Page 7 of Next in Line

Tulip, Miles’s eyes and ears in the jail, had tried to remove all the newspapers from the prison canteen before Miles came down to breakfast, as almost every one of them carried the same photograph on its front page.

To make matters worse, theTelegraph’s royal correspondent went on to describe Warwick as ‘the outstanding young officer who had recently been responsible for putting the escaped felon Miles Faulkner back in prison’. TheSun– the most popular newspaper in every prison – had added ‘where he belongs’. Miles tossed the paper aside, well aware that he was about to give the press an even bigger story. But all in good time.

‘I could always arrange to have him snuffed out, boss,’ said Tulip, pointing at the photo.

‘No,’ said Faulkner firmly. ‘I intend my revenge to be more permanent.’

‘What could be more permanent than death?’

‘Being thrown out of the police force,’ said Faulkner. ‘Being charged with kidnap and theft, and having to spend the rest of your life in disgrace,’ he added as a screw placed a plate ofbacon and eggs in front of him. He paused. ‘If we get lucky, he might even end up here.’

‘Good one, boss. But how do you plan to pull that off?’

‘When my trial comes up at the Bailey, I have a feeling the jury will be fascinated to learn the lengths Warwick and Hogan went to in order to smuggle me out of Spain without an extradition order. I can assure you, Booth Watson will repeat the words “bounty hunters” again and again during his opening and closing remarks.’

‘Have you spoken to your brief since you were nabbed?’ asked Tulip.

‘No. I’ve phoned his office several times during the past week, but all his secretary said was he’s abroad and she would let him know I’d called the moment he returns. That rather suggests he’s still in Spain, wrapping up any loose ends. However, for the time being I’ve got an even more pressing problem to deal with.’

‘What could be more pressing than preparing for your trial?’

‘My ex-wife,’ said Faulkner, almost spitting out the words as a guard refilled his coffee. ‘God only knows what Christina will get up to now I’m out of the way.’

‘My sources tell me she’s spending your money like there’s no tomorrow,’ said Tulip. ‘She regularly dines at the Ritz, shops on Bond Street while indulging a string of toyboys who keep taking her for a ride.’ He looked furtively at Faulkner. ‘She could end up having an unfortunate accident on her way to Bond Street?’ he suggested. ‘The traffic gets very busy during shopping hours, boss.’

‘No,’ said Faulkner firmly. ‘At least not until the trial’s over, if I’m going to convince the jury I’m a reformed character and was unlawfully arrested. So, for the next few months I need to be like Caesar’s wife – “above suspicion”.’

Tulip looked puzzled.

‘However, I intend to make sure Christina ends up penniless long before the case comes to court, and Warwick will be lucky to get a job as a security guard at the Fitzmolean,’ he added as he pushed his eggs and bacon to one side.

‘What about Inspector Hogan?’

‘You can dispose of him as and when you please. But be sure to make it memorable,’ said Miles, once again looking at the front page of theTelegraph. ‘As I plan to end up with more than a shelf in the Black Museum.’

•••

‘That was Lieutenant Sanchez of the Barcelona police,’ said the Hawk as he put down the phone. ‘He said Booth Watson boarded Faulkner’s yacht soon after his men had turned up.’

‘Interesting,’ said William. ‘Where’s the yacht heading?’

‘It was last seen rounding the Bay of Biscay – Interpol have kept a close eye on it.’

‘So Booth Watson must be on his way back to England, under the illusion that his client was still locked up in the safe when he left, and couldn’t possibly have survived.’

‘You could be right, William, because Sanchez also said the only thing left hanging on the walls were the hooks, so he must have removed all the paintings.’

‘In which case, sir, may I suggest we alert the coastguard to keep a look out for him, so we can be waiting on the dockside long before he enters territorial waters.’

‘Good thinking,’ said the Hawk as he picked up the phone.

•••

‘Mrs Christina Faulkner is on line one, Sir Julian,’ said his secretary.

‘Put her through,’ her lawyer said reluctantly. Although he didn’t care much for Mrs Faulkner, he always enjoyed their encounters. She’d made life difficult for his son over the years, and he knew William was concerned about Christina’s friendship with his wife Beth, but she was like a good novel, and you could never be sure how it would end – the twists came when you least expected them.

‘Good morning, Mrs Faulkner,’ he said, ‘how can I be of assistance?’

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