Page 45 of End Game (William Warwick #8)

He got out of the car and made his way quickly up the steps to the front door. He knocked once and stood back. He was just about to knock a second time when the door opened.

‘Good morning, Mr Collins. My name is—’

‘I know who you are,’ snarled Collins, ‘and you’re wasting your time. Mr Faulkner is away and I’m not expecting him back for some time.’

Collins was about to slam the door when William said quietly, ‘Mr Faulkner won’t be coming back.’

Collins hesitated, a look of disbelief crossing his face, and it was some time before he recovered enough to say, ‘What do you mean, won’t be coming back?’

‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Mr Collins,’ said William quietly, ‘but your employer is dead.’

‘That’s not possible,’ said Collins, ‘he had a business meeting yesterday evening with Mr Booth Watson and—’

‘Bernie Longe,’ said William.

Collins turned white and began to shake uncontrollably.

When he spoke again, he took William by surprise. ‘Won’t you come in, Commander?’ he said, his tone changing. He led William into the front room and offered him a seat, while he remained standing.

‘I’m afraid,’ said William, ‘that what I’m about to tell you will make you very angry.’

Collins stiffened, but the shaking had stopped.

‘Mr Faulkner has been murdered,’ he said quietly.

‘Murdered?’ repeated Collins. ‘By who?’

‘Bernie Longe and two of his thugs,’ replied William.

The shaking began again, but this time caused by rage. ‘I warned the boss Longe wasn’t to be trusted and he shouldn’t go to the stadium without me, but …’ He suddenly stopped in mid-sentence, before he added, ‘But Mr Booth Watson was with him, so he must have witnessed the murder?’ said Collins.

‘Yes, he did,’ said William, ‘but he quickly switched sides to save his own skin.’

It was some time before Collins delivered his next sentence, very quietly, ‘Well, I don’t switch sides quite that easily, Commander Warwick, so you can count on me to do anything I can to put those bastards behind bars, Booth Watson included.’

‘Anything?’ said William.

‘Anything,’ repeated Collins firmly.

‘When the case comes to court, will you—’

‘Give evidence on behalf of the Crown?’ said Collins.

William waited for his response.

‘When I said anything, I meant anything.’

William changed tack. ‘I believe Mr Faulkner made a Will quite recently,’ said William. ‘I’d like to get my hands on it before Mr Booth Watson can rewrite it.’

‘The original is in the safe, Mr Warwick, but I’m not allowed to open it without Mr Faulkner’s permission …’ Collins stopped in mid-sentence and then left the room without another word.

While William waited for him to return, his thoughts turned to Beth, who’d looked incredulous when he’d explained over breakfast why he’d run out of the room the night before while she was still packing for their holiday.

He’d promised to make it up to her. His thoughts moved on to the only question Beth had asked: why was Ross alone when the murder took place, because Sinclair would be certain to ask the same question.

His thoughts were interrupted when Collins reappeared, carrying a thick cream parchment tied with red ribbon, which he handed to William.

William thanked him, but before he rose to leave, he warned Collins not to be surprised if Booth Watson was his next visitor.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for him,’ said Collins, as he accompanied the Commander back to the front door.

William thanked him once again, before he jogged down the steps and got back into his car. He was just about to call the Hawk, when a taxi drew up outside number 37.

He watched as Booth Watson climbed out and paid the cabbie before making his way up the steps to the front door.

He knocked firmly and waited, but it was some time before the door was opened.

Booth Watson gave Collins a warm smile and was about to step inside when it was slammed in his face.

···

Rebecca waited at the Departure Terminal for the passenger to appear.

When he arrived, he made his way straight to security, where he showed his boarding pass before passing through the barrier.

Once he was out of sight, Rebecca joined the queue. She produced her warrant card, skipped security, and followed him through duty-free, while keeping her distance.

The passenger checked the departures board before proceeding to Gate 43, where he took a seat and waited for his flight to be called. Rebecca took a place three rows behind him.

A few minutes later, the attendant on the departures desk announced, ‘Aeroflot Flight 025 to Moscow is now ready for boarding. Will all first-class ticket holders and priority boarding please come forward?’

He didn’t move and neither did Rebecca.

The next call was for business class, but he remained in his seat, which surprised Rebecca. In fact, he didn’t join the queue for boarding until economy class was called, when he finally joined the back of the queue.

Rebecca watched as he made his way over to the departure desk, where once again he presented his boarding pass and passport for inspection, before proceeding down a long corridor and disappearing out of sight.

Rebecca didn’t follow him this time, but then she was no more than an observer, who had been ordered to report back what she’d witnessed, but not quite yet.

She got up and strolled across to a nearby window, which gave her a clear sighting of the waiting plane.

Rebecca watched as the few remaining first-class passengers began to board, and didn’t stray while she waited for him to reappear.

She didn’t have long to wait before he walked out onto the tarmac, climbed the steps and boarded the aircraft.

Rebecca hung around until she saw the heavy aircraft door slam shut, and still didn’t move when the aircraft taxied out onto the runway and took its place in the long queue for take-off.

She watched as the Aeroflot jet accelerated down the runway, took off and finally disappeared through a bank of clouds. Then she dialled a number on her mobile, which was answered immediately.

‘His plane took off a few moments ago,’ said Rebecca, ‘but I still don’t understand why you didn’t allow me to arrest him, charge him and bring him back to stand trial.’

‘That wasn’t my decision,’ said William, ‘and while I might agree with you, the mandarins in Whitehall clearly have their own agenda. However, I can tell you that on arrival in Moscow, Mr Petrov will not be going home, but will be accompanied onto a domestic flight that’s destined for Irkutsk in Siberia, which I can assure you is not a tourist hotspot. ’

···

‘Do you usually come dressed in such a casual manner, Hogan, when being interviewed by a senior officer?’ asked Sinclair.

‘I was about to set off for the airport when you called, sir,’ retorted Ross.

‘I’m meant to be catching a plane to Dublin.

’ He sat down in the chair opposite the head of the murder squad, without being invited to do so.

Ross had memorized and rehearsed his story, but he knew he had to tread carefully to ensure Rebecca’s unblemished record remained uncompromised.

‘I hope this won’t take too long,’ said Ross, ‘as my mother was taken into hospital last night.’

Sinclair was momentarily taken aback, but quickly recovered. ‘May I ask what your mother is suffering from?’

‘She had a stroke during the night,’ replied Ross.

‘And of course,’ said Sinclair, returning to the attack, ‘I will be able to confirm that with the hospital?’

‘In my experience, Commander,’ said Ross, ‘hospitals have strict rules about patient confidentiality, and will only speak to relatives or close family members. But you’re welcome to give St Vincent’s a call.’

A flicker of embarrassment crossed Sinclair’s face, but not for long.

‘You’ll be well aware, Hogan, that I’m investigating a very sensitive matter, and it is my responsibility, however unpalatable, to make sure that a senior officer – in this case you – was not involved in a serious crime. A man was murdered last night at the Olympic Stadium, while you were on duty.’

Ross remained silent.

‘The suspect and his two associates have already been charged, but the question remains: how was it possible for this crime to be carried out right under your nose? With that in mind, I need to ask you a few questions, so I fear you’ll have to take a later flight.’

As pompous as ever, thought Ross, but simply said, ‘If you say so, sir.’

‘Can I begin by asking you to confirm you were on duty at the Olympic Stadium yesterday evening?’

‘As I have been for the past six weeks, sir,’ replied Ross.

‘And you allowed a fellow officer to leave her post early. Is that also correct?’

‘Yes, it is, sir. Inspector Pankhurst hadn’t had an evening off during the Olympics, and as it was her partner’s birthday yesterday and she’d booked a restaurant and tickets for the cinema, I allowed her to leave a little earlier than usual.

As the senior officer, I take full responsibility for my decision. ’

‘And you expect me to believe that it’s no more than a coincidence that during that period of time, just after Inspector Pankhurst left and before Chief Inspector Adaja came on duty, the murder took place?’

‘What are you suggesting, Commander?’ asked Ross, his voice rising with every word.

‘I wasn’t suggesting anything, Inspector,’ said Sinclair calmly. ‘I was simply asking you a question.’

‘That isn’t worthy of an answer,’ said Ross, barely able to control his temper.

‘Then let’s move on, shall we, to an equally unexplainable mystery, Inspector, namely that during the period of time when you were alone in the Gold Suite watching a murder take place on CCTV, you made no attempt to go to the victim’s rescue.’

‘There were five of them,’ said Ross, ‘while I was on my own.’

‘Only because you’d released Inspector Pankhurst early,’ Sinclair reminded him.

‘I immediately called my senior officer, Commander Warwick, as the phone records will show. He then called in the firearms unit, who arrived in time to arrest Longe and his associates before they could escape.’

‘Not all of his associates,’ Sinclair pointed out.

‘The mystery man, the one who turned up with two suitcases full of cash, somehow managed to escape.’ Sinclair paused, but Ross didn’t offer an opinion.

‘Perhaps you were expecting to get part of the proceeds for staying out of harm’s way,’ suggested Sinclair.

‘If I had,’ said Ross, ‘I wouldn’t have turned up for this interview, but got on the plane, never to be seen again.’

‘Let us, for the moment,’ said Sinclair, ‘give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you didn’t know a murder was about to take place, and despite having won the Queen’s Gallantry Medal for bravery, you thought it was no more than Faulkner deserved?’

Sinclair had a point. True, he was outnumbered, but would he ever be able to say, hand on heart, that his attitude might have been different had it been someone other than Faulkner?

Ross looked the commander in the eye but didn’t answer.

‘Given the circumstances, Inspector, it might be wise for you to leave now and catch your flight to Dublin, but we will, of course, reconvene as soon as you return,’ continued Sinclair, turning a page in his diary.

‘Shall we say next Thursday at ten o’clock, and perhaps this time you could come appropriately dressed? ’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.’

‘And why might that be?’ asked Sinclair. ‘Another relation at death’s door, perhaps?’

‘No, sir. But I do have an appointment next Thursday at ten o’clock with someone who outranks you.’

‘I would point out, Hogan,’ said Sinclair, ‘that Commander Warwick doesn’t outrank me.’

‘I wasn’t referring to Commander Warwick,’ said Ross.

‘Then dare I ask who?’ said Sinclair, not attempting to hide any sarcasm.

‘Her Majesty the Queen, at Buckingham Palace, sir, and you can be assured I will be appropriately dressed to receive Sergeant Roycroft’s posthumous award of the Queen’s Gallantry Medal on her behalf.’ He took the invitation out of his pocket and placed it on the Commander’s desk.

‘Then I’ll have to change the date,’ said Sinclair, trying to sound as if he was still in control.

Ross paused, before playing his trump card.

‘Perhaps it might be wise, sir, to postpone our meeting until after the Home Secretary has made her decision as to who she’ll be appointing as the next Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.

I only mention this, sir, because I think if you were to suspend your rival’s second in command, it might look personal. ’

Sinclair made no attempt to hide his anger when Ross stood up, gave him a warm smile, and said, ‘However, Commander, should you be appointed as our next Commissioner, you needn’t bother to try and suspend me, because I’ll resign the same day.’