Nothing Ventured (Detective William Warwick 1)

For the first time, William understood what the commander had meant when he said to wait until you meet the man.

‘Perhaps you’d be wise to remember what happened the last time you raided one of my properties,’ said Faulkner. ‘I was able to supply you with receipts for every one of my artworks. And just in case you’ve forgotten, you thought you’d got the Rembrandt that time too.’

William hesitated, as his eyes circled the hold, but he was none the wiser.

‘So which one do you want opened, detective constable?’ said Hawksby defiantly.

‘This one,’ said William, walking across to a large crate and tapping it firmly.

‘Are you absolutely convinced that’s the right one?’ said Faulkner.

‘Yes,’ said William, more out of bravado than conviction.

‘I see, commander, that a young rookie is now running your department,’ said Faulkner.

‘Open it,’ said Hawksby.

The harbour master stepped forward and, assisted by two of his team, began to extract the nails one by one until they were finally able to prise the crate open. Once they’d removed several layers of covering, they were greeted by six Syndics from Amsterdam, who peered back at them.

‘I’ve wanted to do this for years,’ said Hawksby. The commander stepped forward and told Faulkner he was under arrest, then read him his rights. Lamont thrust Faulkner’s hands behind his back, handcuffed him and frogmarched him off the yacht as four constables carried the second crate slowly down the gangway before placing it carefully in the back of the Black Maria next to its unidentified companion.

‘How could you possibly have known which case the Rembrandt was in?’ Lamont asked William once they were back on shore.

‘I wasn’t absolutely sure,’ admitted William, ‘but it was the only one that had a large circular impression where the original label must have been. Faulkner obviously switched the labels, but he didn’t notice that the crate he chose was considerably larger than the one that contains the Rembrandt, or that a circular mark had been left on the Rembrandt’s crate where the original label must have been ripped off.’

‘You might make a detective after all,’ said Hawksby.

‘So what’s in the other crate?’ demanded Lamont.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said William. ‘We’ll only find out after it’s been delivered to the Fitzmolean as the label clearly instructs us to do.’

Mrs Faulkner had remained in the Bentley observing the whole operation from a distance. She didn’t move until she saw Miles had been arrested, when she leapt out of her car and ran towards the dockside shouting, ‘Stop them! Stop them!’

Mike Harrison was only a yard behind as they both watched the Christina heading out of the harbour towards the open sea.

‘On what grounds?’ Harrison asked once he’d caught up with her.

‘They’ve still got my pictures on board.’

‘That would be quite hard to prove,’ said Harrison, ‘when the captain is probably only carrying out your husband’s orders.’

‘Whose side are you on?’ demanded Christina.

‘Yours, Mrs Faulkner, and once your husband is safely locked up, I feel sure you’ll find a way of getting them all back.’

‘But he’ll come after me,’ protested Christina.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Harrison. ‘Your husband’s off to Pentonville, and I can’t see him being released for

several years.’

‘Right, lads,’ said Hawksby. ‘Time to return the Rembrandt to its rightful owner, along with whatever’s in the other crate.’

‘Sorry to bother you,’ said a man who looked even more distressed than Mrs Faulkner. ‘But that bloke you’ve just arrested owes me £274 for his cab fare.’

‘Which I fear you won’t be seeing for some time,’ said Lamont. ‘I suggest you contact his lawyer, a Mr Booth Watson QC at Lincoln’s Inn. I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige you.’

‘A job well done, DC Warwick,’ said Hawksby, as William joined him in the back of his car, and the little convoy set off for London. ‘You can be proud of the role you played.’