Nothing Ventured (Detective William Warwick 1)

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been able to spare you much time during the past month,’ said Hawksby as he took his seat at the top of the table. ‘No doubt you’ve all read about the drugs haul in Southampton last week. Two hundred pounds of cocaine and six arrests.’

They all banged on the table with the palms of their hands.

‘It’s hardly worth that,’ said Hawksby. ‘The six we arrested were just minnows. The big fish are still sunning themselves on a beach in the south of France, and the biggest shark of all never leaves his estate in Colombia, where even the police are on his payroll. All we can do is try to intercept the next shipment and net another shoal of minnows, while we still have no idea how much is getting through. Be thankful none of you are attached to the drug squad.’

The Hawk sat back, turned to his right and said, ‘So what have you been up to in my absence, Bruce?’

‘I’ve had much the same problem as you, sir,’ said Lamont. ‘Just exchange drugs for diamonds. The uncut stones are coming out of Ghana and being shipped to Dubai, before being sent on to Bombay where they’re sold for cash. That way they avoid import and export tax, while at the same time pushing up house prices in Mayfair.’

‘Criminals always want to live in a law-abiding country,’ said Hawksby. ‘It makes it easier for them to carry on with their business.’

‘And like you, sir,’ continued Lamont, ‘we only catch some minnows, who regard a few years in jail as no more than part of the deal.’

‘No wonder crime is currently fifteen per cent of the world’s economy, and growing,’ commented Hawksby. ‘Anything else, Bruce?’

‘Yes, sir. I think it’s just possible that DC Warwick might have made a breakthrough in the missing Rembrandt case, but I’ll leave him to fill in the details.’

‘After further investigation, we—’ began William.

‘We?’ interrupted Hawksby.

‘Thanks to the help of a research assistant at the Fitzmolean, we’ve identified an artist who I think may have painted the copy of the Rembrandt.’

‘Name?’

‘Eddie Leigh,’ said Lamont. ‘He tried to sell a fake Vermeer to a West End gallery. I was in charge of that case, and he’s been banged up in Pentonville for the past two years.’

‘What makes you think that Leigh was responsible for the copy of the Rembrandt, DC Warwick?’ asked Hawksby.

‘I saw an example of his work at the Fake Gallery in Notting Hill, sir. He has a rare talent, but even so, I don’t think he could have produced something of that quality unless he’d seen the original.’

‘But he could have bought a print of The Syndics from the Fitzmolean for five pounds,’ said Hawksby.

‘That’s true, but if he only had a print to work from, he wouldn’t have been able to capture the vivid colour, vibrancy, and flair of the original in the way he has, which makes me think it’s just possible the original hasn’t been destroyed.’

‘But that’s still damned unlikely,’ said Lamont, without the trace of a smile.

‘How long does Leigh have left to serve?’ asked Hawksby.

‘Just over four years, sir,’ said Lamont. ‘And I think he let slip where Faulkner is going to strike next.’

‘Enlighten me,’ said Hawksby.

‘SO Langley called me from Pentonville yesterday to tell me that he’s been regularly listening in on Eddie Leigh’s weekly phone conversations with his wife, but there hasn’t been anything worth reporting until last Friday.’

‘You have us on the edge of our seats, Bruce,’ said the commander.

Lamont read out the exact words Leigh had said to his wife.

‘“How’s the painting coming along?” “You can tell him I’ve finished Woman on a Beach.” “In the nick of time.”’

‘That’s from Picasso’s Blue Period,’ said William.

‘I don’t give a damn what period it’s from,’ said Hawksby. ‘Who owns the original?’

‘A Mr and Mrs Brookes,’ said Lamont. ‘It’s currently hanging in their country home in Surrey.’

‘Not for much longer, I suspect, and now we know where Faulkner intends to strike next, we need to find out when.’