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  ‘I was hoping to see Beth,’ he blurted out as a figure in a dressing gown appeared, a towel wrapped around her hair.

  ‘Come in, William,’ said Beth. ‘I can’t wait to find out why you stood me up. Can I assume you’ve found the Rembrandt? While I’m drying my hair, Jez,’ she said to the young man, ‘would you take William into the sitting room and give him a drink? Not that he deserves one.’

  11

  ‘DID YOU GET to the bookshop in time?’ asked Lamont when William walked into the office the following morning.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So you arrested him?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘By the time I caught up with him he was on a tube train to Dagenham East. I decided to first find out where he lived, then return with a search warrant this morning.’

  ‘Cretin,’ said Lamont. ‘You should have arrested him there and then, and immediately searched his house. Let’s hope you won’t have to explain to the Hawk why he’s disappeared overnight.’

  ‘He’s not going anywhere, sir.’

  ‘How can you possibly know that, detective constable? You’re a policeman, not a fortune teller. Did he see you following him?’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir.’

  ‘Let’s hope not, because you’ve certainly given him more than enough time to destroy the evidence, and even make a bolt for it.’

  William felt like an errant schoolboy receiving a dressing down from the headmaster because he hadn’t done his homework properly.

  ‘And can I also ask, laddie, why you’re still dressed in the same clothes you were wearing yesterday?’

  ‘I overslept, sir, and threw on the first things I could find, as I didn’t want to be late.’

  ‘And is that also why you didn’t shave?’ William bowed his head. ‘Well, I hope she was worth it,’ said Lamont, ‘because you’re in enough trouble as it is. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen next. You’ll go home, take a shower, have a shave and a change of clothes, and be back here within the hour, by which time I will have obtained a warrant to search the suspect’s premises. You and DS Roycroft will travel to Dagenham, arrest the suspect, charge him and gather every scrap of evidence you can to ensure we nail the bastard when the case comes to court. You’ll then escort him to the local nick, where he can stay put until he comes up in front of the magistrate tomorrow morning. And Warwick, if he’s bolted, or destroyed the evidence, you’ll be up in front of the commander, and I might have to recommend that a longer spell on the beat wouldn’t do you any harm. Now get moving, before he dies of old age.’

  During his journey back to Victoria, William couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened the previous evening. He and Jez, Beth’s flatmate, had shared a beer, when Jez had done most of the talking. He’d explained that he and Beth had been at uni together, and their relationship was platonic. William didn’t need him to explain why.

  When Beth joined them, still wearing her dressing gown, Jez quickly disappeared.

  ‘You didn’t have to wash your hair just for me,’ said William.

  ‘Don’t try and get off the hook,’ said Beth, as she sat down next to him on the couch. ‘I still want to know why you stood me up.’

  William didn’t get as far as Dagenham before he kissed her for the first time, and he would have finished the story of his pursuit of the Churchill forger over breakfast, if Beth hadn’t reminded him what time it was.

  ‘I’m going to visit the Fake Gallery tomorrow,’ he said as he headed for the door. ‘Would you like to join me?’

  ‘Yes, assuming you’re not held up by the Boston Strangler.’

  When William turned up at Scotland Yard later that morning he’d spent a few minutes in the washroom, doing his best to make himself presentable. But his feeble efforts hadn’t fooled Lamont.

  The moment he’d returned to his little room in Trenchard House, he showered, shaved, and put on some fresh clothes. He was back at his desk within the hour, by which time Lamont had identified the suspect from his address in Dagenham – a Mr Cyril Amhurst. He’d also secured a search warrant from a local magistrate.

  ‘Jackie will be accompanying you,’ he told William, ‘as you clearly need a nanny to hold your hand. Let’s hope for your sake that Mr Amhurst hasn’t scarpered.’

  William picked up a car from the pool and headed east along the Embankment towards Dagenham, with nanny seated in the passenger seat. It was their first extended time together, other than the occasional team bonding session in the Tank, the popular watering hole on the ground floor of Scotland Yard. He still hadn’t found the snooker room.

  As they travelled through the East End, William discovered that Jackie was divorced with one daughter, called Michelle, and an understanding mother who made it possible for her to do the job she loved.

  William didn’t mention his parents or his sister, but he did tell Jackie that he intended to visit the Fake Gallery in Notting Hill the next day, with a research assistant from the Fitzmolean.

  ‘Is she the reason you were late this morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ said William, turning to look out of the window.

  ‘Then let’s hope she’s understanding.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There are more break-ups in the police force than any other profession. I still adore my ex-husband, but he got fed up with never knowing when I’d be home, even if I would be home, so he found someone else who was always back in time for supper, not breakfast. By the way, it might be wise to let the boss know you plan to visit the Fake Gallery tomorrow.’

  ‘Why? It’s my day off.’

  ‘Even so, he doesn’t like to find out things second-hand.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice,’ said William, as they drove into Dagenham.

  William had learnt more about Jackie in the past forty minutes than he had during the previous month.

  ‘What do we do if he isn’t in?’ he asked as they pulled up outside 43 Monkside Drive.

  ‘We wait until he shows up. A lot of police work consists of just hanging around.’

  ‘You or me?’ asked William as they walked up the path.

  ‘You. You’re the case officer.’

  William felt nervous when he rapped on the door, and as the seconds passed, began to fear the worst. He was just about to go back to the car when the door opened.

  ‘Mr Cyril Amhurst?’

  ‘Yes,’ the man said, giving them a warm smile. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘My name is Detective Constable Warwick, and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Roycroft.’ They produced their warrant cards, causing Amhurst’s smile to evaporate. ‘May we come in, sir?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, less warmly. He led them through to the front room, but didn’t sit down. ‘So what’s all this about?’ he asked.

  ‘We have received complaints from several London bookshops that you’ve been selling them signed copies of Winston Churchill’s The Second World War.’

  ‘I didn’t realize that was a crime.’

  ‘It is if the signature’s yours, and not Sir Winston’s,’ said Jackie firmly.

  ‘I also have to inform you,’ said William, ‘that I am in possession of a warrant to search these premises.’

  The blood drained out of Amhurst’s face, and he collapsed onto the sofa. For a moment, William thought he was going to faint.

  William and Jackie spent the next two hours going about their task, one of them always remaining in the living room, where Amhurst sat meekly on the sofa. It quickly became clear to William that DS Roycroft had carried out the procedure many times before.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Amhurst asked as a molehill of books grew into a mountain in the middle of the room.

  ‘No thank you,’ said William, placing two bottles of Waterman’s black ink next to several sheets of lined paper covered with row upon row of Winston S. Churchill signatures.

  By the time Jackie considered