Nothing Ventured (Detective William Warwick 1)

He returned to the window and once again focused in on the shed. Carter was bent over the table, arm still pumping away. He didn’t return to the house until it was dark, when William lost sight of him. It was almost six o’clock before Jackie bounced in, a look of triumph on her face.

‘He’s stamping out coins from a mould, just as your father suggested.’

‘What type of coins?’

‘Other than they’re silver, I’ve no idea. You’re going to have to get hold of one tomorrow. Do you know how to pick a lock?’

‘No, that must have been one of the induction courses I missed.’

‘Then I’ll have to do it.’

‘Without a search warrant?’

‘Lamont’s determined to find out who Carter’s backer is, and what they’re up to. The last thing he said before he put the phone down was, “I’m sick of catching minnows.”’

‘That’s all very well,’ said William, ‘but how do we go about it?’

‘That’s tomorrow’s problem,’ said Jackie. ‘For now, you go down and carry out the night shift while I get some kip. Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep.’

William reluctantly left the hotel, but not before grabbing a couple of Mars bars and a bottle of water from the fridge. Surely Mrs Walters couldn’t object to that. He could hear her saying, ‘Tap water in future, constable.’ He drove back into town, turned into Mulberry Avenue, and parked behind a van, from where he had a clear view of Carter’s front door.

He noticed a red telephone box at the other end of the street and cursed. He still hadn’t spoken to Beth. He should have been taking her to the James Bond film this evening and keeping an eye on Faulkner, instead of freezing in an uncomfortable car and staring at a house that was in pitch darkness. 007 somehow managed to save the world from a notorious criminal in a couple of hours, while William tried to stay awake keeping an eye on a local villain. He turned on the radio. The General Synod of the Church of England had been debating whether women should be ordained. The thin end of the wedge, he could hear his father saying. ‘They’ll want to be bishops next.’ The news was followed by a programme about the recent proliferation of the tsetse fly in sub-Saharan Africa. He fell asleep, only waking up when he heard the pips announcing the five o’clock news.

‘Good morning, this is the BBC. The prime minister . . .’

William blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked across at the house to see a light beaming from the top floor. Instantly he was wide awake, his heart beating furiously. A few moments later the light on the top floor went off, and a light on the ground floor came on. William opened his bottle of water, took a swig and was splashing a few drops on his face when the front door opened and Carter appeared carrying a bulky leather holdall, which he placed in the boot of his car before climbing into the driver’s seat. It took him three attempts before the engine spluttered into life.

The Volvo pulled out of the drive. William eased his car across the road, leaving the lights off. Carter turned right at the end of the road and William followed, keeping his distance as there were few vehicles on the road at that time in the morning. Carter turned left at a roundabout and joined the early morning traffic heading out of town.

‘Please, please, please,’ murmured William, as Carter continued on towards the motorway.

At the next roundabout, William’s prayers were answered when he took the third exit and joined a stream of motorists heading towards London.

Carter remained in the inside lane, and never once exceeded the speed limit. This was clearly a man who didn’t want to be stopped by the police, which made William wonder what could possibly be in the holdall. As each mile passed, William became more confident that Carter was heading for the capital, possibly to meet up with the man Lamont was so keen to identify. But then, without indicating, Carter swung off the motorway and began to follow the signs for Heathrow, where he pulled into the short-term car park.

William parked on the floor above, before following Carter into terminal two, where he watched him head for the BA desk. William hung back as Carter checked in and was handed a boarding pass. He took the escalator to the first floor, leather holdall firmly in hand, and headed for Departures.

William moved swiftly over to the check-in counter and showed the woman on the desk his warrant card. ‘I need to know which flight a Mr Kevin Carter is booked on.’

She hesitated for a moment before pressing a button under her desk. Moments later a tall, heavily built man appeared by her side. William produced his warrant card again and repeated his request.

‘Who’s your boss?’ was all the man said.

‘DCI Lamont, head of the Art and Antiques unit at Scotland Yard.’

The security man picked up a phone. ‘What number?’

‘01 735 2916.’ William prayed Lamont was at his desk.

‘Lamont,’ said a voice.

The security man handed the phone to William, who explained to Lamont why he was at Heathrow.

‘Put him back on, laddie,’ said Lamont. William passed the phone back and listened to a one-sided conversation which ended with the words, ‘Yes, sir.’

The security man nodded, and the booking clerk checked her computer before saying, ‘Mr Carter is on flight 028 to Rome. The gate closes in twenty minutes.’

‘I’ve got two problems,’ said William, turning back to the security man. ‘I need a seat on that flight, and I don’t have a passport.’