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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
the job had been done to her satisfaction, they had between them unearthed several gems, including a complete six-volume set of Churchill’s The Second World War, of which three of the volumes were signed, as well as books by Lewis Carroll, Field Marshal Montgomery and President Eisenhower, unsigned. But the ultimate prize was a first edition of A Christmas Carol, signed by Charles Dickens.

  After Jackie had placed each item in separate exhibit bags and labelled them, William arrested Mr Amhurst and cautioned him.

  ‘Am I going to jail?’ Amhurst asked anxiously.

  ‘Not for the moment. But you’ll have to accompany us to Dagenham police station where you will be interviewed and possibly charged. The custody sergeant will then decide if you should be granted bail. To be on the safe side, I’d recommend you pack an overnight bag.’

  Amhurst couldn’t stop shaking.

  William and Jackie escorted him to the local nick, booked him in, and handed over the evidential exhibits to the sergeant on duty. When Amhurst was charged, he made no comment, other than to ask if he might phone his solicitor. He was being fingerprinted and photographed when William and Jackie signed off to make their way back to Scotland Yard.

  Once William had deposited the car keys in the pound, he joined Jackie in reception and they took the lift up to the fifth floor. When they stepped out into the corridor, William noticed that a light was still on under the commander’s door.

  ‘Do you think he leaves it on, even when he’s not there?’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ said Jackie. ‘But there’s no way we’re ever going to find out.’

  When they walked into their office they found Lamont on the phone, but once he’d finished his call, he sat back and listened to their report.

  ‘You got lucky, William,’ he said when they came to the end. ‘Just be sure you don’t make such a damn stupid mistake again. And remember that your responsibilities in this case aren’t over yet. If Amhurst pleads not guilty, you’ll be called upon to give evidence.’

  ‘Surely he’ll plead guilty,’ said William. ‘The evidence is overwhelming.’

  ‘You can never count on it. I haven’t got the time to tell you how many slam dunk cases I’ve lost. But I admit this one looks pretty solid. By the way, SO Rose called from Pentonville. He wants you to give him a buzz.’

  After William had returned to his desk he sat in silence for a few moments, so many different thoughts whirling around in his head. Amhurst, followed by Beth, squeezed out by Rose. He picked up the phone, dialled HMP Pentonville and asked to be put through to the SO.

  ‘Rose.’

  ‘Warwick, sir, returning your call.’

  ‘You’re in luck, DC Warwick.’ William flicked open his notebook. ‘Three women named Angie visited Pentonville to see prisoners between April the ninth and April the thirtieth 1981. A Mrs Angie Oldbury, Angela Ibrahim and Angie Carter.’

  ‘If I could take down the details of all three, sir.’

  ‘No need,’ said Rose, ‘because one of the prisoners who was visited by an Angie is still in Pentonville, and one was black, which I have a feeling Appleyard might have noticed. The third was released just over a year ago.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Patience, young man. The one you might be interested in is a right little villain called Kevin Carter, who lives in Barnstaple. That’s in Devon, in case you don’t know. He’s an engraver by day, and a burglar by night. So now it’s your turn to prove you’re worthy of the prefix in front of your name.’

  ‘I’ll get on to it straight away, sir.’

  ‘And did you pass on my salutations to your boss?’

  ‘I did indeed, sir.’

  ‘And what was his response?’

  ‘I think you’d better ask him yourself, sir.’

  ‘That bad,’ said Rose before he put the phone down.

  William wrote a detailed memo of his conversation with SO Rose before handing it to the boss.

  ‘And what is the one word that leaps off the page?’ said Lamont after he’d read the report.

  ‘Engraver.’

  ‘You’re learning fast,’ said Lamont. ‘Though Carter and Barnstaple would be a close second and third.’ He swivelled his chair around. ‘Jackie, you’d better join us.’

  Once DS Roycroft had settled, the inevitable biro in hand, notebook open, Lamont continued.

  ‘The two of you are going to have to spend at least a couple of days in the West Country keeping a close eye on Carter. I need you to find out what he’s up to, and exactly what he’s engraving on the silver he purchased from the vaults. And why he’s suddenly a buyer, when he usually nicks the stuff. He doesn’t have that sort of money, so someone must be bankrolling him. But who?’

  ‘When do you want us to leave, sir?’ asked Jackie.

  ‘As soon as possible. Unless either of you have anything more important to keep you in London?’

  ‘I may have,’ said William. ‘I recently met a researcher at the Fitzmolean, and although I didn’t learn a great deal more about the theft of the Rembrandt, she suggested I visit the Fake Gallery in Notting Hill, which I had intended to do tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Why?’ barked Lamont.

  ‘On the off chance I might spot a similar work by the artist who produced the copy of the Rembrandt.’

  ‘Worth a try,’ said Lamont. ‘And take the young lady along with you, especially if she was the reason you were late this morning.’

  Jackie suppressed a smile.

  ‘So that’s settled,’ said Lamont. ‘You and Jackie can drive down to Barnstaple first thing on Monday morning.’

  ‘Can I ask how the diamond smuggling is going, sir?’ asked William.

  ‘Don’t get cheeky with me, detective constable, or you might just find yourself back in Lambeth in time for the night shift.’

  ‘I have an interesting case that might just appeal to you,’ said Clare as she handed over a file marked PRIVATE.

  Grace took her time studying her instructing solicitor’s appraisal of the case before saying, ‘But surely the presiding judge wouldn’t allow the trial to proceed, given the circumstances?’

  ‘There’s a precedent,’ said Clare. ‘Mr Justice Havers allowed his son and daughter to appear before him, with one of them representing the Crown while the other appeared for the defence. But not before the defendant had agreed to the arrangement.’

  ‘Not my usual fare,’ admitted Grace as she read the charge sheet for a second time. ‘But I confess I find the challenge irresistible. And I bet my father wouldn’t put up any objection.’

  ‘Have you told him about us?’ enquired Clare, trying not to sound anxious.

  ‘I didn’t go into any details.’

  ‘Will you ever?’ sighed Clare, before adding, ‘I looked up the word “reactionary” in my OED, and found your father’s name appeared in the footnotes.’

  Grace laughed. ‘I’ve told my mother all about you, and she couldn’t have been more supportive. She asked if you’d like to join us for lunch on Sunday, and let Dad work it out for himself?’

  ‘Who do you think your father would be more happy to propose as a member of the Garrick – a mass murderer or a lesbian?’

  ‘Mass, I couldn’t be sure about,’ said Grace as she placed the folder on the bedside table and turned out the light.

  12

  THEY SAT TOGETHER on the top deck of a bus heading for Notting Hill.

  ‘Do you have a plan, Detective Constable Warwick,’ asked Beth, ‘or are we just winging it?’

  ‘We’re winging it,’ admitted William. ‘But I’m hoping that by the time we get back on the bus I’ll know who painted the copy of the missing Rembrandt.’

  ‘Did you manage to dig up anything interesting about the gallery?’

  ‘It was founded twelve years ago by two brothers, Malcolm and Zac Knight. It started out as a portrait gallery, but they soon found there wasn’t a profit in that and moved on to producing unsigned copies of famous paintings for
customers who couldn’t afford the real thing, but want a masterpiece on their wall for a thousandth of the price. That was when the business really took off. How about you?’

  ‘I asked around my arty friends. A lot of them don’t approve of the gallery, although one or two did admit that it’s given some struggling artists a reasonable living they wouldn’t otherwise have had. Apparently some of the copies are of exceptional quality. But I’d still rather have an original.’

  ‘Then you’re going to have to steal one. Or marry a very rich man.’

  ‘Neither will be necessary,’ said Beth. ‘I already live with some of the finest artists on earth, and my latest boyfriend is practically penniless, so that doesn’t look too promising.’

  ‘But most of those artists are dead Dutch men, so your boyfriend must be in with a chance.’

  ‘Not unless he finds my Rembrandt.’

  ‘Is that why you tried to pick me up?’

  ‘It was you who tried to pick me up, in case you’ve forgotten. And on our second date, you didn’t even show up.’

  ‘I’d already heard the lecture,’ said William, taking her hand.

  ‘Well, I hope you’re not thinking of leaving the Art and Antiques squad before you’ve found my Rembrandt.’

  ‘I won’t be moving for some time yet. But if I pass my sergeant’s exam, in a couple of years’ time they’ll probably move me to another department.’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere until my Rembrandt is back in its frame, otherwise I shall transfer my affections to whoever takes your place.’

  ‘Lucky man. But if we find out who copied The Syndics, we’ll be one step nearer to discovering what happened to the original.’

  The bus came to a halt, and William stood aside to allow Beth to go ahead of him.

  ‘Not many men bother to do that nowadays,’ Beth commented as she made her way down the stairs. ‘I can’t wait to meet your father. He must be an old-fashioned gentleman.’

  ‘That’s something I’ve always taken for granted,’ admitted William, ‘and have only begun to appreciate recently.’

  ‘You’ll remember Mark Twain’s comment about his father,’ said Beth as they stepped off the bus. ‘“When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he’d learnt in seven years.”’ William laughed, and Beth asked, ‘Do you have any idea where you’re going?’