Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

‘W E ' RE DOING WHAT ?' SAID A VRIL, as they left the terminal at Heathrow and walked out onto the pavement.

‘Taking a coach to Victoria,' replied Ross.

‘You must be joking,' she said. ‘You pay six hundred dollars not to sleep with me, we fly back to London via Paris first class, and now you expect me to take a coach to Victoria? Have you run out of money?'

‘Not quite,' said Ross.

‘There has to be a simple explanation.'

‘What I like about you,' said Ross, ‘is how quickly you catch on.'

‘And what I most like about you, Mr Hogan, is one can never be sure what to expect next.' Avril reluctantly chased after Ross as he followed the signs for coaches.

‘We could still grab a taxi,' said Avril, as they passed the queue at the rank, but Ross ignored her as he strode past them, not stopping until he reached a coach that was being boarded by a long line of waiting passengers.

Just as they reached the end of the queue, a second bus appeared and parked behind the first.

Ross climbed onto the second bus as the queue continued to board the first.

‘We get to Victoria quicker on the first one,' suggested Avril.

No sooner had Ross and Avril climbed aboard than the doors closed firmly shut and the coach moved off.

‘Hi Danny,' said Ross to the driver, before he led his charge to the back, where two men Avril didn't recognize stood up and introduced themselves.

‘Jack Hawksby,' said the Commander, ‘and this is my colleague, William Warwick.'

‘When you've been in my profession for as long as I have,' said Avril, as she shook hands with both of them, ‘you know a policeman when you see one. So, am I about to be arrested, or released with a caution?'

‘Neither,' said the Commander, ‘but we were rather hoping you might consider joining our team.'

‘That's a first,' said Avril. ‘Do I have a choice?'

‘Avril,' said Ross, ‘we're on your side, but while Simon Hartley is still in prison and Khalil stands to make a fortune if the French land the arms deal, your life could be in danger even though you're back home.'

‘So what can I do to help?' said Avril, sounding serious for the first time.

‘Perhaps we could start by asking you a few questions,' said William as the coach moved onto the motorway.

‘Of course,' said Avril.

William asked his first question. ‘Were you in the Overseas Club on the night Paolo Conti was murdered?'

‘I most certainly was,' Avril replied without hesitation. ‘In fact, I was sitting next to Conti at the time.'

‘And was it Simon Hartley who literally put the knife in?'

‘No, Hartley was seated at the other end of the bar having a drink with Khalil.'

‘Then who did kill Conti?'

Avril hesitated for some time before she said, ‘Prince Ahmed bin Majid, the second son of the Minister of Defence.'

‘And if the case were to come to court, would you be willing to confirm that, under oath?'

She hesitated even longer, before saying, ‘Yes, I would.'

‘Thank you,' said the Commander.

‘It's the least I can do,' said Avril, looking directly at Ross.

‘And would you be willing to sign a statement to that effect?' asked William as the coach left the motorway and joined the Hammersmith flyover.

‘Yes,' she whispered, almost indiscernibly.

William opened his briefcase and extracted a single sheet of paper which he handed across to Avril.

As she read the document, her hand began to tremble. ‘It's my death warrant,' she said, still shaking.

‘We're not going to allow anything to happen to you,' said William calmly. ‘In fact, until Hartley is released, and especially while the Prince is in London, we'll have a team of trained detectives watching you night and day, with Ross in charge of the whole operation.'

‘Couldn't Ross just kill Ahmed when he's in London?' suggested Avril, without any suggestion of irony.

‘I'd like nothing more,' said Ross, ‘but I don't think the Foreign Office would approve, while there's the slightest chance of closing the arms deal and getting Simon Hartley home safely.'

‘So what do you have planned for me now?' asked Avril.

‘We'd like you to stay out of harm's way while the Saudi delegation is in London, as we think it's just possible Prince Ahmed might come looking for you.'

‘That shouldn't be a problem,' said Avril, ‘as I have absolutely no desire to see that man again.'

‘It should only be for a couple of weeks, three at the most,' said the Hawk, ‘then you can go back to work.'

‘Nicely put, Commander, if I may say so,' said Avril, ‘but that could change when I return to Riyadh, appear in court and name Ahmed as the murderer.'

‘I think you'll find Hartley will have been released long before then,' said William, as he handed her a pen.

She read the statement a second time before finally signing it above the name, Jenny Prescott.

‘So what next?' asked Avril, as the coach turned right and continued on down the Earl's Court Road, while it made its way towards Westminster.

‘Once we reach Whitehall,' said William, ‘we can drive you wherever you like. Is there somewhere safe you can stay?'

‘With my mother in Putney until I can find somewhere to rent.'

William nodded. ‘It might be wise, given the circumstances, if you were to avoid letting your mother know about our agreement.'

‘That shouldn't prove too difficult,' said Avril. ‘She doesn't even know what I do for a living, so I certainly won't be telling her I'm mixed up with the police, the Foreign Office and a rather dubious foreign Prince.'

‘How have you explained what you were doing in Riyadh?' asked the Commander.

‘I was working as a personal assistant for the director of an oil company.'

‘So why are you coming home?' pressed William.

Avril didn't answer immediately. ‘It became a little too personal, so when his wife found out, I got the sack.'

The three men laughed.

‘However,' she continued, ‘I think I might tell her I've met a rather dishy man from Dublin called Declan O'Reilly who's trying to close an oil deal in Saudi. Nothing will please an old-fashioned Irish Catholic mother like mine more than the thought I might marry a fellow countryman.'

The Commander smiled. ‘I think you'll find Inspector Hogan has other plans.'

‘Lucky girl,' said Avril, as they drove around Parliament Square and came to a halt outside the Foreign Office.

The four of them climbed off the coach to find a car parked on a double yellow line waiting for them. William opened the back door to allow Avril to get in, but not before she'd kissed Ross on both cheeks.

‘Some lady that,' said the Commander as the car drove off. ‘But for now, Ross, you'd better report to Mr Trevelyan while we make our way back to the Yard. However, once he's finished with you, report to my office.'

‘But how can you be sure which side I'm on?' Ross asked the Hawk, trying to keep a straight face.

‘Don't forget,' said the Hawk, ‘I've met Mr Trevelyan and he's not your type.'

‘See you later, sir,' said Ross, before he disappeared into the Foreign Office.

‘Heaven help us if Ross were working for the other side,' said the Commander, as the two of them headed back to Scotland Yard.

···

At her country home in Bucklebury, Lady Hartley sat at her writing desk in the corner of the drawing room. She'd spent the morning replying to strangers' letters, most of which were messages of condolence following her husband's death. Several mentioned Simon's plight, with one saying, ‘Your son is a murderer and deserves to be hanged. I hope he rots in hell.'

The last letter she considered was from her bank manager, enclosing a copy of her latest statement. The account was in credit for a few thousand pounds, because her husband never left her short, but a few thousand pounds was not enough to cover the expenses of a funeral and other monthly bills that her husband would normally have dealt with. He had once told her that the eleventh commandment would have been ‘thou shalt not be overdrawn', and she suspected Moses would have agreed with him. However, neither Moses nor he were on hand now to advise her. She had never discussed these problems with her husband in the past as he had assured her that Simon had it under control. Her husband couldn't possibly have foreseen that their son would end up in a foreign jail, leaving her to deal with day to day problems until he was released, or—

Her thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing. She put down the bank manager's letter and picked up the phone.

‘Good morning, Lady Hartley,' said a voice she didn't recognize. ‘My name is Bernard Anscombe, and I'm the British Ambassador in Riyadh.'

‘How kind of you to call, Sir Bernard,' said Lady Hartley. She had her first question already prepared in case someone from the Foreign Office rang. ‘Have you been able to visit my son?'

‘I managed to see him a couple of days ago,' the Ambassador replied, ‘and can report that he's bearing up well.'

‘But he's been charged with murder,' she said, trying to remain calm, ‘and I can assure you, Ambassador, Simon wouldn't harm a fly.'

In the past when he'd had to call mothers whose sons had ended up in prison, Sir Bernard had been only too aware they were guilty of the crime they'd been charged with, and there was little he or anyone else could do to reassure them. However, on this occasion, he didn't doubt his fellow countryman was innocent. He nevertheless measured his words carefully. ‘I have spoken to the Chief of Police and can assure you we have made our position clear.'

‘The Saudis still hang people for murder,' the distraught mother reminded him.

‘I feel confident it won't come to that, Lady Hartley,' was about as far as protocol allowed the seasoned diplomat to go.

‘Is he even aware his father has died?' she said, desperation creeping back into her voice.

‘I did tell him,' said the Ambassador, ‘but he seemed to be more worried about how you are coping. He told me you should read your husband's will carefully and then take legal advice. Meanwhile, I won't rest until your son has been released. I'll be calling your daughter-in-law next, and be assured I will keep you both regularly informed of what's happening this end.'

‘That's kind of you, Sir Bernard.'

She was still clinging onto the phone long after the Ambassador had rung off. She thought about his advice, put down the phone and began to search for the card of the QC who'd come to the funeral and had offered to waive his fee because he admired her husband so much. He had come over as far more impressive than her local solicitor. When she finally found the card, she picked up the phone and dialled his number.

‘Mr Booth Watson's chambers,' announced a voice on the other end of the line.

‘I need to speak to the head of chambers, please,' she said.

‘May I ask who's calling?'

‘Lady Hartley.'

‘I'll put you straight through.'

···

‘I have to admit,' said Trevelyan, after Ross had delivered his report for the second time that morning, ‘you did well, even though you're not one of us.'

‘Thank you, sir,' said Ross, ‘for the backhanded compliment.'

Trevelyan ignored the riposte and asked, ‘Where's Ms Dubois at the present time?'

‘Jenny Prescott is staying with her mother in Putney.'

‘Let's keep it that way,' said Trevelyan. ‘Don't forget the Saudi Defence Minister and his son, Prince Ahmed, will be visiting London next month, and the last thing we need is a diplomatic incident.'

‘Heaven forbid!' said Ross.

‘As Chief Superintendent Warwick will be in charge of security during the Minister's visit, perhaps I could suggest you take a well-earned holiday.'

‘How very kind of you, sir,' said Ross, not reminding him he'd just had a holiday and had no intention of taking another one – not while Prince Ahmed was in the country.

‘You'll be pleased to hear, Hogan, that I have sent a glowing report to Commander Hawksby on the way you conducted yourself while you were in Riyadh. Mind you, your expenses have raised a few eyebrows.'

‘Didn't want to risk three billion for the sake of a miserly few dollars, sir,' said Ross, delivering a well-prepared riposte.

‘I hope you got value for money,' said Trevelyan, without any suggestion of irony, and before Ross could respond, he added, ‘but should we fail to pull off the arms deal and it ends up going to the French, we may have to rely on Ms Dubois's sworn testimony as to what really happened in the club that night, if we're to make sure that the Saudis are left with no choice but to release Hartley.'

‘I think she'd be even happier if Prince Ahmed were to end up in jail, where he belongs,' said Ross, not mentioning Avril's heartfelt suggestion that he should murder him.

‘That's not going to happen,' said Trevelyan, ‘at least not while there's the slightest chance we could still be awarded the arms contract.'

‘What if the French were to get the contract and Hartley isn't released?'

‘We may well be calling on your particular skills once again, Inspector,' admitted Trevelyan, ‘but until then, just make sure she doesn't go anywhere near the Defence Minister's son while he's in England. We'll have quite enough on our hands with the well-organised protests that are certain to take place during the visit. Is that understood, Hogan?'

‘Yes, sir,' said Ross, who wanted to add ‘three bags full, sir', but somehow restrained himself.

···

Once Ross had left the Foreign Office, he crossed Whitehall and headed for Scotland Yard. Once he'd entered the building he ran up the stairs to the third floor and knocked on the Commander's door.

‘Come,' said a voice.

‘You were right,' said Ross as he entered the Hawk's office. ‘Trevelyan's not my sort of man.'

‘Well, we're going to have to rub along with him during the next few weeks,' said the Hawk, ‘while Avril is still in danger.'

‘Perhaps we should exchange Trevelyan for Hartley,' said Ross, as William walked in and joined them.

‘Did you learn anything worthwhile from the ubiquitous mandarin?' he asked.

‘Not a lot,' admitted Ross. ‘I don't belong to the right clubs for him to confide in me. But what I can tell you is the Foreign Office have their knickers in a twist about the upcoming visit of the Saudi Minister of Defence and are particularly worried about any protests that might take place if Prince Ahmed shows his face while Hartley is still in jail.'

‘And so they should be,' said the Hawk, ‘as the protestors will be well prepared and certain to park themselves outside Number Ten, and, frankly, I can't blame them.'

‘I've already briefed my team on what to expect,' said William, ‘and of course we'll have the Territorial Support Group on standby in Whitehall Court, should it get out of control.'

‘Let's hope that won't be necessary,' said the Hawk. ‘And by the way, Ross, congratulations on a job well done. But perhaps you ought to go home now and let Alice and Jojo know you've returned safely – and take tomorrow off.' He paused. ‘That's an order.'

Ross didn't need much encouragement and, once he'd completed his report, he left the two of them to discuss the implications of the Saudi visit and what could go wrong.

Once Ross had left the building, he headed to St James's Park, where he caught a tube to Sloane Square, hoping to get home before Jojo had gone to bed.

···

‘Can I come to the Rembrandt unveiling?' asked Jojo, who was sitting on the floor surrounded by angels.

‘Please,' said Alice.

‘Please,' repeated Jojo.

‘Of course you can. In fact, I think you'll find Beth is going to ask you to do something rather special that evening.'

‘Like what?' demanded Jojo.

‘You have been chosen to present a bouquet of roses to the Countess of Wessex when she visits the museum to unveil the Rembrandt.'

Jojo began leaping up and down, only stopping when she heard the front door open. She ran out of the room and screamed with delight when she saw her father walking towards her. She leapt on him and said, ‘Hi, Dad. Have you heard the news?'

‘No, but I have a feeling you're about to tell me,' said Ross, as they walked into the front room together, where Ross got a welcome-home kiss and a second hug from Alice.

‘I've been chosen to present the Countess with a bouquet when she visits the Fitzmolean to unveil the Angel .'

‘Your angel?' said Ross, looking down to see the floor was covered in his daughter's drawings.

‘No, silly,' said Jojo, ‘Rembrandt's Angel. And I'll need a new dress.'

‘Of course you will,' said Ross, ‘and as I've got the day off tomorrow, we can go shopping together.'

‘Thank you, Dad,' said Jojo, who bent down, selected an angel and gave it to her father.

‘I'll frame it,' said Ross, ‘and hang it in my office at Scotland Yard.'

‘Not many angels there,' said Alice, as Jojo gathered up the rest of the drawings. ‘Now, time for you to go to bed, young lady. It's way past your bedtime.'

‘Will you promise to come and see me when I present the bouquet to the Countess?' she asked, looking up at her father.

‘Of course I will,' said Ross, once again taking his daughter in his arms.

‘And will you come and read to me once I'm in bed?'

Jojo grinned, before leaving the room, humming a tune neither of them recognized.

‘So you weren't arrested after all,' said Alice once the door had closed.

‘No, but it was a close-run thing,' admitted Ross.

‘And the girl you told me about before you left?'

‘Is safely back in London and staying with her mother. But as I'm in charge of her protection, I can only hope you haven't got a lot planned for me during the next couple of months.'

‘Nothing of any real importance, but don't forget you've now promised your daughter you won't miss the unveiling of the Rembrandt.'

‘Of course I won't,' said Ross, as Alice joined him on the sofa.

‘And thank you for agreeing to help her choose a dress for the occasion. She couldn't hide how happy she is to have you back.' She paused. ‘And so am I.'

‘Me too,' admitted Ross, as he took Alice in his arms and began to kiss her at first gently, and then more passionately. He was unbuttoning Alice's blouse when a voice behind them said, ‘You two are gross.'

···

The first thing Beth did when William returned home that night was to ask if Ross had got back in one piece.

‘Two pieces,' said William, without explanation.

‘I won't ask you where he was, or what he was up to,' said Beth, ‘not least because I know you won't tell me.'

‘All I can say,' said William, ‘is that Ross solved one problem but created another – one that we may not be able to sort out for some time.'

‘Not until Hartley is released from prison,' suggested Beth, ‘and Prince Ahmed returns to Saudi, also in one piece.'

‘How do you know …?' began William.

‘I've often advised you to read The Guardian and not simply rely on the Daily Mail for your news.'

‘What I can tell you,' said William, ‘is there's a story in the Daily Mail about your friend Christina that I'm fairly confident you won't see in The Guardian .' William flicked over a few pages of the Mail before he began reading out loud: ‘Nigel Dempster claims in his gossip column this morning that – following a whirlwind romance – Mr Wilbur T. Hackensack III has married Mrs Christina Faulkner. Christina, Dempster reminds his readers, is the ex-wife of the fraudster, Miles Faulkner, who will be released from Wormwood Scrubs next week, having served three years. The marriage took place in St Mary's chapel in Monte Carlo. No other guests were present. The happy couple are expected to honeymoon in Venice before returning to London on the Orient Express. Forbes magazine claims Hackensack is a billionaire and known in his hometown of Columbus, Ohio as the "Refuse Collector". When asked if his second wife had signed a prenup, the Refuse Collector replied, "When you find the right woman, you don't need to sign a prenup."'

‘I do hope she'll be back in time for the unveiling of the Rembrandt,' said Beth.

‘It might well be annulled by then,' suggested William.

‘I don't think so.' Beth smiled to herself, confident that Christina had found the perfect partner this time.