Can you believe I was waiting for them when they arrived, accompanied them upstairs to the gallery, even kept out of their way while they made the switch, and then agreed to their suggestion that I should lock the ladies' loo until the Countess had left the premises. You should arrest me for being asleep on the job.'

‘Don't be too hard on yourself,' said Rebecca. ‘You were dealing with a bunch of pros who knew exactly what they were doing.'

Alan shook his head, clearly not convinced. ‘They even called my office in advance and made an appointment, which is why I was waiting for them on the top step.'

When they reached the Rembrandt room, Ross could only just see the Angel , as the masterpiece was surrounded by a vast crowd, with a large group waiting to take their place.

‘Were you able to trace that call?' asked Ross.

‘Not until after your boss found the Angel sitting on the toilet.'

‘And where was the call made from?' pressed Rebecca.

‘A public phone booth in the Hilton Hotel, Park Lane.'

‘One of the busiest hotels in London,' said Ross, noting that once again Faulkner had covered his tracks. ‘Did the caller have an accent by any chance?'

‘A slight Scottish burr, which is always more pronounced on the phone than face-to-face,' said Alan.

Rebecca wrote down: Lamont?

‘Walk me slowly through everything that happened from the moment they arrived.'

‘A police van pulled up outside the museum just before five,' said Alan, still unable to hide his frustration. ‘A sergeant got out of the front while four other officers and two sniffer dogs piled out of the back.'

‘Did the sergeant produce a warrant card?' Rebecca asked.

‘Yes,' said Alan, ‘but as I'd seen several over the years, I confess I didn't give it more than a cursory glance.'

‘Because, like the van and the uniforms, it was probably the real thing.' Ross looked back towards the entrance of the gallery. ‘And while they were in the Rembrandt room, purportedly carrying out an inspection, you were asked to wait outside.'

‘Worse than that,' admitted Alan. ‘The sergeant asked me to make sure no one disturbed them while they were carrying out their search.'

‘No more than standard procedure if they had been carrying out a real inspection,' said Rebecca, ‘which we do regularly for the Queen or the Prince of Wales, but not for the Countess. They were simply playing it by the book.'

‘And I should have looked at the last page of that book,' said Alan, ‘because twelve minutes later, they came back out and gave me the all-clear.'

Ross didn't speak, while Rebecca continued writing.

‘That's when the sergeant asked me if I would lock the ladies' toilet and keep it locked until after the Countess had left, in case she needed to use it. An order I obeyed without a second thought,' Alan spat out.

Ross produced a photograph from an inside pocket, and asked Alan, ‘Was this man among the five who carried out the inspection?'

Alan studied an image of Lamont for some time, before he said, ‘No, none of the men were as old as that.'

‘But he could have been the driver,' suggested Rebecca, glancing across at Ross.

Alan looked hopeful for the first time. ‘Does that mean you know who committed the crime?'

‘Suspecting and having proof, Alan, as you well know, are not the same thing,' said Ross. ‘And even if we did have irrefutable proof, the CPS would still have to come up with a charge that would stand up in court.'

‘How about theft of a million-pound masterpiece?' suggested Alan.

‘The legal definition of theft,' said Rebecca, ‘is dishonestly appropriating property belonging to another with the intention of permanently depriving the other of it. And as the drawing never actually left the building, it wasn't exactly appropriated – nor have the Fitzmolean been deprived of it.'

‘But what I can't work out,' said Alan, sounding genuinely bemused, ‘is if they never had any intention of stealing the drawing, what were they hoping to achieve?'

Ross avoided a question he wasn't willing to answer with a question of his own, ‘Do you know if Dr Warwick is in her office?'

‘Not at the moment,' replied Alan. ‘It's her lunch break. As I told you, Inspector, I offered her my resignation in the hope it would help, but she rejected it out of hand.'

‘It wasn't your resignation he was after,' said Ross, and he left the gallery before the head of security could ask who he meant by he .

···

‘Where to next?' asked Danny when the two of them climbed back into the car.

‘Wormwood Scrubs,' said Ross, as he pulled the door closed.

‘We didn't learn a lot from that,' said Rebecca as Danny drove onto Brompton Road.

‘Except that Alan Roberts wasn't in any way involved, which didn't come as a surprise, whereas I have no doubt Billy Mumford was. But proving it might not be quite that easy, so don't be surprised if after the interview I say he saw us coming, because one thing's for sure, Faulkner will have seen him long before us.'

The phone in the armrest began to ring. Ross grabbed it. ‘Hogan,' he said.

‘We got nowhere with Faulkner,' William said, unable to hide his frustration. ‘And you?'

‘Didn't find out a great deal we didn't already know,' admitted Ross.

‘Then Mumford is still our best bet,' said William, before adding, ‘pull his toenails out,' he paused. ‘Slowly!'

‘Don't tempt me,' said Ross. ‘But I will remind him that he's due out on parole in about a month, and if he's still hoping …'

‘Let me know how you get on,' said William.

‘Will do boss,' replied Ross as the car drew up outside the Scrubs.

The gate had opened even before Ross was able to produce his warrant card, and as they drove into the outer yard, a figure came striding towards them, whom Ross recognized immediately.

‘I haven't warned Mumford you're coming,' said the Governor, after he'd been introduced to Rebecca.

‘He'll recognize me immediately,' said Ross, ‘but I'm still hoping to take him by surprise.'

The Governor nodded, turned, and led the two police officers across the barren yard towards Block B.

When the prisoner's door was opened, Mumford didn't appear at all surprised to see them, and indeed had a ready reply to the Inspector's first question.

‘Without a word of a lie, guv, I admit it was me what drew the Angel , but I can promise you,' he said, ‘the last time I saw her, she was sitting on an easel in the arts and crafts room. I had always promised to give it to the Governor as a farewell present when I left, but then some bugger must have pinched it and run off with her.' He paused, smiled and said, ‘But then, you have to remember, Inspector, we are in a prison.'

‘Then perhaps you can explain why Miles Faulkner, a fellow prisoner, transferred one thousand pounds to your bank account in Little Hampton shortly before he was released?' demanded Ross.

‘I sold him a copy of Monet's Water Lilies , didn't I?' said Mumford. ‘With the Governor's approval, of course.'

Rebecca continued to write down his words, although there wasn't any doubt he and Faulkner were singing from the same hymn sheet, which had certainly been composed by Booth Watson.

‘He wrote to tell me the picture was hanging in his front room, even sent me a photo.'

It was becoming clear to Ross that every line had been rehearsed, probably in the prison library, only days before Faulkner was released.

‘If you don't believe me, guv,' said Mumford, as he opened the small drawer in his bedside table, ‘I'm happy for you to read the letter Mr Faulkner sent me, as well as show you the photograph of the Monet.'

He handed the envelope over. Ross studied the familiar hand and the photo for some time before passing them both to Rebecca.

Mumford was still smiling. ‘It's not as good as the Murillo I did that ended up in the Prado, which was what got me banged up in the first place.'

Ross would, as William had suggested, have liked to extract Mumford's toenails slowly, one by one, but he suspected Rebecca wouldn't approve.

Both Chief Superintendent Warwick and Inspector Hogan returned to the Yard empty-handed.

···

‘Have you forgotten, Mumford,' said Booth Watson, ‘that I told you never to call me under any circumstances?'

‘But Inspector Hogan visited me in prison this morning and asked some awkward questions,' insisted Mumford.

‘I warned you he would, and gave you the answers.'

‘I know, but he threatened to …'

‘Sticks and stones,' said Booth Watson.

‘But I had to admit it was my drawing.'

‘Proving nothing,' said Booth Watson. ‘They don't have a shred of evidence that would stand up in court, otherwise he would have arrested you.'

‘I'm meant to be getting out of here in a month's time, Mr Booth Watson,' Mumford reminded him.

‘And you still will,' responded Booth Watson, ‘as long as you can keep your mouth shut.'

‘Not a word, I promise you,' said Mumford. ‘I'm a great admirer of Mr Faulkner.'

‘And if it should ever cross your mind to turn Queen's evidence,' said Booth Watson, ‘you ought to be aware that Mr Faulkner considers the death penalty shouldn't have been abolished for sheep stealing.'

‘Got the message,' stammered Mumford.

‘And one more message before you go,' said Booth Watson, ‘and I mean go – don't call this number again unless you want a visit from someone a lot more unpleasant than Inspector Hogan. Think about it.'

Mumford thought about it.

···

The full team met later that afternoon in the Hawk's office. Once William and Ross had delivered their reports, the Commander knew he'd been left with a difficult choice. ‘My personal responsibility is the allocation of time and resources – neither of them infinite – for any particular project, so I have to decide if pursuing Faulkner is the best use of our time, and whether we should be concentrating on more important issues.'

‘Like what?' said Ross jumping in.

‘Like being responsible for the Saudis when they land on our shores in just over three weeks' time, while our masters attempt to close a deal worth billions. Should anything go wrong there, the consequences will be far more lasting than trying to put Faulkner behind bars for another twelve months. It doesn't help that we have almost no proof he was involved in any crime in the first place, or even if it was a crime. Meanwhile, Simon Hartley is languishing in a foreign jail for a murder he didn't commit, while Inspector Hogan is meant to be protecting the one witness who could be responsible for saving his life.'

Ross frowned. ‘So Faulkner gets away with it yet again?'

‘Not for much longer, I suspect,' said the Hawk, ‘because the more Faulkner believes he's invincible, the bigger risks he will take, until he finally takes one risk too many. What we have to decide, at this moment in time, is what our first priority should be: Faulkner and a drawing that is already back in place, or Hartley, who is still in jail, and a Saudi contract that would guarantee thousands of jobs for our fellow countrymen.'

‘I reluctantly agree with you,' said William, taking them all by surprise, ‘though after all my wife has been through because of that man, it isn't always easy to see the bigger picture.'

‘Understandably,' said the Hawk, ‘and—'

‘I don't agree,' said Ross, butting in. ‘I know it could be said that I'm also personally involved, but don't expect me to be pleased that we're letting Faulkner off the hook.'

‘Not for too long, I suspect,' came back the Hawk. ‘Paul, what do you think, as you're not someone who's personally involved?'

‘True,' said Paul, ‘although I sympathize with what Dr Warwick is going through, I also want to see Simon Hartley released as soon as possible. However, we need to play our part in helping secure the arms contract ahead of the French – and keeping Avril Dubois safe, while allowing her to get on with her job.'

The rest of the team burst out laughing, which helped to get things into perspective.

‘One thing remains constant,' said Ross, once the laughter had died down, ‘Faulkner is clearly still bent on revenge and there are no prizes for guessing who will be his next target,' he said, looking across the table. ‘We'll have to try and stay one step ahead of Faulkner if he's not to succeed once again, while we try to do six other jobs at the same time.'

‘Agreed,' said the Hawk. ‘But for now, let's spend our energy preparing for the Saudi visit. With that in mind, Chief Superintendent Warwick will continue to take overall charge of the operation, while Ross will watch the Black Prince's every move from the moment the official party lands at Northolt to the moment they climb back on their plane twenty-four hours later, before going on to Paris.'

‘Paul, you will protect the Saudi Minister of Defence, while Jackie will be responsible for the safety of the rest of the official delegation. Rebecca, you'll continue keeping an eye on Avril Dubois during the day, and Ross will remain in charge of the night shifts. No time to waste,' he added, as the team began to gather up their files and prepare to leave. ‘William, perhaps you could stay behind for a moment?'

The Hawk didn't speak again until the door had closed. ‘If I could do anything to help Beth in her present plight,' he said, ‘believe me I wouldn't hesitate, but …'

‘I know,' said William, ‘and I accept it's impossible to do anything while our hands are tied behind our backs, so we'll just have to be patient and wait for Faulkner to make his first mistake.'

‘Which may take a little more time,' said the Hawk. ‘And you'll also have to keep an eye on Ross, who doesn't consider patience is a virtue.'

‘Agreed,' said William. ‘But if you'll excuse me, sir, I ought to be going home. Beth will soon be facing a committee meeting that may well decide her fate.'

‘Surely they will have the common sense to …'

‘Have you ever known a committee that was overburdened with common sense?' asked William.

Finally a question the Hawk didn't seem to have an answer for.