Page 60 of Next in Line

‘What sort might that be, sir?’

‘Well, let’s face it, Warwick. He’s not one of us, if you catch my drift?’

‘That’s possibly why he got on so well with your Royalty Protection forward liaison officer, the late lamented Sergeant Nigel Hicks.’

Milner turned chalk white.

‘Who I understand the Commissioner is keen to have a word with before he visits the Prince of Wales later this morning.’

Milner’s whole body began to shake.

‘If I might be allowed to give you one piece of advice,’ said William, ‘I would write your letter of resignation now, and make sure it’s delivered to the Commissioner’s office before midday. That way, he’ll be able to cancel his appointment withthe Prince of Wales, and avoid having to tell HRH the real reason you had to resign.’

Milner was now breathing heavily, large beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

‘I would also suggest you advise DI Reynolds and Sergeant Jennings to take the same course of action – unless of course they are willing to face a full inquiry, that would undoubtedly result in them also being dismissed from the service. I have a feeling they wouldn’t hesitate to drag you down with them if they thought it might save their own skins.’

‘Yes, I’ve always suspected those two were fiddling their expenses,’ said Milner calmly, ‘and I was about to make a full report on what they’ve been up to. I’ll have it ready for you by midday, Bill. Then perhaps you could have a word with your friend, the commander?’

‘What word did you have in mind, sir?’ said William. ‘Crook? Embezzler? Thief? I don’t think so. In fact, if I were the Commissioner, I’d instigate a full public inquiry, confident you’d be spending your retirement in a cell in Belmarsh, rather than a cottage in the Cotswolds. However, I suspect Commander Hawksby will do everything in his power to avoid that, as he no doubt considers the Met’s reputation as rather more important than yours.’

William glanced at the photographs on the office walls and added, ‘Not to mention the reputation of your close friend, the Prince of Wales. So I’m sorry to say you’ll probably get away with it, unless of course you decide to dispute the allegations. I confess I hope you do – not least because it will allow DS Adaja to receive the praise he richly deserves for identifying the gravestone of the late Sergeant Nigel Hicks – if you catch my drift.’

•••

‘How did your meeting with Milner go?’ Rebecca asked as they left Buckingham Gate and set off for the Yard.

‘I have to admit the damn man riled me, and I may have gone over the top,’ said William as they crossed Victoria Street. ‘If he decides to wait until the Commissioner’s seen the Prince of Wales, heaven knows which one of us will be out on our necks.’

‘But you were doing no more than the Hawk instructed you to do.’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said William. ‘I didn’t follow the commander’s advice, and simply deliver the facts while remaining calm.’

‘I have a feeling you’ll be all right, sir,’ said Rebecca.

‘What makes you say that?’ asked William as they crossed Victoria Street.

‘DI Reynolds and Sergeant Jennings were standing outside in the corridor listening to every word and, when you came out, they didn’t rush in to join their paymaster, but disappeared into their own offices. So I think you’ll find all three of them are writing their letters of resignation right now, and will hand them in before midday.’

‘How can you possibly know that?’

‘Bullies are invariably cowards,’ Rebecca replied.

•••

Beth knocked on the director’s door just before nine o’clock, and waited for the word ‘Enter.’

When she did, Sloane waved her into the chair on the other side of his desk, as if she were a junior member of staff.

‘I thought you’d like to know, Gerald—’

‘I think, Mrs Warwick, it would be more appropriate if you addressed me as director or sir, during working hours.’

‘As you wish, sir, but I thought you’d be pleased to hear—’

‘Later,’ insisted Sloane. ‘I have more pressing matters to discuss with you at the moment.’ Beth fell silent. ‘In this morning’s post I received a letter from a Mr Booth Watson QC, who informs me that once the Hals exhibition is over, he will be collecting the self-portrait, which he claims belongs to his client, Mr Miles Faulkner, and was removed from his home without his permission.’ He peered across at Beth as if she was in the witness box.

‘Faulkner doesn’t own it,’ protested Beth. ‘It belongs to his wife, Christina.’

---