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  ‘After further investigation, we—’ began William.

  ‘We?’ interrupted Hawksby.

  ‘Thanks to the help of a research assistant at the Fitzmolean, we’ve identified an artist who I think may have painted the copy of the Rembrandt.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Eddie Leigh,’ said Lamont. ‘He tried to sell a fake Vermeer to a West End gallery. I was in charge of that case, and he’s been banged up in Pentonville for the past two years.’

  ‘What makes you think that Leigh was responsible for the copy of the Rembrandt, DC Warwick?’ asked Hawksby.

  ‘I saw an example of his work at the Fake Gallery in Notting Hill, sir. He has a rare talent, but even so, I don’t think he could have produced something of that quality unless he’d seen the original.’

  ‘But he could have bought a print of The Syndics from the Fitzmolean for five pounds,’ said Hawksby.

  ‘That’s true, but if he only had a print to work from, he wouldn’t have been able to capture the vivid colour, vibrancy, and flair of the original in the way he has, which makes me think it’s just possible the original hasn’t been destroyed.’

  ‘But that’s still damned unlikely,’ said Lamont, without the trace of a smile.

  ‘How long does Leigh have left to serve?’ asked Hawksby.

  ‘Just over four years, sir,’ said Lamont. ‘And I think he let slip where Faulkner is going to strike next.’

  ‘Enlighten me,’ said Hawksby.

  ‘SO Langley called me from Pentonville yesterday to tell me that he’s been regularly listening in on Eddie Leigh’s weekly phone conversations with his wife, but there hasn’t been anything worth reporting until last Friday.’

  ‘You have us on the edge of our seats, Bruce,’ said the commander.

  Lamont read out the exact words Leigh had said to his wife.

  ‘“How’s the painting coming along?” “You can tell him I’ve finished Woman on a Beach.” “In the nick of time.”’

  ‘That’s from Picasso’s Blue Period,’ said William.

  ‘I don’t give a damn what period it’s from,’ said Hawksby. ‘Who owns the original?’

  ‘A Mr and Mrs Brookes,’ said Lamont. ‘It’s currently hanging in their country home in Surrey.’

  ‘Not for much longer, I suspect, and now we know where Faulkner intends to strike next, we need to find out when.’

  ‘I think I might have the answer to that,’ said Jackie, looking rather pleased with herself. She allowed herself a moment before continuing. ‘“In the nick of time” is the clue, sir, because the Brookes are going on holiday in two weeks, and although they’ll be away for a fortnight, there is only one evening when the house will be empty.’ She allowed herself an even longer pause.

  ‘Get on with it, sergeant,’ said Lamont.

  ‘The Brookes have a driver, David Crann, and a cook, Elsie. Both live in, but the cook always goes on holiday when they’re away.’

  ‘And the driver?’

  ‘Crann will be on the premises night and day during that fortnight, except for the evening of Monday the twenty-third when Chelsea are playing Liverpool at home.’

  ‘I’m halfway there,’ said Hawksby, ‘but fill in the details.’

  ‘Crann has a season ticket, and never misses a Chelsea home game. The match kicks off at seven, so he’ll leave the house around five and won’t be back much before midnight.’

  ‘Are the premises fully alarmed?’ asked Lamont.

  ‘State of the art, sir. However, the nearest police station is about twenty minutes away, which would give the villains more than enough time to steal the picture and be back on the motorway before the local police could get there.’

  ‘That’s an outstanding piece of policework, sergeant.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Jackie.

  ‘For a change,’ said Lamont, ‘I think we may be one step ahead of Faulkner.’

  ‘Let’s just hope he’s not two steps ahead of us,’ said Hawksby. ‘However, prepare an outline plan for the twenty-third, Bruce, with the aim of catching them red-handed this time. But we also need some concrete results to keep the commissioner off my back. So before you leave, Warwick, what’s the latest on Churchill and old silver?’

  ‘Cyril Amhurst, the forger of the Churchill signatures, is coming up in front of the bench at Snaresbrook Crown Court later this week,’ said William. ‘We’re expecting him to be granted bail, and to appear in court sometime in the next couple of months. I’m assuming he’ll plead guilty.’

  ‘Never assume anything,’ said Lamont.

  ‘And the silver?’ asked Hawksby.

  ‘Turns out to be one of our regulars,’ said Lamont, taking over. ‘Kevin Carter. In and out of jail like a cuckoo in a Swiss clock. But we’re not sure what he’s up to this time, although one thing’s certain – it can’t be his own money he’s using to buy that amount of silver. Way out of his league. DS Roycroft and DC Warwick will be going down to Barnstaple later today to keep an eye on Carter and try to find out what he’s up to.’

  Bugger, William wanted to say for a second time that morning. He’d have to call Beth at the gallery, which he knew her boss wouldn’t approve of.

  ‘Keep me briefed,’ said Hawksby.

  ‘And, Bruce, I suggest you and DC Warwick pay a visit to Pentonville as soon as William gets back from Barnstaple. Now, returning to the Rembrandt for a moment: Mr Booth Watson QC has been calling my office daily, demanding we return his client’s copy of the painting.’

  ‘Not just yet,’ said Lamont.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Hawksby.

  ‘Because if Jackie or I were to turn up at Faulkner’s house, we wouldn’t get past the front gate. But if we were to send an inexperienced, wet behind the ears young constable to deliver the painting, there’s just a possibility he might get a foot in the door.’

  ‘Fair point,’ said Hawksby. ‘But why not just yet?’

  ‘Faulkner is booked onto a BA flight to Monte Carlo next Monday, and he won’t be back for at least a month.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  ‘He’s a creature of habit. Every December he leaves for his home in Monte Carlo, and rarely returns before the end of January.’

  ‘And how do you know which flight he’s booked on?’

  ‘BA security is run by a former Met officer, who keeps me well informed, sir.’

  ‘Something else that might be of interest, sir,’ said Jackie. ‘He won’t be travelling with his wife this time. Sitting next to him, her ticket paid for with the same American Express card, will be a Miss Cheryl Bates.’

  ‘She could be his secretary,’ said Hawksby.

  ‘I don’t think typing is her speciality, sir,’ said Jackie as she passed a photo of Miss Bates in a bikini across to the commander.

  A ripple of laughter broke out among the team, but order was quickly restored when Hawksby said, ‘So when Warwick turns up with the copy of the Rembrandt at Faulkner’s home in Hampshire, he will already be in Monte Carlo.’

  ‘Correct, sir, but his wife will still be in Hampshire,’ said Lamont.

  ‘Good, because I have a feeling that Mrs Faulkner might turn out to be a little more accommodating than her husband,’ said the commander after taking a second look at the photograph of Miss Bates.

  14

  ‘I’M IN REAL trouble,’ said William as he turned on the ignition.

  ‘With the Hawk or Lamont?’ asked Jackie, as she fastened her seat belt.

  ‘Far worse. With Beth. I told her I’d be back in time for supper this evening, and now I’m on my way to Barnstaple with another woman.’

  ‘I think this calls for a dozen roses,’ said Jackie. ‘And I know just the person to solve your problem.’

  As they passed through Earls Court, Jackie said, ‘Pull over.’

  ‘But it’s a double yellow,’ said William, ‘and we’re always fair game for traffic wardens.’

  ‘We’ll only be a couple of minutes.