Джеффри Арчер - Hidden in Plain Sight

‘It’s that so-called triumph that’s the cause of my current dilemma.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Grace.

‘One of the senior officers involved in that operation turns out to be just as crooked as the criminals I’m trying to put behind bars.’

‘I’ve given the problem a great deal of thought since we discussed it over the weekend,’ said Julian, ‘and have reluctantly come to the conclusion that you’ll have to expose him.’

‘I agree with you,’ said William, ‘but I wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to brazen it out until he’s due to retire in eighteen months’ time.’

‘Given the circumstances,’ suggested Sir Julian, ‘the Hawk might consider it politic to move him to a less high-profile department before he retires.’

‘Like burglary perhaps?’ said William, which at least brought a smile to his father’s face.

‘So, what do you plan to do instead?’ asked Grace. ‘Because you’re still young enough to consider a new career.’

‘I’ll do what Father always wanted me to do. Apply for a place at King’s College London to read law. Though the timing isn’t ideal with the twins on their way...’

‘Don’t worry about the money,’ his father assured him.

‘And once you’ve graduated,’ said Grace, ‘you can join us in chambers.’

‘Only if, like your sister, you’re awarded a first-class honours degree,’ said Julian. ‘I don’t believe in nepotism, so there will be no “Bob’s your uncle” in these chambers.’

‘Remind me, Father,’ said William, playing a game that had begun in the nursery.

‘The saying derives from the days when Robert Cecil, later Lord Salisbury, was prime minister and put his nephew in the cabinet. Hence, Bob’s your uncle. But can you tell me the name of the nephew who went on to also become PM?’

‘Sir Arthur Balfour,’ said Grace.

‘Correct,’ said Julian. ‘But as you’re in a hurry to get back to the Yard, may I suggest that we discuss your future in greater detail when you and Beth join us for lunch on Sunday?’

‘By which time I will have resigned,’ said William, as he rose from his place.

‘Then you’ll need to get your application into King’s College fairly quickly if you’re hoping to join the law faculty in September.’

‘I’ve already filled in the application form,’ said William. ‘All I need to do now is hand it in.’

‘Would you like me to have a word with Ron Maudsley, who’s the law professor at King’s? We were contemporaries at Brasenose and—’

‘If you do that, Father, I’ll go to Battersea Polytechnic and take up basket-weaving.’ He’d closed the door behind him before Julian had the chance to reply.

‘How disappointing,’ said Grace. ‘I agree with you, Father. He made the right choice in the first place.’

‘But it’s not without a silver lining. He’ll make a fine barrister, and all that knowledge gained as a policeman will serve him in good stead whenever he comes up against a hardened criminal in the witness box.’

‘Or a police officer for that matter. But I still think he should have remained in the force and gone on locking up criminals rather than joining us and trying to get them released.’

‘Don’t ever tell him, but I agree with you, and will try and talk him out of it on Sunday.’

‘It may be too late by then.’

Tim Knox picked up the phone.

‘There’s a Mr Drummond from Christie’s downstairs,’ said his secretary. ‘Says you’re expecting him.’

Knox glanced at his watch. ‘He’s early, but then so would I be if I was collecting a masterpiece worth several million. Tell him I’m on my way, and please ask Beth to join us.’

The director reluctantly left his office and made his way slowly down the wide marble staircase to the ground floor, where he saw a smartly dressed man carrying a large blue Christie’s bag.

‘Good morning, Dr Knox,’ the man said as they shook hands. ‘Alex Drummond. Mr Davage asked me to stand in for him as he’s in New York for the autumn sales, but said he’ll phone as soon as he wakes up,’ he added, handing the director his business card. ‘You probably won’t remember, but we met at the Christie’s summer party last year. You asked me what price I though Teniers’ Night and Day might fetch.’

‘And remind me,’ said Tim, ‘what was the hammer price?’

‘Just over a million.’

‘Well beyond our resources, as I feared. Where did it end up?’

‘The Getty Museum in California.’

‘Petty cash for them,’ said Tim ruefully, as Beth joined them, wearing a pair of white cotton gloves. ‘This is Beth, the gallery’s assistant keeper of paintings.’

‘An unfortunate title, given the circumstances,’ said Beth.

‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Warwick,’ said Drummond.

‘Well, let’s get on with it, shall we?’ said Tim. ‘I’d like to get this over with before we open the gallery to the public.’

Beth carefully lifted the painting off its hook before handing it to the director. At the same time, Drummond removed a small wooden box from his canvas bag, and opened it so Beth could place the picture inside.

‘A perfect fit,’ she said.

Drummond closed the lid, snapped the clasps shut and slipped the box back into his bag.

‘How much do you expect it to fetch?’ asked Tim, after he’d signed the release form.

‘The low estimate is one million, but Mr Davage thinks it could make as much as two.’

‘More than enough to solve Christina’s problems,’ muttered Beth.

‘Divorce, death and debt,’ said Drummond. ‘The auctioneer’s three best friends. With the added irony on this occasion that it will probably be our client’s ex-husband who ends up buying it. Mr Faulkner has made it clear that he wants it back at any price.’

‘Then I hope he has to pay way over the top for it,’ said Beth with feeling. ‘Although I can’t see the prison authorities allowing him to hang it in his cell.’

Drummond smiled after he signed the release form. ‘If either of you would like me to reserve a seat for you at the auction, just let me know.’

‘I couldn’t face it,’ said Beth.

‘Nor me,’ said Tim. ‘Not least because I know only too well that we can’t afford to join in the bidding.’

‘And on that note, I’ll leave you,’ said Drummond, shaking hands with them both before taking his leave.

‘A sad day for the gallery,’ said Tim, as he and Beth walked back up the stairs together.

‘It was inevitable, I suppose,’ said Beth, ‘after Faulkner stole all Christina’s other paintings. But at least she got the better of him this time.’

After William had left his father’s chambers in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, he walked up the Strand and hesitated for a moment before dropping into King’s College.

He handed in his application form to join the law faculty in September to the senior porter in the lodge. The porter’s expression suggested that he thought William looked a bit old to be an undergraduate.

William checked his watch. He didn’t need to be late for the commander’s meeting, when he intended to expose Lamont.

Back in his office, Tim Knox began to go through the morning’s post. Too many bills and not enough donations. A museum director’s perennial problem, he thought, as the phone on his desk began to ring.

‘There’s a Mr Davage waiting for you in reception.’

‘What? I thought he was meant to be in New York,’ said Tim. He immediately called Beth and asked her to join him, and this time they both ran down the stairs.

‘Good morning,’ said Davage after they’d caught their breath. ‘Though not a particularly good one for you, I fear, which is why I decided to come over and collect the painting myself.’