Brian Freemantle - Madrigal for Charlie Muffin

‘How many staff have you got?’

‘I’ve already told the police.’

‘I’d like you to tell me,’ pressed Charlie.

Billington hesitated and said, ‘Nine.’

‘They heard nothing?’

‘Not a thing.’

‘How was the safe opened?’

‘It was opened!’ said the ambassador, as if the question were ridiculous.

‘By explosives? Or combination?’ said Charlie patiently.

‘Combination,’ said Billington. ‘The police say it was extremely professional.’

‘Must have been,’ said Charlie. ‘I went through the whole system two days ago. Who had the combination?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ The ambassador bristled.

‘It’s supposed to mean I’m investigating the theft of a million and a half pounds’ worth of jewellery,’ said Charlie.

Billington coloured. ‘Are you suggesting some member of my staff isn’t trustworthy?’

‘I’m suggesting that no thief is professional enough to bypass the security I saw, locate an unusually concealed safe and pick a combination lock like the one upstairs without some sort of help,’ said Charlie. ‘So who had the combination?’

‘I did,’ said Billington stiffly. ‘My wife. The secretary. The embassy security man. There’s a record of it in the security vault at the embassy. And my solicitor, of course, in London.’

‘That’s a lot of people,’ said Charlie.

‘All trustworthy.’

‘Did anything happen which now seems to have been at all unusual, either here or at the embassy, immediately prior to the robbery?’

‘Like what?’

‘Anything you can think of.’

‘No.’ The response was categoric.

‘What about afterwards? This morning for instance.’

‘Why are you asking me this?’ said Billington irritably.

‘The jewellery is useless for any sort of normal disposal.’

‘So what’s the point of stealing it?’

‘Resale to the insurers,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s why Willoughby was so anxious to stop me leaving Rome. He wants me to be here on the spot, ready to negotiate.’

Billington smiled for the first time, showing cosmetically even teeth. ‘I suppose it’s obvious,’ he said. ‘It’s been such a confused morning it hadn’t occurred to me.’ He thought for a moment, then said, ‘These negotiations you talk of, would they be independent of the police?’

‘I doubt if they’d accept it,’ said Charlie. ‘Their interest is in an arrest.’

Billington looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure I could agree to bypass the authorities.’

‘We’re talking about jewellery you estimate to be worth two million pounds.’

‘Which is adequately covered by an insurance policy that doesn’t expire for another month,’ reminded the ambassador. ‘Obviously I’d like it back intact: some of the pieces are irreplaceable. And it would take years to build up a collection again…’

Charlie hadn’t anticipated Billington’s opposition. ‘I’d like you to think about it,’ he said.

‘One doesn’t cooperate with criminals,’ said Billington firmly.

‘You wouldn’t be,’ said Charlie. ‘I would.’

‘I think you’d better tell Willoughby I’d like a settlement.’

‘It’s not as easy as that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Before we could consider any sort of settlement we would have to be absolutely satisfied about the circumstances of the robbery. And that there was no possibility of any of the articles being recovered,’ said Charlie formally. He thought it sounded quite convincing.

‘I’m not sure if I fully understand what you’re implying,’ said the ambassador.

‘I’m not implying,’ said Charlie. ‘I am ensuring that you appreciate the terms of the policy.’

‘I left that to my solicitor to negotiate,’ said Billington.

‘Then he should have made it clear that replacement is only considered when the police indicate there’s no chance of recovery,’ exaggerated Charlie. He supposed Billington could check with the lawyer but it was a chance he had to take.

‘How long could that be?’

‘I imagine the political embarrassment would prevent such an admission for a long time.’

‘This is preposterous,’ said Billington tightly. ‘You’re telling me I’ve virtually no cover!’

‘Your cover is absolute and assured,’ insisted Charlie. ‘I’ve just set out the two ways it could be resolved, one quick, one protracted.’

‘I’ll have to give it some consideration.’

‘Usually there isn’t much delay in making an approach.’

‘I’d be assured of your discretion?’

‘Absolutely.’ It was like gradually tiring a hooked fish, thought Charlie.

‘It’s not a situation I enjoy.’

‘Who does?’ said Charlie. ‘But there are occasions when one has to be practical.’

‘It would be a tragedy to lose some of the older pieces,’ said Billington reflectively. ‘They’ve been in the family for generations.’

‘If there’s an approach and we don’t respond, it’ll be broken down and sold piecemeal… lost for ever.’ Billington had almost given up fighting; it was time to slip the net beneath him and haul him in. There was a sudden knock at the door, and the chance was lost. Charlie looked up irritably. There was a man behind Jane Williams, dwarfing her with his bulk.

‘Inspector Guilio Moro,’ she said.

‘Do you want to see me?’ inquired Billington, rising to his feet.

‘No,’ said the policeman, pointing at Charlie. ‘Him!’

The robbery report had come in less than an hour after the Australian information about Jill Walsingham. This time the duty officer awakened Sir Alistair Wilson and then sent a car, so the director arrived on the south side of the river earlier than normal. Harkness was already waiting when he got there.

‘There’s to be a meeting in Downing Street,’ said the deputy. ‘You’re expected at eleven o’clock.’

Wilson had anticipated the summons. ‘What do we know so far?’

‘A robbery some time during the night,’ said Harkness. ‘There’s extensive security precautions but all appear to have been bypassed. The safe is hidden in some peculiar way beneath a bureau or a desk or something. It was found easily enough, opened and cleaned out.’

‘Of what?’

‘Only jewellery: it’s a private safe.’

‘Carelessness isn’t unusual: it’s a leaky embassy,’ said Wilson.

‘Just jewellery,’ assured Harkness.

‘Our people involved?’

‘Not directly,’ said Harkness. ‘I thought it best to keep the surveillance as it was. Walsingham has gone to the villa.’

Wilson got up and walked stiff-legged over to his river view, but did not bother to look out. ‘What does it mean?’

‘ Could be coincidence.’

‘Not a chance,’ said Wilson positively. He stood still for a moment. ‘What about the ambassador?’

‘Sir Hector John Billington,’ Harkness read from his file. ‘Father – Sir John Billington, who was ambassador to Washington and Paris before returning to the Foreign Office as Permanent Under Secretary in the late forties. The son was brilliant. Got a Triple First in Greats at Oxford and a law degree, which isn’t the usual combination. Entered the diplomatic service a year earlier than his father, passed every internal examination with honours, usually a year and sometimes two ahead of the normally expected period. Junior posting to Washington, with distinction, first ambassadorship to Saudi Arabia. Big impact there. Credited on an internal memorandum with greatly influencing the Saudi court in maintaining a moderate stance and keeping oil prices down through OPEC. From Saudi Arabia he went to Brussels. Difficult time in Belgium explaining our reduced defence support for NATO, particularly as the Common Market is headquartered there. After Brussels posted to Rome. He’s been there two years.’