Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

‘T HEY DECIDED WHAT ?' SAID R OSS, unable to believe what William had just said.

‘The Crown Prosecution Service consider we have come up with more than enough evidence to convince a jury that Kevin Scott murdered Avril Dubois and we can, therefore, charge him.'

‘However,' continued William before Ross could interrupt, ‘they have also decided that the twenty-pound notes and the Rolex Daytona watch Scott was wearing when he was arrested, are insufficient proof that Faulkner was involved in the murder. No smoking gun , if I recall the director's exact words.'

‘But the twenty-pound notes came from the same batch as Faulkner withdrew from his bank, and handed over to Scott when they were both on the London Eye.'

‘The CPS went on to point out that we don't have any proof they were both on the Eye at the same time.'

‘Booth Watson will be only too happy to remind any jury,' suggested the Hawk, ‘there are millions of banknotes that change hands every day.'

‘But on the back of the Rolex, in case you've forgotten,' came back Ross, ‘are the words Love Christina .'

‘Booth Watson will then point out,' said William, ‘that there are a lot of Christinas in the world, and you can be sure that defence counsel will come up with a witness who will claim the watch was hers.'

‘If only Christina would be willing …' began Ross.

‘I agree,' said William, ‘but Wilbur is convinced that if his wife's name appeared on the prosecution's witness list, you'd be condemning her to the same fate as Avril Dubois. And if Faulkner thought Christina's evidence would guarantee him ending up in prison for the rest of his life,' added the Hawk, ‘Wilbur could have a point.'

The team sat there in despondent silence until Ross declared, ‘I can think of a way of proving the watch belonged to Faulkner.'

‘Legal and above board?' queried William, sounding sceptical.

‘Not entirely,' admitted Ross, ‘but it wouldn't leave a jury in any doubt who the watch belonged to.'

···

Miles picked up the phone on his desk and listened.

‘Mr Faulkner?' said a voice.

‘Who's asking?'

‘Jake Burrows, sir. We were at the Scrubs together and …'

Miles was about to slam down the phone when Burrows added, ‘I think I've got something that belongs to you.'

‘Like what?' said Miles.

‘A Rolex Daytona.'

‘What makes you think it's mine?'

‘It's got Love Christina inscribed on the back, and I remember you wearing it when you worked in the library – offered you ten thousand for it and you laughed at me.'

‘How did you get hold of it?' asked Miles.

‘A customer brought the piece into my shop a few days ago, wanting to sell it. But you aren't the easiest person to track down.'

‘Describe him,' said Miles.

‘Tall, thin, athletic build, wore dark glasses and a baseball cap – but then a lot of my customers do, Mr Faulkner, if you catch my drift.'

‘How much did he want for it?' asked Faulkner, still probing.

‘Ten thousand, but I didn't have that much in cash at the time, so he settled for eight.'

‘I'll give you six,' said Miles.

‘But I paid eight for it, Mr Faulkner.'

‘Stolen goods,' said Miles. ‘One phone call and you'll be back in the Scrubs.'

A long silence followed before Burrows said, ‘You win, Mr Faulkner. When can I expect you to pick it up?'

Miles hung up.

Burrows put the phone down and turned to face the man standing by his side. ‘Couldn't have gone better,' said Ross. ‘Just remember to call me the moment Faulkner turns up.'

‘Will do, Mr Hogan.'

‘And I'll be taking any cash Faulkner gives you, as evidence.'

‘Then what's in it for me, Mr Hogan?'

‘I'm sure there'll come a time in the not-too-distant future, Jake, when you'll be up in front of the beak and needing a helping hand.'

Burrows couldn't disagree.

···

Burrows was just about to turn the sign on the front door from open to closed when a black cab pulled up outside the Roxy Cinema in the Commercial Road. The fare got out, his eyes darting in every direction, and although he couldn't spot anything suspicious, he didn't relax. He began to walk the last hundred yards, only stopping to look in a side window to check he wasn't being followed. He wasn't. He turned the corner and couldn't miss the three balls that hung above a sign declaring Jake Burrows, Pawnbroker. Established 1983.

He glanced inside the shop window to see an old lag he recognized seated behind the counter. He once again checked up and down the street. Still nothing. As he entered the shop, a bell rang above the door.

‘Mr Faulkner,' said the pawnbroker, looking up. ‘What a pleasant surprise.'

‘Cut the crap,' said Miles. ‘Where's my watch?'

‘Locked up in my safe out the back,' said Burrows. ‘Give me a moment and I'll go and fetch it.'

Burrows got up from the counter and disappeared behind a curtain. Miles looked out of the window to make sure another customer wasn't about to join him. If they had, he would have left without another word – not a risk worth taking.

He turned back. Still no sign of Burrows. Miles began to wonder what was taking him so long and was about to leave when he reappeared. He placed the timepiece on the counter.

‘Quite magnificent,' said Burrows. Miles picked the watch up and checked the inscription on the back, before he strapped it onto his wrist. He took four pristine wrappers full of twenty-pound notes out of an inside pocket and placed them on the counter.

‘But we agreed on six thousand not four, Mr Faulkner,' the pawnbroker reminded him.

‘Like you,' said Faulkner, ‘it was all the cash I could lay my hands on.'

Burrows stared at the money and then at Mr Faulkner before he picked the wrappers up and placed them under the counter.

Miles left the shop without bothering to say goodbye. He stepped out onto the pavement and closed the door behind him. He was hailing a cab when a voice behind him said, ‘You're nicked, Faulkner, and this time you won't be able to claim the watch wasn't yours.'

Fair cop were not the words Faulkner expressed when Chief Inspector Hogan handcuffed him and led him away.