Page 105 of End Game
CHAPTER 32
THEASSISTANTCOMMISSIONERand Commander Warwick sat on the back seat of the Hawk’s car and went over their script once again.
‘Before we go in,’ said the Hawk, ‘my first question is, do you want to play the good cop or the bad cop?’
‘The bad cop,’ said William without hesitation.
‘Then you’ll be playing out of character for a change.’
‘And so will you, sir,’ replied William.
The Hawk gave William a slight bow before he climbed out of the car and they headed for the Porter’s Lodge.
‘Let’s just hope Booth Watson doesn’t realize we’ve already seen his Oscar-winning performance,’ said the Hawk, ‘thanks to you installing a back-up recording system in the Gold Suite.’
‘I only give it a fifty-fifty chance,’ said William, as they approached the Porter’s Lodge. ‘Not a lot gets past that man.’
The porter only needed to glance at the two warrant cardsbefore he said, ‘Shall I let Mr Booth Watson know you’re on your way?’
‘No, please don’t,’ said the Hawk.
Not a word passed between them before they entered Booth Watson’s private domain uninvited. They were surprised to find his secretary standing on the top step waiting to greet them. Not a good sign.
‘Mr Booth Watson will only keep you a few moments, Assistant Commissioner,’ she said. ‘He’s on a call to a client.’
‘We’re happy to wait,’ said the Hawk, as she ushered them towards the two chairs outside his office.
‘Sorry about you having to cancel your holiday at the last minute,’ said the Hawk after he’d sat down.
‘It’s Beth you should be apologizing to, not me,’ responded William, ‘although I’m about to give her a present that will guarantee all is forgiven.’
‘Diamonds, caviar, champagne?’
‘Something she covets far more than all three of those put together,’ said William.
‘What could that possibly be?’ asked the Hawk.
‘One hundred and forty-two priceless oil paintings, along with twenty-seven rare sculptures.’
‘How did you pull off that coup?’ demanded the Hawk.
William would have told him if the door to Mr Booth Watson’s office hadn’t opened to reveal a portly figure filling the doorway.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,’ he said, sounding not at all apologetic, ‘but I’m expecting a call from an important client.’
William wanted to sayBernie Longe, by any chance, but it wasn’t part of his ‘bad cop’ routine.
‘Won’t you sit down, gentlemen,’ Booth Watson suggested,as he pointed to two comfortable chairs on the other side of his desk.
‘No, thank you, sir,’ said the Hawk. ‘We’d prefer to stand while we ask you a few questions.’
‘Only too happy to oblige,’ said Booth Watson, not sounding quite so assured.
‘Can I confirm,’ opened the Hawk, ‘that you were present at the Olympic Stadium last night, where you witnessed your client, Miles Faulkner, being murdered by Bernie Longe and two of his associates?’
William’s eyes remained fixed on Booth Watson, but the wily old lawyer gave nothing away. However, the amount of time he took to answer the question rather suggested he was weighing up the options.
‘The important call I was waiting for,’ Booth Watson eventually said, ‘was a return call from the director of the CPS,’ a smile returning to his face.
