Over My Dead Body, page 18
Two muscle-bound men climbed out of the buggy and circled the van slowly. One of them opened the driver’s door and exchanged a few words with Sanchez, who had a well-prepared script for every one of his questions. The guard gave him a mock salute, before joining his colleague at the back of the van. They examined the large wooden crate, counted the passengers, checked the clipboard and then slammed the door shut, before walking back to the buggy. One of them waved an arm to indicate that Sanchez should follow them.
Ross retrieved his video camera from the glove compartment, pressed a button on the side and began to record their slow, meandering route along an unmarked path until they reached a wooden bridge. He continued filming as they crossed a fast-flowing river before finally emerging into the open to see a palatial mansion dominating the landscape.
Sanchez followed the golf buggy across a finely cut lawn and onto a wide gravel drive that led up to the house. Ross went over Plan A in his mind one more time. If Faulkner appeared when the front door opened, Ross would go to the back of the van to reduce the chances of his former fellow prisoner spotting him, while he looked as if he was supervising the unloading.
As soon as Faulkner began to follow the crate inside, the four armed policemen would grab him and handcuff him. Sanchez would then arrest Faulkner and read him his rights.
If there was even a hint of resistance from the two bodyguards, the police motorcyclists who were impatiently patrolling the motorway would spring into action and be with them moments later.
The front door opened, and a butler appeared. But there was no sign of Faulkner. It was never that easy. Ross moved on to Plan B.
Sanchez and Ross got out of the van, made their way slowly to the back and watched as Mr Benmore oversaw the unloading of the crate. He’d already complained to William about the four amateurs who’d taken the place of his professional technicians, but to no avail. After much grunting and groaning, the crate was finally lifted out of the van, and the four policemen followed Sanchez and the butler into the house, accompanied by Ross and Mr Benmore, while William remained out of sight. Still no sign of Faulkner.
Once the front door had been closed, William pulled a baseball cap low over his eyes, slipped out of the back of the van and took up his position behind the wheel, aware that he couldn’t risk being seen by Faulkner who would have recognized him immediately. He would like to have been the arresting officer, but he assumed that when the front door opened again, a triumphant Sanchez would reappear with the prisoner. Mr Benmore would no doubt become even more distraught when he discovered that the painting would be going straight back to Scotland; an agreement that had been brokered between the commander, the Home Office and the Spanish police.
The four policemen carrying their entry ticket made slow progress across the hall, while Sanchez chatted to the butler. Eventually they reached the drawing room, where a large, empty space on the wall above the fireplace marked the place where Fishers of Men would never hang.
The crate was carefully lowered onto the carpet, and the policemen stood back to allow Mr Benmore to set about his other job, which called on equal expertise. Unpacking.
As he began to extract the screws one by one, Ross slipped behind the open door so that if Faulkner made an entrance he would be ambushed.
Once all twenty-four screws had been removed, and the lid of the crate lifted, Mr Benmore removed the travel frame, followed by the layer of polythene that was stretched across it, protecting the surface of the canvas. After the job had been completed to his satisfaction, he instructed his untrained technicians to lift the painting gently out of its coffin by the four corners of its gilded frame. He must have repeated the word ‘lentamente’ a dozen times. Mr Benmore wasn’t used to repeating himself.
The four men bent down, took a corner of the frame each, and eased the masterpiece out of its travel box. Despite himself, Ross couldn’t resist stepping forward to take a closer look, just as the butler re-entered the room, with his master following close behind.
Ross tried to duck back behind the door, but Faulkner spotted him immediately, and an expression of undisguised shock appeared on his face. He turned and began running back across the hall, followed closely by Ross, with Sanchez only a yard behind.
The butler stepped quickly into the doorway, but a straight arm tackle that would have had Ross sent off a rugby field felled him, though not before he’d gained his master a few vital seconds.
Ross chased Faulkner across the hall and down a long corridor, gaining on him with every stride. When he reached a door at the end of the corridor, Faulkner surprised Ross by stopping to check the time, before opening the door. He leapt inside and slammed the door shut behind him. Ross grabbed the handle a second too late. After one determined charge, he knew a rugby scrum could not have forced the door open.
Faulkner heard the shoulder charge and allowed himself a wry smile as he made his way across the room, coming to a halt in front of the heavy iron door. He entered an eight-digit code on his watch, and the massive door obeyed his command and swung open. He stepped inside, pulled the door closed and waited for the four heavy bolts to slide into place.
Once again, he tapped his watch and waited for the face to light up before he entered a second code, which immediately opened the far door. He stepped out and slammed the heavy metal door shut behind him. He breathed a sigh of relief, before descending the stairs to his other world. The well-rehearsed disappearance had gone to plan, but he knew that he would now have to think more seriously about moving on.
The first thing he did when he reached his study was make a phone call.
CHAPTER 20
THE BUTLER DIDN’T HESITATE TO hand over the keys to a furious Ross. After all, by now the boss would have had more than enough time to escape.
Ross ran back down the corridor to find Sanchez, William and a couple of his officers trying unsuccessfully to break down the door. All they had to show for their trouble were bruised shoulders.
He quickly unlocked the door, but it came as no surprise to any of them that Faulkner was nowhere to be seen.
‘Take a closer look at this metal door,’ said William. ‘Tell me what you see, or more important what you don’t see.’
‘No handle and no lock,’ said Ross immediately.
‘And no dial,’ added Sanchez. ‘So how do you open it?’
‘I suspect there’s only one person who knows that,’ said William, as the butler reappeared carrying a large tray of drinks, which only made Ross want to hit him even harder.
‘How do we open that door?’ demanded William.
‘I have no idea, sir,’ said the butler, placing the tray on the table. The blank look on his face suggested to William that he might even be telling the truth.
William was about to ask a follow-up question when the phone on the desk began to ring. He indicated to the butler that he should answer it.
The butler picked up the receiver.
‘Good afternoon, this is the Sartona residence. How may I help you?’
William took a notebook and a Biro out of his pocket, wrote down the name Sartona and underlined it, as he listened to the one-sided conversation.
‘Are they still there?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m afraid Mr Sartona is abroad at the moment. Can I take a message?’
‘Is Booth Watson still with you?’
‘Yes, sir. He’s looking forward to seeing you when you return.’
‘Call me the moment you’re certain that every one of those flatfoots has left and are on their way back to Barcelona.’
‘Of course, sir. I’ll let him know you called.’ The butler replaced the receiver, turned to William and said, ‘Can I be of any further assistance, gentlemen?’
Ross clenched a fist and took a step forward.
‘No, thank you,’ said William, quickly coming between them. ‘In fact, I think it might be wise for you to leave.’
‘As you wish,’ said the butler, who gave a slight bow and left without another word.
William waited for the door to close before he said, ‘If we’re going to have any chance of finding out what’s behind that,’ he said, pointing at the impenetrable iron door, ‘we’re going to need some pretty heavy equipment.’
‘Easier said than done,’ said Sanchez. ‘This place used to be Franco’s secret hideaway. It’s what you call in your country a listed property, so we can’t touch anything without the authority of a court.’
‘Then we’ll have to get on with it without consulting the authorities, won’t we?’ said Ross.
‘I don’t think so,’ said William, shaking his head. ‘Try to remember, Ross, we’re not in the back streets of Battersea. We don’t have any authority here.’
‘Who cares, choirboy?’ said Ross, unable to hide his frustration.
‘I do,’ said Sanchez. ‘Because we’re not even in the back streets of Barcelona.’
‘And in any case,’ said William, ‘you can be sure that by now Faulkner will be on the phone to his Spanish lawyer, who’ll slap a restraint order on us before you can say acetylene torch.’
‘We could always wait. After all, he has to come out eventually,’ suggested Ross.
‘I’ll bet there’s another world on the other side of that door,’ said William. ‘Heaven knows how long we’d have to twiddle our thumbs before he reappears.’
‘And Faulkner’s lawyer would have seen us off long before then,’ added Sanchez.
William nodded, but Ross still didn’t look convinced.
‘And I’m pretty sure I even know the lawyer he’ll be speaking to,’ continued Sanchez. ‘So there’s nothing we can do until we get a court order overruling any objection.’
‘How long will that take?’ asked Ross.
‘Days, weeks, could be months,’ said Sanchez, as the phone on the desk began to ring again. After two rings it ceased, and William assumed it had been answered on another extension somewhere in the building.
Sanchez grabbed the receiver, to hear a conversation taking place between the butler and a woman with whom he’d crossed swords many times in the past.
‘Who’s the officer in charge?’ said a no-nonsense voice.
‘Lieutenant Sanchez,’ said the detective, interrupting them.
‘Good afternoon, lieutenant,’ she said, as if addressing a junior colleague.
‘Good afternoon, señora.’
‘Let me make it clear from the outset, lieutenant,’ she said, trying to sound reasonable, ‘if I find that anything in my client’s home has been tampered with, I will not hesitate to sue the police and hold you personally responsible. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, señora.’
‘So there can be no misunderstanding at a later date, Lieutenant Sanchez, I’ll ask you once again. Is that understood?’
‘Absolutamente, señora,’ said Sanchez, and slammed down the phone.
‘So, Faulkner’s eluded us again,’ said Ross.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Sanchez. ‘I’ll put a couple of patrol cars on the road between here and the motorway, so if he tries to escape we’ll be waiting for him.’
‘What about the other side of the house?’ asked William.
‘He’d be faced with a sheer cliff. Franco chose this location so he could never be taken by surprise. It doesn’t help that Faulkner will know only too well I don’t have the resources to mount a twenty-four/seven operation for too long. Everything is budgets nowadays,’ he added with a sigh.
‘Then we’ll have to return when he least expects us,’ said William.
‘When you do, please keep me in the loop,’ said Sanchez. ‘Because Faulkner is someone I’d like to meet.’
Ross smiled, but didn’t comment. The Spanish equivalent of turning a blind eye.
‘But until then,’ said Sanchez, ‘there’s not much more we can do today, so I may as well drive you back to the airport?’
William turned to see that Ross had dropped to his knees, and was carefully examining the bottom left-hand corner of the iron door. ‘Anything of interest?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, sir,’ replied Ross, getting slowly to his feet.
The ‘sir’ told William that Ross had spotted something he didn’t want to share with Sanchez.
Ross and William followed the lieutenant out of the room. Half-way down along the corridor, William paused to take a closer look at The Flute Player hanging on the wall and frowned.
‘Something special about that one, chief?’ asked Ross.
‘I’m afraid so. My wife’s not going to be pleased when I tell her she can cross it off her list.’
• • •
Faulkner put down the phone in his basement study, satisfied that his Spanish lawyer would have dealt with the immediate problem, and it wouldn’t be too long before the police were sent packing. But how long would it be before they came back in even greater numbers?
He flicked open the cover of his private phone book and leafed through the pages until he reached the Rs, only hoping the number wasn’t out of date. Miles sat back in his chair and rehearsed exactly what he was going to say, before he picked up the phone and dialled the number.
The ringing tone continued for some time before the phone was eventually picked up and a voice said, ‘Who’s this?’
‘Miles Faulkner. You may not remember me, but …’
‘Mr Faulkner. How could I forget? To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’
‘Who am I speaking to?’
‘This is the head of the family.’
‘I want to pass on a message to your son, Terry.’
‘I’m all ears, Mr Faulkner.’
‘I need him to do a job for me.’
‘Understood. But first we have to agree on a price.’
‘What’s the going rate?’
‘Depends on how high-profile they are.’
‘The wife of a police officer.’
‘That won’t come cheap, Mr Faulkner.’
‘How much?’
‘Shall we say ten grand?’
‘Fine,’ said Faulkner, accepting that this wasn’t a time to bargain.
‘How will I be paid?’
‘Ex-Superintendent Bruce Lamont will deliver the cash to you tomorrow morning.’
‘He certainly knows where to find us,’ said the voice. ‘Now all I need is a name.’
• • •
‘On balance, I preferred Faulkner’s private jet,’ said Ross, as they took their seats in the back row of economy.
‘This was the only flight available,’ said William, ‘and frankly, we were lucky to get two seats at the last moment.’
‘So where are Mr Benmore and Mr Posgate, dare I ask?’
‘Sitting up front in first class, along with Christ and four fishermen.’
‘Well, if we end up landing in the Channel,’ said Ross, ‘at least one of us will be able to walk on water.’
William waited for the plane to take off and reach its cruising height before he opened his notebook. ‘What did you pick up that I missed?’ he asked.
‘We’d need a transatlantic flight to cover that,’ said Ross, ‘so you’d better go first.’
‘Let’s start with the butler’s telephone conversation in the study,’ said William, ignoring the demob-happy jibe. ‘I’m pretty sure he was speaking to Faulkner.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘When he picked up the phone, he knew exactly who was on the other end of the line.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘He said “Yes sir” twice, and finished with “of course, sir”,’ said William, checking his notes. ‘The whole thing sounded to me like a well-rehearsed script prepared for that particular situation.’
‘Speculation,’ said Ross. ‘You’d need something more solid than that to convince a jury.’
‘All right. When Faulkner’s lawyer phoned a few minutes later, it was the usual double ringtone you’d expect from an outside line, but the first time, it was just a single ring, so it had to be an internal call.’
‘Not bad, but what did the butler purposely give away that I saw you make a note of?’
‘Sartona. He obviously wanted me to think it’s Faulkner’s new alias, but I doubt it will be the name on his passport when he decides the time has come to make a break for it.’
‘Well done, choirboy, but I’m about to trump your ace.’
William couldn’t help smiling at the thought that Ross was one of the few people on the force who still dared to call him choirboy – to his face. He closed his notebook, sat back and listened.
‘While you were having a kip in the van and I was chasing Faulkner down the corridor, he slowed down to look at his watch. What criminal, I asked myself, checks the time when he’s being chased by a copper? When he touched the watch, the face lit up.’
‘So what’s the answer to your rhetorical question, Inspector?’
‘He already knew his study door was unlocked, because that was all part of his escape plan should the police ever turn up.’
‘And where does a wristwatch that lights up fit in with your “Rossonian” theory?’
‘First, ask yourself why there’s no handle or lock on the door of the safe.’
‘What’s your conclusion?’
‘It wasn’t a watch, but the key to opening the heavy metal door. All he needed to do when the face lit up was to enter a code and then the door would open.’
‘That would explain how he managed to disappear into thin air but was still able to call the butler moments later.’
‘And if you’re interested,’ continued Ross, ‘I can tell you the name of the company that made that door.’
‘NP,’ said William, still in the game. ‘The letters that were engraved in the bottom left-hand corner.’
‘Not bad, choirboy, but do you know what NP stands for?’
‘No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.’
‘Nosey Parker. Colonel Parker is the one man who can tell us how to open that door.’
‘But you’ve only got a week to go before you leave the force.’
‘Then I may have to postpone my retirement for a little longer if I’m going to prove my theory is right.’
