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“But didn’t the insurance company warn you that the policy was about to expire?”
“Yes, they did. But because I already had an offer on the table of five million for Limpton Hall, and the buyer had put down a deposit of half a million, I assumed the sale would be completed quickly. But of course, the buyer has now withdrawn his offer, and wants his deposit back.”
“Understandably,” said Beth, while she tried to think about the consequences. “But why didn’t you at least reinsure the paintings?”
“Because once they were in Christie’s possession, they’d be covered by their overall company policy. I’d already signed a contract with them, and the pictures were due to be collected on Monday, so I didn’t give it a thought. Although Miles clearly had.”
“But if he did get someone to burn the house down, there’s certain to be a police investigation, bearing in mind who’s involved.”
“Unlikely,” said Christina. “No insurance company had to pay up, and the chief fire examiner’s report states that he found no reason to suspect arson. An old house with faulty wiring, and no one on the premises at the time.”
“What a nightmare,” said Beth.
“All dreamed up by Miles. And it gets worse. I’ve put down a deposit on my dream home in Florida, and if I don’t complete in less than three weeks…” Christina burst into tears. “And it doesn’t help that I know he’s stolen the pictures and got away with it.”
“But you told me Miles had informed Christie’s that if they came up for auction, he would be bidding for them.”
“Only because he was well aware that he’d never have to. Like the deposit on the house, it was all part of an elaborate ploy. And I fell for it.”
“Then we’ve got to find the pictures and make sure he doesn’t get away with it.”
“It’s far too late for that. They’ll be halfway around the world by now.”
“Forgive me for asking,” said Beth, “but does that mean the gallery will have to return the Vermeer?”
“I don’t have any choice,” said Christina. “Otherwise I’ll lose my deposit on the house in Florida and be completely wiped out.” She paused. “Which is clearly what Miles had always planned.”
Beth didn’t speak for some time, until she eventually said, “Unless of course William was able to prove that Miles had removed the pictures before he burned the house down.”
* * *
“Do you by any chance have any contacts in the SAS, sir?”
“Thinking of joining up, William?” asked Hawksby, looking up from behind his desk.
“Not at the moment, sir.”
“Then why do you need to know?”
“I think I may have come up with a way to get into Rashidi’s slaughter without having to take the stairs or the lift.”
“When I did my national service,” said the Hawk, “my commanding officer was a Major Jock Stewart, who’d played scrum half for the army and boxed for the regiment. But his exploits as a young lieutenant with the SAS during the Second World War are the stuff of fiction. A cross between Biggles and Richard Hannay.”
“Sounds like the ideal man,” said William. “How do I get in touch with him?”
“You don’t get in touch with the SAS. They get in touch with you, and then only when they plan to kill you.”
“Very droll, sir. And if I don’t want to be killed?”
“Stewart ended up as a colonel in the Coldstream Guards, so their regimental adjutant will probably know how to contact him. But be warned. If he growls, start looking for some undergrowth.”
24
They had chosen the hour carefully.
He walked along the south wall of the cathedral until he reached the sacristy door. The choir had just sung Matins, and wouldn’t be back until the next service, a christening at two o’clock.
He turned the handle, pushed the heavy door open, and entered the cathedral. He knew exactly where he was going, but then he’d carried out this exercise several times before, and for several different supplicants.
