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“Not if you’re still hoping to be reinstated as a sergeant, it wouldn’t,” said Lamont.
William tried not to smile when the superintendent briefed Jackie on what he had in mind.
“I could drive Jackie in my taxi, sir,” said Danny, once the superintendent had fully explained what he expected DC Roycroft to do. “Then the guard will think we’ve come from the station.”
“Good idea, Danny,” said Lamont. “But leave Jackie to do the talking. Never been your strong suit.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Danny.
“Right, let’s go over the plan one more time,” said Lamont. “Jackie will…”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Danny drove his black cab out onto the road with a single passenger in the back. He made his way slowly toward Limpton Hall, and came to a halt in front of the closed gates. The guard emerged from the gatehouse and slowly approached the taxi. Jackie wound down her window, adjusted her skirt, and greeted him with her most seductive smile.
“Can I help you, madam?”
“Well, at least you got that right,” said Jackie, glad to see his eyes settling on her legs.
“You can call me Blanche. I’ve come to make sure my girls arrived safely. All part of the service.”
The guard checked his clipboard. “But you’re not on my list.”
“Neither were they,” said Jackie, taking a risk. “But then that’s the way Miles prefers it, as I’m sure you know.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Where have you come from?” he asked politely.
Danny gripped the handle of the cab door.
“From the station,” said Jackie. “Like my girls.”
“But the last train to Limpton Hall was over an hour ago,” said the guard. “I’ll have to call the Hall and check with Mr. Makins that you’re expected. Could you give me your name again, madam?”
Danny thrust open the cab door and rammed it into the guard, who fell unceremoniously to the ground, as Jackie leaped out, shot past him, and headed for the gatehouse. She had just located the switch marked FRONT GATE by the time the guard had recovered, rushed back into the gatehouse, and brushed her aside with one sweep of an arm. He was about to hit the red panic button when a knee landed in his groin with all the force Jackie could muster.
The guard doubled over and grabbed his crotch, momentarily stunned, and didn’t see the fist swinging toward his chin. A referee wouldn’t have had to count to ten to confirm he’d been knocked out.
Danny sat on the guard as Jackie quickly flicked up the switch and the vast wrought-iron gates swung slowly open.
Seconds later four squad cars that had been waiting around the corner, engines idling, shot past them and headed up the long drive. No lights, no sirens, the drivers thankful for a half moon.
“How are you going to explain that?” said Danny, looking down at the prostrate figure laying on the ground.
“Resisting arrest,” said Jackie.
“Then you’d better pray they find enough evidence of a crime once they get inside the house. Because if they don’t, it won’t be promotion you’ll be looking forward to, but—” said Danny, as the first of the squad cars screeched to a halt outside the hall seventy-two seconds later.
Lamont leaped out and ran up the steps to the front door. He kept his thumb pressed on the bell while two of the cars swung left into the paddock, blocking the exit for the eight drivers and assorted bodyguards, several of whom were quietly dozing or listening to their car radios.
Lamont was about to give the order to break down the door when it was opened by possibly the only person in the house who was still fully dressed.
“Good evening, sir,” said Makins, as if greeting a late guest. “How may I help you?”
“I am Superintendent Lamont, and I have a warrant to search these premises.” He held up the legal authority, before barging past the butler and into the hall. He was followed by sixteen drugs squad officers and two sniffer dogs, all of whom immediately went to work. None of them could have failed to notice the stench of cannabis in the air.
Lamont stationed himself in the middle of the hall while his officers spread through the house, ignoring the guests, some of whom were zipping up their trousers, others looking somewhat flustered, while one elderly man appeared to have passed out.
William was among the last of the team to enter the house. The first thing he noticed was that the Constable landscape was still hanging in the hall, but then he was distracted by something that hadn’t been there when he’d first visited the house over a year ago. He stared in disbelief at a large bust of Miles Faulkner with a falcon on his arm, lit by a single spotlight. He was about to offer his unfettered opinion of its vulgarity, when a voice from above him shouted, “What the hell is going on?”
