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William looked up to see Faulkner standing at the top of the stairs in a red silk dressing gown, glaring down at them. He walked slowly down the sweeping marble staircase and stopped directly in front of Lamont. Their noses almost touching.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing, chief inspector?”
“Superintendent,” said Lamont. “I have a warrant to search these premises,” he added, holding up an official-looking document.
“And what were you hoping to find, superintendent? Another Rembrandt perhaps? Not that you’d know one if it was staring you in the face.”
“We have reason to believe that you are in possession of a large amount of illegal drugs,” said Lamont calmly. “And not just for your personal use, which is contrary to the Misuse of Drugs Act 1971.”
“I’m sure it is,” said Faulkner, “but I can assure you, superintendent, you will not find any drugs on these premises, as my guests are all law-abiding citizens.” He crossed the hallway and picked up the phone.
“Who are you calling?” demanded Lamont.
“My lawyer, which is no more than my legal right, as you well know, superintendent.”
“Just be sure it’s only your lawyer you’re calling,” barked Lamont. He didn’t take his eyes off Faulkner, as his officers spread through the house.
After he made the call, Faulkner sat down in an armchair and lit a cigar, while Makins poured him a brandy. By the time his goblet had been refilled a second time, and his cigar was no more than a glowing ember, all the intruders had to show for their troubles was a couple of joints and an Ecstasy tablet. The dogs’ tails, which had previously been wagging eagerly, were now between their legs. William couldn’t resist looking at the paintings that lined the walls as he walked along the corridor and entered Faulkner’s study. No books. Just photos of Faulkner with so-called celebrities. It was then that he spotted it on the desk, and wondered if it was possible.
He returned to the hall to hear Faulkner asking Lamont, “May I be allowed to get dressed, superintendent, while this charade continues?”
Lamont didn’t respond immediately, but then reluctantly agreed. “I don’t see why not. But DS Warwick will accompany you. Don’t let him out of your sight, Warwick.”
“Otherwise, like Peter Pan, I might fly out of the window and never be seen again?” said Faulkner. He rose from his place and began walking up the stairs, with William only a pace behind, this time not even glancing at the pictures on the wall.
Once they reached the first floor, William followed him along a corridor and into what could only have been the master bedroom. His eyes settled on a Vermeer that hung above the bed, the one Beth had told him had been promised to the Fitzmolean, once Faulkner’s divorce had gone through.
“Enjoy it while you can,” he said. “Although I have a feeling you may have seen it before,” Faulkner added as the bathroom door opened and a young girl appeared, wearing only her knickers.
“You didn’t tell me there would be two of you,” she said, giving William a warm smile.
“Not this time,” said Faulkner. “But I won’t keep you waiting much longer,” he added, as he pulled on a clean shirt.
The girl looked disappointed, grinned at William, and disappeared back into the bathroom.
By the time William had recovered, Faulkner was zipping up his jeans and strapping on the Cartier Tank watch William remembered from the first time he’d arrested him. Once he was dressed, Faulkner marched out of the bedroom, headed back downstairs, and returned to his seat in the corner of the hall.
“Found anything worth reporting back to Commander Hawksby?” he asked Lamont, as Makins refilled his brandy glass. He didn’t receive a reply.
Lamont was beginning to wonder if Choirboy had been set up by his OSC, who might have recently transferred his allegiance to a new paymaster, someone who was now lighting another cigar. His thoughts were interrupted when the front doorbell rang.
“Good evening, sir,” said the butler as Mr. Booth Watson strode into the hallway. The QC took his time surveying the carnage around him before he offered an opinion.
“I can see you’ve had a fruitful outing, superintendent,” he said when his eyes settled on the two small plastic bags, one containing a couple of joints, the other an Ecstasy tablet, both marked Evidence. “No doubt you’ll be calling Commander Hawksby to inform him of your
spectacular triumph.”
Faulkner laughed, stubbed out his cigar, and strolled across the hall to join his lawyer.
“Hardly a hanging offense,” continued Booth Watson. “My client, as you well know, superintendent, is a model citizen, who lives a quiet life, devoting a great deal of his time to supporting worthy causes, not least the Fitzmolean Museum, with which I believe you are familiar. So may I suggest, as much for your reputation as my client’s, that the least you can do is release his dinner guests and allow them to return to the bosom of their families, unless of course you feel that any of them might be suppliers of illegal substances, and should be arrested and carted off to the nearest police station.” He paused, staring at the evidence once again. “Although I can’t imagine what the charge would be.”
Lamont nodded reluctantly, and a few minutes later every one of the guests had quietly left the house, one or two of them accompanied by someone they hadn’t arrived with. Several of them shook hands with Faulkner on the way out, and one even said, “You can call me as a witness, Miles.” Booth Watson made a note of his name and telephone number.
Once all the guests had left, Booth Watson turned his attention back to Lamont. “You have without doubt, superintendent, caused my client considerable embarrassment, not to mention the damage you’ve done to his relationships, both personal and professional, with some of his oldest friends and most respected colleagues. I cannot begin to imagine what this unwarranted intrusion has already cost the taxpayer. But let me assure you, it is nothing compared to the amount I will be claiming on behalf of my client in compensation for the damage you have done to his beautiful home and his priceless possessions.”
One or two of the officers looked embarrassed by the sight of the ripped sofas and upended antique furniture sprawled across the floor. Booth Watson graced them with a smile he usually reserved only for juries, while Makins began taking photographs of the wreckage.
“Keep him talking,” murmured William, as he walked past Lamont and made his way quickly back down the corridor, before disappearing into Faulkner’s study.
